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maybe-im-dark · 14 days ago

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Like a prayer

Based on this post

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The late-night fast food joint was nearly empty, fluorescent lights flickering above while Logan leaned back in his seat, shooting Wade a half-smirk over the rim of his drink. They’d barely made it to the end of their meal without bickering over something trivial, but Wade loved that—the arguments, the banter, the push-and-pull that made things feel like they were truly alive. Here, with greasy fries, cheap beer, and the warmth of Logan’s rare but genuine laugh, Wade felt a sense of peace.

When Logan stood to head to the bathroom, Wade barely registered the way Logan muttered something about Wade stealing his fries, watching him disappear down the hall with a grin.

Minutes passed. Too many.

The smile faded, Wade’s senses pricking with unease. He glanced around, half-expecting Logan’s gruff figure to stride back, maybe cracking a joke about Wade being paranoid. But the uneasy silence grew, stretching thin, and Wade’s heart began to pound. Something wasn’t right. He rose, pushing his tray aside and hurrying toward the bathroom.

As he entered, a metallic scent hit him—blood.

His gaze dropped, horror creeping up his spine as he followed the dark smears of blood staining the floor, leading to the open window. Logan had been kidnapped. The realization hit Wade like a fist to the gut. The panic sharpened into something harder, something cold and deadly.

The manager nearly choked as Wade pressed him against the wall, a gun held to his temple. Wade could only imagine what an image he gave off —a bald man with a face full of burn scars and blisters, eyes black as the night, aiming a gun.

“Security footage,” Wade hissed, his voice like a razor. “Now.”

Terrified, the manager stammered and scrambled to comply, showing him the footage. Wade’s stomach twisted as he watched the screen, where Logan had been ambushed—no, hunted. The men had moved quickly, mercilessly. They’d struck him with knockout gas, beaten him with lead pipes until he crumpled, helpless, his skull crushed, bones breaking with each brutal swing.

They dragged him, his body limp, leaving a trail of blood as they shoved him into a van. Wade could feel his hands shaking as he took down the license plate number. Rage surged through him, cold and fierce, as he turned and left without another word, the screams of the manager fading in the background.

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Wade’s contacts came through quickly, as he knew they would. They owed him, and he would’ve torn down their doors himself if they hadn’t. He found the address, a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town, the kind of place where shadows stretched long and secrets lay buried under layers of dust and neglect.

He’d expected to face this alone, but as he approached, he saw familiar figures—the X-Men—already there. Of course they had caught wind of what happened. They nodded grimly as he joined them, each one looking as angry, as frightened as he felt.

Jean’s soft voice cut through the tension, filled with sympathy. “Wade…I have to warn you, they’ve done something to him. They’ve tried to…erase him, turn him into a weapon again.”

Wade clenched his jaw, a chill creeping up his spine. The very thing Logan feared most—being stripped of his humanity, reduced to a monster at the whims of men who saw him as nothing but a weapon.

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” Wade muttered, his voice thick with pain. “We’re getting him back.”

A crash interrupted them, and they turned to see Logan at the end of the hallway. His eyes were wild, a twisted feral glint in them that sent a pang through Wade’s heart. This was not the Logan he knew, not the man he loved. His gaze was empty, filled with only rage and instinct.

“Logan…” Wade breathed, his voice a mix of shock and sorrow.

But Logan didn’t seem to hear him. He lunged forward, claws bared, each movement a brutal, calculated attack. The X-Men tried to hold him back, but he cut through them with vicious efficiency. Every strike, every slash—there was nothing held back, nothing restrained. His healing factor, paired with his berserker fury, made him unstoppable. Jean fell back, a wound across her arm; Hank was thrown against the wall, groaning as he tried to rise. The other X-Men didn't fare any better and they quickly retreated.

Wade’s chest tightened as he watched, desperation clawing at him. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let them lose Logan again, not like this.

An idea formed, a wild, reckless hope.

“Wolverine!” Wade’s voice rang out, the sound echoing as he stepped forward, blocking Logan’s path to the others. “Come and get me, honeybadger!”

Logan turned, the wildness in his eyes flickering as he sized Wade up, a snarl pulling at his lips. Wade took a deep breath, leading him into a small, empty room at the end of the hall. He could hear Jean’s worried voice behind him, begging him not to do it, to let them help.

But Wade shut the door, closing himself in with the man he loved, the man who now saw him as prey.

Logan’s posture was predatory, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. Wade felt a flicker of fear but pushed it down. Instead, he looked Logan in the eyes, willing him to see, to remember.

And then, he did the only thing he could think of. He began to sing.

Life is a mystery

Everyone must stand alone

I hear you call my name

And it feels like home

The words spilled from him, shaky, his voice cracking with emotion. Logan stopped, his head tilting, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. Wade’s voice grew stronger, louder, each word a lifeline.

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer

I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there

In the midnight hour, I can feel your power

Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

He was crying now, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face. This was the song they'd saved the world to, holding onto the raw strings of matter and anti-matter, holding each other's hands. It was theirs, a memory of a connection that could never be severed again.

Logan’s breathing slowed, his eyes softening, the rage melting away as he stared at Wade, the familiar lines of his face, the sound of his voice. Slowly, the haze lifted, memories returning as he saw Wade—his Wade.

“Wade…” Logan’s voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, but Wade heard it, heard the pain, the sorrow.

Wade stepped forward, his hands shaking as he took Logan’s face between his palms. Logan’s eyes were wet, shimmering with regret and grief as he collapsed into Wade’s arms, his entire body trembling.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Logan choked, clutching Wade as though afraid he’d vanish. “I couldn’t…they…I wasn't strong enough.”

Wade held him close, his own tears falling freely. He stroked Logan’s hair, his voice soft, soothing. “Hey, hey…you’re back. You’re with me. I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the darkness around them seemed to fade, replaced by the warmth of their embrace. Logan’s sobs quieted, and Wade gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, pressing his lips to Logan’s forehead.

Outside, the X-Men waited, the tension easing as they heard the muffled sound of Wade’s song, the quiet murmurs of reassurance. Jean and Hank exchanged a glance, relief softening their expressions.

In that moment, with Wade’s arms around him and his familiar scent grounding him, Logan felt safe. The shame, the rage—they faded, replaced by something fragile, something hopeful.

“I’m here, Wade,” Logan whispered, his voice rough but steady. “I’m…I’m here.”

Wade’s voice was a soft promise, his words barely a whisper as he held Logan tighter. “And I’m never letting you go.”

It wasn’t an ending, nor a beginning. It was a moment suspended in time, where two souls found each other again, bound by something deeper than memory, stronger than fear. And as Wade held him, Logan knew, for the first time, that he was home. Because home wasn't a place, it was a person. And that person was Wade.

#hugh jackman #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #fanfiction #fanart #artists on tumblr #like a prayer #the power of love #the power of madonna #be still my heart #be still my beating vagina #what the fuck #this tag was recommended to me #i am now both laughing and crying

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madame-fear · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

[ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 | 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍 ]

★ amira speaks! : beforehand i apologise for the sensitive content/topics in this chapter, i only added it for the angst of the plot. feel free to ignore this chapter if you dislike this type of content. — summary : [ — ✧ request ] — word count : 6.0k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x betrothed!reader — genre : initial angst at Jace’s unrequited love, maybe. in general terms, fluff. this chapter mostly contains angst.

ೃ⁀➷ check the TPOL masterlist!

TW | mentions of near death, birth, blood, miscarriage(s), self-deprecation.

“Just a few more pushes,”

A helpless groan escaped from you. Several strands of your already sweaty hair covered your face, swaying very slightly as you heavily panted against them. Your trembling hand was held by Rhaenyra rather tightly, while her other hand soothingly brushed the bits of hair that covered your eyes, caressing your head as well. Towels tinted in your own blood were all across the bed where you were giving birth to your firstborn, and the tension in the atmosphere worsened with the passing of seconds.

Childbirth could be rather difficult and dangerous, too, and she like no other understood the situation you were in. The situation wasn’t any easier considering it was unknown whether Lucerys had survived Storm’s End or not, with her being his dearing mother, and you being his treasured, closest friend. “I-I can’t do this—” you panted out, a desperate look covered your expression, as you craned your head to stare at Rhaenyra in a feeble manner. She shook her head, “You can do this, sweet girl. We’re here for you.” she reassured, cooing. Jace, much like Rhaenyra, held the back of your head, stroking it with the tip of his thumb to offer you some comfort, feeling nervous and preoccupied himself as well for your safety.

The young maidens that aided you during the birth of your child seemed rather nervous, noticing how grimly in pain you seemed. A breathless groan escaped from you, as the pants became more huffed with the passing of the seconds. A rather intense cramping pain struck you in the abdomen, even being felt in the lower stomach; it felt as if all of your organs were pressured and being squeezed right out of you. Clenching your jaw, a growl escaped deeply from your throat as you began trying to push harder.

You felt as if you could pass out right there from the way your head spun around dizzily, at any moment. The blood loss you suffered was exaggerated, and concerning. The bedsheets below you had turned into a harrowing dark shade of red for those surrounding you. One of the maidens was positioned between your legs, to which your inner thighs had some dried drops of your blood, and she raised her sight towards Rhaenyra. “I can see the head of the babe already, your Grace.” she remarked, as Rhaenyra gave her a single nod with her head, sheepishly grinning before turning back to you.

“The babe is almost out, you can do it.” she kept reassuring. But there was something that felt off. Perhaps it was your intuition that sensed something was not right, perhaps it was the built-up stress taking an extreme toll on your body, or even… It was the thought of what could’ve happened with the young Velaryon Prince in Storm’s End, that still roamed subconsciously in your mind, eating every last remaining bit of your mental stability in a heinous manner. Every time you reminded yourself of the current situation the cramping pain kicked harder, making you try to hold back a few screams of dread, but miserably failing.

A tear appeared at the corner of your eye, threatening to fall at any given chance as you let your head drop dead against the pillow, shaking your head desperately. “No, no…” you mumbled out, feeling the tear run across your cheek, leaving a hot trail behind. The pain was nearly unbearable, you could barely hold yourself anymore. The platinum haired woman raised your hand to her lips, softly pressing a lip against your knuckles as she caressed your skin with the tip of her thumb. “I know how it feels, my love,” she spoke in a hushed tone, that as well indicated worry behind of it, noticing the amount of blood you lost. She tried to cling to the last bits of hope she had inside of her, but she knew what that could possibly mean. And it was grisly to even allow that thought to slip inside her mind.

Rhaenyra didn’t wish for you to endure the pain she went through, when she suffered a miscarriage with Visenya.

“But the babe is almost out, you have to do this.” the baby that was half his, or her way out from your insides felt like a heavy weight, as if the child didn’t seem to do it’s own efforts to come out from you. A sigh escaped from you, as your quivering arms propped your body slightly by the elbows to adjust your position. Your hand tightened it’s grip to that of Rhaenyra’s, and you once again tried using all the last remains of strength you had to force the baby out of you.

In a swift movement, the door of your private quarters was opened in a haste. A maiden rushed inside, approaching Rhaenyra. You were too distraught pushing your baby out to even care, but the Targaryen princess raised her sight with furrowed eyebrows to stare at the maiden, whom had leaned her body closer to Rhaenyra’s, whispering in her ear.

“A small dragon has been seen approaching Dragonstone, your Grace. It might be Prince Lucerys,”

Those words of her were barely distuinguishable to you, feeling drowsy enough as you felt the babe’s heavy weight leisurely coming out of you, along the slick liquids of your placenta. Her blue eyes widened very slightly at the words of the young maiden, staring at her with a look of both disbelief, and relief. The maiden, without saying another word, rushed back outside of your private quarters, discreetly working as someone who passed the news to the Queen while she was focused on helping you with your birth; with the birth of the future heir to the Iron Throne.

“Half body out, my Princess.” the maiden informed, with a keen smile appearing on the corner of her lips as she encouraged you to keep pushing. Rhaenyra warmly, and vey slightly smiled to you at the news. There was barely any strength out of you, but biting your lower lip desperately, you picked all the force that was left inside of you, and used it to push the babe out of you with some more pushes.

At one point, gritting your teeth through the pain, you felt the child easily sliding out of your body. A cry escaped rather loudly from you, even if your jaw was tightly clenched to drown back the noises spurring from youe lips, feeling the heavy weight pressuring your lowest zones one more time, before feeling relief at having it all come out at once.

As the child slipped out from you, you mindlessly threw your head back, physically and mentally exhausted. One of the maids assisting you rapidly took hold of your babe, as another girl helped her wrap the child. Rhaenyra looked down at you, warmly leaning closer to press a tender kiss on your sweaty forehead, and Jace rapidly stood up from his seat to meet the child. “I’m proud of you.” Rhaenyra whispered, brushing aside the strands of hair that covered your face, as you remained with your eyes closed.

One of the young maids that carried the already wrapped up babe in her arms remained with her stare fixed on the child. Your eyes slowly opened again, barely beig able to move from all the physical activity. Her expressions turned into a joyful one, but leisurely became grim, with her sheepish smile drooping down in a dreadful manner. It wasn’t until then, that you realised something was terribly wrong. And so did the rest of the people inside your chambers.

“P-Prince, Princess, your boy…” she gulped nervously, as the eldest Velaryon Prince stood by her side. A sensation of anxiety arose on him with the passing of seconds at the realisation that the child, your little boy, wasn’t crying, nor doing any sound even if the young girl rocked him gently in her arms. Jace, delicately but hastily, took the child on his arms.

The child was quiet, still. The chambers felt horribly dreadful as your chest rose and descended continously, awaiting for the young maiden to continue speaking, or for Jace to at least murmur a word. The young maiden’s face began being covered by great anguish, as Jace stood still staring at the boy you had together in disbelief, quietly grieving.

As Jacaerys held the small babe in his arms, one of his hands went to the back of his head, raising him to his face, and placing his lips on the child’s forehead in a mournful manner. Rhaenyra could only feel the disappointment, and sorrowness that would begin to loom over you at the tension lurking the ambience, amidst the dead silence.

“(y/n)…” the eldest Velaryon muttered, carefully sitting by your side. Weakly, you rapidly sat on the bed, groaning a bit in the process as a stinging pain hit in your lower stomach. It couldn’t be. The way you stared at him, screamed that you were losing every bit of hope to see your newborn baby boy healthy and well. His heart ached at the sight of harrowing desperation in your face, as well as Rhaenyra knew you wouldn’t be easily comforted out of this.

“No,” you whispered, nearly abruptly taking the babe away from Jace’s arms, carrying him yourself. “It… It can’t… It can’t be—” your words were stuttered, coming nearly choked out. A lump began tightening your throat, as you felt a rising of savage emotions all coming to attack you at once. Cradling the newborn baby smoothly, your trembling fingers weakly moved aside part of the blanket wrapped around his body that covered his beauteous little face.

Gods, it seemed as if he was merely sleeping peacefully; undisturbed. Your chin began quivering, as the water forming in your eyes became tears, violently beginning to escape from your eyes as you sobbed. Tightly pressing the child against your chest, with your hand pressing the back of his head tightly against the crook of your neck, you allowed yourself to cry everything you had contained.

“I’m… Very sorry.” jace muttered, feeling the sorrow himself as that little dead baby was his child as well. Without doubting it a second, his arm was wrapped around your waist and pressed you against him, embracing you warmly to offer some comfort. Rhaenyra reached to place herseld by your side and smother you in her usual motherly love, but the same maiden that informed her of the dragon approaching Dragonstone from afar entered the room again.

“Your Grace, Prince Lucerys and his dragon have returned severely injured. He was asking for (y/n) before he had to be taken to his chambers by the maesters due to his open wounds.” the whisper was supposed, again, only for Rhaenyra to hear, but you did manage to properly listen what she said. The Targaryen Queen looked at you one more time with a long sigh before standing up from her seat, “I will be back soon, my love.” she whispered, caressing your back before leaving behind with the maid that informed her of the news.

Either way, the burden sitting heavily on your chest was more than enough for you to ignore all the things surrounding you. The tears escaped from your eyes, leaving their hot trails on your rosy cheeks. The poisonous feeling of ponderous emptiness rooted inside you haltingly with the passing of time. Nothing surrounding you mattered anymore. You felt frail, impotent — not only physically, but it was mentally degrading as well for your wellbeing.

“I-I’m sorry…” you muttered, in between helpless, desperate sobs. The tears ran freely across your face, falling down to the ivory blanket your dead child was wrapped around, leaving little dark spots of dried tears. “I-I failed you. I failed my own child… I-I failed everyone,” your lips quivered violently. Your already feeble arms trembled as you tightly held your child against your chest, rocking your body.

Jace looked at you sorrowfully, trying to contain the own sadness he felt at the moment. He shook his head softly, brushing aside a strand of your hair. “No, don’t say that. You never failed any of us,” he reassured, embracing you tightly, allowing your own head to heavily rest on his shoulder. The eldest of the Princes felt a bit of uneasy on how to properly comfort you, as words never felt enough. “You are a great and dutiful wife, as well as a mother. We all cherish you very dearly, like no other.”

His lips were pressed gently against your head, trying to coo you. Your eyes were tightly shut, carelessly allowing sweaty strands of your hair to cover your features. The dreadful pain — in every way — made you feel tremendously exhausted, but all the tears you hid for quite some time were finally freed. In response to his words, you shook your head.

“No,” you whispered, with a hitched breathing. You sniffed quietly, “I am no proper mother, Jacaerys.” weakly, you raised your sight to him. Continously, the tears falled from your eyes, moistening your own clothes, and that of Jace’s. But that couldn’t matter any less, at the moment. His coffee coloured eyes attentively focused on you, pitying the state you were in.

“T-The Seven,” you blurted, stuttering. “They have cursed me to suffer this pain. And I wish I wouldn’t have to endure it.”

Of course, he never thought this was a cursed brought by the Seven themselves. Perhaps a misfortune, yes, but only because the context of war was stressing enough to also add the near death of your best friend, his younger brother. Fortunately, the young future Lord had returned, harmed but alive, but there was no going back to what happened. Your child was born too early, and in a bad situation.

For now, all he could do was give you your time and space to let the pain naturally flow away. Offering you his support and care as you both lost the newborn boy, and the next heir you shared in common, but with no pressure to you.

Time passed dreadfully slow. The hooting of the owls was hushedly heard from the outside of your window, as well as the chirping of the crickets.

All the tears that had fallen from your eyes were dried. There were no more of them to let escape, but you felt as if you needed to cry even more. Your eyes felt heavy, as if they could droop down at any given time, but you had no need to rest at all.

The funeral of your dead newborn child wouls be held early in the morrow, and you already dreaded the thought of having to witness it. Everyone that previously assisted you with your birth had offered their comfort to you, but after some time, you decided you wished to be alone. And knowing the pain, they allowed you to carry your cold babe in your arms, cradling his body disappointedly.

Lucerys had to forcefully rest after the maesters helped taking care of his severe wounds, and had been informed of your miscarriage the second the young Prince woke from his short, interrupted sleep. Of course, Luke had insisted on standing up in anyway he could, and visiting you — but as you wished to be alone and he was gravely injured, no one allowed him to get out of his private quarters.

Truth was, you craved to have Lucerys by your side comforting you after the miscarriage you suffered. And he did as well.

While everyone rested in a deep slumber, the young Velaryon Prince stood from his bed. A wooden cane was given to Lucerys in case he needed to stand up for anything, and he took hold of it as he surreptitiously made his way out from his chambers; but not without having to drown back some growls in pain at how every single cut painfully stinged him.

Quietly shutting the door behind of him, he used his cane to walk on the dimly lit halls of Dragonstone to guide himself towards your chambers, which fortunately it was only a few minutes away.

As you gently cradled your body grimly with youe cold child in your arms, with notorious dark bags under your eyes and a slight redness from all the tearing, a soft knock was heard from the door of your chambers. Having been involved in your own thoughts — and blankly staring, simultaneously — the knock made you quietly yelp, jumping very slightly. Your heartbeat increased rapidly, as you gulped anxiously.

You felt too weak to even respond. “M-May I come in?” the gentle, feeble voice was from no other than Lucerys himself. Even if you felt relieved to know he had taken all the effort to visit you, a few seconds of silence loomed before you finally answered. The pounding from your heartbeat leisurely went back to normal. “Y-You may.” you finally answered, with a hoarse voice.

For some reason, it felt strange to hear your own voice after hours of locking yourself own chambers. The mere sound of your fragile voice shattered his heart.

Discreetly, Luke entered your room, rapidly shutting the door as he entered. You lifted your sight to stare at him, with a dispirited expression in your face. Not only your heart was already shattered for having gone through the painful miscarriage of your firstborn, but as well seeing his arms covered in bandages, noticing several cuts on his face with some dried blood and him walking on a cane slowly already worsened your state.

Lucerys stopped right in front of your bed, his green eyes observing the amount of blood your sheets were covered in, along some towels tossed around your chambers that were tinted in dark red. The sight was harrowing enough, and it became more horrid the moment he saw you still holding your baby boy in your arms, looking absolutely shattered. Your hair was messy, and your face was had slight puffy eyes from all the crying, reddish in your lower lids.

��Baelon didn’t make it, Luke.” your voice was enervated, breaking as you spoke very slightly. A long sigh escaped his lips, continuing to walk towards you. Your eyes were watery once again, as you looked down at your babe. “(y/n)…” he muttered, groaning hushedly as he sat by the edge of your bed, but by your side. His cane rested against the nightstand table next to your bed. “I wish I could have been there for you. I’m sorry.”

Tenderly, his hand was placed on your cheek. With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that began rolling across your cheek again, caressing your skin very softly. “A-And I wish I could have been there for you, too…” you retorted, swiftly licking your already dried lower lip. “Jace insists I could never fail him on my duty to provide him with an heir, but…” your breathing was sharpened, trying to inhale some fresh air to avoid falling into the downward spiral of releasing all the sorrow you contained.

“I did fail him. I failed all of you. I wish I could have taken more care of myself to protect my child,” your words brought grief to himself, with a desperate rising feeling in his chest to hold you against him and shower you in all the adoration Luke had. The young Velaryon noticed immediatly the way the tip of your quivering fingers caressed the cheek of your little boy.

“Look at me, (y/n). Come here,” curiously, you raised your sight towards him.

With a weak, yet smooth movement, the young Velaryon prince gently wrapped his arms around your waist. His hands tightly pulled you against his body while his green eyes fluttered shut, as you rested your head against his chest and kept cradling your child in your arms, inhaling his scent deeply as if his warmth were the only thing capable of keeping you less miserable.

The tears strolled through your eyes in a leisure manner. It was as if a burning burden sat tightly against your chest, weighing profoundly. In a way, you felt reassured to know that despite how gravely wounded he was from Dragonstone, he was still alive. But other part of you, felt entirely useless, and if something had been brutally ripped apart from you.

“I promise, we will forever cherish that child.” you would forever remember the heir that could never be, and even if you felt helplessly useless, you found comfort in Lucerys – as your own beacon of security.

“And I will stay by your side in the morrow, during the funeral.” he placed a tender kiss on top of your head, then resting his chin on it. The young Prince rocked your body to the sides very tenderly and slightly, sighing softly. Something in him realised how much of a good, loving mother you were. In a way, you reminded him of his own.

For a moment, during Storm’s End, he was afraid he would never get to feel that sweet warmth of yours, or to ever stay by your side to comfort you if you needed to. But part of that weight was released when Luke returned safe from home, and even if he was as severely wounded as he was, he would never not take care of you.

This was far away from being the end to you, even if it seemed like nothing could be as better and simple as it used to be.

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