#them something or make them art and leave it with a letter on their doorstep like that’s the dream friendship actually

[milo-is-rambling]

Once again thinking about having a pen pal or a person to write letters to and send physical mail like ugh I want that so bad

[darksturnz]

#INTRODUCING. . . BAMBI.ᐟMADISON

inspo + creds: to everyone who has written any animal! + sweetheart! + shy! + coquette! au.

best paired with: star!reader + artist!chris (non romantic)

soft-spoken ❀ doe eyes. blush pink lips. vanilla perfume. gold jewelry. pressed flowers. handwritten letters. warm-toned thrifted cardigans. music. cinnamon rolls. floral bedsheets. cozy tea shops. The Smiths on vinyl.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who is the type of girl to force you to join her life360 circle and spam your phone whenever you speed, only to quickly call you and tell you not to text and drive when you respond to her.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who can never bring herself to kill a bug and will gently cup it in her hands to set it free outside, even if it scares her.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who nervously fiddles with her necklace whenever star!reader makes her laugh too hard, her smile so big it feels embarrassing.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who is the epitome of quiet grace, but there’s more to her than meets the eye. You’ll often find her tucked into a corner of her favorite antique store or sitting by the window of a coffee shop, scribbling in her journal. She loves soft, vintage aesthetics—sunlit lace curtains, dusty books, and faded Polaroids. She’s drawn to simplicity but longs for something deeper, something real.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who cries at Disney movies, every single time, no matter how many times she’s seen them.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who can’t handle scary movies but will sit through them just to have an excuse to hold star!reader hand or hide her face in star!reader shoulder.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who surprises artist!chris with a small notebook for his drawings, leaving it on his doorstep with oatmeal cookies and a note that just says, “For your art. :)”

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who loves so softly and so deeply, it hurts, because she’s terrified it’s something she’s not allowed to feel.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who wears her heart on her sleeve but hides it behind her shy smile. She’s kind and patient, the friend who remembers your favorite tea or slips a handwritten note into your locker. But don’t mistake her softness for weakness—Madison holds herself with quiet strength, even when the world feels overwhelming.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who lets star!reader drag her on random late night adventures the night before something big and even though it stresses her out, she usually finds herself out and about because she can’t say no to her.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who is too shy to say what she’s feeling out loud but writes it in long, rambling texts she drafts and never sends.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON is the kind of girl who loves with her whole heart, though she often struggles to admit it. She’s sentimental to a fault, keeping pressed flowers and notes in an old shoebox under her bed. Her laugh is rare but beautiful, like the first warm day of spring. She’s learning to love herself as much as she loves others—a journey that’s messy, brave, and entirely her own.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who makes silly bracelets with star!reader and proudly wears hers, even if they don’t match her outfits at all.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who gets overwhelmed during arguments and looks at star!reader with wide, tear-filled eyes until star!reader sighs and pulls her into a hug.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who writes heartfelt notes in birthday cards and always adds a little doodle of flowers in the corner.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who is painfully shy about her singing and keeps her music strictly private, but late at night, when it’s just her and star!reader, she’ll softly hum or sing under her breath, knowing it’s the only place she feels safe enough to be vulnerable.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who bakes cookies or brownies when she’s stressed, her kitchen always smelling like vanilla and cinnamon.

BAMBI.ᐟMADISON who tries to convince herself she’s just imagining it, that it’s not real, that the way she feels is just a phase she’ll grow out of.

authors note: major creds to the people who have already wrote story lines with these au’s. i did some searching and quite frankly there’s just too many of you writing them for me to list out everyone :,) i hope you guys are just as excited for this series as i am. also, these are so long i know but i promise they just make it a storyline without me actually writing one, saves us both time LOL.

lace dividers: @/y-unrei

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[oh-goddess-of-chaos]

hi can you make headcanons about yandere klaus mikaelson courting his lady love

⠀ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 – 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝒙 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 klaus spoiling you, just fluff and cute themes, general yandere themes such as stalking, manipulation, threats, forced marriage, etc.

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ this one's definitely on the lighter sides in terms of yandere!klaus at the start. i imagine the dynamic to be like him w/ caroline if she'd liked him in the first place.

Klaus was at an art exhibit. He himself had taken up painting long ago as somewhat of a hobby, though when he attended, he didn't expect to find anything particularly life-changing. Or, more specifically, anyone. He was simply there to catch a glance at his paintings which had been hung amongst the numerous others.

And there you were, staring, entranced by a painting when he first witnessed your perfect self. There was just something about your expression that drew Klaus in - made him want to know more. And you, being so enamoured with the artistry before you, didn't even notice the vampire slyly sneak up behind you.

It was not just any painting you were staring at. Quite ironically, you were staring at his. Though he couldn't tell for the life of him why you seemed so enraptured in the artwork. Of course, people had stopped by to admire his work, but you didn't move on to look at others. You just stood there, observing it, a slight furrow in your brow.

When Klaus approached you, you jumped. You didn't think someone would take it upon themselves to start a conversation with you - you didn't find anything about yourself particularly alluring. Most people left you alone at social events. And Klaus found it adorable.

So, with a thousand years of experience, he wittily begins a conversation with you, later asking what had caught your eye about the painting you were staring at.

You then quite shyly begin to, in some sense, verbally undress Klaus, explaining how you could see the painting as a sort of expression of loneliness and deeply ridden pain, much to Klaus's utter surprise.

He asks you if you paint, to which you reply a little. You do it when you're stressed as it makes you feel as though you're in control.

When the two of you exchange your names and make more conversation, you are quite flustered when you realize that no other than the man before you is the one who painted the artwork in front of the both of you. You frantically apologize, but Klaus just smiles, and you continue to discuss countless unimportant things with him. The chit-chat is pointless, however you find yourself utterly adoring your ability to speak so freely to the man you just met.

When the both of you begin spending time together, your friends (having noticed who you'd been going out with) warn you to stay away from Klaus, but when asked as to why, they fall short of a distinct reason. It is quite tragic indeed that your friends just so happen to be Klaus's enemies, and that he plans to kill one of them (if not all), but, alas, they aren't planning on telling you anything, and if things go his way, they never will.

Klaus is most certainly the type to leave love letters, poems, and other priceless pieces on your doorstep. Every morning, much to your delight, you have the opportunity of reading his neat, cursive writing that declares his unadulterated adoration of you. These declarations fill you with nothing if not warmth.

You begin to hide these gifts, however, when your friends start to become more anxious at the prospect of you growing closer to Klaus. The relationship becomes somewhat of a scandal from there, you promising your friends that you no longer see him in the days, and sweet, tender rendezvous every night.

Klaus loves to tease and mock you (of course, all in good fun). He adores the blush that creeps onto your cheeks when you demand for him to put an end to his incessant cheekiness, but he never truly does.

Klaus promises to you show you the entire world one day. He speaks of his travels and the wonders that he's marvelled at, of the people he's met and the experiences he's had. You can't quite fathom exactly how he's experienced so much in such a short life, but you don't bother asking him, always swept away in his numerous stories.

And what a wonder it is, spending time with Klaus. He's simply the perfect man - always understanding, always kind, always adventurous. Every moment you spent with him is ecstasy.

And Klaus loves you all the same. You were his muse, his one true love. His bedroom was filled to the brim with paintings and drawings of you. No longer was he the power-hungry, desperately lonely man that he once was - not with you. With you, he was everything he could hope to be and more.

But, of course, Klaus is nothing if not slightly obsessive. And, even though he'll never admit it to himself, mere nights spent with you are not enough. So he follows you, makes sure you're safe during the day, admires you from afar. And at night, once you've fallen asleep, he watches your peaceful body, the way you look as if you have no worries in the world. He even occasionally sees into one of your dreams, wherein he either approaches you or finds another version of himself doing that very thing.

Klaus also happens to be quite jealous, scolding you whenever you spend more than an appropriate amount of time conversing with a man. If any flirting were to happen, you'd best believe that you'd never see that man once again in your life.

As time passes, and Klaus grows somewhat unsatisfied with only having you at night, so he begins to spend time with you in the daytime, joining you for walks in the park or inviting you to elegant dinners.

Tired? He won't hesitate to call a taxi for the both of you in moments. Thirsty? The finest of wines will serve you well. Klaus simply cannot miss the chance to spoil you!

But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and it was only a matter of time before Elena eventually caught on to your secret rendezvous and made the executive decision to tell you everything about Klaus. And, by God, were you heartbroken. But it almost made sense. Klaus was so, so perfect. Too perfect. But you never suspected that his one true flaw would be such a deal breaker.

So, in spite of your aching heart, you sever your relationship with Klaus, brushing past major details and simply explaining that you "just weren't feeling it." It breaks you to see him so distraught, but you know what he's done, and you cannot be the person you are while and simultaneously stay with him.

Unfortunately for you, though, Klaus had, over the many months, fallen for you - something he does not take very lightly. So, quite desperately, he bites Elena, promising that he'll give her his blood once you come back to him. And, in spite of your friend's protests, you do as he asks. You cannot risk losing someone so close to you.

When Klaus then proposes to you, and you, of course, accept, you hate to admit that you still find your heart swelling whenever he compliments you, or kisses you sweetly, or even just stares in your direction. As much as your mind was disgusted by the idea of loving Klaus, your heart could not so easily let him go.

As much as you loathe him for what he's done to your friends, as much as you hate him for forcing his love upon you, you love him, too. And perhaps that is what's worst of all - that despite all that he's done, you're still in love with him.

That, while he kisses you ever so fervently on the altar, you can forget all that he's done and imagine a bright future with him.

That, even as he turns you into a creature that feeds on others simply so he can remain with you forever, you find yourself adoring the idea of spending the rest of eternity with him, muttering the phrase "til' death do us apart" as you feed on the blood of an innocent human being.

And there you were, staring, entranced by a painting when he first witnessed your perfect self. There was just something about your expression that drew Klaus in - made him want to know more. And you, being so enamoured with the artistry before you, didn't even notice the vampire slyly sneak up behind you.

It was not just any painting you were staring at. Quite ironically, you were staring at his. Though he couldn't tell for the life of him why you seemed so enraptured in the artwork. Of course, people had stopped by to admire his work, but you didn't move on to look at others. You just stood there, observing it, a slight furrow in your brow.

When Klaus approached you, you jumped. You didn't think someone would take it upon themselves to start a conversation with you - you didn't find anything about yourself particularly alluring. Most people left you alone at social events. And Klaus found it adorable.

So, with a thousand years of experience, he wittily begins a conversation with you, later asking what had caught your eye about the painting you were staring at.

You then quite shyly begin to, in some sense, verbally undress Klaus, explaining how you could see the painting as a sort of expression of loneliness and deeply ridden pain, much to Klaus's utter surprise.

He asks you if you paint, to which you reply a little. You do it when you're stressed as it makes you feel as though you're in control.

When the two of you exchange your names and make more conversation, you are quite flustered when you realize that no other than the man before you is the one who painted the artwork in front of the both of you. You frantically apologize, but Klaus just smiles, and you continue to discuss countless unimportant things with him. The chit-chat is pointless, however you find yourself utterly adoring your ability to speak so freely to the man you just met.

When the both of you begin spending time together, your friends (having noticed who you'd been going out with) warn you to stay away from Klaus, but when asked as to why, they fall short of a distinct reason. It is quite tragic indeed that your friends just so happen to be Klaus's enemies, and that he plans to kill one of them (if not all), but, alas, they aren't planning on telling you anything, and if things go his way, they never will.

Klaus is most certainly the type to leave love letters, poems, and other priceless pieces on your doorstep. Every morning, much to your delight, you have the opportunity of reading his neat, cursive writing that declares his unadulterated adoration of you. These declarations fill you with nothing if not warmth.

You begin to hide these gifts, however, when your friends start to become more anxious at the prospect of you growing closer to Klaus. The relationship becomes somewhat of a scandal from there, you promising your friends that you no longer see him in the days, and sweet, tender rendezvous every night.

Klaus loves to tease and mock you (of course, all in good fun). He adores the blush that creeps onto your cheeks when you demand for him to put an end to his incessant cheekiness, but he never truly does.

Klaus promises to you show you the entire world one day. He speaks of his travels and the wonders that he's marvelled at, of the people he's met and the experiences he's had. You can't quite fathom exactly how he's experienced so much in such a short life, but you don't bother asking him, always swept away in his numerous stories.

And what a wonder it is, spending time with Klaus. He's simply the perfect man - always understanding, always kind, always adventurous. Every moment you spent with him is ecstasy.

And Klaus loves you all the same. You were his muse, his one true love. His bedroom was filled to the brim with paintings and drawings of you. No longer was he the power-hungry, desperately lonely man that he once was - not with you. With you, he was everything he could hope to be and more.

But, of course, Klaus is nothing if not slightly obsessive. And, even though he'll never admit it to himself, mere nights spent with you are not enough. So he follows you, makes sure you're safe during the day, admires you from afar. And at night, once you've fallen asleep, he watches your peaceful body, the way you look as if you have no worries in the world. He even occasionally sees into one of your dreams, wherein he either approaches you or finds another version of himself doing that very thing.

Klaus also happens to be quite jealous, scolding you whenever you spend more than an appropriate amount of time conversing with a man. If any flirting were to happen, you'd best believe that you'd never see that man once again in your life.

As time passes, and Klaus grows somewhat unsatisfied with only having you at night, so he begins to spend time with you in the daytime, joining you for walks in the park or inviting you to elegant dinners.

Tired? He won't hesitate to call a taxi for the both of you in moments. Thirsty? The finest of wines will serve you well. Klaus simply cannot miss the chance to spoil you!

But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and it was only a matter of time before Elena eventually caught on to your secret rendezvous and made the executive decision to tell you everything about Klaus. And, by God, were you heartbroken. But it almost made sense. Klaus was so, so perfect. Too perfect. But you never suspected that his one true flaw would be such a deal breaker.

So, in spite of your aching heart, you sever your relationship with Klaus, brushing past major details and simply explaining that you "just weren't feeling it." It breaks you to see him so distraught, but you know what he's done, and you cannot be the person you are while and simultaneously stay with him.

Unfortunately for you, though, Klaus had, over the many months, fallen for you - something he does not take very lightly. So, quite desperately, he bites Elena, promising that he'll give her his blood once you come back to him. And, in spite of your friend's protests, you do as he asks. You cannot risk losing someone so close to you.

When Klaus then proposes to you, and you, of course, accept, you hate to admit that you still find your heart swelling whenever he compliments you, or kisses you sweetly, or even just stares in your direction. As much as your mind was disgusted by the idea of loving Klaus, your heart could not so easily let him go.

As much as you loathe him for what he's done to your friends, as much as you hate him for forcing his love upon you, you love him, too. And perhaps that is what's worst of all - that despite all that he's done, you're still in love with him.

That, while he kisses you ever so fervently on the altar, you can forget all that he's done and imagine a bright future with him.

That, even as he turns you into a creature that feeds on others simply so he can remain with you forever, you find yourself adoring the idea of spending the rest of eternity with him, muttering the phrase "til' death do us apart" as you feed on the blood of an innocent human being.

© do not translate, steal, or repost any of my works elsewhere without consulting me and gaining my consent.

[merciawintersageposting]

More head canon: how Rook relates to death- and secrets🗡️☠️

The Magpie, Part 3

What is death to a Crow but a looking glass?

A shiny object glinting with life's secrets at its surface, limned with sharp edges and fractured memories. The pursuit of secrets comes at a high price- and life in Thedas is always below asking. Rook had learned this many times the hard way.

For them, there is something worse than dying. To watch the innocent suffer and die, sacrifices on the altar of some noble's great aspirations- or worse, their wounded pride. Lowborn lives fall as the leaves do, so many unnamed and easily crushed underfoot. Such is the life of the few children who survive long enough in the Guild to become Magpies- procurers of secrets and intelligence. For Dalish children sold to the Guild by starving or greedy or desperate caretakers this is learned over and over.

Once, there was a time Rook foolishly thought themselves inured to it. But the mirror of death makes all hidden truths plain.

The job was simple: retrieve a packet of letters from a minor noble's home in Redcliffe. Pose as a new servant, locate the letters on his estate, retrieve them and leave no mess behind. But the thing about blending in is that it sometimes requires you to be seen and known- a thing which they had never experienced without a feeling of terror, anticipating a blow.

Rook first appeared on their doorstep with a short-term contract, all the correct recommendations and due respect to the lord of the manor, a taciturn warhorse whose glory days had long since faded. He seemed good enough as any man, if a bit inattentive.

Though a skeleton crew, the chambermaids and footmen took a kindly concern for each other, and so Rook befriended them with shy smiles and offers to help with the laundry. The head steward Dereth was a challenge. With long and lanky hair, the old Dalish man bore Dirthamen's vallaslin, and the knowing looks of someone who sees too perceptively, who has lived longer than his seventy years. This contradictory mixture of savvy and softness perturbed Rook. Having few memories of their father that weren't laced with fear, they found it difficult to get their bearings. Then they learned Dereth had taken to teaching some of the young pages to read, hoping some could make a better life for themselves as he had.

Rook assured him they could read, which he laughed at- the gritty sound reminding them of sand on a cabin floor. As they both assisted the cook in making preparations for the week’s meals, Dereth taught them old poems, using the chopping sound of knives on vegetables to keep the rhythm.

"I had aspirations to it once y'know. But, you- you've a voice for it. Someday I think," Dereth pronounced, "you'll be a great poet."

It was nice. This was, Rook thought, what it must be like to be normal and have people who saw you as more than property or a pawn.

But a contract requires its due. And so one day, Rook disappeared.

Discretion is a Crow's greatest asset. But Rook was possessed of a strange curiosity, and allowed themselves one glance at the packet before handing it in. Flowing handwriting by a lettered and artful hand had spelled out part of a name Pr. Volka- and the rest dotted by a watermark.

The packet successfully delivered, they returned to their usual hiding place- a little hayloft rarely visited by anyone other than workaday farm hands. Horses are good company and even better night watchmen.

Crows and their flock are instructed never to seek out again that which was visited before. But Rook's thoughts of the people they left behind on the Radcliffe job frayed at the edges of their mind.

News travels fast. And so Rook learned from one of the newest "recruits" that a Ferelden noble had recently died in his sleep. His heir had returned to right his affairs, and immediately accused his father's aged steward of fomenting rebellion after finding him showing some of the younger servants how to write. When it was further discovered that important documents were unaccounted for, the steward met his end on the edge of a longsword and was left to molder in the sun- an example of what it means when you forget your place in the order of things.

Waiting for the right opportunity, the footmen wrapped his body in brown cloth, and under the cover of night carried him to a spot a league out from the house. He was buried in a modest pine grove, the spot marked by what few offerings the household servants could spare, flowers and painted rocks.

As time passed, the ground settled, and little trace of Dereth's grave remained. Save only for a piece of vellum tied to a stake in the ground.

Look closely and you will find the words almost etched into the vellum in a strong, clear hand:

If I should die and leave you here a while, Be not like others sore undone, Who keep long vigil by the silent dust. For my sake turn again to life and smile, Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do Something to comfort other hearts than thine. Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine And I perchance may therein comfort you.*

for fred.

*Turn Again to Life by Mary Lee Hall.

[fatedtime]

🖊

Since I talked about Eliza and Aodhan I will ALSO talk about William who exists in the same storyline.

(i haven't drawn him in ages lmfao. sorry for the old art.)

William Hare is a sadboy twink who hides his misery with jokes and is stuffed full of magical bees.

Let me explain.

(This explanation will talk about bees living in people so if that squicks you out I'd recommend avoiding this lol.)

William Hare was born out of wedlock to Margaret Hare and Heinrich Kapple, the latter of which already had a wife and three kids. (Whoops!) The secret was kept though, and he was raised alone by his mother, who worked as a seamstress in a small village. She was a good woman, and kind, and he loved her dearly. While he occasionally saw the man he knew to be his father when he came to his town for business, the visits were short and he felt no real connection to him.

One summer, when William was a pre-teen, his mother passed away from an illness that swept through his village. Before she died, she managed to get a letter to Heinrich -- warning him that she was not long for the world, and pleading for him to take custody of their son.

Heinrich, for all his flaws, wasn't the kind of man who'd entirely abandon his own son. He retrieved William from the shelter, and took him home to the Kapple farm.

This caused a shitshow of cataclysmic proportions for the household, because Heinrich's wife, Alfrida, was not made aware this was happening or that her husband had cheated on her until there was a dirty boy on her doorstep, fresh from a plague town, and being told that he was Heinrich's son. Not helping matters was Alfrida having recently given birth to her fourth child, Ingrid, leaving her understandably not impressed by this sudden influx of bullshit.

The dynamics of the household from that point on would be difficult to explain succinctly, but suffice to say no one was happy about William's introduction into their lives -- except William's slightly older sister, Lorelei Kapple, whose sense of justice was strong, even as a young teen. She hated the shadow that was already being cast on her little brother, and she took him under his wing.

Lorelei and William became extremely close, far closer than Lorelei was with any of her full siblings. He was docile and inexperienced enough that he would defer to her headstrong personality, and whatever she wanted to do, he'd follow her gladly. To him, she was a source of protection and joy in his newly gloomy life, and to her, he was a patient, loyal, and level-headed side-kick. With whatever time they had away from farm chores, Lorelei would take William into the old forest that bordered the edge of their lands, where it was said the gods still roamed and the bees stored their honey in the trees.

Now, to briefly cover magic in this setting, the kind of magic that exists depends on the land one is in. The Empire I mentioned previously have the sort of magic you might associate with trickster faeries and demons who offer contracts in exchange for power. In Pais, or 'Land of the Golden Bees' as it was historically known before a colonizing power came in to try to control the land with a name, magic comes from bees and the honey they leave in things.

Or, uh, people! People in Pais get magic because the bees in the land become of specific individuals and decide to make hives in them, filling their blood with honey and blessing them with superpowers. This also used to confer an amount of religious importance, but the Empire has been trying to stamp out those connotations and folk beliefs.

Said blessing can happen at birth, but more typically it occurs throughout the childhood of the Beloved. This was the case for William Hare, one day in the deep dark woods.

William and Lorelei had not gone farther then they normally did, but the shadows were different that day. William was sensitive to the change, but something spurred Lorelei on -- like there was something she had to find out there. Trusting his sister, he followed, and they found the den of a wolf god.

To her credit, when the wolf in the shadows attacked her brother, she defended him with the entirety of her soul. She was just a teenage girl though, and was not able to stop the god from biting off her brother's arm, even as she tried to wrestle with a creature far beyond her ken. Lorelei Kapple did not defeat the wolf that day, but when the god bit her too and found that she screamed not in pain or fear, but defiant rage and an ironclad will, he let go and left the siblings be.

Lorelei's wounds would heal, but William was bleeding out. It was then that the bees came out of the trees, healed him, and made their home within him.

Their lives changed that day. Something was different about Lorelei Kapple -- a gods saliva flowed through her veins, and a sharper intensity fueled her behavior. William became Beloved, but he existed in a strange contradictory world -- those who had called him 'bastard' now paid him homage, and yet the homage was not allowed to be explicit, because the Empire had banned such worship. Some saw William as a symbol of rebellion, some saw William as a symbol of wives' tales and folly.

Still, they had each other, as they navigated this strange new world.

...Until they didn't.

Now, the draft came in two stages. It was never officially considered part of the draft, but the Empire had made a habit of actively scouting Beloved and enrolling them in their Military Academy to be conditioned into good little Imperial Loyalists. This was, however, made mandatory when William was sixteen as tensions spiked between the Empire and one of its long-time rivals. Later, all able-bodied men would be drafted -- or... the Empire would attempt to draft them, which kicked off a revolutionary war.

Lorelei knew that her brother didn't really have a choice when he left. That's not why she felt betrayed. It was that William didn't even think about taking her offer to run away with him, and find somewhere where they could escape the bonds of both gods and men. That, deep down, William WANTED to go study under the Empire. He WANTED to escape his small little village life where everything hurt so much and he felt simultaneously cursed and worshiped. That he kind of resented Paian loyalism, and god he just kind of wanted to piss off his dad by joining up with the Empire he fucking hated.

This was the worst mistake William ever made in his life btw.

Long story short, being used for the magic bees in your body and prepared as an agent of war fucking sucked ass, and William quickly discovered he hated academia. But he also would rather die than go back to his family, and he felt like he'd fucked it up so bad with Lorelei that she wouldn't help him either, so he persisted, growing more and more miserable and increasingly coping with his circumstances by developing a congenial, friendly, hedonistic front to fit in with some of the other officers. Eventually, he became a hopeless wreck, spending more of his time disassociating than not and preparing himself for a life of hating everything he ever was and would be.

When the Revolution happened, William jumped ship, and by happenstance, fell under the command of general Irene Hirsch.

This is already getting long but to make an incredibly complicated story short, General Hirsch -- through an alcohol induced rant -- managed to smack some sense of self-worth and the desire to live into William, and for the first time in his life he actually believed in something -- her. I must emphasize that as much of a mess as William is, Irene is 50x worse, but she also slapped him and told him to Fucking Believe in Something which was exactly what he needed to hear. (It did help that William is a bit of a Bottom Bitch and Irene was simultaneously a wet dog and a power dom.)

After the war, William was left directionless and lost, and he happened to learn that General Irene was accepting proposals for marriage. And -- well, his pedigree wasn't great, but he WAS an official war mage. Maybe she'd even... remember him?

(Spoilers: she does not. But that's a story for another time.)

[mailbakes]

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[xmalereader]

Bruce Wayne X Brother! Reader || 2 ||

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|| Masterlist || ONE ||

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Authors Note: I did have a sadder version but lost inspiration half way and decided to end it short :/ sorry everyone!

Summary: Reader and Bruce are both brothers who grew up together. One had everything while the other lost everything.

Warnings: Slight fluff, some angst, brotherly love, slow build up.

Word count: 1.3k

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He glared at the flowers that leaned against the door frame. He glared at the letter attached to them.

Bruce Wayne

It’s been two weeks since they’ve last spoken and everyday since then his brother was always leaving him gifts behind. He told him to stay away and to pretend like he didn’t exist, he didn’t want to be known and with Bruce leaving these gifts behind only made him grow angry.

He picks up the bouquet and letter, tossing them both in the trash bin nearest to the kitchen as he leaves for the day. He’s always ignoring the gifts he gets, wether they are good or not he’s not keeping anything that’ll remind him of his brother.

He leaves his apartment building and heads down to the art shop where he sees Julie outside putting up signs. She takes notice of his glare and winced. “Another?” She questions which earns her a nod. “He won’t stop.” He grumbled out angrily as he steps inside the shop, looking for some new sketchbooks since he completed his last one two days ago. “Maybe he really wants to catch up, you know? I mean, he’s the only family you’ve got.” Julie follows him around the shop. The two have grown close to become friends.

“He’s not my brother, we were never close as kids and he rarely knows me.” Y/n huffs out, bending down to check on some notebooks.

“Yeah—well maybe he does want to know you.” Julie smiles. “Just give him a chance.” She’s been trying to convince him to bond with his brother who he rarely spoke to or even knew. The two boys were never close and they never tried to create a bond until now.

Bruce was trying to hard and all he wanted was to be alone and get back to his normal life. “Why don’t you give him something back?” Julie asks, tapping her finger against her chin as she thinks. “Leave him some art work, small work.”

“I’d rather leave him a death threat on his doorstep and tell him to fuck off.” Y/n mumbled over his shoulder as he picks a blue notebook and stands back up, sighing deeply as he ran his fingers through his hair in exhaustion. “Fine—I’ll send something small but I’m not creating a bond with him.”

“Technically, you sending something is already a form of bonding—“

“Shut up!”

Julie laughs at him as she rings him out. Y/n is quick to leave the shop and back out into the streets. He shivers at the cold wind, Gotham will soon be covered in snow and he wasn’t a big fan of the cold weather. He sighs to himself as he stuffed his things in his bag, biting his lip as he thinks back to what Julie told him about bonding with Bruce.

He didn’t know what to give Bruce, the man already had everything. What else would he need?

Y/n finds the situation complicated and instead changed his mind on even trying. He’d rather deal with Bruce being annoying towards him instead of creating that bond they never had. He zips up his jacket and began to head home, ignoring the other civilians of Gotham who also walked down the pavement. He sighs deeply to himself once he arrived back home, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

He pushed the door open only to see a sealed up letter fall from the door. He raised a brow and bends down to pick it up, turning it over to see his brothers name. He frowns deeply, holding the letter right between his fingers as he turns back around and heads down the hallway.

He’s had enough of these petty gifts. He wasn’t going to allow Bruce to bribe his way into his life, no way in hell is he going to allow that. So, he makes his way towards Wayne tower where his lovely step brother is living, watching everyone from above. Bruce was the real Wayne here in Gotham while he remained as nothing. He didn’t care about money or titles, he just wanted to be left alone and didn’t want to get involved with Bruce’s life again.

He spent too many years alone and doesn’t care if Bruce is trying to make things up. The man was far too late in trying to reconnect.

Upon his arrive to the Wayne tower, he is able to find a way inside without having to deal with anyone getting in his way. He lived in the tower himself, knowing the secret routines into sneaking out and getting in without being detected. He still remembers the days he snuck out without his parents knowledge, trying to find some freedom from being hidden.

He walks through one of the tunnels that takes him down to the basement. It used to be full of cars or other additional storage, but he didn’t expect himself to stumble upon his brothers nightly activities. The place was set up with computers along with equipment for his suit. His brothers motorcycle parked near the entrance along with his car hidden underneath a tarp. Now he knows where he keeps everything hidden.

He shakes his head with a groan, rubbing his temples as he continues to walk through the basement where he finds Bruce hunched over his computer, not knowing he was there. So, he approached his brother and slams the letter down, startling Bruce with wide eyes as he stands from his seat.

“How did you—?”

���Stop sending me things.” Y/n cuts to the chase. “If you think sending me things is going to fix our family relationship, well it’s not.” He points a finger at bruce, glaring at him. “I told you to leave me alone. To pretend like I don’t exist—now stop the bribing because it’s not going to work.”

Bruce frowns, standing from his seat as he glanced at the letter and then back at his brother. “I’m not bribing you, I just want to start over. I know that we didn’t get along well as kids but you are still my brother.”

“Step brother.” Y/n corrects him, sighing deeply. “It doesn’t matter Bruce, it’s not your responsibility to reconnect.”

“You weren’t there.” Bruces voice grows louder, stepping forward as he takes ahold of his arms, giving him a soft glare. “You weren’t at our parents funeral and you never showed up back home. I thought you were gone forever or that you ran away! I searched for you, Y/n. You can tell me that we never got along but I wanted you by my side. You’re all I have left and searched for you.”

Y/n shakes his head, pulling away from Bruce’s hold. “Bruce, that was a long time ago—focus on yourself, focus on being Gothams knight.” He gestures to the basement, letting him know that he is to continue on without him. To be Batman and to continue helping the city.

“Just give me a second chance.” Bruce steps up, a hint of desperation on his face. Bruce was alone when he grew up and expected his brother to be there with him but he wasn’t. Now that he has him back, he doesn’t want their relationship to be ruined again. “Just a chance.” He says again as Y/n looks away, debating if he should give this another try or not.

Y/n sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. “I’ll give you another chance.” He mumbled out but quickly points a finger to Bruce. “But don’t ever mention my name or that we are brothers. I want a calm and peaceful life and not have the press coming after me, got it?” He warns. Bruce nods in return. “Got it.”

“Good.” Y/n sighs deeply as he shakes his head, brushing past him as he heads towards the elevator. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to eat here.” He grumbled out, ignoring Bruce’s smirk as he enters the elevator, giving his older brother a glare while he rode the elevator up. He said he would give this a second chance, he never promised that things will go back to normal between them

[tranzfalgar]

okay it’s time for some stardew valley headcanons for the bachelor/ette(s) so let’s GOOOO

Alex:

- he always awakes before his grandparents, and on warmer days he’ll go down to the beach to watch the sunrise.

- friends with elliot! the two of them sit on the side of the dock sometimes and just chat about life.

- knows how to make cookies, as evelyn taught him when he was a bit younger

- wary of the saloon, as he doesn’t really like the smell of alcohol and only goes into it if he’s forced to!

- if you marry him, he can and will pick you up randomly to surprise you while you’re working!

- if married, he will “bench press” your kids once they become toddlers, and it always makes them giggle

- hates the winter and gets cold really easily. on the first day of fall he’s already bundled up wanting it to be summer again.

Elliot:

- willy is like a father to him. the two of them sit on the docks and watch the fish swim by together

- sometimes he’ll braid his hair, and leah will bring flowers from the forest and weave them into his hair.

- has a rlly pretty singing voice, and likes to record piano covers in his spare time

- if you marry him and the two of u have kids, he’ll always braid their hair in the morning and tuck flowers behind their ears.

- he brings home fresh fish he caught and makes himself dinner every night. that’s why he’s an excellent cook.

- has actually caught a legendary fish before!

- his eyes change color, they can go from blue to green to brown in the same day. people call them the “prismatic shard of eyes”

Harvey:

- he’s so clumsy that sometimes he’ll even trip over air. due to this, he has little bruises all over his knees and elbows.

- his favorite animals are birds. sometimes he’ll go outside and just give them some bird seed. he loves watching them fly around.

- not only is he fascinated with planes, but he’s also fascinated with the weather. as a kid he used to watch the weather channel, and he dreamed of becoming a weatherman.

- when he needs to focus really hard, he’ll pull his hair back with a headband

- him and his mother were and still are very close, and he writes letters to her at least once a week

- he cannot cook to save his life, but he’s an incredible baker! will make you little treats if you’re friends or married

- he always wears a wristwatch, but the time is always 6 minutes behind. he likes it because it has a plane engraved into the side against his wrist.

Sam:

- he had adhd, and his stims include flapping his hands, tapping his foot and strumming his guitar

- he has a beautiful singing voice, think like wilbur soot but a bit more high pitched?

- the reason he likes cactus fruit so much is because he just plants them and lets them grow. he loves succulents because they don’t give him an allergic reaction!

- cannot play video games for shit. sebastian and abigail have banned him from multi-player games because he just sucks so bad.

- love language is acts of service, simply because he likes singing for people he cares about and doing little things for them!

- if you marry him, he will bring his guitar into the coop and/or barn and sing to the animals. they have learned to run over a greet him, since they love his singing.

- his hair is actually curly, but you’re unable to tell due to how much he gels and straightens his hair.

- has mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes

Sebastian:

- loves the hell out of halloween, but is scared of literally everything. he nearly cried watching a horror movie with sam and abigail.

- really good with a slingshot! so if he were to go into the mines, he would wreck some monsters shit with his slingshot skills

- he had glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, but removed them. he used to love the stars and space, but came to resent them because it was his sisters thing.

- he like…irl blushes. like an anime character. when he’s embarrassed, upset, flustered, his face will go all pink. everyone picks on him for it.

- has/had a crush on most of the towns singles. he is a bisexual disaster and secretly a romantic so….take from that what you will.

- a natural born ginger, but dyes his hair. he also has freckles on his nose! and he has an eyebrow slit because of a scar!!

- for some stupid reason, he takes really good care of his hands? like he always makes sure they don’t get calloused, and his nails are always painted black, despite using his hands all the time for work.

Shane:

- he cannot cook. he burned pasta noodles because he didn’t know you had to put water in the pan.

- he still has a chicken plushie from when he was a baby, and it still sits on his bed. and if he cuddles with it at night? no one needs to know.

- has a huge birthmark on his side shaped like a heart

- really good at mixology, so i think that when joja gets shut down, shane works at the saloon and makes the drinks while gus cooks. he adds a whole new section on the menu!

- friends with sebastian. they paint each other’s nails from time to time, or sit in the rain together and just talk.

- kinda strong as hell? he lifts boxes in joja for work, as well as carrying around jas, so i’m assuming he could just….pick the farmer and his friends up?

- he has the most contagious laugh, it used to be a rare sound, but now that it’s a pretty common occurrence, shane makes people laugh all the time with his own laugh.

Abigail:

- buff. she is buff as hell. her and alex work out together sometimes, since she expressed a desire for adventure. she has picked up sam and sebastian with no warning and thrown them into the ocean

- can talk to animals due to her being the daughter of the wizard! so sometimes she’ll go to marnies farm and just chat with the cows or something

- if she sees a tree, she WILL climb it. she loves it so much, it’s just so adrenaline inducing for her.

- her and sebastian tried to go into the mines before but sam stopped them because it wouldn’t have been very safe. they were all 14.

- trying to learn to play the ukulele with a little help from sam. it’s frustrating, but she really likes the sound of it, and she’s determined as hell.

- absolutely cracked at any and all video games he plays. mario kart? she will kick your ass. animal crossing? her island has 5 stars. pokémon? she always wins. you can’t stop her, she’s too powerful.

- she has glasses, but prefers contacts, since glasses would get in the way of her adventuring.

Emily:

- not only can she sew, but she also makes her own soaps and candles! any form of creation she adores.

- loves flowers, and has a lot of little potted ones in her room. she raises them, gives them little names and personalities, and then brings them to sandy and tells her all about each flower

- she can roller skate, and it’s her preferred method of transportation. she can do a bunch of fun tricks as well!

- has an eyebrow slit

- making cute little baskets of homemade gifts is her favorite thing to do for her friends. sometimes she’ll just leave them on their doorsteps for no reason other than she wants to!

- can SPRINT in heels. like even 6 inch heels she can just RUN and it scares everyone who sees it.

- she loves the sounds of birds chirping in the morning, and she’s able to identify the name of the bird by its chirping and calls

Haley:

- is able to perfectly crack and drink from coconuts. that’s why she loves them so much.

- has the worst sense of direction. she’s lucky she lives in a small town, or she’d get lost all the time

- the spring is her favorite time of year, simply because she loves to capture life coming back in those spring months. baby animals, blooming flowers, her friends on the beach or just chilling in the sun, all of it

- her most prized possession is the very first picture her and emily took as kids on their parents polaroid. it’s taped to her mirror

- has a little beauty mark under her lip, but it normally isn’t visible due to being covered with makeup!

- she’s able to do her own nails! this is because she is ambidextrous, yet she doesn’t know, because it’s never been brought up

- she fucking LOVES learning about and identifying plants, trees and flowers. she knows so many it’s crazy. she has a great memory.

Leah:

- resident true crime enthusiast and ghost hunter. she drags elliot with her around town to go hunting for ghosts. they also watch documentaries together!

- has a bunch of little scars on her hands from her artwork

- to get inspiration for works, she’ll go on walks at different times of the day, different seasons, different routes, and she’ll turn each walk into a work of art. depending on all the environment and those who she runs into, each piece is vastly different.

- animals love her, and will sometimes just follow her around for no reason. she doesn’t mind at all, she kinda loves it.

- friends with emily. they are currently teaching each other their own forms of art, since they love learning from each other!

- really good at dancing, she’ll dance while she’s working on projects and she’ll hum a song to herself

- her favorite statue was created after she went on a walk, ran into abigail, and the two of them went swimming in the ocean and stayed there as the sun set and the stars came out. she has a little crush on abigail.

Maru:

- her hair is ALWAYS tied up, it’s impossible for her to work if her hair is in her eyes

- when she was a kid she wanted to be an astronaut, because she loves the stars, but she found she prefers the science and math behind it all

- she pierced her own ears, she has little star earrings!

- watches cartoons and geeks out about them with penny when they meet up in town!

- for some odd reason, she is terrified of butterflies. no one who knows her, or even maru herself have ANY idea why, but she will run away if she sees one.

- her favorite memory was the one night her and sebastian stayed up really late as kids and snuck outside to look at the stars (back when sebastian still loved them) and they ended up seeing a meteor shower

- she presses flowers as a hobby, and just keeps them in a little notebook alongside her ideas for projects and gadgets.

Penny:

- while she’s cleaning her and pam’s home, she finds herself singing to herself. she has yet to be caught by anyone

- each day, her hair is done ever-so-slightly different. each morning, she likes to change it up, and sometimes jas or vincent will give her something to put in her hair

- also interested in ghosts, will occasionally join elliot and leah on their adventures

- she is naturally really warm, so she doesn’t have to bundle up as much during the winter. the kids cling to her because she’s like a human space heater

- has a bit of a geeky side, and she loves to watch cartoons a lot. when she can find the time, she always watches them. they being her lots of comfort.

- has a small scar on her side from when she tripped over as a child onto something sharp. she likes it because with two freckles, it makes a little smiley face

- loves the water and the feeling of sea wind in her hair. she secretly wants to learn to drive a boat, so she can feel that wind in her hair whenever she wants.

[defectivehero]

masterlist

disclaimer: this doesn’t include all of my writing. in fact, i have hit the maximum limit for links in one post, lmao. i suggest hitting the “hero x villain” tag option in the search bar of my blog for some newer stuff!

the pieces that are down below are separated into categories:

A. some recent works

1. hero x villain

2. hero x mentor

3. whump

4. mlm

5. wlw

6. poetry !

7. miscellaneous stuff

_______

A. some recent works

destined to intertwine (scientist x villain)

exhausted hero, concerned villain

confusing villain

in which the villain doesn’t kill the hero

mirrored

art student hero and professor villain

1. HERO X VILLAIN

i’m sorry, these aren’t in any order whatsoever. i would go ahead and organize them more, but i have no idea how to do that so...

oh no!! the hero is about to fall off a building!!

villain has a change of heart in terms of torturing the hero

“I'm not stealing! I’m just returning something I stole-”

an extended hand, a look to the future

the hero’s chasing supervillain when they fall-

the villain will murder but they draw the line at transphobia

the hero is privileged. 

the villain breaks into the hero’s dorm, and immediately regrets everything

who’s the real victim?

hero and villain have a disagreement

villain sneaks into hero’s apartment... hero just wants sleep

villainy: a poem

this is all clumped together oops

villain gives hero a love potion

protective hero!! soft villain!!!

villain comforting a mourning hero

hero is horrible at taking care of themselves. villain takes offense.

hero and villain try to set up their sidekicks. chaos ensues.

PURE ANGST. MWAHAHAHAH

supervillain kidnaps hero in order to draw villain out from hiding

sleep-deprived hero, amused villain

hero helps villain rescue their kidnapped sister

hero and villain at a gala

doctor hero x injured villain

hero is tired. and thinks villain is a pillow. villain begrudgingly accepts their fate. as a pillow.

hanahaki disease

villain’s sidekick tries to kill hero

hero pet-sits while villain is on vacation

hero is a badass. that’s it, that’s the description.

hero’s in a fight club. villain is possessive.

the hero agency finds out about hero’s relationship with villain

a love letter to the villain

the villain being a good older sibling, but a questionable person lol

flirty villain x exasperated male hero

long haired hero cuts their hair. villain is distressed.

basketball player hero x villain

hero stands villain up on a date. villain is about to leave when...

even more!!!

hero has an asthma attack

deaf hero’s hearing aids break during a battle, villain notices

self destructive hero and a concerned villain

villain’s son wants hero’s autograph

villain and hero spying on supervillain, aka makeout stakeout ;)))) lol

hero breaks into villain’s house just for the cereal

fluff??? on my blog??? unheard of.

there’s only one bed. oh nOooOooO

hero loses their powers...

supervillain drops hero on villain’s doorstep as a “present.”

villain’s moral alignment is lawful evil or chaotic good? lawful neutral? chaotic neutral? idfk

villain thinks hero is retiring

2. HERO X MENTOR

hero’s mentor finds them injured after a battle

hero is injured but tries to hide it from mentor...

hero is a healer. they overexert themselves…

role reversal

hero exhausts themselves (are we surprised? no.)

fluff!!!

3. WHUMP / WHUMP VIBES

on the brink

pirate villain! 

detective x villain 

villain has control over hero’s body and mind

hero is acting strange...

hero realizes they’re being used.

“poison? no, i wouldn’t have..”

who’s the real victim?

whumper leaves a present for whumpee in their cell...

whumpee tries to be what whumper wants. it doesn’t work.

whumpee is finally free. or are they?

4. MLM STUFFS

he/him pronouns used

rapunzel but make it gay (nblm) 

bodyguard x prince 

prince x assassin

defense attorney x prosecutor (nblm)

friends to lovers, reincarnation au

hero helps villain out of a depressive episode

hs hero and villain, hero’s friends are assholes so villain stands up for hero

hero is supervillain’s son. villain is whipped regardless.

best friends to lovers!!

prince x soldier (nblm)

5. WLW STUFFS :)

she/her pronouns used

royal jealousy (princess x royal advisor)

just a vampire and her gf

hero is stressed about coming out to her family, villain helps her through it

hero and villain are secretly dating

villain drags hero away from the scene of the battle to “keep her safe”

villain helps hero out of a panic attack

villain keeps making fun of hero for how short she is

hero is homophobic. villain doesn’t let it slide.

6. poetry!

remnant

villainy

margins

7. other random pieces

defense attorney x prosecutor 

supervillain x detective

vampire x human

villain x civilian (angsty)

vigilante x princess, vigilante is supposed to kill the princess...

exasperated scientist x flirty villain

happy reading :)

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

The ocean and beyond

All the pretty girls like Bucky - Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Continuation of All the pretty girls like Bucky. You find out about Peggy and figure that that is the end for you and Steve. When Steve is pronounced dead and the war is over, a woman with red lips appears at your doorstep.

Based on THIS request.

Pairing: 40s Steve x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1421

Author’s note: This will be the last part I post of All the pretty girls like Bucky, unless I get more requests but I think this one wraps it up nicely.

‘Did Y/n know about Peggy?’ Wanda looks over at Bucky who leans back into the couch cushions with a look on his face she can’t quite describe. There’s guilt but there’s also something else. And then he nods. ‘She did.’ Wanda frowns and looks back at the picture album. She tries to connect the dots. Steve didn’t write her, so how did she find out? ‘Because I told her.’ ‘You told- Wait, you were with Steve. How did you have the time if he didn’t?’ ‘I had fewer responsibilities at the time.’ He leans back forward to the picture album on the coffee table. He flips through the book for a second, going back a bit. His fingers gently touch the corner of the last picture he had send Y/n. A picture of Steve, him, the Howling Commandos, and Peggy. ‘I felt like she deserved to know. It should’ve been Steve who told her but he was just too damn busy. The man rarely got to sleep.’

.

.

.

.

.

In a way, it’s ironic. Steve is fighting in the war and your life is still as it was. You work in the local postal office and spend your free time fossicking galleries and art fairs for gems. One day you’ll be able to make a living with it but right now you’re building a collection. You sit by your desk sorting through different types of documents when your colleague comes walking in with a letter. She lays it on your desk and you read your name in Bucky’s on the envelope. Your heart pitter-patters faster than it has ever done while you open the letter without restrain. Any letter could mean the last, any letter could be an announcement that either of them has passed, any letter could break you. And this one surely would.

My dearest Y/n,

Writing this certainly isn’t easy. Worry not, Steve is still happy and healthy but another situation has come to light. One that might be a bitter pill to swallow. Steve has met a girl down here. A soldier named Peggy Carter. She was with him during the project and has continued to support him. In a way, she makes me think of you, and to be fair, I think Steve is mistaking infatuation with love but we’ll see in time. You deserve to know what is going on and though I think this will be short-lived, I don’t want to have it on my conscience that you don’t know about it.

We are doing well. We might be back before Christmas though I’m not quite sure. All these bureaucrats with their timetables and stupid schedules always mess everything up. I hope we’ll see you soon.

Love,

Bucky

“Today, we have lost a great hero to the war. An American icon, our Captain America has today passed in a battle to keep our beloved country sa-” You stand with your hand on the dial of your radio and the other in front of your mouth. A pained gasp leaves your lips as tears flow down your cheeks fast like heavy rain in summer. You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear that Steve is gone but it seems you have no choice. It’s bittersweet. While you expected wailing on the streets, it seems everyone is celebrating. Of course, they’re not celebrating the death of Steve but the end of the war and you can’t blame them but it stings. But the very, very worst part is that you were never going to get that ring Steve promised. Bucky told you so. Told you about this woman. Peggy Carter. You can’t be mad at her. She sounds like a lovely person and you and Steve had broken up so you can’t blame anyone here. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. And God, does it hurt. You sit down at the shabby table Steve had put together with much help from Bucky. Let’s be honest here, Bucky put the table together but Steve tried. The corners of your lips turn up ever so slightly at the thought of that day. Gems, both of them. They didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve death. Your eyes gaze over the small stack of letters you had gotten over the span of time Bucky and Steve were away. You pick up the one at the very top and look at Bucky’s handwriting on the front. Most of those are from Bucky. He was always more of a talker. The letter feels like an ember in your hands. The cursed letter that had told you about everything going on, just in case they died without being able to tell the tale. You can cite it word for word and each word is like a needle through your skin. There’s a sudden knocking on your door and you’re fairly certain it’ll be your neighbor with that bottle of bourbon she had been saving for the end of the war. A little insensitive but she doesn’t know. You get up from your seat and go to open the door. When you do, there is a woman there but not your neighbor. This woman has red lips, perfectly done hair, and is wearing a military uniform. ‘Y/n Y/n/l,’ she asks. You nod. ‘I’m agent Carter. May I come in.’ Agent Carter? ‘You’re Peggy?’ She nods, looking pained by the tears staining your cheeks. You’re sure you look like a pity case and a messy one at that but you couldn’t care less. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ you tell her. ‘Steve send me,’ she quickly says before you close the door on her. You bite your lip and invite her inside. When you close the door and walk past her to take your seat at the table again, she stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. She looks around, taking in the surroundings and the tidbits of your and Steve’s life. She looks like she’s stepped into a different reality. ‘He asked me to tell you that he’s sorry.’ ‘What for?’ Peggy hesitates, not sure what the weight of her words might be. ‘Making you wait.’ A sultry laugh leaves your lips and you wave over to the chair on the other side of the table, motioning Peggy to sit while you get up and walk into the kitchen. Of course his last words to you would break your heart. You return with a half-finished bottle of whiskey and set it down on the table with two glasses. Peggy looks confused when you pour the drinks and shove a glass her way. ‘May I ask, who were you to Steve?’ You smile at her and throw your drink back, pouring another. Peggy’s words cut into you like a razor. Not quite all that painful but it bleeds either way. ‘His girlfriend. This is- was our apartment. Now it’s just mine.’ ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know-’ ‘I know you didn’t. Steve isn’t much of a talker,’ you tell her. Peggy takes her glass and throws the drink back like you had and puts the glass down on the table but holds it close to herself so you can’t refill it. ‘Why are you so nice to me?’ You sigh, knowing this might hurt for her. You don’t know how she and Steve ended, no less how they were together. ‘Bucky send me a letter before he passed. He told me about you and I thought he had moved on. But now you’re here and you tell me he hasn’t.’ ‘Did I?’ You nod. ‘We broke up before the war and he told me it was unfair to make me wait. I told him to come back with a ring and we’d pretend it never happened.’ Peggy’s mouth falls ajar. ‘I just told you he still wanted to marry you.’ ‘And that’s better than I could’ve wished for.’

Peggy leaves the tiny apartment on the shabby end of Brooklyn with a strange pit in her stomach. It’s not mourning or sadness in general. It’s like reading the chapter of a book after one that had a cliffhanger. Steve had a girlfriend and he still loved her. Peggy can live with that. It makes it easier to say goodbye. It’s not lost love now because what they shared was never love, it’s a lost friendship. And mourning a friend sounds a whole of a lot better to her than mourning a man who almost married her.

[joaquinwhorres]

Blank Out - Ch. 2 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[ Masterlist ]

SUMMARY ››››› Bucky Barnes has a list of names–amends he needs to make. When he gets to yours, he finds the amends process a bit more…difficult than it should be.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,550-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› I’ve decided that this story calls for alternating perspectives. Also, lemme know what you think about how this explores post-End Game life.

"You know Bucky Barnes?!"

Rocio was upon you before you had even fully entered the dining room. Despite the fact that it was probably cutting off her circulation, the eight year old was still proudly wearing her "Soldier Arm". You were surprised she could even put it on anymore, a thought that brought on the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia. When the two of you had constructed the costume four years ago, you had needed to roll the ends of the glove up and then safety pin it to the top of Rocio's sleeve to keep it from sliding off. Now it didn't even reach her shoulder anymore.

"I never mentioned that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Rocio exclaimed

"Oh," you shrugged, rounding the table and passing by a wiggling Ravi in his booster seat.

Rocio fell into step behind you letting out an indignant and frustrated sound. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She had an amazing and irritating talent for both shouting and whining at the same time. You breathed out your annoyance through her nose.

"Rocio," you said, flatly. "Do you really think I know Bucky Barnes and kept it a secret from you?"

The little girl pouted for a second as she thought it over before slowly shaking her head. "You're not very good at keeping secrets."

"Hey," you pointed a finger at her.  "I never told anyone about your crush on Spider-Man did I?"

"I was six!"

"And yet, old enough to propose," you grinned, remembering finding the letter Rocio had addressed to Spider-Man with haphazardly spaced and sized letters. It had taken a few attempts to decipher some of the spelling, but it had proven excellent material to tease Rocio about for the past two years.

Your niece scowled at you and marched back to the table, dramatically throwing herself back into her chair.

You turned back to the stove and the probably cold eggs, smiling to yourself in victory. It was a brief moment of peace as you dished eggs onto three plates because the moment you popped the first one in the microwave, the interrogation started back up.

"Well, if you don't know him, why was he here?"

"He wanted to talk to me and your mom," you said, watching the eggs spin round and round.

"About what?"

"The weather."

"Y/N!" Rocio hit her hand against the table, causing Ravi to jump in his seat and stare at his sister with wide eyes.

You whirled on your niece. "Rocio Ishani, you know better."

"Sorry," Rocio mumbled, casting her eyes down to the table--one of her tells of genuine embarrassment and regret. The microwave beeped, and you sighed, switching the plate out for another one.

"I don't know what he wants to have a conversation about. He was here for three minutes and you did most of the talking. And even if I did know," you added on, stopping Rocio before words could come out of the little girl's open mouth. "I don't think it's a child friendly conversation. Which means when he comes, you're going to your room."

"He's coming back?"

You nodded. "When your mom comes to pick you up," you said, stopping the eggs with six seconds left on the clock. You took the two plates to the table, setting the hot one down in front of your seat and the warm one in front of Rocio. You raised your eyebrows at your niece, gesturing with your head to the kitchen before turning back to get Ravi's plate. Rocio trailed you in, pulling out the silverware drawer to get forks for the three of you and tearing off three paper towels as napkins. She still hadn't quite grasped that Ravi wouldn't be using a napkin however much he needed one. Instead, she ripped one half sheet into a quarter, as if that would convince him to use it in the same way that the small bright green fork convinced him to be somewhat civilized in his eating instead of using his hands.

It was a few more minutes before you were all at the table, ready to eat.

"Your arm, please," you said, gesturing to Rocio's glove. The little girl put up no fight, shimmying out of it and lightly laying it on the empty chair next to her, signature side up so she could admire it all of breakfast.

While the interrogation seemed to be over, talk of the Avengers was not. Most of the breakfast conversation revolved around ranking the Avengers from most powerful to least powerful, and most helpful to least helpful, and the ever ambiguous "best" to "worst." And then, as it did with young kids, talk bounced from subject  to subject--connected only by the vaguest semblance of eight year old logic. It ended with a request to watch Wild Kratts after breakfast.

You did.

You did a lot of other things after breakfast too.

You made and played with play dough and stopped when you noticed Ravi was alternating between building with his and eating it.

You each drew pictures for Lilly with varying degrees of realism, had a fashion show turned impromptu dance party, and played hide and seek during Ravi's nap. (Rocio was such a good hider that you hadn't found her until after Ravi woke up, and you were definitely looking very hard and not reading a book.)

You painted each other's nails, and built an epic race car track for Ravi and made individual pizzas.

You raked leaves outside and picked a few favorites to press in books and even found time to fit in a small hurt self/strong self activity before Lilly arrived.

You were in the middle of deconstructing eating your creations when the front door opened.

"Where is my family?"

You looked up with a smile and gestured towards the door, but Rocio remained put. "We're in here!" she shouted, fingers sticky with peanut butter and fluff.

Lilly sauntered into the room, her emerald green suit still pressed and wrinkleless despite a day on the job. She arched her perfectly threaded eyebrows as she looked at you and daughter and the table all covered in graham cracker crumbs. "Looks like you three had a good day."

"Yep!" Rocio chirped, and Lilly clicked forward and into the corner of the room where Ravi was playing with his two cars on a section of the track.

"How is it my two year old is the least messy of the three of you?" she asked, bending over to press a kiss to Ravi's head. He squirmed away, continuing to move his cars along the track.

You laughed as Rocio licked a finger clean of peanut butter. "Because Ravi takes after you, and Rocio takes after me," you said, grinning at Rocio. Lilly frowned and crossed back over to the girls. "Don't worry though, I think we're all adventured out, so tomorrow we're just going to sit and stare at the walls."

"No!" Rocio shouted, and Lilly hushed her.

You tilted your head as if thinking. "I guess we could wash my car," you said, tapping your chin with a finger. "And the baseboards do need some dusting."

Rocio let out a dramatic groan, and you laughed, picking up a napkin to rub away at the spot of marshmallow fluff on her chin.

"Well, if you're not going to clean my house, you can at least clean your hands."

Rocio gave you a look of exasperation that she should have been much too young to even think about giving. Nevertheless, she slid out of her chair and headed to the sink, Lilly stopping her en route so she could press a kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"How was work?" you asked as Lilly sunk into Rocio's vacated chair.

"People are idiots," Lilly rolled her eyes, giving a sigh.

"Says the literal genius," you returned, and Lilly snorted, shaking her head.

"It doesn't take a genius to follow simple instructions. I'll lay everything out for them, and even with pictures, they can't complete a single build without running into some potentially catastrophic error."

"That's not what you want to hear from the lead engineer at Stark Energy."

Rocio skipped back to the table, and Lilly scooched out her chair, gesturing for Rocio to come sit on her lap. The little girl veered off early though, instead attempting to climb into your lap. You shook her head, casting a quick glance at your sister who dropped her open arms.

"Your mom's missed you," you said, gesturing with her head across the table.

"I live with her," Rocio whined.

"And?" Lilly asked, moving her chair back up to the table. "I still miss you when I work."

"Really?" Rocio asked, walking over to the chair next to Lilly, and claiming it.

"Really," Lilly assured, placing an arm on the back of Rocio's chair, gently combing through her daughter's hair with her fingers. She looked up at you offering a small, weak smile before looking back down at her daughter. Her brow creased. "What are you sitting on?" she asked, tugging at something underneath Rocio. The little girl joined her mom in looking down, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the object.

"My Soldier Arm! Oh yeah! Guess who we met today!"

"Who?" Lilly asked.

"No, guess!"

You would have to teach your niece about the art of not playing a guessing game after making the answer so obvious. Then again, it still seemed so surreal that Bucky Barnes would turn up at your doorstep, that even with the "Soldier Arm", you doubted that Lilly would guess.

Lilly pursed her lips, putting on a show of thought. "Was it--"

There was a knock at the front door interrupting Lilly's guess. Rocio practically launched herself from the chair, already halfway out of the room by the time she could scream "I'll get it!"

"No!" Ravi shouted. His usual reaction when Rocio was too loud, too energetic, too Rocio.

Lilly exhaled a laugh at her son before turning back to you. "This was too much sugar," she said, circling a finger around Rocio's half-eaten creation. You laughed and Lilly smiled, and it felt nice for things to be normal between you--easy. Even if it was just for a moment.

A moment that was brought to a screeching halt by Rocio dragging Bucky Barnes into the combined kitchen and dining room by the hand.

"We met Bucky Barnes!" she chirped.

Lilly's face went slack, only managing to get out a small "Holy shit." Your eyes didn't linger long on your sister though. Instead your gaze was drawn to Bucky Barnes who looked vaguely amused at Rocio.

"Rocio, release your captive," you prompted, and reluctantly, Rocio released his hand, taking a few steps back towards her mother to give him some space.

"Is this--are you--what is happening here?" Lilly asked, looking between Bucky and you and Rocio, as if one of you had a reasonable explanation for this.You had only ever seen your sister this flustered twice before. Both of the previous occasions had been heartbreaking and traumatic, and you'd never quite gotten to experience how funny flustered Lilly was.

"He wants to talk to you and Y/N about something!" Rocio filled in.

Lilly's head whipped to you. "You know him?" she whispered, as if this was some secret conversation for your ears only.

You shook her head. "No, he just came by this morning and asked to speak with us."

"About what?" Lilly asked, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back to Bucky.

"I don't know."

For all of the differences between Lilly and Rocio--and there were many--their brain processing was eerily similar.

Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "I um--I don't know if you want--" he gestured to Rocio. "Here for this."

"Rocio, go to your ro--the playroom," you corrected.

"I promise I'll be quiet if you let me--" Rocio started, and Lilly cut her off.

"Rocio, take your brother and go up to the playroom please,"

"But--" Rocio's face melted into the start of a complaint, but there a sharp cut of her mother's eyes stopped her dead. You remembered being on the receiving end of that look quite a few times while she was growing up. If anything it'd grown in power.

Rocio stomped forward, taking Ravi by the hand who whined and complained until she let him pick up a few cars to take with him, and the two exited the room, heavy footsteps echoing up the staircase.

You turned back to Bucky who was staring over Lilly's head, at the wall of family pictures.

The idea had hit you four years ago after Rocio woke up crying from a nightmare. Together, you spent the night going through old photo albums and Facebook albums, searching for the best pictures of the family. You ended the night with about forty pictures that needed to be framed, and the whole project took about a week to finish.

Every time the two of you ate lunch together over the past four years, Rocio would choose a picture, and you would tell her the story behind the picture. Your eyes flitted amongst them now.

There was the first time Lilly held you as a baby which was also the first time you smiled. Lilly's high school graduation--one of the few pictures with both of your parents in it, hovering on either side of Lilly as a six year old you sat on her hip. Lilly and Hector's beautiful wedding day. Lilly and Hector at your high school graduation. Lilly and you at the baby shower for Rocio, and Lilly and Hector at the shower for Ravi. There was one of Rocio's grandparents meeting her for the first time, and a good number of photos documenting your visits out to the family. Before the blip.

During your four years together, you and Rocio had also taken pictures of memories the family couldn't be there for and hung them on the wall; reminders of stories to tell should they ever return.

Rocio and you moving into a new house.

Rocio's first day of Kindergarten, first, and second grade.

The two of you and Rocio's ill-fated hamster, Churro.

Birthday parties and day trips that the rest of the family should have attended.

Bucky stared at the pictures, his frown deepening.

"Would you like to sit?" Lilly invited, allowing her collected professional persona to seep into her voice and straighten her spine.

The super soldier nodded, choosing the chair at the end of the table, closest to the door. He wet his lips, his eyes drawn from the pictures and down to the wooden table. It was strange seeing an Avenger--someone who had fought Thanos--seem so nervous in the company of two ordinary women.

He reminded you of the fourth graders who entered your office.

The fourth graders were always so hesitant to work with you--terrified of opening up and showing even a glimpse of vulnerability. It took three sessions just to get them to admit that they weren't fine and a few more before they lost the skittish look in their eyes. You doubted Bucky would be pried open by bags of chips or any of her fidgets, but figured you could at least try.

"Can I get you something to drink?" you asked, and Bucky shook his head.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time."

You nodded, and Lilly cocked her head. "So what brings an Avenger to my sister's house?"

He wet his lips and then looked up at the pair of you. "You're part of my efforts to make amends." Bucky made an attempt at a smile.

Across the table, Lilly's chest constricted with barely suppressed laughter, and the corners of your lips twitched in and out of a smile. Whoever had advised him to smile, surely hadn't meant for him to smile like that.

"What are you here to make amends for?" Lilly asked, her voice steady and betraying none of her amusement.

"I…" his eyes drifted back to the wall of pictures looming beside the group. "I'm the one responsible for your parents death."

You felt the world stop.

Or maybe it wasn't the world, maybe you stopped. Maybe every single atom within you stilled for a moment. Maybe your brain shut down and heart paused its beating, keeping you from thinking or feeling anything other than the numbness of shock. Because as surprising as it was for Bucky Barnes to show up on your doorstep at ten in the morning, you never expected he was responsible for changing your entire life.

"I know there's nothing, I could ever do to truly make amends--"

"You don't need to make amends."

Everything seemed to restart then. Your heart picked up its beating and brain whirred into action, sifting through memories and thoughts you'd long ago pushed to the back of your mind and locked there to remain untouched even by years of therapy.

Your skin prickled with flashes of images. The dark figure at the top of the staircase, the glint of metal you'd assumed was a gun in his hand, the cold blankness of his stare as his eyes bore into yours. And then the horror and sick relief of finding your parents in the moments after his disappearance.

"They were horrible people, and I'm glad they're dead. Thank you for salvaging my childhood"

"Y/N," Lilly gasped, horrified.

"You hated them too," you argued back. "Don't pretend you're not glad that Rocio and Ravi never have to meet them."

"Our relationship with our parents aside, they were still our parents. The least we can do is not thank the man who murdered them in their sleep."

Bucky for his part looked completely bewildered as his eyes darted between the two arguing sisters.

You shook your head. "You were more of a parent to me than they ever were."

"And it's because of that that I remember you waking up screaming every night for three years. So if you're not going to ask for amends for our parents' murder, at least ask for amends for what you had to go through because of him."

"My nightmares aren't because of him," you dismissed. Lilly would never believe--let alone understand--the reason behind your nightmares.

Seeing the argument was fruitless, Lilly tsked and dismissed you with a flip of her hair, turning instead to address Bucky. "Why?"

"Why…" Bucky stumbled along, confused by the conversational whiplash or the vague question.

"Why did you kill our parents?" Lilly demanded.

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"It matters to me."

You stared at your sister for a solid thirty seconds before, and shutting your eyes and bowing your head in surrender. Lilly didn't understand. If you had it your way, Lilly would never understand. You would never burden your sister like that.

Bucky swallowed hard. "I wasn't told the specifics of every...assignment. All I know is that your parents were working on something HYDRA wanted, and when they were offered a chance to join the cause, they declined. I was tasked with eliyoution and retrieval."

"Retrieval?" Lilly pressed

"Of their research."

Lilly gave him a single nod before looking down at the table in front of her. "I didn't even know they were conducting their own research."

You felt her skin prickle, an icy hot sensation shooting through your veins. Carefully calm, you reached across the table, palms open for your sister's hands. Lilly placed her hands into yours. "They never let us get to know them," you said gently, squeezing Lilly's hands. "That's why I'm angry and you're hurt."

Even as you said this, you could feel Bucky's gaze on you, intently studying your motions and facial expressions.

You looked back at him. "Thank you for coming to tell us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."

He nodded, his brow still slightly creased as he looked at her. And then his gaze flicked to Lilly, and you released a breath.

"I know it doesn't mean much--it doesn't change anything, but I'm not the person who did that anymore. I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am James "Bucky" Barnes."

Lilly nodded, releasing your hands and looking Bucky square in the face. Her own expression was completely neutral, not a trace of a tear or any of the hurt she'd voiced.

"If you want to make amends, you should come here for Thanksgiving."

Neither you nor Bucky had been expecting that. Your instinctive reaction was to snort out a laugh as if it were a joke, and Bucky looked like the very dictionary definition of confusion: brow knitted together, eyes narrowed, mouth hanging open.

"It would mean the world to my daughter. You can think about it as replacing a memory of my daughter meeting her grandparents. you's right, this will probably be a happier memory anyway."

"You have to come!" Rocio rushed into the room, you and Lilly shouting her name in a mixture of surprise, horror, and reprimand. The eight year old made no excuses or explanations. Instead she stood by Bucky's chair, peering up at him with a bright intensity only a child could muster. "Please."

Bucky looked away from Rocio to Lilly and then you. "Ok."

[dreaminpetals]

this idea has been giving me slight brainworms so here it is: eli getting intimate with his s/o and instead of moaning their name he moans out gertrude's name then the fallout that follows

🗯 eli moans gertrude's name by accident . . .

art credit

♡ eli had been suspiciously forward with you today, clinging to you and grinding on you ever so slightly when he had the chance.

♡ he didn't budge when you asked what was wrong, all he did was pull you closer, remove his blindfold, and plead with his eyes for you to help him somehow.

♡ several failed attempts at deciphering what was bothering him lead to you palming him through his nightwear, butterfly kisses being planted down his neck and to his shoulder where you nuzzled the soft flesh. he was leaning into your touch, his pained whines from earlier being replaced with pleased, desperate ones.

♡ once you tugged his pants down his thighs, the chilly night air hitting between his legs pulled a hiss from his lips.

♡ "ahhh...hnnn...gertrude..." broke your reverie in an instant.

♡ gertrude.

♡ his fiancé before arriving at the manor.

♡ the woman he told you not to worry about, because he only has eyes for you now.

♡ you flinched where you sat and retracted your hands, only for eli to grab them and attempt to shift them back to his lap.

♡ "gertrude, pl-please... don't go..."

♡ he did it a second time?

♡ you assumed he must be playing a prank on you, but he seemed so genuine. so at peace as the thoughts of gertrude got him off. you felt tears brim at your eyes as you shouted that you weren't gertrude and that he had to leave right now.

♡ when your voice pierced his ears, his eyes widened in shock. his entire face went beet red as he blubbered out apologies and hiked his pants back up. the furious look in your eye wracked shivers down eli's spine, he knew there was no going back from what he had done.

♡ you shook with sobs as thoughts of not being good enough for eli pulsed through your head. he attempted to rest a reassuring hand on your shoulder but was chased out by two grief-stricken words: "just go."

♡ for the next few days, eli repeatedly tried to pull you aside in the manor to speak with you, or he had someone else ask you to see him. you rejected their advances. eli chose between you and gertrude that night. he chose her.

♡ letters delivered by victor piled up at your doorstep. naib couldn't rescue you without urging you to see eli. norton couldn't heal you without mentioning how the seer has a broken heart.

♡ eli was a good man, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, but you couldn't handle being in gertrude's shadow. how many times has he almost moaned her name? when his voice was muffled by a pillow, has he said it then? in his sleep? when you walked away did he call out a 'bye gertrude'?

♡ when he looked at you, did he even see you? or did he see her?

♡ the girls of the manor were the ones who had your back (even if reader isnt fem). when you vented to them about eli, they nodded in pained understanding and invited you to their girls nights.

♡ the only one who didn't agree with the pack was patricia. she told you a story while decoding. when she was little and lost her mother, she would constantly call her adopted mother the name of her birth mother by accident. it didn't mean she preferred her birth mother, just that she missed her.

♡ patricia also informed you that while picking herbs, she saw eli distraught at the manor's outdoor fountain. she told you it was unusual for the seer to be this crestfallen and inconsolable, even if you were seething you should still check in on him.

♡ mike overheard your conversation and told you he occasionally refers to his teammates as his costars from the hullabaloo circus, it's just motor memory and your brain not thinking straight. like how someone swears when the hunter knocks them down, you don't think about swearing. it just happens. he didn't know eli that well but he had always thought you two were a brilliant couple and wanted you to thrive.

♡ you agreed to see him, a pang of guilt hitting your heart as you thought about the condition eli was in. maybe you were too harsh.

♡ exiting the manor at night and heading to the fountain, you heard the distant sound of sniffling. it was eli, slumped over on the fountain holding an echo. he tossed it in the water to make a wish.

♡ "i wish that... y/n has a wonderful life, surrounded with love, even if i blew my chance. i just want her to be happy."

♡ eli's voice raspy from crying broke your heart in two. you silently took a seat beside him, dipping your hands in the cool water.

♡ a gasp fell from his lips when he saw you. your eyes met his blindfolded ones. his lips were stretched into a tight line as he thought of what to say to you. pulling down his blindfold, he revealed to you that his eyes were bloodshot and damp from tears.

♡ "...it was her birthday," eli croaked out. "i wasn't projecting, i promise you can't be compared to her, i was just... stressed, thinking about how she'd be alone." he couldn't dare to look at you. "i hope you'll forgive me."

♡ your words caught in your throat and your mind went straight to your conversation with patricia and mike. your boyfriend wanted to be intimate with you so he'd forget something stressful that was eating away at him and you made him think he'd lost a lover again... you felt like a jerk. "i promise it's okay eli, i'm sorry for blowing up."

♡ he perked up at your answer. "y-your reaction was reasonable, don't apologize... now, are we still..?" he made a heart shape with his hands that made you weak in the knees.

♡ pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and feeling his breath hitch, you smiled with your lips on his skin. "we are, i'd never want to leave you. i've got you eli, always and forever," his cheeks burnt underneath yours. pulling away, he grabbed your wrist like he did when the incident first happened.

♡ "don't go y/n... i can think of a way to make everything up to you."

[volantium]

your doorstep calls my name aka soft boys painting each others nails 

for @venomondenim 🖤

also available on ao3

The thing is, Peter’s noticed, is that Harley’s always got chipped nail polish.

It begins out as a fresh coat, clean and without a single mark marring the shiny surface. But it doesn’t take long—usually only a couple of hours—before it starts flaking off. Harley never seems to notice, or mind. It chips because Harley’s so hands on, no matter what he’s doing. The likely cause is the fact that he’s always in the lab, and both of them know you aren’t meant to be wearing nail polish with all the state-of-the-art tech Tony lets them play with.

But Peter’s noticed when Harley’s tapping his fingers against the kitchen bench, and it chips off in small terrazzo pieces. Or how Harley will pick at his fingers when he’s nervous, and it peels back underneath the curve of his nail. Peter doesn’t know what any of this means, that he has this knowledge lurking in the back of his head. It’s just another Harley-ism he’s taken stock of, analysed and put into the drawer of everything else he knows about his best friend, and thusly resolutely and absolutely not thought about again.

He almost always wears black nail polish. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times Harley’s had bright yellow or red fingernails. It follows, logically, that this only occurs whenever Harley’s looking after Morgan.

The thing is, Peter thinks, as he watches one such time, Morgan painting careful lines of bright purple half on Harley’s thumb nail and half on his skin, is that he wouldn’t mind if that was him instead.

Peter’s never had nail polish on before.

He wonders what it’s like.

This thought sits with him for the next few weeks, as he watches Harley chip his black nail polish without a care in the world. Would it be okay if he asked Harley? Would it be okay if he asked why it’s always black? Would it be okay if he asked Harley to paint his nails, maybe, just once, so he knows what it’s like?

They’re hanging out after class one day, supposedly studying for their upcoming midterms, but Harley’s sat at his desk with a bottle of black nail polish and is slowly rubbing off the remnants of his last paintjob with a cotton pad. Peter’s leaning with his back to the wall on Harley’s bed, watching him from across the room, his biology exam notes spread around him.

He watches Harley carefully tip the bottle of acetone upside down so it soaks the cotton pad and presses it to his nail. Peter knows he’ll leave it for a little while, so the chemicals break down the polish, he’s watched Harley do this often enough that he knows black’s hard to get off.

Peter takes a breath, steeling himself for reasons he doesn’t even know.

“Harl?” He calls, just slightly louder than the music playing from Harley’s computer.

Harley doesn’t look back when he replies. “Yeah, darlin’?”

It’s been years of Harley calling him darling in that honeyed accent of his, Peter’s used to it, but like everything else that Peter resolutely and absolutely doesn’t think about, this time it makes something swoop low in his stomach and butterfly settle high amongst his rib cage.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Harley says, and even from across the room Peter can see a hint of a smirk flirt across his face. “But you can ask another.”

Peter isn’t in the mood to deal with smarmy Harley James Keener attitude right now. Too focused on the fact that this is finally his chance to figure out Harley just a little bit more.

“Why do you wear nail polish?”

He can tell Harley wasn’t expecting that particular question in the way his shoulders tense and he goes still.

But this is Harley—Harley should know why he’s asking.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” he rambles anyways, because Harley still hasn’t said anything. “I just wanted to know, you don’t have to tell me, like you’ve done it the entire time we’ve known each other, I think it’s cool—”

“Peter, darlin’,” Harley interjects, fond amusement colouring his voice. “Calm down.”

Peter takes a breath, lets it out. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

Peter’s shoulders slump when Harley remains quiet for the following minute, only for Harley to get up from his desk and make his way over towards the bed, settling in amongst Peter’s textbooks and worksheets and the green bedsheets. 

“Because my dad always hated it,” is what Harley eventually says.

“Oh.”

It’s kind of half the answer Peter was expecting. He knows enough, between Tony and what Harley’s told him, to connect the dots.

“I’m sorry.”

“Darlin’,” Harley says, looking at him with those sea-blue eyes. “You gotta stop apologising for stuff that ain’t your fault.”

Peter flushes. “Do you think you could paint mine? I’ve never done it before.”

“I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t want black though, right?”

“Do you have any pastels?” Peter asks, in a smaller voice than he means to.

Harley nods. “I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere, I usually save ‘em for Morgan or Abby.”

Harley stands up to go find them, and Peter starts nervously playing with the fraying hem of his hoodie. It’s a faded red and too large and has Rose Hill High scrawled across it in big block letters and not his hoodie at all.

This is when it clicks—the oh moment in his head, that maybe he likes Harley just a bit more than friends should.

Harley returns in the midst of this revelation, setting the handful of coloured polishes down on his bedside table, clinking as the glass bottles knock against each other.

Peter wonders how his world hasn’t been tipped upside down and come to a grinding halt, too.

“This was all I could find,” Harley says, sitting across from him on the bed. “Gonna look like you dipped your hand in a bag of Easter eggs.”

He’s right—there’s pale pinks and blues and yellows like right out of a candy store, but Peter loves them.

“No, it’s fine. They’re nice colours.”

Harley smiles at him, bright and beautiful, and Peter has to marvel, just a bit how he didn’t realise before the depth of his feelings.

“Give me your hand.”

Peter holds his hand out for Harley to take. They’ve held hands before—Peter’s a tactile person—but there’s something new about this, the way Harley gently twists his fingers around so he can paint them comfortably and correctly.

“What colour do you want me to start with?” Harley asks, quiet, his voice barely a rumble in his chest.

Peter looks up at him. Harley’s looking down at his hand and back at the colours on the table every now and again, like he’s thinking of the perfect pattern for Peter’s nails. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is starting to set; it floods the room in a wash of orange-gold, and in the sunlight Harley glows. The freckles across his nose, the faint blonde in his hair gilded and shining, and the clear crystal of his eyes, hidden ever so slightly beneath gold eyelashes. It makes Peter a little breathless, just looking at him.

“You chose,” Peter finally says, maybe a little but too long after Harley asked. “You know more than me.”

Harley sweeps the pad of his thumb over Peter’s fingernail, just enough that it catches amongst the groves of his fingerprint.

“Yeah, okay,” Harley says, and reaches for the yellow.

They sit in silence as Peter watches Harley paint his nails. Yellow on his thumb, then egg-blue on his forefinger. The pale millennial pink goes on his middle finger, then blue, then yellow again.

Harley’s moved onto Peter’s other hand by the time Peter figures out how to say it.

“Harley?”

Harley hums in acknowledgement, too busy concentrating on painting his nail blue without leaving streaks.

“I really like you,” Peter confesses.

Harley gives a short laugh, still doesn’t look up. “I’d hope so, we are best friends, right, Parker?”

“No,” he says, and waits until Harley stops painting and lifts his head. “I like you like you.”

“Oh, okay,” Harley gives a simple shake of his shaggy blonde head, and goes back to painting Peter’s nails with careful concentration. “I like you like you, too.”

Peter blinks. “Don’t just say that.”

“I’m not.”

“Harley.” “Peter,” Harley parrots, finally looking up at him. “Have you met you? Of course, I like you, dumbass.”

“You’re the worst, Keener.”

Harley smirks once more. “No, I’m not. You like me like me.”

“I—” Peter starts, cutting himself off, because Harley’s leaning closer.

“Peter,” Harley says, his voice soft and low. “Can I kiss you?”

Peter nods, unable to speak, and then—

Harley kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s sweet and it’s not at all how Peter imagined his first kiss with a boy would be. But it’s Harley and that counts for something. Harley’s hand comes up to cup his jaw, light and tender, and Peter has to remind himself he currently has wet pastel paint on his nails and can’t sink his hands into Harley’s hair without tragedy occurring.

Harley tilts his head, thumb sweeping across Peter’s cheekbone, deepening the kiss just enough that those butterflies in Peter’s stomach all fly off at once.

“So,” Harley says, after they pull back and the both of them smile like fools. “Do you wanna paint my nails?”

“They’ll look bad.”

“No they won’t,” Harley disagrees, and, because he knows that Peter likes him likes him, says, “They’ll be perfect, ‘cause it’s you.”

Peter leans forward to brush a shy kiss to Harley’s cheek, and reaches for the black nail polish.

[bellemorte180]

AH AU

Klaus and Caroline were college sweethearts that got married right after they graduated college. Their marriage last a year before things spiral out of control. Something bad happens (nothing like a death of a child or infidelity) and Caroline leaves.

Yet, they never file for divorce.

Klaus has no idea where his wife had gone or what happened but he starts getting post cards in the mail. Caroline is traveling the world, something they said they would do together. At first they are just postcards but they then progress to photos she has taken, until she starts writing him letters.

The letters are basically her recounting how much she still loves him but understands if he could never forgive her for leaving. Klaus reads each and every one but never contacts her; because he knows she needs time and that yes, he is angry.

Until Liz gets sick.

Klaus never shut off Caroline's phone. He knows she still uses it but he never once contacted her. He is not sure if she still spoke with Liz (but Liz hinted that she heard from her from time to time). He decides to send her a message letting her know. One day, when he comes around to Liz's to check on her, Caroline is there.

It is really strange at first because neither want to talk about what happened, especially with Liz needing them. They care for her, Caroline stays with her mother while Klaus goes back to the same townhouse they had when they married.

It isn't until one late night, close to 3 am, Caroline calls him. Liz had a bad night and she just needs to talk. They talk under the stars and Klaus asks her why she left.

"Mystic Falls just felt suffocating. I need an out and..."

"What?"

"I felt like you didn't love anymore."

"I never stopped loving you Caroline. I don't think that I have it in me to never love you."

Liz passes away and Caroline packs up her home and gets it ready for selling; along with settle all her affairs. Klaus helps her through the whole process, knowing that she may be leaving again. A few days after the funeral, Caroline goes to the townhouse, noting a few changes here and there (the crack in the wall that drove her nuts was fixed, or how he bought a new fridge, painted the living room her favorite color) and things snap. They end up in bed together, the same bed they had shared when they lived together.

Afterward, Caroline asked if there had been anyone since she left and he tells her no. That he tried to date but nothing stuck; to which she replies with something similar. Klaus asks her to stay and she hesitates, telling Klaus that she has no plans to stay.

"I don't think I can. I just....I can't be here."

"Then at least let me take you to the air port this time."

Klaus drives her to the airport and stays until he sees her plane take off. He goes back to the townhouse and his life. He walks around Mystic Falls, and it feels lifeless. He realizes that this is not home. His siblings maybe there (or in NOLA- idk) but with Liz, the only good mother figure he had, is not gone and Caroline never coming back, he realizes that he doesn't want to be there either.

Unlike before, Klaus and Caroline talk on the phone. She tells him she is in Paris, staying in a small Air B&B and got a job at a small cafe (odd jobs was how she was supporting herself while writing her adventures in a book she one day hopes to publish).

"Those years of studying French paid off then, Sweetheart?"

"Well, I suppose if I want to put down roots, Paris isn't the worst place."

Hearing that she wants to put down roots, caused Klaus to make a decision. He leaves his job (I feel like he worked as an art teacher- but has a trust fund too) and packs up the townhouse and leaves Mystic Falls. He never tells her what he is doing. He shows up on her doorstep in Paris. Her eyes grow wide but lets him in.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need your signature."

At first, Caroline thought they would be divorce papers but finds that he needs her signature in order to sell the town house. She gives him a confused look, not understanding what he was saying. He had loved that townhouse when they first toured it, she had never thought he would sell it.

"Well, I quite my job at the high school. Thought I would give painting an honest go. What better place than Paris?"

[sebthesnipe]

Together (My First Anxceit Fic)

Anxceit Fluff was requested... I attempted and failed. Well, kinda. It's a bit fluffy...

They really didn't want to cooperate.

Ship: Anxiety

For Mage_Ofthe_East on AO3 who is vastly supportive of my writing <3 I did my best. I'm sorry if its not as fluffy as it should be. <3 I think you'll still like it though.

Master List

AO3

TW: Alternate Ending has Major Character Death, Old Age, Children

“No! I don’t wanna go!” Virgil cried, pulling hard on his father’s hand, desperate to get away.

“Virgil! That is enough!” his father grumbled in frustration as he dragged him along towards the school’s double doors. “You have to go to school. All big boys do.”

“I don’t want to be a big-“

“What happened to your eye?” a small voice asked, cutting Virgil off and pulling his attention to the young boy waiting at the top of the steps.

Virgil sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his father pulled to a stop in front of the open doors.

A tall man in a dark blue polo and tie stood holding open the door and eyeing Virgil and his father evenly. Next to him stood the boy, only a few inches taller than Virgil, and certainly not that much older.

The side of the boy’s face was discolored with something that looked like an ‘angel kiss’, at least that was what Virgil’s father called it.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Virgil asked in return, the tears that had been running down his cheeks starting to dry up at the question.

“Virgil!” his father gasped.

“It’s quite alright,” the blue polo man reassured before turning back to the boy next to him. “Janus, why don’t you answer him? You did ask him a question first. It is only fair.”

The discolored boy eyed Virgil with a look far too similar to the blue polo man’s.

“It’s called Vitiligo,” he stated in a pompous tone. “It is a skin condition that causes its host to lose pig-eh-men-tation on certain parts of their bodies.”

“Very good,” the blue polo man praised.

“Thank you, Papa!” Janus chirped with a grin, glancing up at the man in question before sticking his tongue out at Virgil.

Virgil rolled his mismatched eyes. “Yeah, well, mine is… is… Heta… Heta-cha-o-nia-“

“Heterochromia, kiddo,” Virgil’s father offered affectionately.

“YEAH! That thing!” Virgil nodded.

“Pft,” Janus scoffed. “Whatever, I’m going to go play in the art room,” he informed his papa, striding into the school with his nose upturned.

Virgil stared after him. Virgil really liked art… And he supposed the other kid was interesting.

“You’re more than welcome to join him, Virgil,” Janus’ papa informed him.

Virgil looked up at his own father for reassurance, earning a slight nod before Virgil rushed after him.

“Wait for me!!!”

……………………………………………………………….

“What a nerd!” Janus' deep voice scoffed as he peered out the window.

Virgil glanced up from the magazine he had been flipping through, not that he was actually paying attention to it. His blue and green gaze landed on the two possible culprits of Janus’ current insult.

“Which one?” Virgil asked, with very little interest as he took in the Prince brothers.

Roman’s broad shoulders filled out his letterman jacket quite well, while Remus’ seemed a few sizes too big as he hung from a branch above his brother’s head. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“Does it matter?” Janus asked lazily, giving a shrug, his own letterman lifting and falling with the motion.

“Just curious as to whose heart you’re breaking next,” Virgil teased playfully.

“Shut it,” Janus laughed, shoving his friend out of his chair. “You’re just jealous! It’s not my fault no one wants to date a racoon!”

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings,” Virgil teased back, rubbing his newly bruised. “I’m serious though, I rather not have to avoid them both for the rest of our lives. They live next door to me you know?”

“The rest of our lives?” Janus asked with an arched brow.

“Well, yeah,” Virgil shrugged, climbing back into his seat. “Let’s face it, we’ve been friends this long… You’re kind of stuck with me for good now.” He tried not to flush as he spoke the sentimental words.

Janus stared at him for a long moment, making Virgil shift uncomfortably.

“Gross,” he hissed, though his Vitiligo stretched as he smiled affectionately.

“Your face!” Virgil retorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, your mom!” Janus spat back.

…………………………………………………

“You don’t get a say in it!” Janus spat at him angrily, throwing another perfectly folded shirt into his suitcase.

“I think I should!” Virgil snapped back. “I’m only your best friend !”

“You were my best friend!” Janus growled, moving to back another article of clothing.

“Don’t give me that crap, Janus! You’re just mad because you don’t want to hear reason!” Virgil argued, ignoring the sting of his words.

“Reason?! Ha!” Janus laughed mirthlessly. “The only reason I’m hearing from you is jealousy!”

“Me?! Jealous?! Of what?!”

Janus tossed in one more pair of slacks before slamming the case close and rounding on his friend.

“Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Janus offered sarcastically.

“Chronologically,” Virgil replied, calling him out.

Janus hesitated before giving a grimace. “How about that I’ve always been smarter than you! It’s not my fault you didn’t get accepted into a good college-“

“I didn’t apply!” Virgil argued, not willing to admit that he had been waiting to find out which college Janus was getting accepted to before following him.

“Or how about the fact that all your relationships end in disaster?” Janus added, turning to zip the case.

“I broke up with them!” Virgil reminded, ignoring the way his heart was pounding painfully.

“How about the fact that I am not content to stay in this tiny ass town, following tiny ass dead-end jobs and spend all my time wasting away with you !”

Silence fell between them.

Virgil’s gaze widened at that, chest feeling as if it had just been cracked open.

“I… See,” he mumbled, feeling his ribs heaving.

“Listen,” Janus sighed, realizing what he had said, his expression softening. “Remus is a good guy. We’ve been together a long time. I mean… he’s the reason I stayed as long as I have but… With Roman gone he’s willing to move and… I can’t miss this opportunity Virg… I’m sorry.” With that, Janus pulled his suitcase off the bed and headed for the door without a backwards glance, leaving Virgil to sink slowly to the floor, tears staining his cheeks as he watched his friend’s silhouette disappear around the corner.

………………………

“I know, right?” Virgil laughed, taking another long sip of his drink as he glanced over at his date.

It was a clear crisp night. Perfect for their walk back to his place. How long had they been dating now? Two months? Three?

“I thought he was going to choke! If you saw his face-“ Virgil’s voice cut off.

The silhouette of a man, dimly lit by the porch light, standing on Virgil’s doorstep caught his attention.

“Who is that?” his date’s voice echoed in his ear.

Virgil didn’t register the words.

His cup slid from his hand, hitting pavement and splattering his jeans.

“Virgil?” his date asked, still not receiving an answer.

Virgil paid them no mind, body seeming to turn on autopilot as he strode up the walkway, eyes glued to the outline of the man as if worried he might be a figment of his imagination.

It wouldn’t be the first time…

Virgil needed to know he was real…

Needed to know he was actually there...

“Hey-” Janus whispered, voice dripping with sadness, cut off as the breath was knocked out of him.

Virgil’s arms wrapped around Janus’ slender form, squeezing him so tight Janus felt as if he would break.

A moment later, Virgil pulled back, his multicolored gaze taking in the streaks that split the dirty smudges on his old friend’s cheeks, and the way his pleading eyes met his.

He had been crying? Janus? That certainly wasn’t the prideful image-driven man, Virgil remembered.

Years had passed since their falling out, neither willing to reach out to the other. Virgil had, of course, checked in other man from time to time through social media and family, but he was sure Janus had never known that.

“I assume this is a bad time?” Janus asked, peering past Virgil towards his date.

Virgil paid it no mind.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Janus tensed at the question, studying Virgil’s expression in turn before tears began to well up again.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the taller man once more, pulling him close as Janus’ fingers curled into his hoodie, sobs raking his body.

…………………………………………………..

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, watching Janus examine himself in the mirror.

“It’s just one date, Virg,” Janus reminded with a smirk.

“Your first date,” Virgil countered. “First since-“

“It’s just one date, Virgil,” Janus insisted, cutting him off. “Now, how do I look?”

He turned to face the shorter man, straightening his tie as he did so.

“Like someone vomited yellow on your funeral suit,” Virgil grumbled, grimacing as he sat cross legged on the bed.

“Perfect,” Janus grinned in return. “I’ll be perfectly dressed for when I knock him dead.”

“Just don’t expect me to give the eulogy,” Virgil groaned.

“Like I’d trust you with anything more than handing out pamphlets,” Janus chuckled, picking up a pillow from the floor and tossing it at him.

“For the record, at your funeral, I’m bringing cake and icecream!” Virgil called after him as Janus headed for the door. “Throwing a block party!”

“Oh please! You need friends for that!” Janus called over his shoulder.

…………………………………………

Janus was exhausted.

A double shift with no lunch break. He was fairly certain that was illegal…

He stumbled into the house, tossing the keys onto the side table before calling out for his roommate.

“Virgil? I hope you left me some-“ He paused at the sight of the small to-go container sitting on the bar with his name scrawled on it in thick black messy lettering.

A smile played on his lips as he took the box and headed for the living room. Crappy food and some dull documentary sounded like the perfect end to such a long day.

He paused, Virgil’s snores drifting to him from the study.

Shifting directions, Janus peered into the room, catching sight of the cheap ‘Happy Birthday’ decorations strung across the bookcases and the small cake (which Virgil had obviously already began to enjoy) sitting on the table that read ‘Ha- Bir- Janus!’ in bright yellow, the words cut off by the large chunk missing from the sweet.

His eyes fell on Virgil’s sleeping form draped across the large arm chair, party hat covering one eye as he mouth hung open, crumb covered plate still resting atop his chest as it rose and fell.

Janus’ heart clenched and realization struck him as the walls seemed to shake with the sheer volume of Virgil’s breathing.

He was in love with Virgil Sanders!

…………………………………………………………………………….

“That’s not funny, Janus!” Virgil snapped, glaring at his friend.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Janus agreed simply.

“You’re fucking insane!” Virgil accused.

“I completely agree,” he nodded.

“Stop being so agreeable, damn it!” Virgil snapped.

“Only when you state something I can disagree with,” Janus countered.

“What will your dad say?!” Virgil asked.

“Papa will probably agree with me,” Janus offered calmly.

“But I never said that I-“ Virgil cut himself off, flabbergasted by the entire situation, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“You never had to Virgil,” Janus offered, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him as he watched his room mate frantically pace across the room. “I’ve always known.”

Virgil pinned him with a testy glare, his frustration only intensifying at the knowing smirk Janus offered.

“Then you are the one that’s lost their mind!” Virgil accused.

“Or found it, depending on your perspective,” Janus offered.

“No! Absolutely not!” Virgil answered, shaking his head.

“Why?” Janus asked simply.

“Well… Well… Because…” Virgil stammered.

“Because it wasn’t your idea?” Janus asked.

“What?! No! It was my idea!” Virgil paused as he realized what he had said and backtracked. “Well, originally… before… you know…”

“Good, then we’re in agreement.” Janus gave a curt nod, standing and straightening his coat.

“What?! But I never-“

“You did say it was your idea to get married originally,” Janus pointed out, “and I am agreeing with you now. Therefore it is set. October is a nice month to have a wedding, don’t you think?” he asked, already heading out of the room.

Virgil sank into the chair Janus had just vacated, utterly and completely confused… and yet happy beyond belief.

……………………………………………

“Are you sure?” Virgil whispered softly, peering over his husband’s shoulder.

“More than I have ever been in my life,” Janus nodded, bouncing the small child currently wrapped snugly in his arms.

Virgil didn’t need telling twice. “Alright then,” he nodded, turning to the desk next to them and signing his name.

“Logan Patton Dee, Fathers: Janus Alexander Dee and Virgil Edward Dee,” he whispered softly.

He slid the paper across the polished wood with a grin.

“It’s official,” the woman nodded with a kind smile, stamping the paper and moving to make copies. “Congratulations, to the three of you. There will be monthly check ins but I am certain everything will be as it should be.”

“Just as it should be,” Janus agreed with a nod, still peering dreamily down at their son’s face.

……………………………………………………

“I'm a serious Dad! You should have seen her!” Logan laughed, waving his hands in the air. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that, gray hair falling loosely into his face.

“You think Papa will like her?” Logan asked, finally glancing up at his father, brows furrowing in worry.

“She sounds like a very smart girl,” Virgil offered.

“Oh, she’s a genius Dad! Way smarter than me! Fiery too!” He went on. “She makes me the happiest man in the world.”

“Then I think he’ll adore her,” he reassured. “Is that right, love?” he asked, glancing over Logan’s shoulder at Janus as the man approached, his own salt and pepper locks groomed neatly down.

Logan started, turning quickly in his seat to stare up in surprise at the man in question.

“Hmph,” Janus huffed, with an upturn of his nose. “We’ll see.”

……………………………….

“Grandpa!” Valerie cried, climbing onto Virgil’s lap, his wheelchair rocking slightly with the force.

“Oof! Easy Val, if your Pawpaw sees you in my lap, he’ll have my head,” Virgil teased, tickling the little girls' sides playfully.

“That I will!” Janus teased, appearing at Virgil’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked happy to see the young girl, despite his threat.

“Pawpaw! Will you come watch me and Leo swim?” she asked excitedly, peering up pleadingly at Janus and causing his features to soften even more.

“In a bit, dear. I need to take Grandpa here back upstairs for a nap.”

“Who are you calling grandpa, old man?” Virgil growled at his husband playfully, helping Valerie climb off his lap. She gave him a big hug before hurrying off to play with her brother.

“You, grandpa,” Janus teased with a chuckle, “Come on, I’ll even lay down with you if you promise no to snore so loudly.”

“Ha!” Virgil barked. “Good luck with that. A forty year steak isn’t going to stop now!”

The End (of the fluff anyways)...

[[[This is the end of the fluff.

Continue at your own risk. Alternate NON-FLUFF ending in next chapter.

YOU WILL CRY!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]]]

Alternate Ending:

Janus brushed away the loose grass and dirt the marred the headstone, clearing the words

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’ etched in marble.

The dark stone of the plot next to him lay empty, waiting for Janus to join him in his eternal slumber, but the man paid it no mind as he emptied the vase of dead flowers and replaced them with the new ones he had brought.

“There,” Janus hummed proudly. “Much better. You always were a slob, you know,” he teased. “Though I suppose it comes with being part racoon.”

He laughed, the sound falling a bit flat as tears welled in his eyes.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “The kids do too. Logan promises he’ll visit but you know how those things go…”

…………………………………

“I miss you,” Logan mumbled, pulling out the dead flowers from the vase and replacing them with fresh ones. “Both of you…”

He peered down at the double plot.

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’

‘Janus Alexander Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’.

“The kids do too. Though, they’re still a bit young to really understand. You know how those things go…”