#hella proud of how this title card turned out

[gallusrostromegalus]

Second AEIWAM question: does Orihime get a sword?

Like, not even a zanpakuto, just a sword, because I like giving pretty girls swords.

Uhhhhhh... Kinda?

NSFWish Spoilers With a Warning for Gore, Teeth and Blood ad NO Context Below The Cut:

I'll let y'all speculate wildly in the comments :)

[harrypotter-imaginess]

If you want to Commission a love letter from a character, info is here!

Bill

* He’ll give you a massage

* And not like a sexy massage, just a regular massage

* He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it most of the time

* He’ll just see you doing work, or hanging out, and stands behind you and starts rubbing your shoulders

* “Is that book any good?”

* Also Bill is oddly into nutrition, if he notices you’re feeling off he’ll start meal prepping a bunch of shakes and snacks

* “Bill, Babe what is this?” You ask, looking at the cup in front of you

* “it a mango, pineapple, papaya, ginger and turmeric antiinfamatory smoothie- drink up”

Charlie

* He takes videos of the dragons he takes care of so that he can send them to you

* Also- he’ll definitely try to take goofy pics with the animals/dragons at the sanctuary on his phone to send to you

* His snap score is probably like 800K, not for promiscuous reasons, but because he’s always sending you snaps at work

* “Oi Charlie get off your phone and come and help me!” His co worker shouts as Charlie tries to get a cute selfie with the dragon in the background

* “In a minute Seamus, I’m trying to take a picture!”

* Also if you have a robust hobby, like painting or reading your boy will get into it just so you guys have an activity to do together

* “Turn the page love” He’ll say

* you’re basically sitting on Charlie’s lap, his chin resting on your shoulder as he peers into the book in your hands

* “Charlie, I know you said you wanted to read with me, but I didn’t think you meant this”

Percy

* He buys you gifts

* Now before you get all excited- it’s not how you think

* With Percy it’s never something nice like flowers and choclate, or a teddy bear, or even a card

* It’s always something really obscure that he just happened to see, and that happened to make him think of you

* “Hey, I saw this and thought of you” He’ll say, handing you a wrapped package

* “Candles?”

* “Yeah, because they bring light, just like you”

* The dork isn’t even trying to make a joke, he’s being 100% authentic

* “You’re such a dork” you laugh, but he smiles when he sees you sniffing the candle with an approving expression

* So you like it, he grins

* It feels like he was in darkness until you, and then you just barged into his life

* And brought him so much joy

Fred

* Fred’s love language is words of affirmation

* He’s always very consistent with his compliments, telling you that you look good or that you’re smart, and that you’re killing it

* Another part of that is that he always, always makes sure to communicate

* Sometimes maybe a little too much

* “Hey Fred would you mind running to the store? I need tomato paste for the pasta”

* He’s already putting on his shoes

* “Sure love, any particular brand?”

* Kinda a weird question

* “No anything’s fine”

* “Alright what size?”

* “Um, the medium one I guess”

* He lets out a hum and you think he’ll be on his way

* “Do you want me to get more than one-“

* “Merlin Fred, would you just go!”

* He just wants to make sure he gets you the right thing, exactly the way you want it

George

* George’s love language is definitely acts of service, so he’ll do these little things for you

* Like if he notices there’s a certain chore you don’t like- even more than the other chores- like washing dishes or folding laundry, he’ll do it instead

* “George did you already finish that? I was going to do it later”

* You admit you were procrastinating a bit, you know you need to clean it’s just kinda time consuming, and- well, it’s not exactly your favorite thing to do

* “Ah yeah, don’t worry about it, it’s no big deal”

* George always opens doors for you, even the car door

* He’ll get out of his side of the car and jog over to your side, just so he can personally open the door for you

* One time he was in such a rush he slipped and hurt his knee

* You spent your date at the hospital instead because he wouldn’t stop bleeding and you thought he might need stitches

* It’s usually pretty cute

Ron

* Your boy is hella proud of you

* Like, even your own parents aren’t that proud of you

* And they made you

* He’s always bragging about you

* “There’s no one smarter than (Y/N), they would even give Hermione a run for her money”

* You wear a new outfit/try a new style and-

* “Ron what are you doing?” You ask as he pats your pocket

* “I’m just looking for who gave you the absolute Audacity to look this good”

* You laugh

* “I mean how’s anyone supposed to get any work done around here when you’re this good looking” he shakes his head in mock annoyance

* He’s your number 1 hype man

Ginny

* Ginny’s a jock, but she’s also really into music

* She makes you a playlist every few days, and the title is always an inside joke or based on a conversation you had

* “Ginny did you seriously name this playlist ‘snorting vanilla lattes in Malibu’?”

* She just shrugs, it’s not her fault you laughed so hard you snorted vanilla latte all over a Malibu themed place mat.

* She also leaves you little notes

* You reach into your coat pocket only to feel a piece of folded paper

* “You’re prettier than an avocado?” You read to yourself

* ....not all her notes are winners

* They still make you smile though

[seasonofthewicth]

hellas in a handbasket

Thanks to Hannah (@cicada-bones) for planting the idea in my mind of what could have been in store for Lorcan and Aelin post-koa, and also for the title. 

5 times Rowan finds drunken Aelin and Lorcan causing trouble + 1 time he gets them started. post-koa aelorcan bonding. (4.7k)

prompts used

-- 

Lord Lorcan Lochan, she still laughs every time she hears his name, is not her favourite person. He is her favourite person, however, to beat at cards. 

Aelin isn’t sure how they ended up here, just the two of them. He and Elide are visiting from Perranth on ‘official business’ which she knows is just code for visiting their friends. Aelin has loved having Elide here; she missed out on so much time with Elide in the years they were apart, and she takes every chance she can to see her now that Terrasen has begun to settle and rebuild. 

She’s not sure what time Elide drifted off to bed, and she knows Rowan’s meeting with the Ambassador from Wendlyn is likely to run long, but she hadn’t expected herself to end up here, in a booth in the back corner of a small, dark tavern in Orynth with Lorcan. 

Their relationship is… better than it was. Better than when they first met and he had hated her with a burning passion for stealing Rowan away, better even than when he had begrudgingly sworn the blood oath to her on that small boat just over a year ago. 

That said, it doesn’t stop him from slurring, “You’re a fucking bitch.”

He swipes a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping away any droplets of the ale left in his thick stubble. She frowns in disgust. 

“Speak for yourself,” She says properly, looking back down to where she’s spread her winning hand on the sticky tabletop. “It’s not my fault you’re awful at this game.”

He offers her a sarcastic smile, unamused as always at her sense of humour. 

“I could always make you win,” She says, all too sweetly. “Deal another round.” 

With a gentle tug on the blood oath between them she cocks her head at him. Lorcan bears his teeth but gathers the cards up to deal again, unable to fight the order, no matter how small. 

Aelin leans back in her seat, smiling slightly, as he flips the cards neatly into two piles in front of them. 

She revels in the fact that she never normally has to use the pull of the oath, confident in the devotion Rowan, Aedion and Fenrys offer her without question- well, without serious question. None of them are inclined to bite their tongue if they ever disagree with her, but still, she never feels the need to use it. 

She wants to with Lorcan sometimes, simply just to wind him up, but Rowan always seems to catch her mid thought and raises a silver eyebrow. 

It’s always some version of causing trouble again, Fireheart?

She only ever answers yes. 

She picks up her cards, and grins over the top of them at Lorcan, who is already scowling at her and then back down at his cards. It really is just luck how she keeps winning, but he doesn’t need to know that. Let him believe she’s a cheat, Aelin doesn’t care, she will empty his pouch of gold by the end of the night. 

She tosses a card down onto the table and takes another swig of her ale as Lorcan frowns at the card she has put down. His knee begins bouncing under the table and she knows she’s won again already. 

She bites her lip to try and stop the cunning grin from spreading across her face, but from the dark rumbling sensation she feels stirring it doesn’t work. He picks the card up and throws down one of his own, and as if by magic, it’s the card she needs. 

With half a thought she decorates her brow with a glowing circlet of fire and Lorcan throws his cards onto the table with a growl. The rumbling grows louder, and the tavern seems to darken. 

She has half a mind to look around and check none of the other patrons have noticed, she knows they will have, but winding Lorcan up is worth the tongue-lashing she’ll get from the Lords of Terrasen about her un-queen-like behaviour. 

In a second though the darkness is gone, and the crown of flame atop her head is put out. The scent of pine and snow fills her and she settles into the presence of her mate. 

“You two,” Rowan starts, “Are causing a little bit of a commotion.”

He’s smiling at them though as he approaches, his sharp canines shining in the dim light, so she knows they’re not in trouble. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mutters and she laughs in his face. 

Rowan only sighs, the sound of someone tired of playing mediator, but he signals to the barkeep for another round and takes the seat next to her, picking up the discarded cards to shuffle for another round. 

-- 

Lorcan knows he has mellowed in the past year or so. The release from the torment that was serving under Maeve, and the torturous longing that came with it, was more than a weight off his shoulders. 

But he maintains that he still hates Aelin Galathynius, or whatever the far too long string of words her name is. He hates her. 

“You know this is a bad idea,” He says as he strides into the small study he knows she works in in the cold of a winter afternoon.

The fire is burning bright in the fireplace, but the carefully arranged stack of wood doesn’t seem to char, and he scowls even more. 

She turns a clearly fake look of innocence onto him, “What is, my darling blood-sworn?”

He hates that too, hates that he is sworn to her and her country, as if she hasn’t already won everything else in her pathetically short life, she’s won him too. Even if a small part of him reluctantly respects her for the way she runs her court. 

The oath is to protect and serve Terrasen, not her, and he can feel it in his blood. Without it he would protect Elide until his dying breath, and even then he’d go down fighting, but the openness of this oath, the freedom it allows him, is refreshing. And he’ll never admit it, to anyone, but he’s proud to serve Terrasen. 

“This,” He says and holds up the proposal she had drafted for the arrangements for the court to travel to the witch territory. He doesn’t want to see that other bitch-queen either, but Elide is excited, so he’ll put up and shut up. 

She stands, the loose cotton of her dress unrolling as she glides over to a drinks tray in the corner of the room. 

“Take a seat,” is all she says. 

She doesn’t use the oath, and he appreciates how little she does, but he would have expected it at something as small as that. She likes to use it on him just when she knows it will rile him the most, on stupid shit that she knows he’ll do anyway, with or without the tug deep within him. 

He almost deliberates over it, but decides ultimately it isn’t worth it. Young she may be, but the queen in front of him can put a male in his place. 

She hands the small glass, with an inch of a brown spirit in the bottom, to him as she takes her own seat opposite him. 

“So?” She raises an eyebrow as she curls up opposite him, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“So you need to redo it all.” 

He has trained for centuries for how to navigate these things. This stupid young girl knows nothing. She only smirks at him over the rim of his glass, and he curses himself for what he’s about to say next. 

He tosses the piece of parchment across the floor between them and it flutters to the ground. “I added my suggestions for what would work better.”

The way she balances her chin on her fist, with the corners of her lips pulled upwards, tells him he’s fallen right into her trap. She knows the plans were bullshit, she just also knows he would plan it far better than she would. 

“Bitch,” He curses but she only smirks. 

“You’re centuries old, do you not know any other words? Bitch is so old by now.”

He draws up a tiny reel of his power, Whitethorn would skin him if he touched a pretty hair on the head of his mate, but it still feels good to do it. 

“Bitch,” is all he says as he sends the tendril of his power over to her. 

“Dog,” She snarks back as he feels the warmth of flame across his brow. She didn’t even have to blink to throw it at him, and he dulls the part of his brain that is impressed at her skill. 

His next retort is on the tip of his tongue as he realises he’s actually having fun messing with her. She can give as good as she gets, and she doesn’t roll her eyes and refuse to bite the way Whitethorn would, doesn’t take it too far the way the young wolf would. 

“You’re scaring the staff.” Whitethorn’s voice is amused as it drifts in from the doorway where he leans, broad arms crossed over his chest, pulling against the deep green tunic he wears. 

He hadn’t realised how dark he had let it get, or how warm the queen had managed to make it. 

“It’s all him,” she says, as her mate comes to rest by her side. 

Rowan brings a hand up to lightly stroke a path down her back, and Lorcan thinks it’s nice to see Whitethorn so happy. Gods, he’s getting soft in his old age, but maybe Elide has shown him it is more than okay to feel this way. 

He’ll pretend that isn’t another thing he owes to the Queen of Terrasen. 

-- 

Aelin likes messing with Lorcan, loves it even, but honestly, this time was an accident. 

She probably didn’t need to invite Elide and Lorcan on their trip to the Southern Continent but she thinks she deserves the trip, and the sunlight. Perranth is known for the rain and she knows that no matter how much Elide loves to be home she doesn’t love the rain. 

She doesn’t give a shit how Lorcan feels, but where Elide goes, he goes. 

And maybe that’s a lie, maybe she’s glad he’s here too, and not just for Rowan. Maybe she enjoys it when they end up just the two of them, drinking and talking shit. Maybe she knew exactly what would happen when she asked everyone if they fancied a drink and Lorcan was the only one up for it. 

She’d rather burn all her favourite gowns than tell him that though. 

Aelin hadn’t meant for the fighter to overhear her comment to Lorcan while they watched the street fight from a distance. They were beginning to make their way back to the palace after drinking their fill in one of the taverns nearby. 

“Trust me, you could beat him blindfolded,” she had said, slapping the back of her hand against his chest. 

“Shut up,” He had all but growled, barely in the mood to play tonight, still grouchy from his inability to sleep during their journey across the sea. 

Apparently she had spoken too loudly for them to go undetected and the organiser had called out to them. 

“You don’t trust her?” He had asked, his accent twisting around the words.

Aelin doesn’t know how he knew to use the common tongue, maybe something about them stood out in the crowd. Maybe Lorcan’s height or the dark energy that emanates from him at all times. 

She’s hoping the hood of her cloak hides her identity, hopes it hides the bright gold of her hair, and keeps it a secret that the Queen of Terrasen is hidden away in the crowd, watching this street fight unfold. 

Lorcan had only snorted and replied, “Our friendship is purely built on lies, I second guess everything she says.”

She had smacked him again as the organiser proposed his challenge to Lorcan, but she couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed at his choice of words. Friendship.  

She should have put an end to it there, and when Rowan asks, she tried, but she couldn’t resist poking Lorcan when the challenge was made.

Now he stands in the centre of the crowd, knees bent and fists raised in front of himself. She wasn’t serious about the blindfold, but apparently the townspeople were. The man strikes and Lorcan blocks, the smile still not leaving his face. She shouts a taunt and he flips the finger in her general direction. The man uses it as an opportunity to strike, but Lorcan doesn’t miss it. 

He uses an arm to block the man’s blow and uses his leg to trip the man’s feet out from under him. The man hits the ground with an oof and Lorcan tugs the blindfold off. Game over. 

This street fight isn’t the same level as the ones in the pits that Arobynn challenged her to fight in. She would have never put Lorcan forward if it was. It might be questionable for a queen and one of her blood-sworn to be here, but it’s still technically legal. She’s tipsy, not stupid.

Lorcan sketches a mocking bow to the crowd and she cheers as a strong arm wraps around her waist and the warmth of her mate appears at her back. She leans back into him automatically and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“I take it, this is your doing?” He asks, his tone bright with amusement.

She knows he used to be concerned about her relationship with his former commander, knows it used to worry him how they were at each other's throats, and she’ll never forget the look on his face when Lorcan had a blade to her throat that day in Rifthold. She’s confident he knows they’re settled now. 

She turns in his arms to look up to his face in the dark. 

How could you assume such a thing? She raises a brow, but beneath the cloak he probably can’t see. 

All she can make out beneath his own hood is the shine of his fangs through his smile and the etchings of his tattoo across the lower planes of his handsome face. 

Because it’s you. He leans down to press the briefest of kisses to her lips. And him. 

She only shrugs, she can’t deny the regularity at which she ends up in situations like this with Lorcan. She can’t deny enjoying them either. 

-- 

“What, you don’t like my majestic beard?”

Lorcan knows he’s over five centuries old, but he has downed enough ale that he doesn’t care as he leans over to the young Queen of Terrasen, close enough to get in her space and risk rubbing his rough beard across her skin.

She isn’t amused, the fire of her temper already prompting beads of sweat down the back of his neck.

“I want to burn that animal off your face.”

Lorcan laughs far too loudly, and he’s vaguely aware of some of the young sentries at the nearest table looking over with concern, before quickly emptying the table at the dark sound erupting from his chest. 

“So touchy today, been a while without Whitethorn has it?”

Something flickers in her unusual eyes at the mention of her King-Consort, her mate, and his trip to Adarlan. The striking contrast of the blue and gold is something he has always found intriguing about the Ashryvers of Wendlyn. Meeting the queen and the pain in his arse that is her cousin quickly ended his curiosity. 

He’s struck, deep and low in his chest, at the thought of the General, and his father who Lorcan served beside for hundreds of years. Gavriel. He thinks about the male often, misses him every day in ways that he hadn’t thought himself capable of. 

The tribute to the Lion of Doranelle that now stands in Orynth is something he takes time to visit everytime he comes to Terrasen. He has to give the Queen that, it’s a beautiful statue, and paints Gavriel in the light he deserves. 

He shakes himself, he’s a fucking morose drunk sometimes. Gavriel wouldn’t want him here moping. 

Aelin seems to do the same, ready to fight fire with fire. “I know what you and Elide got up to last night, in my castle I might add, so I’m surprised you’re still so tightly wound. Struggles performing, old man?”

“Fuck you,” He says but he’s grinning at the blonde woman staring him down. He finally knows by now that the twist of her mouth isn’t anger, she’s trying to hold back her own laughter. 

He brings a hand up to poke her on the nose, but she bats it away before he can get there. Shit, maybe he’s had more to drink than he thought. 

“That’s not my job,” She grins at him and he throws his head back to laugh. 

“You’re disgusting,” He tells her, barely holding down the urge he has to yank on her braid. 

She just grins up at him and takes a very un-royal swig of her ale, before slamming the tankard back down on the table beside them. 

“I’m not sure I want to know what this is about,” His wife’s voice sounds behind him and he spins so fast he stumbles to the side. 

He hears the queen cackle behind him and he flips her off as he nods his greeting to Whitethorn who scoops her up under an arm. 

“You’re back!” He hears the queen cry, the words a shriek that travels over the noise of the tavern.

He throws himself at Elide, wrapping the delicate woman tightly into his embrace and breathing her in. He doesn’t trust his mouth to land on hers if he tries to kiss her, so he settles for pressing his face into her hair and breathing her in deeply. 

Elide laughs and he squeezes her in even tighter. He’s less afraid of displaying his feelings now, now that he’s not constantly waiting for the disaster around the corner. He trusts Aelin’s rule, and she has Whitethorn at her side, and what’s left of his Cadre. 

She has him too, if she ever needs him. 

-- 

She’s past the point of pretending she’s not seeking Lorcan out, and she thinks he’s at the same point too. She likes spending time with him, just the two of them, and who could have ever seen that coming?

Rowan has this one small smile when she says she’s off to see Lorcan, one that says he’s elated, but doesn’t want to make too much of a big deal in case she changes her mind. She thinks Elide probably has one of the same. 

This tavern is busy and they probably could have gone somewhere quieter, but she likes it. She likes being with her people, in the crowds and the conversations. She basks in it, and she’s unashamed in her belief that it’s where she’s meant to be. 

It’s her turn to get their round. They’ve set up camp at a small wooden table in the back of the dark room, and she weaves in and out of the crowds to make her way back, the two large tankards clasped in her hands. 

The thing is, Aelin is a trained assassin. She’s been trained by the most powerful Fae male alive, she should be able to keep her footing, but apparently she’s a lightweight. Sober Aelin would have seen the spill on the floor, or at least would have been able to stay upright. 

Drunk Aelin is another story altogether, and drunk Aelin slides. 

She manages to right herself relatively quickly, but the ale is out of her hands before she can blink, waves of it flying over the wooden floor and sloshing up the boots of the nearest patron. 

The young demi-fae turns, and she knows from the expression on his face that this is going south. Quickly. 

“Watch it,” He hisses. 

She has her hood up, golden hair and striking blue eyes hidden away, but she likes to think that she should still be recognisable, even in the woolen tunic and trousers she wears. It’s a far cry from her usual queenly get-up, but still. 

She’s almost offended. 

“I’m sorry,” She says all too sweetly, too pissed to pretend to mean it, and the demi-fae narrows his eyes. He hasn’t missed her tone, or her dismissal of his command.  

“I said watch it.” He steps closer to her now, and she levels her stare at him. Her power is writhing within her, hot and angry, begging to be let out on this male, and she clenches her fists. 

Aelin takes a deep breath. She is his queen, and she is better than allowing her temper to run wild, no matter how much she wants to let her body drop into a fighting stance. 

But she doesn’t need to. She blinks and Lorcan is at her side, his teeth bared at the offender. 

His voice is low and dark, and quiet in a way that promises violence, as he says “I would suggest that you watch your mouth.”

The demi-fae makes a reckless move and laughs, she’s not sure how he has the confidence to stand against both her and one of her blood-sworn, but they’re both still hidden under the hoods of their capes. 

She can feel the restrained violence in Lorcan’s posture next to her, she can feel the waves of darkness beginning to wash over her, and she’s reminded of the fact that it’s a comfort now to feel that. Gone are the days when the touch of Lorcan’s power drew fear up inside of her. 

She knows he won’t move until she says, knows that he understands she can handle herself, but she appreciates his swiftness to act in her defense. 

Aelin opens her mouth, a fiery retort waiting on the tip of her tongue, but the tavern falls silent. She snaps her mouth shut as she hears the murmurs that build throughout the room, your highness, they say. 

“Good evening,” Rowan nods to the group of demi-fae as he slots into his place beside her. She’s flanked now by two of her blood-sworn warriors. “Is there a problem here?”

She knows from his tone of voice that his expression is icy, daring one of the males to raise a challenge. She tugs down her hood and the one to start the commotion pales at the sight of her. 

“No-no, your majesty. Ap- apologies,” He stutters. 

Aelin offers him a tight nod, says “Sorry about your boots,” and turns to the door, her jovial evening over. 

Once outside Rowan turns to them, “What was that?”

She feels as if she’s back at Mistward, looking up at Rowan wearing the expression of a disappointed mentor. 

“She started it,” Lorcan mumbles under his breath, and she jerks to glare at him.

“That is such shit-” She starts, readying to defend herself even though it was totally her fault, as she turns back to Rowan. But he’s biting his lip, his green eyes creasing at the corners as he holds in his laugh. 

“You two don’t go anywhere without adult supervision,” He says laughing and slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

She pokes her head around Rowan to stick her tongue out at Lorcan. His returning middle finger makes her laugh, loud and joyously. 

So maybe Lord Lorcan Lochan is one of her favourite people.

-- 

Being King-Consort to the Queen of Terrasen is a position Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius enjoys. He loves the people of Terrasen, and the country itself. He loves serving a queen who is noble and brave and strong. 

He loves his wife, his mate, and the life they live together. He thanks the gods every day that he gets to spend the rest of his existence by her side. 

One thing he does not love is the paperwork. 

He runs a hand down his face, scratching the lines of his tattoo, as he squints at one of the pages. He stopped being able to think properly a couple of hours ago. Rowan skims through the words on the paper, holding the sheet up to the one remaining candle on his desk. The only ones of note are Adarlan and Terrasen, and he decides that everything else can be a task for tomorrow. 

He shuffles the papers into a somewhat orderly pile and rises from his desk, sending a tendril of his power to blow out the candle as he leaves the room. 

A sentry bows before him and hands him a small note as he makes his way to his wife. He nods his thanks as he continues down the dimly lit halls. 

The palace at Orynth is a place he is glad to call home, it’s not the oldest castle he has known in all his years, but it has character and history. It’s kept warm by the remnants of power his wife managed to cling on to. 

He reaches the royal quarters quickly and finds his mate in bed. Aelin is curled beneath the sheets with a book clutched in her hands. 

The smile she gives him when he enters is bright and easy and it makes his chest feel warm. 

“This might be Dorian’s best recommendation yet,” She says as he comes over to her side, holding the book high with a finger wedged between the pages to keep her place.

“Is that so?” He says with a smile. 

His mate’s relationship with the King of Adarlan is another thing he is thankful for. He knows Aelin loves the correspondence she receives and the gifts he sends. Aelin always has him on the lookout for ones she can send in return. 

Aelin nods enthusiastically as he takes a seat by her feet. 

“Is this you all tucked up for the night?” He asks. Aelin raises an eyebrow and places the book carefully on the table by the side of the bed. 

“I’m not tired,” She says and begins to throw the sheets back, a hungry look in her eyes. 

Rowan cups her cheek with his palm and drops a delicate kiss to her lips. He allows himself to place another before gently pulling back. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I like where your mind is going.”

Aelin kisses him again, rising up to her knees to press into the kiss. 

Rowan allows himself a minute before pulling back finally to pass along the message he received. “Our guests have arrived, slightly ahead of schedule.”

Aelin jerks back, enough to smile widely at him, before throwing herself out of the bed and tugging her boots onto her feet. 

The stables are always cold, the winters in Terrasen are known for being brutal, but he just presses himself further into his mate as they wait. The smell of her is divine, and he feels settled as he breathes her in. 

Finally, their guests appear a short distance away, and his wife throws herself out of the circle of his arms and into those of his former commander. 

He smiles at Elide and presses a friendly kiss to her cheek as they watch their lovers embrace. 

Aelin is dangling above the floor as she clings to the Lord of Perranth and Rowan smiles as she returns to the ground. They’re already bickering about something Rowan is unaware of, but it’s not unexpected, he knows how they work by now. 

He had hoped that their relationship would have the opportunity to develop but he could have never dreamed that they would reach this point. Rowan thinks they could be closer than he and Lorcan ever were themselves, and the thought isn’t unpleasant. 

The pair reach where he stands with Elide and their contrast is stark. Lorcan, with his dark hair and sharp features towers over where Aelin stands, glowing bright and gold. 

He clasps hands with Lorcan, who nods his head in acknowledgement. 

“Good to see you, is it too late for a drink?” He proposes. 

Aelin and Lorcan share a look, and something passes between them before she turns back to Rowan. Aelin smiles brightly as she links her fingers through Rowan’s and leads the way back into the castle.

[lethal-k]

Luck (PJM)

Hey guys! Amanda here and I hope you enjoy this imagine. I’m not quite sure about making a ‘set-in-stone’ upload schedule because I do have a job but I am going to make it a goal for myself to upload twice a week. This imagine is a pretty long one but it was super fun to write so I hope you enjoy what I have to offer you. Happy not-so-fun 4th of July and stay safe out there <3

Genre: Fluff, Childhood Friends!Au

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, kissing, flashbacks

Summary: You’ve always been there for Jimin, supporting him through the majority of both of your lives, and he plans to thank you for it. 

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   Artist of the Year. Quite possibly if not THE most important and valuable award of the night. Important enough to be the very last award given and hold the title of a Daesang. Jimin sat on his cube-shaped seat, Hoseok to his left and Jungkook to his right. The nominees for the award played on the screen as their songs exited the speakers and suffocated the room, mixed with the cheers of each nominees’ fans. BTS were one of those nominees. Alongside Chungha, EXO, Taeyeon, and JANNABI. The tension that surrounded the idols was thick as they all waited patiently, or some, more impatiently, for Park Seo-joon to announce the winner. Jimin was staring at the ground a few meters away with an uneasy look on his face. He knew, along with the rest of BTS, Army, and possibly every other idol and fan in that building, that if they won, they would make history with two Daesang sweeps in a year. Yes, the tension was thick as blood. And while his head should have been present, present and in the game to support the other nominees as they came up on screen - maybe like Jungkook who was bobbing his head to every song - he couldn’t help but stare at the ground and think of one thing, or rather, one person.

   Throughout his six and a half years of being an idol with BTS, Jimin had given many speeches. Many thank you’s and dedications, many promises to the fans. However, tonight, he wanted to dedicate his speech - if they won - to the one person that he hasn’t really thought of giving thanks to, despite them deserving it more than he deserved that award. He slightly smirked at that thought, knowing that the person his mind was clouded with would have responded, “Debatable.” to it. But Jimin was sure of it. And he wanted to thank you in the most special way possible.

   You know those cliche moments when time slows down before a big moment for a character in a movie? That's how Jimin was feeling as the music faded out and the silent tension grew even thicker as they waited for the winner to spill out of Seo-joon’s mouth. Still staring at the ground, Jimin thought of the very, or more the very many reasons as to why he needed to thank you. Because you were always there. Through everything. Ever since you were kids. And for some unknown, ungodly reason, you decided to stick with him through it all instead of leaving like a level-headed person would. And like clockwork, as if his life was flashing before his very eyes, the memories of you two had resurfaced one by one, seeming like forever, but lasting a half of a second each. 

   “Jimin! Come downstairs, please!” Mrs. Park, Jimin’s mother, yelled from the bottom of the stairs. Six year old Jimin came bouncing down the stairs, looking up at his mom. 

   “Yes eomma?”

   “Come with me to greet our new neighbors, lovely.” 

   As they walked over to the new neighbors house, Jimin’s mother carried a welcome basket full of her and her husband’s baked goods while Jimin carried the welcome card. He looked up at his mom and asked, “Do they have a kid like me, eomma?”

   Mrs. Park simply smiled down at him, heartwarmed by his curiosity. “I don’t know, lovely. We have to see.” Jimin nodded at this information with a new look of determination on his face, committed to finding out if he could make a new friend. 

   Finally reaching the front door, Mrs. Park knocked and waited a few seconds. Jimin could hear a faint yelling behind the door, making out something like ‘can you get the door’ and ‘i’ll be there in a second.’ The door had opened revealing a small young girl, looking to be about the same age as Jimin.

   “Hello, sweetie. What’s your name?” Mrs. Park asked, smiling at the young girl.

   The young girl looked up at her before responding, “Y/N..” her eyes flickered to Jimin for a second before looking back to the woman. Jimin’s previous confidence seemed to fade as he  stood behind his mother’s legs, just peeking out behind her.

   Another woman had walked up behind Y/N, dusting off her hands on her jeans, “Hello!”

   “Hello! You must be Y/N’s mother! I’m Mrs. Park and I live next door with my husband and my six year old son, Jimin. Jimin, say hello.” She looked down at him. 

   The shy boy quietly looked at them and managed to give a quick wave while almost-whispering a small “hello.”

   The two women both smiled at his cuteness while Y/N mirrored Jimin behind her own mother’s legs. She looked at him curiously. 

   “We brought you a welcoming basket and card!” Mrs. Park said, handing the basket to her mother. Jimin had shyly handed her the card as well. 

   “Oh thank you! I’m Mrs. Y/L/N and I believe you already met my five year old daughter, Y/N.” She smiled. Mrs. Park smiled and nodded.

   Meanwhile, Y/N was still looking at Jimin. She was staring at his shirt, which had a pirate on it. For the first time since she introduced herself, Y/N had spoken, “I like your shirt…”

   Jimin looked at her to find him looking back at him, and he grinned shyly. “Thanks, I like it too.” 

   Y/N gave him a small smile, “I have a toy pirate set in my bedroom if you wanna go play with me?” she offered shyly, glancing up at her mother. Her mother nodded in encouragement, Mrs. Park softly smiling at the endearing moment. The two ladies shared a mischievous glance.

   Jimin’s eyes lit up as he looked up to his mother, “Please eomma?” he asked, almost begging. Mrs. Park giggled and nodded.

   “Just be home in time for dinner, lovely.” He nodded, smiling at his mother’s words. 

   The memory was a fond one, both Y/N and Jimin’s mothers still tease them to this day about how shy they were back then and how they both were scared that the two kids were going to go off on a ship and pillage the world, over your shared love of pirates. 

   Then, came the next memory. 

   “Jiminie!” Jimin turned his body to the sound of his beloved nickname, bestowed upon him by no other than you. He had declared sometime a few years ago that you were the only one who was allowed to call him that. Twelve year old Y/N came running at him with a big smile gracing her face. “You did it! You won!”

   Jimin smiled back at her, his gold taekwondo medal around his neck. She hugged him tightly, burying her face into his neck. “It’s because you were here. You’re my good luck charm.” He said, hugging her back. 

   She giggled at him, “You’re silly.”

   And although they were joking at the tender age of thirteen and twelve, his words became true. Y/N became his good luck charm, as he seemed to do well everytime she was present for a match or any other competition that Jimin had. So she kept showing up to them in support of him. Jimin could rely on her for those kinds of things, like he could rely on her for anything, leading him to the next memory. 

   You had opened your front door with a smile on your face, before it quickly dropped at the sight of your best friend. A fifteen year old Jimin stood there, soaked from the rain, eyes puffy and red, sniffling with a miserable smile on his face.

   “Hi..” he whispered. You didn’t hesitate to pull him inside from the cold, straight into your arms as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder. “Hana and I broke up..” He said. You somehow seemed to understand. Hana was Jimin’s first girlfriend, and he really liked her. They dated for a couple months so he must have been devastated. You said no words, you just stood there holding him as he let it all out on your shoulder. Your mother had come from the kitchen, a questioning glance on her face. Although he couldn’t see it, you shook your head slightly at her so she knew not to ask any questions.

   “Would you like to stay the night? Dinner is almost ready.” You whispered at him. He let go and looked at you, with a small smile on his face. He nodded as you grinned at him, taking his hand and pulling him towards the dinner table, where you and your mother were cooking dinner together.

   The rest of that night, you and your mom did your best to cheer Jimin up, cracking stupid jokes and dancing terribly to the music playing in the background as you finished cooking dinner. You and your mom always accepted Jimin into your family, just as his family accepted you. Hana was Jimin’s last girlfriend, despite her also being his first. What he didn’t tell you about the breakup though, was that she had tried to make him choose in between you and her out of jealousy. He chose you.

   “I got it.” Jimin said suddenly, breaking the silence that surrounded you both as you watched the sun set from the roof of your house. He was sixteen at the time, meaning you were 15. 

   Your head snapped towards him faster than the speed of light, and he had to hold his breath in order to not laugh at the astonished look on your face. However that look quickly changed into a large smile as you squealed of excitement. “I told you that you would get the scholarship, Jiminie! I’m so proud of you!” you kissed his cheek, making his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. You giggled at his adorableness before saying, “It was lucky that you were picked, the pool of applicants was hella large. But you deserve it way more than all of those people.” 

   He smirked at you cheekily, “Who said anything about luck? I already had you.” It was your turn to blush this time, smacking him on the shoulder and turning towards the view. He barked out a laugh and put his head on your shoulder in endearment. Slowly, though, his smile fell. “I’m not sure I want to take it though..” He trailed off.

   You glanced at him in curiosity, “Why, JIminie?” You were startled and slightly concerned at this sudden confession. To your knowledge, this had always been his dream.

   He sighed, “I’m not sure how to explain it, really. I just feel like there is more out there for me. Like if I accepted this scholarship then I would be settling for a life in Japan and Busan only. Tied down to a career if you will. I feel like I have the potential to be more, to make more, to leave more of an impact. You know what I mean?” He looked at you, looking for reassurance. To him, he thought he sounded insane. His worries were lessened in seconds though, when you smiled gently at him and placed your hand on top of his, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

   “Yeah, I know what you mean. Whatever you decide, Jiminie, I’ll still be your good luck charm and support you.” You giggled at him, and his smile grew. He threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side as he messed up your hair with his other hand.

   “AH! Jimin!” You yelled, laughing with him.

  You weren’t lying. You did support him. You supported him throughout a lot. You supported him when he decided not to take the scholarship, you supported him when his teachers thought he made a mistake, and you supported him when he told you of his decision to move to Seoul, to seek that opportunity. 

   He saw your smile, big as day to the average bystander, but he has known you for eleven years. He saw how you were hiding your sadness. And that sadness had made up his mind in less than a second.

  “Come with me.” He stated. Your eyes widened and you looked up at him miraculously, as if he was insane. 

  “What?” You laughed out, baffled by his statement.

  He smiled at you and pulled you towards him, “Come with me. To Seoul, I mean.”

  You laughed out, however this time it was more joyful, “Okay.” you smiled. 

  “Okay?” He asked you, smiling even wider. It was an exchange full of smiles and joy. 

  You nodded, giggling at his response, “Okay, lets move to Seoul.”

  You two had gotten a fairly cheap apartment to share for a few months before he found a company called BigHit Entertainment. You were there to urge him to audition, since his shy nature had him doubting himself, making him feel like he wouldn’t make it even if he tried. You were also there to support him outside of his audition when he finally took your advice and went. 

  You both stood outside of the door, his name had just been called. All his nerves had resurfaced and he was tense. He took a quick breath before moving forward to go into the shark pit. 

  “Hey!” You called out, him turning around at the sound of your face. “Good luck, Jiminie.” You smiled at him, crossing your fingers for him.

  “Why need luck when I already have you?” He winked at you, walking backwards. You smiled and shook your head, sitting back down as he turned around walking into the room.

   What seemed like hours passed when in reality it was only a few minutes as you bit your nails, waiting for him to come out of the room. Suddenly the door opened and he walked out. His shoulders were slumped and he had a dull look on his face as he walked towards you. You sighed and took him into your arms.

  “Aw, Jiminie…” You said, attempting to comfort him.

   “Y/n?” he muffled, face nuzzled into your neck.

   “Yes?” You asked as you rubbed circles on his back.

  “I made it.” He smiled into your neck.

  “What.”

  “I made it. I passed the audition.”

  “AISH! Pabo! You had me so scared!” You smacked the back of his head. He laughed out loud as he picked you up, spinning you around. 

   You were there for it. Since his beginning in BigHit as a trainee and his entrance into BTS. You were there for it all. Even when he moved into the dorm with the other six boys, they had accepted you as family just as well as him. You were often seen at the dorm with them, early in the mornings cooking them breakfast before they left, making them lunch and bringing it to them, and cooking them dinner alongside Jin and sometimes Yoongi. In your perspective, it was the least you could do to support them, seeing how hard they worked each day. But you didn’t realize how much it meant to your best friend. You were there for Jimin through it all. For the fourteen-hour practice days, for the weeks in the studio, for the late nights that he cried to you, wanting to give up. But you refused to let him let go of his dream so easily. The whole reason he was here, in this seat and at this award show, was because of you. 

   “Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

  Jimin had been so immersed in his memories with you that he almost missed the way that Park Seo-Joon had announced the winner of Artist of the Year. He closed his eyes in relief, catching a small glance of how Jungkook had put his head in his arms, seeming to give thanks to whoever was on his mind at the time. Probably Army, Jimin thought. He stood up with the rest of his members and began their journey to the big stage. His legs moved, but his mind didn’t, thoughts still clouded with you, wondering how you were reacting right now. He remembered how you reacted when they won their very first Daesang in 2016. 

  He walked into the dressing room when he felt your weight slam into him, almost knocking him to the ground. He quickly steadied himself as his arms circled around your waist. He was expecting screaming, squealing, laughing, something among the spectrum of joy to come from you. What he got instead was a tight hug and your head crooked in his neck, small sniffles coming from you. 

  “Wha- are you crying?” He looked at you, a smile forming on his face. Normally he would tease you, but he had just finished shedding a few tears himself. 

   “Shut up,” you mumbled, making him laugh, “I’m just so proud of you.”

  He smiled at your words and pulled you away, looking into your eyes. They sparkled with the tears that you were shedding, even though they sparkled without them anyway.

  “You did it, Jiminie. You achieved your dreams.” You said, tone close to a whisper. He smiled at you and pulled you back into him.

  “Trust me, it’s only the beginning.”

  He was right. It was only the beginning of BTS’ journey on the charts. He had accomplished many things with BTS, his members serving as his brothers and his best friends, but you held another special place in his heart. Because you were there from the very beginning. Of everything.

  As they reached the mic, Tae had taken it upon himself to give the first speech. Jimin stood there, looking among the crowd at all the fans, amazed. However, his head was still heavily clouded on thoughts of you, and how to thank you for always being there. He was already smiling, but it grew wider as he thought of how you supported him in every little thing, even things such as their variety show, Run BTS.

  It was just before they started shooting the next episode of Run when Jimin had come up to you, your place being behind the cameras. You were sitting next to Manager Sejin, laughing about something. He smiled at how comfortable you looked, among this crazy life of his. How you just fit in. He shook his head at the thought. Of course you fit in, you’ve been there since it all started. 

  You noticed him walking up to you and smiled at him. “Hey.” you smiled.

  “Hey.” He said. You looked him up and down, he wore a nicely fitted suit.

  “Well don’t you look dapper.” You said, giggling. 

  He smirked at you, “Always dressed for the best, madam.” He bowed dramatically, making you transition from giggling to laughing out loud. 

  He walked closer to you and kissed your forehead. 

  “Good luck, Jiminie. I’m rooting for you.” You smirked, knowing how rare it was for him to win a run episode.

  “Luck? Never heard of it. I have you though, so I should be okay.” he smirked back at you before being called back to the set to film the twenty-sixth episode of Run. And just like all those years ago, he won, and of course, he thought it was because his good luck charm was there to support him.

  Jimin looked towards the mic to see that it was Hobi speaking. Jimin was next, and he wasn’t prepared at all. Well, moreover he knew what to say, he just didn’t know how to say it. He racked through his brain trying to find anything to say, but all that came was another memory. 

  “I believe in you, you’ll do fine.” Y/n giggled over the phone.

  Jimin smiled at the sound before looking towards the clock. What was seven o’clock pm here in the United States was ten o’clock over in Korea. Unfortunately you had obligations to attend to at your own job, so traveling with him to the AMAs wasn’t an option. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t set up with a bowl of popcorn and a blanket on your couch with the TV on, ready to watch him and BTS perform.

  “It’s our first performance at an American award show, I just- I’m nervous,” he ran his hand over his face, “If we mess it up then our chances of charting in the U.S. could be ruined, our name mocked, our hard work in ruins.”

  He could almost see the smirk you held over the phone, “Don’t worry about it, Jiminie. I’m watching and I am one-hundred percent sure that you guys will absolutely rock that stage and blow all those American’s socks off!” You giggled.

  He smiled at you over the phone before Tae came to tell him that they’re leaving. “Well I have to go..” he trailed off.

  “Good luck.” You said.

  “You’re my luck, Y/N” he said, letting out a breath.

  Jungkook had to nudge Jimin in the side for Jimin to come back to his senses. He looked around to see that they were all looking at him. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the microphone.

  “Um, I’m sure that the others had already thanked everyone they needed to thank. I want to, of course, dedicate this award to Army, and thank you all for everything you all have done,” he smiled at the loud roar of cheers. “Over the years, over all the award shows we’ve attended and all the awards we have won, I have thanked many people. From my family, to my teachers, to our managers, our producers, the rest of the staff and Bang PD, and of course, my brothers,” he glanced at BTS who were all smiling at him, “but there’s one person I have yet to thank, and they probably are the one person that deserves it the most.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t nervous of Army’s reaction, they already knew you existed. You had joined him for many V-Lives, made appearances with him at a few award shows and parties, and even sang a cover with him. No, he was more nervous about getting his point across.

  “Y/N,” he said, smiling at the uproar of cheers from his fans at your name, “you have always been present and a part of my life for the past twenty years. I still remember when we were five and six and we bonded over our shared love of pirates when I came to greet you to the neighborhood for the first time.” He chuckled, letting out a few tears. He was emotional, to say the least. “You’ve always been there to support me in absolutely every journey I have ever encountered and have celebrated with me for every accomplishment I have achieved. You were the one to convince me to audition for BigHit, and you refused to let me quit when things became too rough. I don’t think I could have made it this far without you. I just wanted to say thank you for that, and most of all, thank you for being my best friend.” He ended his little speech, claps and cheers following. Lastly, Namjoon stepped up to the microphone to give his ending speech before they left.

  Jimin’s thoughts however, didn’t leave you. He kept thinking about how you reacted to his speech, dedicated to you. Whether you were crying or squealing in the dressing room backstage. 

  Yes, you were here too. Sitting in the dressing room watching everything. He remembered earlier, before he went on stage to perform.

  “Good luck, Jiminie.” You whispered, holding your pinky out.

  He smiled at you, hooking his finger with yours, “Why need luck when I already have you?”

  He stood there as Namjoon gave his speech. Jimin was deep into his thoughts about you. How you were there for everything, for twenty years, for his wins and his losses, for his crazy life. How he was without a doubt, undeniably, and sickenly in love with you. It appears that it just took him this long to figure out that you had always been there, present in his life, and that he wouldn’t rather have anyone else by his side.

  They started walking back to the dressing room and the boys were all congratulating each other. Staff and other idols were congratulating them as they passed by but they were all a blur to Jimin, as his one goal was to find you. Once he located the dressing room, he took a big breath before opening it and walking in.

  And there you stood, looking at him expectantly, tears streaming down your face. With that first glance towards you also came a rush of confidence. He walked over to you in large strides and slammed his lips onto yours, one hand on your cheek and the other on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. It took you a couple seconds to process what was happening, but you started to kiss back, tears still streaming down your face. The boys in the background were wolf-whistling and cheering. Jimin was pretty sure he heard Jungkook yell something along the lines of ‘finally’ but he didn’t care. All he wanted was you, however the need for oxygen was too much and he pulled away slowly. 

  You looked up at him with teary eyes, but your lips curled into a shy smile, kind of like the same smile that you gave him when you two met for the very first time.

  “Hey, Little Luck.” He mumbled, staring into your eyes. His nickname for you was fitting, he had given it to you when he won his first taekwondo match that you went to, just having turned twelve.  

  You giggled, “Hi, Jiminie..” You glanced at the boys and your cheeks turned pink. Your eyes flickered back to him before you let out a breath, “You did it Jiminie. You made history.” You stated, smiling wider.

  He grinned at you, gave you a peck on the lips, and another on your forehead. “Not without you, I couldn’t have.”

  You two stood there for a couple seconds before you pulled away with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous glint in your eye.

  “So is this your confession where you tell me how much you love me and how perfect I am?” You teased, running your fingers through his hair.

  He barked out a laugh and grinned wolfishly at you, “Indeed it is, Little Luck, indeed it is.”

  You laughed with him, “Well I guess it’s only fitting to say that I love you too.” 

  And in this moment, Jimin knew you were going to be there for him for the long run, the rest of his life. Well, he had always known that, but now it just took on a whole new meaning. Not only would you be there as his best friend, but as his lover. And he couldn’t wait to embark on more journeys and adventures with you as his right-hand woman, giving you all the care and love you deserve from all the years of continuous and endless support you provided him. No, he didn’t need any luck in moving on with his life and career, because he already had you. The End.

[manymessyfandoms]

A concept: Tony is about to go on a mission to rescue the people that disappeared at the end of IW with the remaining avengers. And just in case he doesn’t make it he records a video for Peter that is scheduled to send on the day of his graduation telling him how proud he is of him.

HELLOO. So I’m so sorry, but I kind of changed it a little. It’s still the same idea tho, don’t worry!!! 

But uhhh this one’s hella angsty because that’s where my heads at today: OH AND AVENGERS INFINITY WAR SPOILERS

All Peter Parker knew was darkness. For minutes, hours, days, years. Just… darkness. Until one day he opened his eyes, and it was light again.

“Peter? Are you awake?” a familiar voice cut through the haze he was in. Doctor Strange.

Peter suddenly gasped, remembering what had happened. He died. He burned away to ash, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. The overwhelming feeling of dread in his chest tightened, and his heart started racing.

He opened his eyes, searching for the last ones he saw as he faded to nothingness. “Mr. Stark?” he said, the panic evident in his voice. “Tony? Where’s Tony? I- I need-”

Peter broke off when he noticed the other Avengers faces. They were anguished. Grief stricken. 

And Peter’s heart sank. 

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “No, he’s not… he can’t be. Someone tell me where he is.” There was only silence. “Somebody say something! Where is Tony?”

Steve Rogers, looking worse for wear, stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter. He… he fought until his last breath. He saved us.”

Suddenly Peter was angry, so angry. “You’re lying! Why are you lying? Tony’s not dead,” he yelled and everyone flinched. “Just please tell me where he is. Please, I just- I just need to talk to him. I swear I won’t bother you if you just tell me where he went. Is he back at the tower already? Is that where he is? Please- please just tell me-” Peter hadn’t even realized he was crying until he couldn’t get any more words out.

He put his face in his hands and sobbed, the realization setting in that he lost another parent, another person he loved. 

Tony Stark was gone. 

The other Avengers started talking, but Peter ignored them all. The only thing he could focus on was the heavy feeling overtaking his entire body as he mourned for the loss of the man that would never know just how much he meant to Peter.

It was three days later they held the funeral. It was packed, and Peter could only stand in the back and hold back his nausea as people talked about how Tony was a hero. Peter didn’t care if he was a hero. He just wanted him alive. Peter missed him. Missed him in a way he hadn’t felt since Uncle Ben died.

“Peter,” Ned said after the funeral as he walked in the room, and Peter spared him a glance before turning back to the wall. “Listen, I don’t know everything that happened, but I’m sorry about Tony.” Peter just curled up in a ball and waited for Ned to leave. He just… he couldn’t.

Eventually Ned realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of Peter, so he left, and it was only a few minutes later that Peter’s phone chimed with the an email notification from none other than Tony Stark. He was suddenly more awake than he’d been in days. 

He quickly opened it and saw it was a video titled, Just in case. Peter’s hands were suddenly shaking, and he swallowed thickly before pressing play.

“Hey, kid. It’s me.” Tony’s face flashed on the screen. He looked so tired. There was such pain in his eyes, and it sent a pang through Peter. “So… there’s some stuff I need you to know.” He wiped a hand over his face. “You know what, no, I’m not doing this.” He moved to stop the video, but pulled his hand away and sighed. “Peter.” The sound of his name being said in that tone was something he would never forget. Peter didn’t even acknowledge the stray tears falling from his eyes.

“You’ve been gone for about a year. It’s… it’s been a long year, kid.” He tried to laugh, but it came out strained. “One of the longest. It’s… it’s rough not having your endless chatter to distract me from my thoughts. I keep expecting you to come bouncing into the lab with a grin on your face as you talk about whatever new idea that brilliant brain of yours has come up with.” Tony looked away from the camera before clearing his throat. “We have a plan, though. A good plan, actually. I think we’ve got a good shot of getting you back, Pete.” There was finally some of the brightness in his eyes that Peter had been accustomed to. “The thing is, I’m not quite sure I’m going to make it.” Peter felt his tears rush down his face quicker, and Tony sniffled. “And if I don’t make it and you do, then there’s stuff that I just- I really need you to know.

“First things first, I hope you’re doing well, kid. I know you probably shed a tear or two when you found out I bit it, but really, it’s okay. You’re obviously seeing this right now, and if you are, then I’m happy wherever I am in the afterlife.

“I’m not here to talk about me, though. We’re talking about you. You are such a pain in the ass, Pete. Did you know that?” Tony had such a fond look on his face that Peter choked out a chuckle. “Listen, even if I did survive this, I’d probably still be dead before soon anyways because of all the years you shaved off my life with your antics. Has anyone ever told you that you tend to cut things close?” Tony laughed for a second before his eyes grew sad.

There was a pause before he spoke next. “I miss you so much, Peter,” he said and he looked away from the camera. “You’re a menace, but you’re my menace. You were my responsibility, and you- you disappeared in my arms.” Tony furiously wiped at his eyes. “Shit, I wasn’t going to cry. Dammit.” Peter closed his eyes and bit his lip, holding back a sob.

Tony cleared his throat after a second. “But you’re coming back. You’re coming back because you can’t not come back. Because you’re Peter Parker, and you’re too good to die begging for your life. You deserve to die when you’re a hundred years old, surrounded by all people you love after a lifetime of memories. 

“You’re going to live such a good life, Peter. It’s going to be great, and you’re going to do amazing things. Not even just as Spiderman.” Tony waved his hand in dismissal. “As you. As Peter Parker. Because Peter Parker is just as much of a hero as Spiderman is, so just don’t ever feel confined by your abilities. Your life could be whatever you make of it.

“And no matter what you do, I’d be damn proud of you. I know you’re probably beating yourself up over what happened, but that’s not on you. so don’t be sad, Pete. Please. Live your happiest life, because you deserve to be happy. You deserve it more than anybody I know.”

Tony took a shuddering breath before a knock on the door sounded. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he yelled. “That’s my cue. Just… remember what I said. Okay, Pete? And if I do make it out of this alive, then I’m just going to cancel this damn video and this whole thing will have been for nothing.” Tony had a sad smile on his face. “Maybe I’ll even have the balls to say all this to your face, kid.” He rubbed at his eyes one last time before saying with a thick voice, “I love you, Peter. Goodbye.”

Peter hadn’t known how much time had passed before Aunt May walked into his room to find him sobbing on the floor, clutching his phone hard enough that a crack appeared on the screen. 

Arms wrapped around him and he eventually registered her words. “… okay, Peter, it’s okay.” The feeling of her fingers carding through his hair made him cry harder. 

“He’s gone, he’s dead. I’m never going to see him again,” he got out through his cries. Aunt May just said something Peter couldn’t remember.

When Peter Parker had died the year before, all he knew was darkness. What he didn’t know was how dark the world would be when he came back, because a life without Tony Stark was nearly as dark as death. 

[word-sss]

i am not satisfied with this, but i wanted to post some kiyoyachi anyway. so here u go:

Hitoka’s never liked bars and clubs and the sort. She rarely visits them. But they do have a certain appeal. But there’s never been a time one guy or another didn’t try to flirt with her when she went to to one. It’s good for her self-esteem really. But being hella gay, as well supremely meek, Hitoka tends to get really uncomfortable. Tanaka-senpai’s glare usually protects her from the unwanted attention though. The only reason she ever goes is to regular bars is to make sure her rowdy senpai gets home safe anyway. Tanaka is kind of like that very creepy teddy bear Hitoka had when she was little. It scared off other people but needed to be protected from things only Hitoka could protect it from. The same way, Tanaka needs Hitoka to make sure he isn’t left alone in the streets or taken advantage of, when he’s wasted.

When they visit Gay bars however, things are a bit better, although not by much. Getting hit on by girls….is amazing and they are much easier to turn down. Tanaka’s glare is still there to help her even though the intimidating man is supremely bad at dealing with women. Hitoka doesn’t seem to need it tonight though. Which is good thing seeing that Tanaka is really hitting it off with this one guy who looks to be just his type. Hitoka’s kinda glad. Her senpai has been hung up on that last break-up for a while. It’ll be nice if he can find someone new. Hitoka is pondering if her friend would need a ride home at all, when she spost her.

She’s reading a book. Hitoka can’t make out the title from here. It’s probably something complicated. She looks so absorbed in it. She scrunches her brows up in annoyance when the lights flash and pushes the book closer to the light source of her otherwise empty booth. She is beautiful. From her dark hair to her soft features and her plain white button-up, she looks like every one of Hitoka’s dream come true.

Holy freaking shit.  The most beautiful girl Hitoka’s ever seen is reading a book, in the loudest bar she’s ever been in, amidst all the flashing lights.  

As established before, Hitoka is generally shy. She could never bring herself to approach anyone, let alone someone as intimidatingly beautiful like her. But there is something kind about her too, something that makes Hitoka gather enough courage to approach someone for the first time in her life. She takes in big gulp of air, tries to fix her hair a bit and slowly makes her way towards the stranger. Tanaka-senpai would be proud of her.

“Isn’t it too loud to read?” Is Hitoka’s brilliant opener.  Wow. No shit, sherlock.

The beauty looks up startled. She stares at Hitoka and holy shit, her eyes, her eyes. They are a startling grey with little specks of blue. Holy shit. Hitoka feels herself wilt under the gaze of this angel. What is she even doing? This stranger is so out of her league it’s not even funny.  She is about to apologize and back off when the girl moves her hand in some elaborate gestures Hitoka doesn’t understand.

“I’m sorry? What….are you doing?”

The beauty lets out a tiny sigh and gestures at the empty seats across her. Hitoka hesitantly sits down. The girl passes a card to Hitoka. It says, “I’m deaf.”

Oh, Hitoka thinks, as she passes the card back. She suddenly feels like an asshole. Her panicked mind somehow makes her hands sign out the only word she knows in JSL. “Sorry!”

The stranger blinks. Then quickly signs out something. Hitoka exhales. “Sorry!” She signs again, then speaks aloud, “That’s the only word I know. I kinda taught myself to say sorry in 13 languages..” She laughs nervously.

To Hitoka’s surprise the stranger laughs too. Her whole face lights up and her shoulders shake and she presses her laughter against the back of her hand. Oh my god, Hitoka finally understands how Tanaka-senpai can be so enamored with a person after meeting them just once. Hitoka is already half in love with this beautiful stranger. She wonders what god she pleased, who bestowed her with the luck to meet this actual angel. She’s ready to devote her life worshipping that god, if it means that she can make this angel laugh again. She is so gone, holy shit, she is so gone.

The angel, once she stops laughing, pulls out her phone—a very old one one, as in one of those T9 mobiles that had actual buttons. this explains why the beautiful stranger wasn't on her phone. Not much you can do in one of those—and types out something. She passes it towards Hitoka once she’s done. The screen says, “You have nothing to apologize for. But this is the first time i have met someone who knows how to apologize in so many languages. I’m Kiyoko, by the way.”

“I’m Hitoka.” Hitoka types back.

“Nice to meet you, Hitoka-chan. You know I am very good at lip reading. You can just speak normally, you know.” Kiyoko passes the phone back. Wow, she types fast.

“But that feels rude” It takes Hitoka an embarrassingly long time to type back.

“Oh no! It isn’t.”

“It feels rude tho. im already keeping u from ur book.”

“that’s fine. The lights here aren’t ideal for reading. I’d rather talk to someone as interesting as you anyway.”

The words make Hitoka flush. “ Thank you...i don’t think i am THAT interesting. But you are sure I am not keeping you from anyone?”

“Please. How often do you meet someone who knows only one word in 13 languages. And I came with a friend but he ditched me as soon as we came. You?”

“thank u...and its the same.”

“I don’t mean to offend you but you are quite a slow typer. Conversation would be easier if you just speak.”

“Sorry!” Hitoka signs again, flushing.

The angel, Kiyoko, laughs again. “No need to apologize...but if you really want to make it up to me. Why don’t you buy me a drink?”