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slytherinnbitch · 3 years

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Day 7: Proposal

Since this marks one week, this is going to be extra long!

"Goodbye love," Draco says as he leaves Grimmauld Place a little late.

Harry was dressing when he left him in the room, he casts a tempus charm just outside the door. It's almost noon, Salazar knew why Harry didn't even bat an eyelid at his late morning.

He apparates to the Maya Magal in London, it's apparantly the best place to get engagement rings and both Pansy and Hermione vouch for it.

A handsomely dressed woman, probably Draco's age, greets him at the door and takes him inside.

"What would you be looking for today, sir?" she asks politely.

"Engagement rings, thank you."

"Do you have any choice or maybe a reference picture?"

"No, just something light and simple would do. He doesn't like heavy jewels or jewels for that matter." Draco says, belatedly realising that he used the masculine pronoun instead of the neutral one, Hermione had told him that Muggles didn't always see eye to eye with same gender relationships like Wizards and Witched did.

But the lady doesn't even hesitate before giving him a smile and leading him towards the middle of the store. She starts showing him a myriad of rings- all of them elegant and classy with intricate designs but nothing that would suit Harry.

After almost four hours of looking at almost each and every ring in the shop, he picks a simple band which a mixture of platinum and gold with tiny diamonds adorning it's edges. He immediately knows that this is it.

The lady smiles at him again, not a single sign in her face saying that she is frustrated or annoyed that Draco took such a long time.

"Would you like to engrave something on the inside?"

"Yes sure." Draco replies, he instantly knows what he wants. In the end, the lady- Lara tells him to come back in two hours for the ring to be ready and he thanks her and gets going.

A tempus charm shows him that he has about three hours to get home before Harry starts to suspect anything and that's plenty of time. He apparates to the cementry in Godric's hollow.

"Hello," he greets James and Lily as he sits down beside their grave on the ground, "So I wanted to ask you for Harry's hand. I know it's an ancient practice and well, you are dead but I want to do this right. I was raised this way and I'm rambling."

He takes a moment conjure some flowers before he starts talking again, "So I want to marry your son. Why should he marry me? I don't know that. Merlin, I don't even know why he loves me. Me, who is an angry arsehole to everyone and who never smiles. Weasley's definition not mine, just so you know. I can tell you why I love him though? Maybe that will be enough to convince you both. Harry, he has always been my guiding star. I don't know how but even in school when we were at each other's throats, he had been someone constant, someone always there. No matter in what way, just there. And afterwards, the war where well you know things happened and I was so bloody naive but he was there as well. He had been my only hope back then, that Harry might be able to save all of his from the doom which was Vol-voldemort. And he did, he even initiated the house unity in Eighth year and then we got seperated because of our careers and look at us now. Both working at the Ministry and even our departments are connected, somewhat. I'm an Unspeakable, you see. You would know that Harry is Head Auror but not about me. I don't know when that star, that hope became my everything. Slowly, but consistently. We grew closer and I can't imagine a day without him anymore. At the end of the day, I need to be around him else I can't fall asleep.

It's been almost twelve years since the war but some scars remain. I'm really hoping that you would look past those and forgive me and accept me as your son's husband-if he says yes that is. Maybe this is all in vain, Harry might just say no and that will be that. But I'm trying not to focus on the negatives right now. Thank you for your sacrifices and thank you so much for giving this world such a kind hearted, selfless person. Thank you for my Harry." He finishes at last, his eyes are slightly tinging but that's alright. No one's here to see him like this anyways.

He talks to them somemore, about everything about him and Harry and how much he loves him and how he would never let Harry feel like he did throughout his childhood and how he plans on proposing Harry on the anniversary of their tenth year together.

Its about 6pm when he leaves the graveyard and goes to pick up the ring.

.........

As soon as Harry hears Draco call out his goodbye, he takes out his notepad from under the socks in the drawer and checks everything he needs to do in order for everything to be perfect tomorrow.

Pick up ring

Ask the parents

Check in with Hermione and Pansy

Order the flowers

He makes goes to the Wizarding Jewelry Place first and asks for the ring.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. The ring is ready and just how you asked it to be. I'll bring it right out," the old man says, who Harry got to know was the owner of the shop from Pansy.

He comes out after several moments and in his hands is a small jewelry box, with intricate golden work over the black satin. The man opens the box and shows Harry the ring, it's perfect with its platinum and gold band and a heavy diamond in the middle of it, he checks the inside and yes, the inscription is just how he had wanted it to be.

He thanks the man and hurries to Wiltshire after making his payment.

He apparates just outside of the Manor gates, after all these years it's fairly easy to enter. The Manor has transformed drastically, and Narcissa and surprisingly, Lucius's warm welcome behaviour had helped immensely.

He had been shocked when he met Lucius as Draco's boyfriend for the first time since the war, it had been after two years of dating Draco and he had been invited over. Gone was the bigoted, slimy bastard he knew, this Lucius was still as much of an arsehole but not the same one. They were not friendly exactly, but he liked to think that he and Lucius got along nowadays. Well it's almost been eight years so he guessed with time anything was possible.

The gates opens to him without any sort of hindrance. Just as he was going to knock on the door, Mipsy opens it and pokes her head out.

"Mipsy is here to greet Harry Potter. Who does Harry Potter like to meet? Master Draco isn't here today."

"Yes, Mipsy I'm aware that Draco isn't here. I'm here to meet Lucius and Narcissa actually." He explains, Mipsy nods her head and vanishes with a small pop, only to return twenty seconds later, and asking Harry to follow her to the parlor.

"Harry, dear. What do we owe this pleasure to?" Narcissa asks as he enters the room.

"Sure you haven't lost your way here? Draco doesn't live here any longer." Lucius says at the same time.

"Yes, Lucius I haven't lost my way and I know Draco doesn't live here any longer, since you know, he lives with me now," he retorts back- Merlin it's weird enough calling Lucius by his name in his head, it's weirder when he says it out loud. "I actually wanted to ask for something."

"See Cissa, I told you he had ulterior motives after all," Lucius says as he looks over Harry suspiciously.

"Oh Lucius, why don't we hear out the young man before you start with all your nonsense." Narcissa says and she waves her hand towards Harry in a way to tell him to continue.

"I want to ask for Draco's hand in marriage." Harry blurts out, the silence that follows is deafening. He looks from Malfoy to the other, both of them seem to be in an intense conversation which is being spoken through their eyes.

It's Lucius who breaks the silence at last, "Why do you want to marry our son? Why should we allow you?"

"Because I love him, I know it can't be as simple as that but that's the gist of it. I love your son with my whole being. I can't imagine a day where I can't see his face or without his insults which have somehow become a constant as well. I tried to find the many reasons for which I should deserve to marry him, I can't find one. But I want to, I want to be deserved enough to marry Draco Malfoy. I want to make him happy for the rest of his life and I want to do this right for once, that's why here I'm asking permission for his hand because even though it doesn't matter nowadays. Draco loves tradition and for him, this is of great significance and I want everything to be right this time." Harry finishes and when he looks over at them, because he had said most of that looking at the carpet, Narcissa's eyes a bit glassy and Lucius who never shows emotion, is actually beaming at him.

"Very well then, Harry. You have both our permission to marry our son and we both would be honoured to welcome you into the Malfoy family. I...I might have been wrong about you afterall." Lucius says and coming from him it's high praise. He is glad both of them and he tells them so and both of them smile fondly at him. They make him stay for tea and afterwards wishes him luck as he floos to Diagon Alley to meet Hermione and Pansy at the new cafe.

"So you got the parents blessings then?" Pansy asks as she takes a sip of her firewhiskey mixed coffee.

"Yup"

"And you have the ring?" Hermione questions as she sets down her wine glass. Seriously is this a cafe or a pub?

"Right here!" He shows them the ring and they coo over it for a minute. "Is this place even a cafe or is that just for the name?"

"It's a cafe and bar, of sorts. They provide a mixture of normal drinks but add alcohol to it. You should try the vodka and peach drink. It's absolutely perfect." Pansy answers as she calls over a waiter.

"No thank you, Pans. I have to go back to my boyfriend who shouldn't even suspect that I have been anywhere but work today. Do you have anything non-alcoholic?" He directs the last question to the waiter who has come.

"Yes, right about everything can be non-alcoholic or purely alcoholic as well. The mixtures are just out speciality."

"Oh then....you know what give me a vodka and peach drink. I deserve it after spending an entire afternoon with two Malfoys." Harry says. The waiter suppresses his amusement and goes to get his order.

Pansy and Hermione snicker at him, "Oh shut it. As if you both wouldn't do the exact same."

They are still chuckling as he discusses the details of the date he had set up for tomorrow. Nowhere public because neither of them liked that, so instead he had picked up a picnic spot for tomorrow night. It would be great fun to propose in the middle of night with only the moons and stars providing them light.

Pansy and Hermione were incharge of setting everything up and they would also be telling Draco that it was a joint anniversary gift to them and they had informed Harry as well. It was the perfect ploy and no one would suspect a thing.

"Alright, the two of you. Enjoy your night, go home safely. I need to get going if I want to make it home before him." Harry says as he gets up and kisses both their cheeks one by one.

"Ron and Blaise will be here shortly so you need not worry about it, darling. We'll be alright on our own till then." Hermione says back and Pansy adds,"Draco never comes home early so you needn't worry about it."

Seriously these two are in so much sync that it terrifies him at times.

He steps out of the cafe and on a impromptu decision apparates to Godric's hollow instead.

...

Draco apparates directly inside the Manor Gates after picking up the ring.

Tabota greets him and tells him that his parents are in the third floor parlor. He makes his way quickly-he doesn't have much time left, he needs to be quick now.

"Hello, love. What a pleasant surprise!" Mother says as he enters.

"Hello Mother," he says and then nods towards his father, "Father,"

"Actually I'm in a bit of a hurry right now. I wanted the Malfoy signet ring." Draco says, getting to the point quickly.

"But I can see you wearing yours, son." Father says.

"Yes I know. I'm- I'm proposing Harry tomorrow." He announces and he is confused by their identical expressions of surprise and then repressed mirth. He didn't except that.

"Is that so?" Father says as he tilts his head, "Very well then, I'll go get it." He leaves the room and Draco is left with his Mother.

"I'm so happy for you, my darling." She says as she comes closer and hugs him.

"Well, I hope he says yes, else..." Draco replies as he hugs her back.

"Oh I'm sure he won't." Father replies as he enters the room. That was surprisingly quick.

"Here you go, son. I'm sure Harry would be quite delighted." He hands Draco the ring and engulfs him in a rare hug as well. Draco can't believe it, his parents approve. Not that he didn't know that, but it's different to know that so explicitly.

"Thank you. I need to get going now. Goodbye." Draco says, his parents murmur their byes and he apparates directly to Grimmauld Place.

Harry's yet to be home, so he decides to hide his ring and take a long bath.

Tomorrow is going to be perfect!

@cupofsquirrelfan hope you like this!

Day 6: Braid || Day 8: Tattoo

Part 2 and Part 3 of Proposal

Requests open || Let me know if you want a part 2 of this

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simptasia · 4 years

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here are my thoughts, headcanons, about the human owners in the Cats universe. i have cats 2019 in mind with all of this, but a lot of this could easily apply to the stage musical ‘verses, if you’re so inclined. i haven’t thought about them in Great Detail but i have pictured a lot of these cats at home, so i’ve pictured their humans a little. oh side note: when i imagine humans in this universe, i operate on lady and the tramp logic where you cannae properly see them. like, from the neck down at the highest. maintaining the cats themselves as the focal characters. so yeah here are the few hcs i have about people who in my mind literally have no faces or names

munkustrap: i’ve considered the idea that his family is rich but it turns out he lives in a flat thats directly next to a junkyard. i think they’re middle class, maybe even upper middle class, because it’s not cheap to live so close to trafalgar square (that and a lot of these cats live close to each other and we see other cat’s homes that are well off). anyways, they’re a generic late 1930s family. in an idyllic way, really. i’ve based them off the human family in lady and the tramp. munkustrap being our lady. so there’s a husband, a wife and a baby. and there’s also an aunt who takes care of munku when the family is away on holiday. i gave them a baby to add even more to munku’s Paternal Instincts. they’re pleasant people and they treat munkustrap well. the lady of the household brushes him. munku has a bed in the lounge/kitchen area but sometimes they let him sleep on the foot of the bed. munku wants caviar like it’s crack so i have to assume he’s tasted it at least once. this would imply very indulgent owners. or they might have dropped some at a party, who knows. they’re not strict with munku (he can go where he wants to, get given Human Food, sleep on Human Beds) but this never led to him being spoilt because he respects his family a lot and doesn’t take advantage of their kindness (eg. many cats are known to push things off tables. munkustrap would never) oh also the baby has pulled on munku’s tail once but he doesn’t hold it against her

mr. mistoffelees: we can actually glean some things about his family from his song and the behind the scenes. first of all, laurie davidson says misto is owned by a magician, who uses misto as a helper during magic tricks. that is to say, he pulls misto out of his hat. this is delightful and i hold to this concept too. from his song we know at least two things: one lyric says “the family” and thats plural so there’s more than just a magician, who i imagine is a guy, by the way. so he gets a wife. i don’t see them having kids. the other thing we know from his song is that misto sleeps by the fire..... though sometimes he is on the roof, making a ruckus, apparently. misto’s owners are sometimes annoyed but overall fond of their kitties antics. since misto emulates his owner’s magic-ness, it stands to reason that this guy is a guy worthy of being emulated. therefore: decent and nice. concept: misto sees his owner doing magic tricks and being lovey dovey with his wife and is basically like “god i wish that was me”. i also imagine they give misto a decent amount of toys, like a jingly mouse, a ball of yarn, etc. this was partially an attempt to get misto to stop playing with forks and the man of the house’s magician doodads... it didn’t wooork~ yes, im still thinking of 2019 misto, just because he’s anxious, doesn’t mean he can’t be a silly little scamp too. he’s gotta practice his magic!

rum tum tugger: his owner is a sweet lady who adores her kitty so very much and loads him with praise. basically she’s largely responsible for tugger’s,,, High Self Esteem. she talks to him in baby talk a lot. she’s a cat enthusiast and has even entered tugger in some pet shows. she’s good natured enough but her house smells funny. she spoils tugger and will allow him to behave however way he pleases. according to tugger’s song, she sews. he jumps on her lap, throwing her off her task, and she sighs fondly and says “oh, what am i going to do with you?”. nothing. because she wuvs her pwecious widdle kitty. basically, tugger owns her

victoria: she was given to a little girl as a christmas present and what we see at the start of the movie is her being chucked away because the girl and the parents got bored of her once she reached maturity. so basically they’re fickle bastards who weren’t ready for cat ownership

mungojerrie & rumpleteazer: ohhhh boy, so i said tugger was spoilt but these two. these two! their owners are rich. the details of this family are unclear in my head but at the very least theres a middle aged couple who hate the way these cats behave but choose to tolerate it, and a younger stupid woman who ignores their shenanigans and says “they don’t know what they’re doing” (said whilst they grin mischievously). mungo and rumple’s behaviour is put up with because they’re show cats who are worth a lot of money. once in a while they’ll do a show and then the rest of the time these two are Chaos. as i said, their family is the one i’m least clear about, like how many people live here, how everybody is related, but im picturing a somewhat large rich family (like 3 generations in one house and theres a few bratty kids about) and they’re not very nice people. they’re snobby and unkind. any goodness the chaos twins have was given to them by the other jellicle cats, not their owners. oh this household also employs several maids, who have to put up with so much shit, lord

skimbleshanks: skimble has no one Owner in a traditional sense, he is beloved by the people who work at the local railway station. the drivers, the guards, the station master, the station master’s daughters who are 6 and 8. skimble does and doesn’t belong to all of these people. the train people adore skimble and literally will not start the train without him, which is canon. i picture the driver as being really burly, to juxtapose how cooey he gets over this orange kitty. they let him roam the train as he pleases, and honk the train horn, drink scotch and they always give him Human Food. and in return skimble is infallibly loyal and has amazing work ethic. i mean, considering he’s a cat... anyways everybody loves skimbleshanks

and for the sake of the story working, these owners are either ignorant that their cats are getting out or letting them free roam. twas a different time

#cats 2019 #a lot of this turns into hcs about the cats themselves and thats fine #my hc for bustopher and maitre d's owner is so brief it didn't deserve a bullet point:#a stupid rich tory who doesn't know where his cats are 90% of the time #i ended with skimbleshanks because i wanted a nice one on the bottom #we see that jennyanydots is a house cat but i have no thoughts about her owners #oh except that they should clean their fucking house. that is way too many cockroaches #munkustrap is the cat i've Most pictured at home #like i honestly think i could recreate his flat's kitchen/living area in sims if i wanted to

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chrysalispen · 3 years

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upon pale dawns, prologue II: ardent for some desperate glory

AO3 Link HERE

=====

Castrum Abania, 9th Sun, Third Umbral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

The room was cold and its silence sterile, broken only by the sounds of a dry ticking from the digital wall chronometer and the soft and regular sighs of a sleeping man.

Silence in itself was hardly anything to be remarked upon, let alone a surprise. The research and development floors were always kept clear of unnecessary chatter in favor of the sound and rhythm of industry, small gears turning amidst the well-oiled machine of imperial conquest. Standard procedure, that. Especially when the work that took place away from prying eyes was exacting and often hazardous.

But for several hours, the relative darkness and the ambient cycling of the console's processor had been interspersed only with the low rumble of the central air unit and the rhythmic rattle of footsteps without the corridors, and Nero tol Scaeva had been awake for most of the past thirty hours. He had finally fallen asleep waiting for one of his processes to run and lay half-sprawled over the metal surface of the table: limbs immobile and lashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he drowsed at the empty work station he’d appropriated upon his arrival in the lower levels.

When the chiming began, it went unheeded at first. The timer had been set in this instance to ring without cessation, however, and after a few minutes had lapsed the sound began to send him drifting wide from his dreaming state by ilms. The transition from sleeping to wakefulness felt reluctant: heavy and sluggish, a pearl diver kicking against deep currents, breaking the surface tension of consciousness through brute force.

He blinked slowly, once, then twice, attempting to reorient himself.

The noise was also aggravating an incipient headache. Nero righted his posture with a tired grumble and smacked the damned thing until blessed silence reigned once more, before reaching for the mug he had left on a borrowed coaster (long since gone cold. His own fault, he owned). Sipping at its contents with a distasteful grimace - whoever had brewed the coffee, they had added too much water and the result was something weak and listless and far too bitter - he turned his attention towards the old Allagan testing module and its compiling readout.

It appeared to be reaching the end of its cycle. So he thought, until the activity scrolling across the screen flickered in place and pulsed once, twice, an arrythmia within the steady heartbeat of the machine. Nero swore under his breath when on its heels, a brief error message superimposed itself over the readout in black-bordered white. One he’d seen with far too many of these devices recently.

[Unable to read file. The current application will be terminated.]

An annoyed sigh escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

Brow wrinkled in thought, he stared at the screen for a few beats. This was but one of many datalog volumes his team had salvaged at the original site. The initial discovery had excited him - it had excited everyone, in fact, including the legatus - as it well should have done, but getting the godsdamned things to yield the fruit he sought was quickly proving to be an exercise in tedium.

Although Ultima’s original hardware was in surprisingly reasonable working order, several of the tomestones they had found in the same space had not proven to be nearly as resistant to the vagaries of time. Thus far, only a handful had relinquished their secrets without issue or delay. Not entirely unexpected, given their age and the conditions in which they’d been found, but unfortunate all the same.

The tribunus laticlavius of the XIVth Imperial Legion was not a patient man by nature, given to rather more direct methods of approach, but as a man of thirty-four winters with a good fifteen of them spent in the legions, he had very much learned the value of that particular skill. It was one he had developed through years of trial and error and the innate understanding of those traits his chosen craft required.

Magitek was not ineffable. It was parts and pieces that fit together neatly like a puzzle in the absence of human error. To guide and to create with these tools required a methodical mind and observant eye, as well as a certain degree of acceptance that on occasion one simply could not rush the desired results.

This was one such occasion. The end result, of course, would be worth the means. Or so one might fondly hope.

Nero leaned forward and compressed the small button until the module had powered down and all that was left was the rumbling rattle of the castrum's central air unit (always running this time of year). A gentle tug freed the small tomestone from its moorings and he held it aloft to study the detailing, periwinkle-blue eyes squinting and straining against the red-tinged light from the fluorescents.

The small grooves caught the ambient lighting from the walls with each idle spin between his fingers. They seemed to mock him with each little shimmer: ancient secrets so painfully close to discovery that they lay mere ilms from his grasp. Secrets which promised a long and tedious process if he wished to claim them.

...Well. He’d do it, of course he would. Aught he deemed necessary - good, bad, or ugly - in order to see Project Ultima to completion. Even were it not his primary directive, he had always had every intention of plundering their contents at his leisure for the challenge of it and the knowledge to be had. This was but the least method at his disposal. There were some few other options he might employ, which might serve to successfully extract the data into some readable format that he could put to use.

While the old datalogs were fascinating, he wasn't spending his time reading them for a history lesson. No, what he sought was preliminary information, something upon which to safely extrapolate. Ideally he'd end up with a dossier of sorts which he could use to catalogue the Weapon’s original abilities, and enough code to piece together an operating system more or less analogous to that of Allag, albeit one powered by ceruleum instead of aether. If he could simply-

A much lower-pitched sound than his armor’s onboard timer - not an alarum but a harsh, flat buzz - cut through the quiet of the lab. Nero’s first inclination was to ignore it in favor of his study, but a second followed quickly on its heels, and a third.

That, unfortunately, meant someone was expecting him to answer.

With a barely suppressed yawn he toggled the small red switch next to the wall’s built-in communications device. “Scaeva. Engineering," he said, keeping his tone clipped and curt- the voice of a man who would brook no disturbances. "State your business.”

The response he received was a very audible swallow followed with a hoarsely uttered, “Lord Scaeva?”

“Speaking."

"My lord?"

Nero sighed. "Speaking. As in 'with whom do I have the pleasure.' Name and rank."

“Oh. Terribly sorry, my lord. I, erm, Quintus pyr Blasio. Lord, uh. Tribunus. Sir.”

Seven hells. Not a name Nero recalled, though he rarely had reason to trouble himself over memorizing the personnel that manned every garrison between Ala Mhigo and the Velodyna fringes. Some poor bastard who was likely the first man flagged down for runner duty by his direct report, no doubt. Some poor bastard who was also either too dazzled or too shit-scared of speaking to the legion's top brass to string three coherent words together. Just what he needed.

“...Go on,” he prompted when the man said nothing further.

“Lord Sc-”

“I daresay we’ve both established our identities at this juncture," impatience and lingering drowsiness rendered his response a sardonic drawl, for all its erstwhile civility. "The message, if you please.”

“Message, my lord?”

“Yes. The message. That is why you’ve called to interrupt my current litany of scheduled tasks, or so I assume?”

“Ah... y-yes. Yes, my lord.” The speaker at the other end of the connection paused, and on its heels came the sound of a clearing throat. “Ah, Lord van Baelsar asked that I, er, that is, he requests your presence to discuss-”

“He wants me to attend a meeting,” Nero cut in. “When and where?”

“Half four, my lord. Ah- in Sector VI. The administrative complex south of the new hangar.”

Half four- it was five minutes past now. With the identification checks and elevators taken into account, that gave him about ten minutes' leeway. The timing would be somewhat tight to work in, perhaps, but it was perfectly feasible.

The man’s nervous, ragged breathing crackled across the link; the only other sound was the flat drumming of Nero’s fingertips upon the metal surface as he mentally rearranged the next hour he’d dedicated to other tasks. It was an inconvenience to be certain. He was going to have to run the process once more after some adjustments were made, and clearly, it would need closer supervision. Meaning the sleep he knew he needed was not going to be an option.

But this summons still amounted to an order, and hardly one he could disregard or countermand. Heavily classified weapon project or no.

“Understood," he said at last. "Inform the legatus that I will be along presently."

"I will, Lord tol Scaeva. I-"

"In future, do make some bare attempt at brevity when delivering messages, tessarius- for your own sake.”

Another gulp. “Of course, my lord. I’ll pass alo--”

Before the hapless soldier could waste more of his time stammering out another response, the tribunus laticlavius flipped the switch and cut the connection. The line went dead with a static click.

Nero was a practical man, one rarely wont to let trivial annoyances linger. As he set the artifact aside to reach for the fountain pen at his elbow and drew a small leather-bound planner from the desk drawer, a habit he’d kept since his Academy days, he could already feel his focus shifting, moving onwards.

He rolled the pen thoughtfully betwixt index and middle fingers, eyes flickering away from the planner to linger briefly upon the blank console screen. No doubt there was also more useful information to be ascertained from the old Meteor Project dossier; he’d request another copy of the relevant files through the proper channels once the meeting concluded.

In the meantime, it seemed a progress report was likely to be expected upon his timely - and fully conscious - arrival. Strict self-imposed schedule notwithstanding, it wouldn’t do for him to be the only one empty-handed.

He flipped the notebook open to a fresh and empty page, tilted the ink nub, and began to write.

#a realm reborn #upon pale dawns #chrysalispen writes #nero tol scaeva #have one (1) sleepy and caffeine deprived nerd #and the pain of internal calls from people who take too long to get to the point

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cheekbites-moved · 4 years

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ok i still havent gotten the secret ending but farming for it might take me a bit so im gonna make a thoughts post for age of calamity now:

Major spoilers obvs so ill put it under a read more

things i enjoyed:

revali beatdown simulator

the controls for the divine beasts are a bit clunky, but i think the angles they used for them did an excellent job at really making the player feel like we were actually controlling a divine beast. so i think it was done well.

link’s personality really gets to shine full force in this game with the amount of cut scenes and it was wonderful to see

every character clearly had a lot of love put into how they operate. they truly all feel unique, & all of their play styles fit them really well in my opinion

the game does a really good job of making you understand what a real threat the monsters are. like in botw they’re intimidating at first, but once you’re far enough into the game they become just an inconvenience to work around if anything. this game managed to actually make certain monsters intimidating for me again, and i think that’s a real accomplishment

the blight battles are actually somewhat challenging in this game and that is truly a commendable achievement lol i think all the bosses are good tbh. i didnt rly dislike or not enjoy any of them.

the way daruk and link’s friendship & urbosa’s motherly relationship towards zelda got to shine was. so good. it’s all i could’ve ever wanted

seeing the descendants again was really nice & it was awesome to see the champions interacting with them!! especially sidon and mipha omggggg. that was. really fucking good shit

kohga. just. kohga in general. getting to see more of him was really rad, he’s such a fun guy! and his english va was Excellent. you could really tell he was having a lot of fun playing him, and it was lovely to see! :)

zelda getting to really shine in this game was also lovely to see. and her being so assertive and badass by the end? omg. it was so wonderful especially after botw. man.

the combat is done very well imo. im rly glad that they took so many elements from botw, but also added their own flares to make it feel fresh. it was rad.

sidon’s tagline is “winning smile” and his power is “boundless optimism” and i think that’s beautiful

the music in this game is SOOOOO good oh my god. multiple times during playing i had to pause to just appreciate it. it’s pretty much all remixes of botw with a few originals for the new characters, but they all slap. there was not a single song in this game i didn’t like. it is definitely one of my favorite video game soundtracks officially. maybe one of my favorite overall soundtracks in general tbh.

the visuals obviously look just like botw, but it still looked fucking gorgeous at some points. like. man. they really went off to make it look not only faithful to botw as far as appearance goes, but also as far as capturing botw’s beauty and it was. excellent to see!

if anything is true to botw’s backstory, it’s definitely how op link is. cause he was established to be op in botw, & when u finish botw he is also op as hell. he is so fun to play as the higher leveled he gets. he absolutely kicks ass. especially with a two-handed weapon??? daaaaammmmnnn. thats my badass baby boy!!!!

link eating rocks not once, but TWICE. just showing PEAK gremlin energy. 10/10 for those scenes they were great

the ending was really beautiful actually and i did cry like a little baby for it what about it

things i didn’t like:

obviously first and foremost.. this is not the game we were advertised. and no matter how much i overall enjoyed the game, it will always have some layer of being tainted attached to it due to the false advertising. this is not the prequel we thought we’d be getting. & not using “prequel” specifically doesn’t matter when all the advertising, including the box art talks about this being the story of what happened 100 years ago. with no indication it wasn’t the story of what happened 100 years ago in the botw timeline, but a separate universe/timeline entirely. i do hope we get dlc for the game at some point giving us what we were advertised, but at the same time... rly wish that the story that’s in the final game was dlc, & the story we were promised was the original :/ or just having the game have two separate storylines originally would’ve been cool. i just wish it wasn’t falsely advertised.

fort hateno can fucking eat my whole entire shit WHY is that part so needlessly obnoxious compared to everything else oh my god

being forced to fulfill revali’s power fantasy TWICE hurt my soul

fuck any mission where you have to protect the useless hylian guards. i hate them. they suck.

the ai for player characters when you aren’t playing as them can also be pretty useless. it was really frustrating failing missions because my fellow party members weren’t helping me, and i was basically expected to be in two places at once to get shit done myself. :/ ik you can just switch between characters to make it easier, but like. i like playing as link the most. he’s my favorite character, & ofc since he’s mandatorily played for most of the story, he’s gonna be the most leveled up character regardless so he’s just the best to play as in general especially for harder missions. it was annoying to be forced to play as other people Solely cause the ai was so useless.

king rhoam’s attempt at a redemption arc. i’m not sorry that i just fucking hate this man. i don’t mind him entirely in botw bc you can see clear, genuine remorse during the cut scene at the end of the great plateau. but the redemption arc he gets in this game? after all the fucking shit he does in this game? especially when after his ~redemption arc~ i had to sit through a cut scene of him being an absolute fucking asshole to baby zelda after her mother just died????? absolutely fuck that shit. i don’t appreciate that crap at fucking all. he’s a verbally abusive piece of shit and i hate his guts.

obviously there was gonna be some retconning of how certain things worked in botw in order to make this kinda game work but the way sheikah technology works in this game is so goddamn confusing i do not get it. the works of botw are never outright said or explained completely, but it’s straightforward enough that it doesn’t really matter. this game does try to explain certain things and it just becomes. really clunky and confusing very quickly.

the story is alright, i guess, but..... really confusing/convoluted as hell at times to a point that it’s. really fucking distracting. especially in comparison to how straightforward botw’s story is. like..... cannot help but be annoyed that such a problem wouldn’t have been a thing if they stuck to botw’s story.

i was sad when the egg thing died but i dont like the egg thing.... it is the MAIN reason shit was retconned so much & i just. dont get its purpose. but i did really like the reveal that zelda made it herself. that was good shit!

also the egg glitched out like. a LOT. idk what the fuck was going on with the poor thing but there was multiple times during a cut scene or when i was just sitting there that it was freaking out in the background and it was rly weird

elemental overworld boss monsters................. obnoxious. especially elemental guardians like goddamn bro what the fuck

i know warriors’ games aren’t about exploring anyway but the limitations for exploring was really sad/frustrating. this is still somewhat the world of hyrule before the calamity, which is something we’ve always wanted to see. not being able to explore even the immediate area at certain points because of shit like timed missions was really upsetting, man. :( i just wanted to see hyrule castle Before the calamity why was did they have to rob us like that.....

creepy corrupted egg’s transformation. why. what was that. what the fuck

even though i did enjoy the boss fights, it did get. incredibly taxing eventually to have to fight the SAME bastards so many times. like yeah botw is also guilty of this with the blights, but goddamn.... at least i have a choice to avoid certain encounters with them? this game has you fighting the same bitches like upwards of 3-4 times. it was. really annoying tbh. like the fights themselves are enjoyable, but damn we added new characters and it still inevitably lacked variety in boss fights.

no playable kass >:( if he’s available later in dlc then fine but i wish he was playable in the original game. so many random choices you’d never expect are. why couldn’t he also be there >:(

overall:

it will forever have that sour taste for the false advertising attached to it unfortunately, but that aside, i overall did enjoy the game! i think it has a lot to love in spite of the issues i encountered. as someone who has this as their first warriors game as well, it did lend itself to letting me see the appeal of them. idk if i’ll get more, but i do get why they’re so beloved/popular now. it was an alright time, with some amazing highlights that i’m gonna think back on very fondly for a very, very long time. if i had to rate it..... 7/10

#hw #aoc #hw aoc #hyrule warriors #age of calamity #legend of zelda #botw #danni plays hw aoc #mine #long post #v long post sorry lol i have so many thoughts/feelings

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drcrushers · 4 years

Text

so this was meant to be the next installment of the ‘wait for me’ series, but i never finished it and it’s honestly still a rough draft. it was a plot point i didn’t end up using but i also might in the future in a different setting. so enjoy this little nugget!

"I don't like it."

Persephone glanced at the reflection of her husband as she looped one of the studded gems into her earlobe. Simple diamonds - well, simple compared to the variety of gemstones and beautiful colors offered by the unlimited stock in the mines. Simple was better for that particular evening - an evening that already had her stomach turning into knots.

"I know." She said quietly, admiring herself before she twisted in the chair to her vanity so she could see her husband properly. Hades was leaned against one of the bedposts, arms crossed with a darker than normal expression. "I don't like it either, but it's better this way."

"Don't see how." He scowled, brows knitting together in the center of his forehead. Persephone stood and crossed to him, taking his face between her hands. Her mighty man, who’d been doom and gloom all afternoon, didn’t pull away. Just gave a huffy little rumble deep in his chest.

"Because you need to be here." She said slowly. "Because if you go up that mountain you'll cause a war with one wrong expression. You ain't as subtle as you think, husband." She fiddled with his rolled up sleeves, fingers tracing the arm bands woven with the fine silver thread. He gave a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"And you won't? You got a temper to rival your momma's." Hades replied after a moment. She tugged hard on the armband and let the elastic snap against his bicep in warning. He caught her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips fondly and the expression on his face softened briefly. "I worry."

"I know. Were it for any other reason, I wouldn't go at all. Don't trust 'em. And after this - well, they'll be lucky if we don't turn them away at the gates now." Persephone glanced over to the bedsheets, where she'd tossed the letter sealed with the damn lightning bolt seal and her name and Hades' written in her daddy's own hand. "But I gotta face my music. And you know I ain't goin' unarmed. He wants to play hardball, he'll find out how much better I play. Especially given the circumstances."

"It ain't his business." Hades snarled. And he was right, Persephone knew. The underworld and it's inhabitants were not his realm. Nor any of the others. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last that the king of the gods stuck his nose where it didn't belong. To demand their appearance to answer about the songbird and Persephone's choice of temporary successor - well, things were working out just fine. Granted it had only been a few months since, but she hadn't heard bad things (except from her momma, who had already ripped her a new one - but then Persephone had used Melinoe as a bargaining chip and had immediately won that argument).

"No. Ain't his business. But you know him - can't stand it if somethin' happens under his nose and he didn't condone it."

"He touches you at all and -"

"Hades." She warned gently. "Thanatos is comin' up with me. Momma will be there too, and she'd rip Zeus in half if he even thought of it and send you the remains in a box of ashes. Hera will deal directly to me." She leaned up to kiss the frown from his lips. "Now tell me I'm pretty."

"You're stunning, as always." He murmured, and reached up to brush an errant curl from her face. "Haven't seen you like this in a while."

She'd donned a black dress not unlike her usual underworld wardrobe, but this dress was laced with silver accents that gleamed like the diamonds Hades was so fond of comparing her to. Nothing terribly fancy, but enough to make a statement - which was half the battle up on the mountain. They all lived in damned black tie wardrobes most of the time and while Persephone was not to be outdone, she was sure as hell not gonna follow their rules.

"I'm queen of the underworld. Gotta look the part." She smiled. "Just need my crown."

With a flick, a wreath of silver and gemstones appeared in Hades' hand. Old as their marriage, that crown. She hadn't worn it since they stopped doing official trials and having audiences and the factories had started rising up. Hades had made it for her within the first week of their marriage, a crown of silver leaves and asphodels immortalized in delicate gemstones. He nestled it atop her head in a soft gesture, sealing it with a kiss to her forehead.

"You be careful up there." He whispered and she nodded.

"And you take care of our girl." Persephone smiled softly, which was accompanied by the soft noise of their daughter in her bassinet by the bed - neurotic as they both were, they had yet to move her to her own nursery. Persephone turned to gather Melinoe into her arms, pressing a kiss to her nose. "Was wonderin' if you were gonna wake up to tell momma bye, chickadee."

Melinoe blinked, and lurched forward to try and grab at the shining gems that decorated her mother. Persephone chuckled and caught a flailing hand in her own, pretending to nibble on it to the delightful squeals of laughter of her little one. Her whole world, her girl and her man. Melinoe wasn't even close to her first birthday and already she had the look of her daddy, those dark eyes all brightened with curious energy. Their winter's child. A miracle, if Persephone believed in such.

"He'll be expecting you to bring her." Hades crossed the space between them, reaching out instinctively to catch Melinoe's other hand. “He wasn’t subtle in the invitation. As if he had the right."

"Which is why I ain't. He's expectin' you, too. But I'll handle it. One of us needs to stay with our little sprout. I'll see to our girl up top."

With a kiss to her daughter's forehead and a parting kiss from her husband, Persephone headed off for the train. The underworld was quiet and while she smiled at the shades she passed, there was a tension in her expression and her stance building the closer she got to the platform. She hadn't been up top in a while now with the new arrangement; she had imagined this trip would have been introducing Melinoe to real sunlight for the first time. Not going up the damned mountain on her daddy's whim because he was feeling bitter that she'd circumvented his original contract. Not to mention it was the first time spending any length of time away from Melinoe, which didn't sit right in her gut either. But her little girl had Hades, and would be safe in the underworld. Untouchable. One of the good things about the shadowed realm - the other gods couldn't cross the boundaries without permission, not even Zeus himself. If anything happened to her up on Olympus, Hades and Melinoe would be safe.

The train was waiting when she arrived, and so was Thanatos. Persephone was perfectly fine going up the mountain on her own, but Hades had insisted and she wasn’t about to argue. If things went sideways - well, it would be useful to have someone else on her side. Quite frankly Persephone didn’t trust her momma to pick her side over Zeus’. Much as she hated the king of the gods, Demeter could be easily swayed into doing what was best for Persephone - or what she thought was best. Especially since Demeter was unaware of why Persephone had refused for so long to go up the mountain, why Hades had forbade it. That was about to be out in the open, too.

The great machine let out a hissing billow of steam as she hopped up onto the platform. Thanatos tilted his head, eying her sharply with those endless black eyes. Her lips quirked and she gave a mock curtsy.

“Let’s get this over with.” He murmured in a voice nearly low as Hades’, and offered out a hand to help her onto the train. Persephone snorted, but took his hand and stepped onto the train for the first time in a real long while.

It felt strange, really. Somewhat empty. Granted she’d done plenty of runs up top without Hades, and plenty back down. The train had just been a mode of transport, nothing more or nothing less, taking her from one prison to another while she wore gilded handcuffs and drank herself half blind. The bar was still there, untouched, and Persephone briefly considered making herself something to get a bit of liquid courage to deal with her relatives. Deciding against it, she flopped unceremoniously into one of the seats and tried to lose herself in the gentle thrumming of the train beneath her feet. It lurched, and began the slow pull away from the station.

Persephone tried not to consider worst case situations. Quite frankly she hadn’t considered consequences to her and Eurydice’s little switch - not that there was any. Not important ones. The only thing lost seemed to be her daddy’s ego, which was nothing unusual. Only annoying as hell, and the fact that he had put thinly veiled threats to her in the invitation made her all the more angry. She only worried - Eurydice now spent half the year up top, which was very much fair ground for Zeus or any of his demi-god bastards he usually got to do his bidding. Which meant she was vulnerable. She had faith that Eurydice could hold her own with the share of ancient magic Persephone had gifted her, but the idea all the same made her stomach sour more than what it had. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to swallow the bile in the back of her throat.

Maybe she should have let Hades come. Or made him go without her. But no - she’d caused the mess. Made her bed. Now she had to lie in it. Hades didn’t need to take the blame; didn’t need to be made out to more of the villain all of Olympus seemed to think he was.

She knew when they passed from the underworld to the mortal realm, a chill running up her spine and causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. She looked away from the slowly brightening landscape beyond the window to Thanatos, but he had leaned back on another bench and drawn a hat over his face; for all appearances, he seemed asleep. She knew better of course, but didn’t bother in disturbing him.

The train began to slow as they approached the platform she had gotten on and off at since the beginning of time. She watched it come into view, the train coming to a full stop just a few moments to allow other passengers to board. It felt strange not to be getting off. They'd barely stopped before they were off again, and the door to her private compartment opened. Persephone smiled.

"Hey there, songbird." Persephone greeted as Eurydice stepped through, wearing her usual garments - except the red bandana at her neck. Eurydice hugged her fiercely and Persephone could smell the sunshine that radiated from her, like an inner light. It suited her; seeing the smile and the color in her face was even more of a delight. Songbirds were far better alive than dead.

"Its good to see you." She murmured. "You holding up alright?"

"Alright as ever." Persephone promised. "Though I should be askin' you."

"More than. Demeter's helped and I think I'm doing okay. I mean - everyone is happy. No one is hungry. The harvests look good - great even." Persephone noted the brightness in her face did not fade. "I'm happy."

"Good. As long as you're happy, I am too. Poet alright?"

"He is. Sends his love. Already writing a new song."

Hopefully Orpheus would still hold up, when Eurydice came back down below for those required six months. But knowing she was coming back - that was the aid. Eurydice would always come home to him. Doubt would and could not cloud Orpheus as it had Hades. Not after everything.

Bickering tore Persephone's attention from Eurydice to the two others that had boarded and were now coming into the private car with quiet words hissing between them like two angry snakes.

"What in hell are you two on about now?" Persephone asked. Demeter and Hermes both looked up, Hermes sweeping forward first with a bright grin.

"Never you mind, sister. A'ight?"

"A'ight." Persephone echoed, and moved to embrace Demeter. "Hello, momma."

"Hey, girl." Demeter smoothed a few flyaways from Persephone's unruly curls, and took her face in both her hands. "Missed you."

"Missed you. Wish we were meetin' under better circumstances."

"Never you mind. Your daddy is a bag of hot gas and nothin' more. I'm on your side, and your girl's here. Much as I hated it - she's good. And you got the little one. She ain't here, is she?"

"No. I figured she's safer back below, with Hades. Just in case." Persephone murmured. "Just in case."

From there, quiet conversation filled the car. Persephone listened as Eurydice and Demeter filled her in in the things up top, and Hermes toured on about the things even further up top. No one made mention of where and why they were going, but she could feel the tension grow thicker than molasses the closer they got to the mountain. Goosebumps pimpled across her arms as they passed another barrier into the true realm of the gods. She swallowed back the bile in her throat and stared out the window.

Worst case, she'd end up dead. Hypothetically. Or stripped of her abilities. Memories erased. There were too many possibilities. Eurydice could be hurt, too. Or Orpheus. Persephone had inadvertently dragged quite a few people into her mess - but they had come willingly. And they were there as a figurative army at her back as the train once more began to slow.

The platform at Olympus was only a part of a great train station. One gilded in gold and paintings and statues from the classical era, when the mortals had gotten how the gods had looked all wrong. Curiously, she watched Eurydice take it all in with a slightly awed expression as they disembarked. Scenes from long ago eras were portrayed in murals, paintings, and frescoes that hadn't aged a day.

The marble statues were hidden in little alcoves along the walls between the artwork - beautiful but not at all accurate. Hades had a massive beard in his, her mother was carved far older than she should have been. Persephone had one as well, but they'd given her so much youth. Artemis looked fierce and Athena and Ares both wore matching expressions in theirs. Eurydice paused at some of them as they threaded through the grand hall of the station. Tunnels that were not labeled branched off, leading to what she knew were other platforms that led to either other realms, or other places on the mountain of Olympus. It felt strange to Persephone - there was usually at least a few demigods or muses roaming about the station to head here or there.

Now it was empty. Nary a soul.

"I'd give you a grand tour if I could." Hermes was saying to Eurydice, his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward a wall that instead of a tunnel, held a gleaming golden elevator. The doors opened at their approach with no prompting - Eurydice balked.

"Tacky as hell. Used to be this was just one lush field." Persephone muttered. "Olympus used to be more green than gold. Heph's done nice work on the tile inlays, though."

Demeter snorted as they stepped into the elevator. There was no panel of buttons - the elevator doors closed once they were all piled in. Thanatos looked almost out of place, his dark aura contrasted sharply against the gold interior that reflected everything right back. Persephone studied her tinted reflection, her own dark clothes and gleaming silver crown a direct disobeyment of everything Olympus was. Demeter had not dressed up, and neither had Eurydice - good. The bitter part of her hoped it offended at least some of them.

The elevator climbed with no noise, rising higher in a way that made Persephone's stomach swoop uncomfortably. No. Melinoe did not belong up there in such a gilded cage. A gilded hell.

"Should we have a game plan?" Eurydice asked after a moment. Persephone reached out to grasp her hand and squeeze it.

"Game plan is on me, chickadee." She murmured. "Whatever happens, go along as you can. If things go south, Thanatos is tasked with gettin' you right on outta here."

"And you." Thanatos rumbled lowly, which she ignored. Eurydice frowned.

"South?"

"Gods have tempers and they get all riled up. If they do, it'd be too dangerous. You got half my magic girl, but it wouldn't be enough to keep you safe against the whole panthenon."

Eurydice opened her mouth to likely protest, but the elevator stopped quite suddenly without even a hint of warning. The doors slid open and cool air swept into the container as they stepped off. A set of double doors greeted them in a grand, gilded lobby with more stupid art - place looked more museum than anything. Displays of wealth and power that Persephone curled her nose at. The great set of wooden doors was ancient as time itself, carved with a tree of a myriad of branches. Beautiful and worn, Persephone recalled the one time she had seen it before it had looked the very same. She'd traced the inches of it with lithe fingers while Hades had held tight to her hand, the pair of them about to face her momma and Zeus in regards to their hasty marriage and Demeter's fit of ire.

Now, she took hold of Eurydice's hand and squeezed it tightly. If Eurydice was afraid, she certainly didn't show it. With no further hesitation, she shoved open the heavy doors and stepped through.

The room itself had not changed largely since her last visit to Olympus. In mortal terms it was akin to a ballroom, but the ceiling didn’t exist; instead, it was open to the cosmos above in a beautiful array of stars - for now. As she recalled, it had a tendency to change with her daddy’s moods. On a raised half dias around the room there were gilded thrones, identical in color but carved with unique inlays to their owners. For all the modernity that the gods had, Zeus had kept the core foundations of the mountain the same. The room could be anything it wanted - a lounge, an intimate club, whatever they wanted. Clearly it was a power move being pulled; make her feel like an outsider. Nothing new.

Arranged on the thrones were, as expected, the pantheon. Her daddy in the center, perched like the king he thought he was. Hera was to his left, her face an impressive neutral mask - Persephone’s nails dug into her palms at the sight of the so called queen of the gods, and didn’t relax even as Demeter took hold of her free hand. Poseidon, Artemis, Apollo, Ares, and Athena fanned out on either side of Zeus and Hera, with Aphrodite and Hephesatus rounding things out. Three of the tacky chairs were empty - Demeter and Hermes both moved from her side then to take up two of the empty chairs. The remaining one belonged to Hades - and thus, as his wife, it also belonged to her.

But Persephone did not sit. She stood with Eurydice, the pair of them alone in the center of the room.

“Full regalia for this really necessary?” Persephone remarked to the otherwise silent room. “Figured we’d settle this in your back office and be done with it.”

“Your actions deserve full council.” Hera drawled, painted lips drawing into a sharp, deadly smile. “I should think you’d be happy to have a fair trial.”

“Trial?” Persephone arched a brow. “Nothin’ in that damn note of yours said trial. I’m here to say my piece, that’s all. Ain’t a reason for a trial. I’ve done nothin’ wrong. And before you open your mouth again will some utter bullshit, point me to whatever trumped up rule book you’ve invented tellin’ me I’ve done wrong by the universe.”

“Persephone.” Zeus’ voice rumbled in a way not unlike Hades’. He was older than she remembered, grayer at the temples. Nearly fully white as Hades, but not quite. Whereas her husband took after his mother, Zeus and Poseidon took after their daddy in a way that made her stomach twist itself back into knots. “You’re here as a guest. Not on trial. But you understand we naturally have . . . questions about your decision to give this human -”

“I have a name.”

Zeus’ gaze slid cooly over to Eurydice, who had spoken quite sharply.

“A name. My name is Eurydice. And Lady Persephone saved my life.”

“No, she didn’t.” It was Hera who spoke again. Gods, Persephone wanted to rip her perfect fucking face off. “She broke the law of the underworld and returned a soul to the living without permission. Souls are not permitted to return to the aboveground in the way you have, mortal.”

“Last I checked my husband was in charge of the law of the underworld, not you.” Persephone remarked. “And he ain’t got a problem with it.”

“I can’t help but notice Hades isn’t here.” Poseidon added. “Will he be joining us at all?”

“No. He willingly remained behind to see to the realm. That a problem?”

“You mean to babysit?” Hera mused. Persephone’s vision went vaguely red.

“Forgive me, I didn’t want to expose our daughter to the bullshit on this mountain at such an early age. She’s fine, by the way. Thanks for askin’.”

Hera’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not like I asked for this!” Eurydice added. “I want it, more than anything. I love what Lady Persephone has given me. And - the promise of the contract is still there. I only bring the spring for six months. Then I spend winters down below. It’s the same thing as her, isn’t it? I just . . . took over her contract.”

Bold, Persephone thought. She’d expect nothing less from Eurydice and that fire burning in her. Hera looked positively livid that Eurydice had spoken without being spoken to - again - but to Persephone’s relief, Zeus looked at least amused. A decent sign.

“Hades has given his permission.” Persephone repeated, then glanced to her momma. “And so has Demeter.”

“I have.” Demeter added. “As a firm believer in a child havin’ both her parents, I granted the contract amendment.” She gave a long side-eye to Zeus, who pretended clearly not to notice.

“If both parties agreed, I see no true issue.” Athena’s voice was clearly flat; one of the many who seemed bored by the whole ordeal. Who thought it was a waste of time.

“I did not give my permission.” Zeus said evenly.

“Hades was the holder of the contract, with respect.” Hermes drawled.

“And if you look at that contract close enough, it never mentions me by name.” Persephone pointed out.

“It says Kore - “

“Which ain’t my name.” She cut across her father. Her hair was standing on end again - like the way it did just before a real bad thunderstorm. When lightning was in the air. Shit. “My name, as granted and given by you, is Persephone. Other than that, the contract states the seasons gotta be brought. And far as I can tell, Eurydice’s doin’ a damn fine job of it. Haven’t heard a single complaint.”

“She’s right. I looked over it myself.” Hermes spoke again. “She technically ain’t broke a single thing in that contract. And Eurydice’s doin’ a fine job as it is.”

“I did what I did for the sake of my marriage, and my daughter. I ain’t gonna abandon my girl. Eurydice and Orpheus helped repair damage done. If it weren’t for them, pretty sure you wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. Instead you’d have mortal riots on your hands cause they’re all starvin’.” Persephone flexed her fingers, but they returned to the balled up fists at her side. It was difficult, trying to keep her temper under some normal range. The entire situation was foolish, the council a joke. Just because everyone else in the room seemed to be a shit parent, didn’t mean Persephone would ever be.

“Are we going to really discuss the logistics of this?” Hera snapped. “She broke the laws. You cannot just decide to name someone a god because you felt sorry for them. Otherwise half the mortal realm would be gods by now!”

“As opposed to the bastard demi-gods runnin’ about?” Persephone snarled. “Not much difference. I had every right. It’s my power, and mine to do with what I damned well please.”

“Then clearly you need stripped of them because you don’t know how to handle them.”

“Like you stripped me of my children?”

There was a quiet, tense silence that settled. Persephone was staring at Hera with every ounce of fury in her, watching as the queen of the gods seemed to internally debate how best to handle the situation presented. Perfect.

“You’ve gone delusional as well. I’ve done nothing to your child.”

“Ain’t for lack of tryin’.” Persephone continued. Without breaking her glare to Hera she fished in the front of her dress and pulled out a small, folded few notes that had certainly yellowed with age. She brandished them with a flourish. “And you did. Try. Succeeded before, too. I always thought it funny why my babies never survived in my womb. I’m the goddess of fucking life. Except where it mattered - or so I thought.” She stepped forward toward Hera’s throne, and no one made an immediate move to stop her.

“And then I found the letters. Half a dozen. Written to lackeys in your hand. Dates line up real nice and neat. Every little life crushed before it could even thrive because the goddess of childbirth and fertility deemed it so.”

She had grown closer to Hera, enough to throw the letters at her feet. Hera had the decency to look slightly appalled.

“You murdered my children. I ain’t got proof of it yet, but I’m pretty sure you nearly cost me my marriage, too. And for what?” Persephone could feel the anger radiating from her in waves; if anything remotely green and living within her vicinity had existed, it would surely be brown and ashen by now. Dead. “You’re a monster. And you’re lucky I don’t make you eat the ground beneath me and grind your face into the mountain from here to the bottom.”

Her gaze went sharply to Zeus, who was watching with a mixed expression.

“Deny Eurydice, reverse my choice. Strip me of my powers. And I’ll consider these letters as a threat of war. Hades agrees. You came for us, our family, our realm. Whether you were in on it or not.” Persephone’s teeth grit together as she glared at her father. “Go against this - or even think of laying harm to her or Orpheus or anyone else I love, and consider the underworld borders closed. No one in or out. Mortals will riot as their loved ones rot and their souls wander your realm. And they’ll go from worshipping you to cursing your temples near and far.”

Her smile was dark, wicked, an expression learned from her husband.

“And in case you decide it’s worth the cost - just remember. Hades and I are the only protection you have from the monsters in Tartarus. I can’t promise one or two might not somehow get out should there be any sort of war. So by all means. Try. Us.”

#( writing )#wait for me au

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dalygrace · 4 years

Text

🔆 + [post] college au featuring @catherinedaly @evcravens @katarinadvpont

“Grace! Mamma wants a picture to make sure I got here okay and didn’t die en route!”

Catherine’s voice floats from the living room into the kitchen where Grace has her head in the fridge, looking for the bottles of wine Katarina had put in there to chill. She grabs the first one she sees (Kat can come back and get a different bottle herself if she wanted something specific, she thinks, swiping the corkscrew from the counter) before sweeping into the living room and depositing herself onto the couch beside her younger sister. Catia’s face is flushed from the two glasses of wine she’s already consumed, and Grace laughs as she fumbles with her phone for a moment before finally taking a selfie. Grace knows she’ll likely get a scolding voicemail from Simona before the night is out for the wine in her hands and Catia’s clearly buzzed state, but she’s happy, so she doesn’t care.

“Are you going to open that or just let it get warm in your hands?” Mikael asks, slouched in the armchair opposite her, and Grace laughs again, deftly uncorking the bottle and pouring him a glass. “For you, m’sieur,” she says in her snootiest sommelier voice, the one she’d perfected those long nights in college when they used to mix something awful for each other and have a guess at what was in it, an exercise in masochism on both their parts that left them more often than not hating themselves the morning after. They’d grown since then, matured to real cocktails and wine that came in bottles instead of boxes (Thank god, Everett had exclaimed at the sight of real Italian wine, last year when they’d all gathered to christen Mikael’s new apartment in Jersey), and Grace’s liver thanked her for it.

“It’s Italian,” she says before Everett can ask, pouring three more glasses and pushing them across the table to their intended recipients. “Kat put aside her homeland snobbery just for you tonight, so we can indulge in your homeland snobbery to celebrate you finally deigning to grace us with your presence.” Mikael roars with laughter as Kat and Ev make twin faces of affront and Catia sneaks Grace’s glass off the table, taking a big sip before Grace can snatch it back. “That’s the last glass for you, drunky,” Grace says fondly, “You’ve gotta be with it when Papa comes to pick you up later or else Mamma will start thinking Kat and Everett are bad influences.”

The two in question pull faces again, and Grace settles back onto the couch with her new glass of wine, smile so wide it hurts her cheeks.

She loves nights like this, family and friends gathered in the living room, when the house is full of laughter and conversation. The brownstone she shares with Katarina is warm and spacious, always kept tidy (Grace) and packed with art and photographs of their mutual friends (Katarina). They have a spare bedroom that they use to house the rotating cast of characters that come through New York, because despite only being in their mid-twenties, having a six figure salary (Grace) and coming from a long line of successful stock brokers (Katarina) means they can afford to live somewhere that isn’t a shoebox, exorbitant rent be damned. Its most common occupant is Mikael, despite the fact that he lives only a short train ride away, because he always whines about how annoying New Jersey Transit is and how cold it gets in the winter. Grace, who grew up in the City, thinks he’s full of shit; then again, he’d spent his whole life in Southern California before moving east after college, so she supposes he gets a free pass for the first few years of real winter.

Sometimes she wonders how they all ended up like this, living in each other’s pockets. Everett and Katarina had met first at an orientation for international students; then Mikael had crashed in, a fortuitous roommate pairing; Lillian came next, trailing in Katarina’s wake, and the four of them became MikandEvandKatandLil easily in the first months of freshman year. Grace, down the hall in Reiber and two rows back in econ classes, was an outsider to the fearsome four, too snarky to fit right in, raising hackles with her quick anger and the drinks she kept accidentally spilling on Everett. Ironic that that’s what brought them together in the end, she thinks, sleepy and warm, before excusing herself from the room.

It’s strange, she thinks, basking in the glow of their laughter as it follows her down the hall to the bathroom, that they all stayed together, relatively speaking. Lillian was off being beautiful somewhere in Europe (she’s in Paris, Grace knows, but she still instinctively pushes down the knowledge of the kind woman with whom she never quite clicked, a sequelae of having pushed down for years the frustration over whether she wants to kiss her or be her, a crisis she’s become more comfortable with since it first started in sophomore year) but she visits as often as she can; Everett was still in Boston, a godsend for Grace’s mother’s nerves as Catia settled into her first year at Tufts (Simona can’t quite handle being an empty nester - it doesn’t matter that Grace lives an easy ride away on the NQR, with Regina fucked off to Montreal for most of the year and Catia in Boston now, Simona is struggling to adjust to not having them all at family meals again like they had been once Grace came back from UCLA), but he too made the pilgrimage to New York with some regularity. Mikael was practically a third housemate. They’d muddled through important years together, through good ideas (vandalizing USC and using an unassuming Everett as the getaway driver) and bad (Grace’s brief affair with Rafaella, a beautiful but flighty exchange student; Mikael’s everything with Lucrezia, a Kappa a year younger than them all who’d moved back to Chicago after her graduation and summarily dumped Mikael over text when she was introduced to a player for the Cubs). Something expands in Grace’s chest as she looks at herself in the mirror, bright and warm and painful in the best way, and she has to sit for a moment on the tub to catch her breath. She leans against the wall, tired and overwhelmed by all the love she holds, and she doesn’t notice the minutes slipping away until the door opens with a quiet click.

To Everett’s credit, he doesn’t startle when he sees Grace, only makes an appraising noise and moves to the sink. Grace, head fuzzy with wine and sleep, does at the sight of him, and smacks her head hard against the tub. She groans, long and low, and Everett laughs at her, the bastard, before stripping off his shirt. “Not that I’m not enjoying the free show,” Grace says with a joking leer, “but why are you rinsing your shirt off?”

“Catia spilled her wine on me,” Everett says evenly, running the bottom of his shirt under the tap. “Must be genetic,” Grace mutters, and he laughs again.

“I still don’t believe all those times were accidents,” he says, wringing out the shirt as best he can. “I’ve never seen you be clumsy around anyone else.”

“They really were,” she whines, clambering out of the tub to perch on the edge. “It’s not like I was purposefully trying to ruin the godawful number of polos you owned.”

“Really? All of them?” He turns from where he’s hanging his shirt on the towel rack to raise an eyebrow at her pointedly. “Even when an entire bucket of punch somehow went from your hands onto Castora and I all through the second story window senior year?”

“And she never forgave me,” Grace says solemly, and Everett only shakes his head with a bemused smile.

“We thought you all went to sleep without telling us.”

It takes her a moment to process the change in topic, but her mouth has always been quick on the draw, ready to spout nonsense until her brain catches up. “I only disappear mysteriously from parties that I am not hosting,” she says, “and this is, regrettably, my house.” She yawns, listing forward from the rim of the tub with enough force to alarm Everett, who easily catches her and pulls her to her feet. “That begs another question,” he starts, bemused, “of why you’re in the bathtub and not, say, your room, where there’s a real bed?”

“Going to bed while you still have people ‘round is admitting defeat,” Grace says haughtily, though the effect is somewhat ruined when she almost trips going out the door on the hallway runner. She rights herself before Everett can steady her and flashes him a placating smile as she turns pointedly back towards the living room, where the rise and fall of Kat’s voice and Mikael’s laughter can be heard over the humming of whatever music Catherine’s put on the stereo. She’s only made it a few steps before Everett is in front of her, turning her around and shooing her back towards the stairs. “I just found you half-asleep in the bathtub,” he says pointedly, boxing her in as she tries halfheartedly to push past him. “And most of us are sleeping here anyway, so it’s not like you need to make sure we all leave without stealing your things.” She gives in with a frown, too tired to argue, overwhelmed by the nearness of him, the warmth he radiates, the sudden urge she has to latch on and not let go.

“Why do you do that?” He asks as he corrals her up the stairs, interrupting the low grumbling she’s kept up all the way down the hall. “What?” She replies brilliantly, caught up in her false irritation and the effort it takes to not trip up the stairs. “Sleep in the tub,” he continues, to which she stops on the top step and shrugs, full body. “Dunno,” she replies, truly uncertain of where that particular quirk came from but now painfully aware that this is not the first time that Everett has come across her asleep in a tub. Once is an anomaly, twice is a pattern.... She can’t quite figure the rest of the thought and instead flings herself onto her bed, loose-limbed and nearly asleep by the time she’s horizontal.

She looks up to see Everett leaning against the side of the doorframe, soft smile playing over his lips. She smiles in return, warm and open and real, and pats the bed beside her. “C’mere,” she says, rolling over to make space for him beside her. Grace closes her eyes as he closes the door, and she feels rather than sees him settle onto the edge of the bed, perched as if he wants to take up as little space as possible. She cracks her eyes open to level him with a withering look. “It’s okay, Mr. Chivalry. Let your hair down. Relax, take off your shoes and dive in, the water’s fine,” she quips stupidly, too tired and buzzed to filter herself. She’s suddenly aware as she rambles that this is the first time he’s seen her room since their freshman year at UCLA, all three thousand miles and seven years away from where they sit now. He’s been to her house before - to her apartment on Levering after their tentative friendship blossomed into something real; once, notably, to her parent’s Upper East Side apartment the summer after their graduation where he’d charmed her father with his talk of his Harvard MBA courseload and her mother and sisters with his insistence on making dinner to repay them for allowing him to crash on their fancy and entirely uncomfortable couch for a night - but never in those times did he come close to entering her room, a strange and sacred space. He never visited her in the shoebox of a studio she kept for the hell of it in Alphabet City that first year, too busy in Boston to do more than catch the Amtrak up for a weekend once or twice every few months. Grace, who had been pulling hellish hours in the office to prove to herself as much as her superiors that she was worthy of a promotion so soon into the job, saw him for an hour at most when he did make it up, safely tucked away in the dark corners of pubs that Katarina and Mikael kept locating in various parts of the city.

It is strangely intimate now, having him in her space, seeing the emptiness of the pale blue walls, the way each thing had its place and no mess was allowed to exist. This was where her fastidiousness for work was echoed in her personality; there was no room for her trademark wildness here.

“Just lie down,” she says finally, after they’ve sat a moment too long in a silence that’s toeing the line of discomfort. “Or walk down two flights of stairs to the guest bedroom, I don’t care.” With a shrug, she flops onto her back, closing her eyes again. She hears him type something (obvious by the quiet click of his iPhone keyboard because he has his ringer on, the maniac) and set his phone down on the bedside table, feels him settle beside her a moment later. She waits a beat before reaching out to tangle her fingers in his.

“Grazie per aver guidato Catia qui e prendersi cura di lei a Boston,” she mumbles sleepily, feeling him tense lightly at the language change. She likes that he forgets sometimes that she grew up speaking Italian around the house, likes that she can still surprise him by volleying his native tongue back at him. She saves it for moments like these, just the two of them, but tonight it feels different and the aching love in her chest feels different too. Tonight Italian feels like the hushed French she can hear from Katarina’s room every night when she talks to Lillian, devotion bridging the hours and miles that separate them. Tonight, sono contento che tu sia mio amico feels a little like I love you. Everett’s hand in hers is warm.

“È facile. Non c'è niente di cui ringraziarmi. So quanto eri eccitato di vederla.” The bright thing expands in her chest again.

“Sono felice di vederti anche io,” she mumbles.

“Lo so,” he says, smile evident in his voice, and he gives her hand a little squeeze. Grace grins stupidly at the ceiling, warm with pleasure and the gentle weight of Everett beside her, and falls asleep.

#featuring blink and you'll miss it reference to castora and also a complete slaughtering of english grammar #this baby's got two of the longest sentences ive ever written and it's chaos #have some functional adults who love each other #spray our dreams on any surface where the paint will stick | au #one whole life recorded in disappearing ink | drabble #I will walk down to the end with you if you will come all the way down with me | everett [past]#you're the last best thing I've got going | katarina #seek out the hidden places where the fire burns hot and bright | mikael #what will i do when i don't have you / when i finally get what i deserve | catherine

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whoareurl · 5 years

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birthday fic for softersteve <3

i’ve been gone for ages soz but i had to pop by and give @softersteve some birthday love because i still read their blog religiously for all the soft steve content so here’s some shrinkyclinks of my own. it’s a bit light on snez but there’s plenty of whump! and i might have an idea for a part 2 but we’ll see

By the time spring break rolls around, Steve is practically dead on his feet. Midterms floored him and he’d spent so much time in the art building over the past two weeks that he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s developed a conditioned rage response to the hideous 80s wallpaper in his favourite workroom. So, when it comes time to pack for their week-long trip home, Bucky is the one who does most of the hard work. The lucky bastards in engineering don’t have midterms in the spring semester and the bright-eyed innocence in Bucky’s eyes kinda makes Steve want to stab him in the hand with a fork.

“Got everything?” Bucky asks as Steve slips into the passenger seat, dosed up on Ambien and fully prepared to fall asleep as soon as they hit the interstate. It’s only a two hour drive, much shorter than what many students have to endure, but it’s still more than Steve’s stomach can handle, especially with all the stress he’s been under lately. Besides, his joints have been aching all day and the beginning of spring allergy season is making him congested so he’s happy for the option of a little time out. “All your meds?”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, already feeling heavy-lidded. “Yes, ma.”

Bucky grins and, like the dickhead he is, plays up his role. “Are you sure you don’t need the bathroom before we leave?”

Steve slaps him and buckles himself in. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky shoots back and starts the engine. “I’m putting on my country playlist so you’re just gonna have to deal until the meds knock you out.”

Steve groans but it’s a playful groan. Despite his protests, Steve doesn’t actually hate the country songs Bucky adores. Well, not all of them. And he’s gonna be out cold in about twenty minutes so he figures it’s only fair to indulge Bucky’s garbage music taste.

“You’re the boss,” he says, firing off a mocking salute before tucking his school sweatshirt up between his neck and his shoulder and settling in for the ride.

He expects to be woken by Bucky telling him they’ve arrived so it’s with some surprise and confusion that Steve finds himself awake barely an hour later with an absolute cacophony of bells ringing in his head and a thin sheen of sweat all over his skin. He lets out a little groan and makes an aborted move to get Bucky’s attention before he remembers that he’s driving.

“B-Buck,” he croaks out without ever really deciding to speak.

Bucky hums gently and, when he looks over at Steve, he pales quite significantly. “Stevie? What’s wrong? You gonna be sick?”

As he’s speaking, Bucky is already turning the music off and reaching blindly behind him for a plastic bag which he thrusts into Steve’s lap as a makeshift sickbag. Steve coughs and then he can’t stop coughing. And then he thinks back to the midterms and the stress and the all-nighters and he feels a weight settle heavily on his shoulders. So, it wasn’t allergies. He’s not sure if the timing is excellent or awful since now he’s not going to be enjoying his time off but at least he won’t be missing class. Either way, this is already shaping up to be one hell of a spring cold.

“You’re running a fever,” Bucky worries as he briefly touches Steve’s forehead, glancing between Steve and the road.

“I know!” Steve snaps and feels immediately guilty. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky returns and he doesn’t even sound fazed. Ambien-fuelled Steve isn’t exactly known for being a barrel of laughs. And right now, he feels like garbage. “We’re about 45 minutes out. You gonna be okay?”

Steve sighs and is about to make a half-hearted quip about not having much choice when he’s suddenly overtaken by a desperate need to sneeze.

“Heh’NGXshoo!” Steve is thrown forward with the unexpected force of it and stays there when he can feel another one building. “EhYISHHew! NXGH’huh!”

“Don’t stifle,” Bucky mumbles. Steve feels Bucky’s hand land on his back and rub along the bumps of his spine.

Without tissues, the best Steve can do is wipe his nose on the cuff of his hoodie and sniffle the rest back. It’s, fundamentally, super fucking gross. God, he’s so cold and he cannot stop shivering. The fact that his t-shirt is soaked with cold sweat certainly isn’t helping but he’s sure as hell not going to take it off. Because that would mean having to take his hoodie off and the thought makes him want to cry. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and brings his knees up to his chest, grateful, for once in his life, that he’s small enough to curl up in Bucky’s passenger seat.

“Services coming up,” Bucky says. Without opening his eyes, Steve knows exactly the worried expression Bucky is wearing by the tone of his voice. “I can pick up some tissues?”

Steve sniffles, feeling somewhat pitiful. Tissues would certainly be good. But they’ll get there faster if they don’t stop. It’s a dilemma but, in the end, when another violent shiver wracks through him, Bucky makes the decision for him.

“Alright. Tissues and a blanket,” he says, cranking up the heat and angling the blowers so they’re all pointed at Steve.

When they’re parked in the service station, Bucky reaches over to push Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “You don’t do anything by halves, huh, Stevie?” He says gently, leaning in to kiss Steve’s forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything stupid?”

“Can’t. You’re taking all the stupid,” Steve mumbles, forcing a weak smile. This seems so appease Bucky somewhat and he smiles back.

“Five minutes,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Steve feels awful, there’s no denying it. The joint pain he’d been feeling earlier has progressed from a dull ache to something a bit more aggressive, particularly in his hips, and the congestion in his sinuses has spread down into his upper chest. He feels the tightness pulling just below his collarbones and resigns himself to the fact that this is going to be a nightmare of a week.

True to his word, Bucky returns quickly and throws a fleece blanket over Steve’s shivering body. “Sorry, pal, all they had were Yankees blankets.”

Steve makes a face. “I better not have Gerrit Cole’s face on me right now,” he grumbles, cracking one eye open to look at Bucky.

Bucky laughs, ripping open a fresh box of tissues and settling it near the gear shift. “You gonna take it off if he’s on there?”

“Fuck off,” Steve grumbles, opting not to look and live in warm, comfortable denial.

His next breath catches deep in his chest and he curls in on himself with another rattling cough. Thankfully, he gets it under control before Bucky starts rummaging through the glove box for his inhaler. He’s actually gone one in his pocket thank you very much. Not that anybody ever bothers checking anymore. No, his reputation for leaving it at home - either out of forgetfulness or, for one memorable year in middle school, sheer stubbornness - has pretty much put an end to anybody bothering to check if he’s carrying one before they hand him another. He supposes he should be touched and, on a good day, he is. But today is not a good day. Today is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and Steve just wants to be asleep.

“Not long now, Stevie,” Bucky says soothingly. Steve wants to be annoyed because he’s not a child but he can’t find it in himself because, damnit, Bucky’s voice is actually soothing when he talks like that.

Fuck, he’s so in love.

By the time they’re pulling up outside Sarah Rogers’s house, Steve feels truly miserable. He’d started feeling nauseous about ten minutes ago and had opened the window for some air which only brought back his earlier shivers with a vengeance. And, to top it all off, he saw the Yankees logo on the damn blanket. Today sucked.

“Come on, babydoll,” Bucky says as he helps Steve out of the car.

Somewhat reluctantly, Steve abandons the traitorous blanket in the car but snags the box of tissues and lets Bucky sling his arm around his shoulders as they head up to the door. As usual, Bucky rings the doorbell to let Sarah know they’re there and then heads inside. Steve shivers involuntarily at the warmth of the house and catches a few, itchy sneezes into a fresh handful of tissues.

His nose hasn’t stopped running since it started nearly an hour ago and all he wants is a change of clothes and a nap.

“My boys!” Sarah exclaims as she comes out of the living room to greet them, expression softening when she sees the state of her son.

That expression is just too much for Steve who detaches himself from Bucky and wraps his mother up in a hug. He can’t smell anything through his stuffy nose but he can imagine the homely way she always smells and has to blink back tears. God, he’s a mess. He blames the Ambien more than anything. Everybody knows they fuck with you if you don’t sleep long enough.

“Aw, honey,” Sarah mutters into Steve’s hair, running a hand up and down his back. “You shouldn’t have come all this way if you weren’t feeling well. I’ll still be here in the summer.”

“Didn’t feel bad until we left,” Steve admits, somehow completely forgetting how much worse that makes his cold sound.

Sarah frowns and holds him at arms length, looking him up and down. “That came on fast. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Ma,” Steve starts but Bucky interrupts before he can offer any platitudes.

“Like hell you are,” Bucky grumbles, slipping his arm around Steve’s waist. “Bed. Let’s go.”

Steve huffs, his indignation giving him the strength to stand his ground. “I’m fine.”

Bucky yawns. “Who said it was for you? I drove all the way here. I need a nap.”

“Well, you can go without me,” Steve says, unsure why exactly he’s continuing this argument. He wants to go to bed. But he’s not going because he’s told to, even if it is Bucky and Ma.

Bucky pouts. “But I sleep better with you there.”

That bastard. Steve knows what he’s doing. He’s used this tactic time and again and the worst part is that it always works. It’s working now. Steve knows he’s going to agree even before his Ma presses a kiss to his cheek and says, “Take the guest bed, boys. You’ll have more space.”

So Steve lets Bucky drag him upstairs, lets Bucky dig out a sleep shirt for him while he gets undressed, lets Bucky pull him tight against his side and tuck a hot water bottle against his back. He gives in. He cuddles up close and drifts off tracing the curve of Bucky’s hip bone with his fingers.

Bucky’s so beautiful. Steve doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“Marry me,” he whispers as he finally drops off the edge of the cliff into sleep.

part two

#acefic #acefic stucky

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sinningtamer · 5 years

Text

eating for two [fic]

i did it. i finally lived my dreams and wrote the preg/stuffing fic that no one but me asked for

tumblr is dumb about links lately so its going under the cut

cw: stuffing/belly kink, (m)preg (like, with a nonhuman/non’male’ character, but whatever), vaguely implied sexual content only at the very end, 1.4k+ words, fandom character shipping, but, like, very AU specific interpretation.

a/n: im sorry but also not really cause i deserve this, ALSO tumblr is the worst and if this shows up in main character tags i am so so so sorry, please just ignore me.

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“My god.” Strife breaths heavily as he slowly stands up from the table, gaze making its way downward to his stomach.

Over the last handful of months, he’d gotten used to once again constantly having a belly that extended past his waist and made the view downward significantly cover up his toes, something nothing short from annoying. Granted, it was a mutual decision, and Strife had agreed to this, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to complain.

This, though? This was ridiculous.

“You made me look like we’re having twins, asshole.” Rubbing soft circles on the top of his distended stomach, Strife glares across the kitchen to where Parvis’ is washing dishes. Way, way too many dishes for only two people, no thanks to the blood mage himself.

A nice, date night dinner between them while their daughter was being watched seemed like a good idea in theory, harmlessly suggested by Parvis earlier in the evening. Strife, however, had somehow managed to forget just how much of a scheming bastard Parvis could be. First it was just him suggesting another few bites of the food on his plate, then handing him seconds, and thirds, far, far more than Parvis himself had, and that’s how Strife found himself rightfully stuffed, finding it hard to say no to how much effort Parvis had put forth in cooking such a nice meal.

It’s not like he needed to gain weight, for goodness sake, he looked big enough already at six months. Not that he was willing to admit it, but going from less of a CEO to more of a domestic housewife over the last four years had caused him to put on a handful of pounds, and he could’ve sworn he wasn’t this big during his first pregnancy.

That on top of the meal he’d just had, and Strife felt huge.

“Please,” Parvis’ drawl drags Strife out of his own thoughts, looking up from the sink. “You did this to yourself.”

“No thanks to you.”

Ringing off his hands, Parvis turns around and gives Strife a look over, who’s still throwing him a sour expression. Parvis, however…

The way his eyes rake over Strife, though, is something different entirely, as he takes in every little detail. Flushed green face from the effort of eating too much, plus his own embarrassment, the way his palm softly rests on the top of his swollen tummy, sweater stretched enough for a sliver of bare skin to poke out. Parvis takes all of it in and absentmindedly licks his lips, facial expression turning sly, almost hungry.

Well, at least someone still was.

“Well!” Parvis says quickly, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, and I’ll give you some well deserved belly rubs in a moment?”

He gets a squint in return. A long, rightfully, suspicious squint, Strife’s glowing eyes narrowed behind the pair of glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose. And then finally, a nod.

With a huff, Strife turned and waddled out of the kitchen.

When he finally settles on the couch, it’s somewhat of a feat, shifting subtly enough to not cramp his stomach, trying not to bend forward at all, but he manages, propping a pillow behind his head and falling back.

As he stretches out, he feels the baby move, and smiles fondly. “I know,” Murmuring, he gets a bit more comfortable and strokes a hand over his bump. “Your father’s the worst.”

“Talking behind my back?”

Parvis pokes his head out from the kitchen and makes his way over to the couch, settling between Strife’s legs. It’s only when Strife realizes what he has in his hands that makes him start.

“No— No, absolutely not.”

As if sensing this was coming, Parvis gives him the strongest puppy dog eyes he can, holding up the slice of chocolate cake he has on the plate held between his hands. “It’s just one piece!”

“One piece too many! Parvis, no.” At that, his stomach makes a groaning noise, and he scowls. “Why do you insist on feeding me so much?”

Barely listening, Parvis picks up the fork resting on the plate and forks off a bite to hold up. “Because I like you full and healthy!”

The look he gets is Strife shooting daggers, but he’s determined.

“Please, Strifey?” He pleads, fork hovering just in front of Strife’s mouth. “For the baby?”

“You have got to stop saying that.” Is the growl he gets in return, as Strife pouts. The only reason he’s grumpy about it is because it actually works. He was tempted to ban that damned phrase from Parvis’ vocabulary already, because every single time he wanted Strife to do something, he’d remind him of the ‘precious cargo’ he was carrying for them, and Strife’s resolve would easily crack.

The only saving grace was that it did, thankfully, work the other way around, and was an easy way to get Parvis to do his bidding, in the form of carrying him upstairs and grabbing stuff from high shelves. They really were both useless husbands.

“Fine.” He eventually says, when Parvis’ grip on the fork doesn’t waiver. “But you owe me and the kid one.”

“Deal!” Parvis chirps, and before he gets a chance to react, he’s shoving the bit of cake up to Strife’s lips, who has no choice but to open his mouth and swallow.

The first bite goes down easily, despite how strained his stomach already was. Adding something on top of that didn’t do much. He barely has a second to breath, though, as Parvis is forking off a larger bite, and poking it against his mouth again, and swallowing that makes everything feel so much heavier. And it was no small slice…

Refusing to relent at the way Strife has to draw in a breath, Parvis simply keeps cutting off pieces of the cake and pressing them against his mouth, and Strife can’t do anything but accept, hand at his side lifting up to feel his still filling belly, completely firm now.

The worst part was just how good it tasted, with Strife’s latest craving being anything particularly sweet. The layer of thick and sugary frosting still tasted heavenly, no matter how much it made his stomach ache.

Before he’s able to think about it, he blinks to see the last bite of cake on the end of the fork, Parvis smirking at him. Mentally apologizing to his belly, he leans forward and lets Parvis feed him the rest of the slice.

Immediately after he swallows it, Strife slumps back against the pillow, sighing heavily. He’s never been more full in his life, and when he shifts, his sweater rides up more, exposing the rest of his stomach, freckles on its side glowing brightly.

Meanwhile, Parvis leans over and sets the now empty plate on the coffee table, sparkle in his eyes still. Almost daintily, he rubbed his thumb on the side of Strife’s

lips, swiping off a bit of frosting and tasting it, humming around his finger.

“Happy?” Strife grumbles, beginning to feel sleepy from the weighed down feeling he was getting.

“Very.” Parvis replies adoringly, bringing both hands to rest on his stretched belly, softly massaging the side, carefully enough to not hurt. He dips his head forward and plants a kiss on the top of it, and Strife can’t help but give a half upturned smile, resting his own hand over Parvis’.

“Anything else I can do for you, or is this enough?” He says after catching his breath, Parvis still rubbing circles into his tummy, no doubt enjoying just how big he’d managed to make him. Pursing his lips, he sits back up to think.

“Now that I think about it…” His expression slips back to something scheming, and he sets his palms on Strife’s knees, eyes traveling from his stomach to between his legs. “I haven’t had my dessert yet.”

Strife’s about ready to fall asleep, but the way Parvis says it makes his brain perk up a bit, blush on his cheeks brightening. He tilts his head. “You’re doing all the work, though.”

Smile widening, Parvis nods eagerly.

“And you’re carrying me upstairs.”

“Alright!” Before Strife can make anymore demands, Parvis is hopping off the couch and wiggling one arm underneath his knees and the other behind his back, easily lifting Strife into his arms bridal style.

At least everyone was getting their fair share to eat today.

#stuffing kink #belly kink #mpreg #alien boy and mage boy #mama strifey kinz

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ineffable0husbands · 5 years

Text

How the Mighty Have Fallen Chapter 2

Warnings: Fighting, pain, and amnesia

Ship(s): Ineffable Husbands

tag list: @adoratato @iamdevilantlysatan @bri-cas @that-gender-bender@scum-of-the-earth @pieces-of-annedrew @scampycat4999 @elrilsf @my-emo-child @always-reading2 @larrklopp @l-garnxtt @halbarryislife@ninjacatinsanitycrazy @impossiblynervouscycle @audder17@theratatethekingsclothes @boredafsposts @i-really-dig-the-purple@mycrappylife01 @lostwolf-fandomlover @hamiltrashphannerd@she-who-must-not-be-named @sundry-whovengerslocked @deceitfullyanxiousprince e @booklover223@twdlover03 @drunkinfandomstuff@nimsy1920 @catsarebestest

The next morning, Crowley woke to find himself in an empty bed. He panicked, shooting straight up and nearly vaulting himself towards the doorway when he heard the faint sound of classical music and rustling out in the parlor. A relieved smile glided across Crowley’s lips and he got out of bed, yawning deeply before padding out of the bedroom. Aziraphale was in Crowley’s tiny kitchen, wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron he’d probably conjured for himself. He looked absolutely adorable, his hair still sticking straight up and flattened on one side from sleeping, pajamas in Crowley’s colors (red and black), and humming softly along to the music playing in the kitchen. The soft, golden light that flooded in from the kitchen window framed Aziraphale’s body and made him look even more angelic if that were possible. Crowley went up behind him, wrapping his arms lazily around his neck and kissing it.

“Good morning my dear,” Aziraphale said brightly, turning his head to kiss Crowley’s cheek. He hummed softly.

“Good morning, angel. What’re you making?” Crowley asked with a soft purr, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck. The angel blushed deeply at the actions of the demon and smiled bashfully.

“Ham And eggs, in a somewhat peculiar way- remember my trip to America? Well, there was this young man, named- ah, Peter...Sedlák[1] I believe, who worked as a dishwasher in a home-style diner owned by Greeks! Most diners in America were owned by Greeks then. Anyways, he hardly spoke a lick of English but he enjoyed food, and showed me how to make this! You fry up the ham steaks first then put the eggs in the holes, so it’s all connected see…” Aziraphale finished cracking the eggs, sprinkled in some chives, salt, pepper, and a few other things before putting a top over the skillet. “Then you just put the top on and let it cook for a moment! Isn’t it wonderful?” Crowley smiled fondly at his angel’s excitement.

“It looks wonderful, angel. I’ll set the table, alright?” Crowley kissed just under the angel’s ear and pulled away, taking the plates from the cupboard and setting his table for two. The kitchen was a new addition, something Crowley had put in when Aziraphale had moved in with him. The angel had whipped up many different delightful dishes, and each time another delicious meal was served, Crowley Gave himself a pat on the back for helping introduce Aziraphale to food. Cooking for another person was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the most domestic and loving things a person could ever do.

“I’m going to break into hell.” Crowley felt as taken aback by his sudden statement as Aziraphale looked. The poor angel had almost dropped his skillet in shock. That certainly would have been a mess.

“You’re going to do what?” Aziraphale gasped, looking at Crowley with shock ridden all over his face. Crowley glanced around for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“Break into hell, I guess. Don’t know where that came from, but I’ll go with it,” the demon replied casually, pulling back the angel’s chair for him. Aziraphale thanked him and sat down with a smile, but then quickly got his frown back.

“You are not breaking into hell. No. God knows what they’d do if they saw you!” Aziraphale exclaimed, setting his fork down. “I won’t have it, Crowley. You can’t go!” Crowley let out a frustrated sigh.

“Aziraphale, I have to. I was able to ignore the gaps before, but I can’t anymore. It’s like...I’m missing a part of me, and it’s fucking terrible. You don’t need to get it, but you need to understand that I have to do this for myself,” Crowley insisted, leaning forward slightly as he put emphasis into his tone. Aziraphale’s jaw clenched.

“And what if you’re discorporated? Or, heaven forbid, permanently killed? It’s too dangerous!” Aziraphale said forcefully. Something deep inside Crowley twisted and he felt anger boiling up in the pit of his stomach.

“That’s not going to happen-”

“How do you know? Crowley, this is madness!” Aziraphale cried. His brows were furrowed with anger, and the demon couldn’t tell who or what that anger was directed towards. Crowley grit his teeth. He didn’t understand. He thought Aziraphale would understand. His stomach twisted more, growing almost painful now. He could practically taste the tension in the air; if this continued, it would end in a fight.

“We’re not having this conversation. Let’s just drop it, please,” Crowley muttered, dropping his gaze down as he played with the bottom of the table cloth. Aziraphale’s anger seemed to fade slightly and he sighed.

“I know I can’t stop you. You’re your own person, and I know you wouldn’t do something like this unless you thought it was important. It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” the angel said stiffly, picking up the tea he’d made for himself and taking a sip. Crowley made no reply, just gave a slight nod, and set to work on his breakfast.

Crowley left the flat when Aziraphale was distracted. He really couldn’t have a crying/angry/upset angel running after him into the depths of hell, boyfriend or not. The demon did his best not to let his mind wander to the past, as a crippling pain would spark in his head like white-hot heat every time he did, but it’s not exactly to keep your mind off something when you’re setting off to do things that would have to involve that something. It was annoying, really. Who the hell invented thinking? And memories? Probably his fellow demons, those bastards. Due to current social stances with said bastards, Crowley decided against using the main entrance. A second and less frequented entrance to hell sat just at the back of a local bank. It had a low security, low traffic, and really wasn’t even a bank at all. The Legions Of Hell just said it was, so naturally, everyone believed it.

The bell above the door rang softly as Crowley entered the bank. A fine layer of dust covered every surface, making it appear as if everything had a slight white tint to it. Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste at the state of it all. Sure, this place was an entrance to hell, but why did it have to be so filthy? Shoving his hands into his pockets so that he didn’t touch anything, the demon made his way to the backroom. He passed a few skeletons along the way but paid them no mind. After all, what hell did was none of his business anymore. Except this. This whole mess was most definitely his business. Crowley hissed in pain as his head pounded and he paused, closing his eyes until it ebbed away to a tolerable sting. He huffed and straightened his jacket before pushing open the ‘employees only’ door.

The official entrance to hell wasn’t exactly that subtle. A boiling bit of fire in the middle of an accounting space with the occasional screech coming out of it certainly did scream ‘satan’, though.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Crowley said to himself. Shutting the door firmly behind him and taking a moment to readjust himself, the demon leaped into the burning pit, plummeting down into the depths of hell.

[1] My papa. I had a dream about him and Aziraphale meeting when he was younger and I couldn’t stop laughing, so I incorporated it in this. The breakfast is one of my papa’s favorites and he makes it for my siblings and me a lot

#good omens #good omens tv series #crowley #aziraphale #hastur #ligur #gabriel #fighting #ineffable husbands #fire #pain #headaches #amnesia #how the mighty have fallen #leesa writes #leesa's writing

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poeedamerons · 5 years

Text

I can't believe you let him down (but the proof is in the way he hurts)

Day 5: Canon, canon divergence, what-ifs, fix-its - Read it at AO3

Kyle Valenti started with little things.

So little that even Alex’s military training wouldn’t be able to pick up on anything off. He wanted it to feel slow and organic, to keep Alex as unaware as he could of the reasons behind his behavior.

Kyle was a better guy now than the one he was during high school for sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a straight up asshole if he wanted to be. It was ridiculously easy for him to fall back considering that the target of his asshole-ness was Michael Guerin.

Maria wasn’t innocent either but, call him sexist, he wasn’t about to be so combative to a girl. Sue him. Besides, Maria would answer better to passive aggressiveness.

But Guerin? He never liked the prick and he now had even more reasons not to like him. Not to imply on speciesism, but Roswell would have been so much better without the alien trio without the alien trio causing havoc in their very much mortal, and fragile, lives.

And Alex Manes had already been through too much suffering in his life. His father is an abusive asshole and his brothers were good little soldiers from birth that just stood there and watched as the abuse happened. Kyle,himself, was a bully to Alex during their school years - something he very much regretted and would go to the fucking ends of earth to make amends for his past conduct - and back then he did not allow Alex to have a peaceful existence in school. Finally, he went to a bloody war and lost his leg as a farewell gift for all his sacrifice. All of that and they weren’t on their thirties.Alex had lived many lives and, so far, none of them had been pleasant.

The only moments he knew Alex had felt something akin to happiness and joy were the ones involving Michael and Maria, and they had fucked that up. They threw his feelings and trust right back in his face like it was meaningless trash. Kyle Valenti was not the greatest guy around, but he would be damned if he allowed those two to get away with hurting his best friend unscathed.

Alex and Kyle had developed a quick and unexpected friendship; a bond forged while investigating Project Shepherd, strengthened as they discovered the sick and twisted lengths their fathers had gone to in order to keep their experimentations - and the truth about the existence of aliens - a secret..

If anyone in this town could understand him, it would be Alex Manes. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he did in high school.

And that is why he cursed himself, raging with anger for taking so long to connect the dots between the recent events in Roswell to the trio. He was livid for being so caught up in his grief for his father’s death and alien mess to notice that Alex was suffering right beside him before it was too late.

Which lead Kyle to his current plan of sorts. He didn’t begin it intentionally, but once that Kyle saw the look in Michael Guerin’s eyes, he knew he had that jerk right where he wanted him.

It all started after Maria and Michael started to appear around town together, awfully close, with their fingers interlaced. The sight always leaves Alex stiff as a board, with sweaty palms and a dark, hurt look in his eyes.

Kyle had no idea how Maria and Michael could live with themselves knowing that they were the cause of so much hurt. And that meant a lot coming from someone like himself that used to be a certified bastard not a decade ago.

But one day, as they left the Crashdown, laughing about nothing, they spotted Roswell’s newest couple coming in their direction and Kyle wrapped his arms protectively around Alex, without a thought. He glared daggers at Michael, while Maria, the coward, looked away, down at the pavement, cowardly and embarrassed (as she fucking should be, the traitor). But his arms went around Alex his saw flicker of something on Michael’s own gaze, something he, himself, was guilty of once with Liz and Max: jealousy.

The fact that he even had the gall to feel jealous towards Alex made Kyle’s blood boil. Wasn't he the one that left Alex for hours waiting for him? Wasn't he the one that went after Alex's best friend? Wasn't he the one who couldn't even bother to tell Alex to his face that they were done?

Michael Guerin was an undeserving prick with an impressively short temper. He didn’t want that alien anywhere near Alex, and he was going to make sure Alex saw how much better he was away from someone as unstable as Guerin.

And that was when he started with little things.

Smiles that lingered, hands that always touched Alex's body, small hugs, more than friendly shoulder bumps, sharing food and inside jokes. Every week he would add a little thing here and there, nothing to cause Alex to raise those brows, but enough to make sure the other man was comfortable. Kyle wasn't perfect, but he understood the rules of consent and Alex deserved someone to do this thing properly.

After almost three months of shoulder bumps and increasingly lingering touches he finally developed to his personal favorite: soft kisses on his cheek or temple.

It had startled Alex at first, but it had been followed with full body laughter from the other man and, Kyle had to be honest, it was the first time since the whole... Michael thing that he had seen Alex laugh with such joy.

He liked that a lot.

Guerin hadn't seen this latest development, but Kyle was eager for his reaction. Maria, on the other hand, had seen it. Her eyes widened in shock, her mouth dropped a little and her expression turned sour, her nose even creased a little.

It might have been cute if he had any amount of empathy for her.

Maria’s expression was all the confirmation he needed to know that things in paradise weren't doing so great. Like most people, she had noticed Michael’s temper tantrums - as he so fondly named them in his mind - after seeing Alex and Kyle together.

In a small town like Roswell it was inevitable they would bump on each other on a regular basis, and Kyle made sure he used those moments to annoy Michael as much as possible.

Just as he predicted, it didn’t take long for Michael to start acting up. In the beginning, he would just seethe from a distance, his face twisted in a snarl and his eyes would burn holes in their backs. The cherry on top was when Michael finally started escalating his reactions to heated words, always causing a scene. He was yet to elevate his anger to violence, but Kyle wasn’t ruling that out.

In short, he had to contain his glee every time Michael would go off. He would immediately ruin the mood for everyone around them (which, admittedly, did suck a little because sometimes he was just tired and wanted to have a nice time with his friends, but priorities). Alex, bless his heart, was always there to defend Kyle’s honor. Liz and Max would try lighten up the situation - and fail miserably -, and Maria, after the first few times she tried to pull Michael away from wherever they were at (not The Wild Pony though, they hadn't set foot there in months) with a exasperated look on her face.

At this point, he was glad that Alex’s worries about Michael were more directed at his sudden child-like behavior than everything that had that happened between them.

As if Michael wasn't a man-child every second of his life, but Kyle's opinion on Michael's maturity level wasn't really relevant..

Kyle didn't feel even slightly guilty about the drama he was causing. If anything, this was karma coming to bite them in the ass, Kyle was just a facilitator. Besides, it wasn't like anyone could prove that he was doing anything on purpose without Isobel taking an unwanted, and unwelcome, wander into his mind.

As far as everyone was concerned, Kyle was just being a good friend to the youngest Manes in his hour of need. He had it on good authority that, though as a small town Roswell was still a little homophobic, Maria and Michael's 'relationship' was looked down on somewhat after finding out the less-than-kosher circumstances of its conception. People said things, as they always did, but Maria put a swift stop to whatever she heard as quickly as possible.

Or at least she tried.

Admittedly, Kyle had no idea where he was going with this, or what he was trying to achieve in the grand scheme of things. He acted more on his need to protect his friend than having a well thought out plan. And while it had been nice to make Alex smile, and keep their research going without any alien-related emergencies, he was digging himself a hole he was afraid he would get buried in.

The only thing that could be said about the intended result when he set this plan (for lack of a better word) in motion was the inevitable ruin of Michael Guerin. What he hadn't expected to happen was to develop feelings for Alex. Up until a few months ago, he was secure of his heterosexuality but now all cards were off the table and Alex Manes had him questioning everything. And Kyle was left without a single person in this town to turn for help.

To make matters worse, he knew his feelings couldn’t be reciprocated by Alex. They never talked about it - an unspoken agreement that Alex would share his feelings when he was ready - but Kyle was certain that Alex was still in love with one angry, alien cowboy (though why, Kyle couldn't fathom and he had tried, honestly, he really had. Maybe it was a height thing?). Those feelings couldn’t be dismissed easily, at least, not if you were a decent, functioning person.

It was like a cruel joke made personally by the alien gods to torment him.

So, he was stuck in inevitability of falling head over heels for Alex Manes without a clue on how to deal with the repercussion of those feelings. After so many months of healing, he was quite confident that Alex was finally able to be happy again and he couldn't jeopardize that with a case of unwanted feelings that could mess up another of Alex friendships.

He was happy with how things were, really. Alex’s friendship made him incredibly happy. It just wasn’t ideal, all things considered, but he would just have to suck it up and be the supportive anchor Alex needed in his life and hold onto the little things to survive.

God, he was a helpless case.

-----

Kyle would be embarrassed later that day because he should have seen that punch coming. Istead, before he had any chance to react, he felt the sharp pain blossom across his face, starting in his nose, and the taste of copper on his mouth. It hurt like a bitch. It might have been the pain talking but he was almost sure he heard the distinct crack of something breaking. To make matters worse, his body was hurled sideways with the force of the impact, hitting the pavement with a painful smack.

After that, things got kind of blurry. His ears throbbed, and and sounds seemed miles away, blurred like he was underwater, but Alex's angry words cut through into Kyle's consciousness.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Guerin?” Kyle wanted to know the same thing, what did Michael Guerin think he was doing? He had the girl he chose on his arm, what else did he want? Did he really think Alex would just wait on a shelf in case things fell through? Kyle had known, realistically, that he'd been looking for trouble, but damn if he hadn't really thought about what the actual consequences of his actions would be.

Kyle had no idea what the other voices were saying, but he but he thought he could hear a female voice - Maria, probably - trying to cut into the arguing.

Alex snorted sarcastically at whatever it was said, and Kyle could feel gentle hands helping him up. “Kyle, did you hurt yourself when you fell?” Alex’s eyes darted over his body frantically, trying to assess all the damage.

He tried to shake his head, like he wasn't a trained doctor and knew better than to do something like that with a head injury, and the world pitched to the side. It seemed that Guerin had used some kind of alien strength - was that a thing? - on him, because he'd never felt this wrecked after a punch before. And Kyle had been punched a lot.

Liz showed up beside them, carrying ice wrapped in a white cloth. “Here, lean your head back,” her face was tense and filled with worry. Kyle was pretty sure he was alive, but if the look on Liz's face was anything to go by then his face was pretty messed up.

Kyle stomach twisted and a burning feeling went up his throat. He didn't really want to add 'choking on his own vomit' to the list of things that happened today, thank you very much.

Alex was using a piece of the cloth to try and stem the flowing blood, careful of hurting the other man. Before he could say anything to Kyle, his attention turned sharply to the voices still arguing behind them, his gaze stony.

"That's rich coming from you two," his voice was laced with poison, hurt and anger. Kyle never saw Alex like this. It was downright frightening. "Go back to your girlfriend, Guerin. Or are you suffering from an unknown alien condition that made you forget the past months?"

He might be still bleeding lightly and a bit dizzy, but Alex’s face told him he was not going to back down.

"You chose this, live with it." Alex took a deep breath and interlock their fingers. "If you don't like this, that's your problem, Michael. If you don't like this, that's your problem. It's time to look away, Guerin, you've made your position clear, and this is me making mine. Attack him again and you deal with me." his voice a clear threat, and the meaning behind his words clear.

Kyle was stunned right then. His nose was a wreck of dried and still-drying blood, it was probably starting to get a pretty spectacular bruise. The pain was still lacing through him, stealing every other breath, but Kyle somehow still had enough functioning brain cells for him to understand: Alex was not in love with Michael anymore. He would have never had the heart to make such a threat if he did.

Guerin, for the first time, elicited a feeling out of Alex Manes that was not love and he didn't even need to look to the man in question to see that he wasn't ready for it either. It was probably hitting him at that very moment that whatever he ever had with Alex was lost forever.

If Kyle was a better man, he would feel some compassion, but he is not, and - if you asked Kyle - Michael had it coming. Plus, he fucking broke his nose and Kyle was in too much pain to even bask in the glory of his success. He guessed this was what people meant when they said 'success comes at a cost'.

"You wouldn't," Michael's voice wavered.

“You really don’t want to try me, Guerin,” Alex was in full soldier mode, but his grip was firm on Kyle’s arms, shielding him away from view. “I am not my father, but I will not stand for unnecessary violence and you – or Max and Isobel, for that matter – to use your powers unwarrantedly on humans like this. You could have killed him!” Alex was seething. “You forget where I have been, what I have seen and what I have done. I will not allow that to be for nothing, Guerin. I will protect my own."

Just like that Alex delivered his final blow to Michael Guerin. It was clear as day that he was no longer important to Alex, an almost love at best. A footnote in the story of Alex's life, if Kyle had any say.

Kyle really didn’t want to be in the alien's shoes right now, and he was the one with a bleeding nose.

"Come on," Alex voice was softer now, worried expression causing his brows to crease up in a way that made Kyle want to smooth away with a kiss to his forehead. "Let's fix you up. Can't have that pretty-boy face marred." he joked lamely, but Kyle was a sucker for that man that he would have laughed and kissed him if it didn’t hurt so much to move his face or breathe.

Alex gently guided him out of the Crashdown and into his truck. He kept shooting Kyle side glances, maybe to check on him, he wasn’t sure. They fell into a comfortable silence, but he couldn’t help but notice that Alex fingers we still interlaced with his.

He was guided to the passenger door, but before he could climb in, Alex stopped him. “Let me see,” He removed the cloth gently from Kyle’s nose, aware of any dried blood that might have glued to the material. He inspected what little he could see, his face contorted a little. “Well, let’s hope it doesn't get crooked.”

“WHAT?” Alex laughed at the look of abject horror that crossed Kyle's face.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it will be alright,” he motioned for Kyle to get in, closing the door with a loud thud. “Even if it gets crooked it will probably look distinguished on you,” Kyle could hear the smile in his voice. “But I am pretty sure it’s broken more than one place.”

“Is that supposed to calm me down, Manes?” He complained as Alex jumped in the driver's seat, putting his seat belt on and starting the truck.

“At least I tried,” Kyle wasn’t mad, the soft comforting way Alex was looking at him right now was worth a crooked nose a thousand times over. “Hey,” Alex’s voiced wavered, his eyes now focused on the road. “I’m really sorry that he punched you.”

“No, Alex,” Fucking Michael Guerin was a never-ending source of misery to Alex. “This is not your fault, okay?” he needed to assure him. “It was all on him, he punched me, totally unprovoked.” Not really, but semantics.

“Yeah, but,” Alex struggled to get the words out. “He only punched you because he thought we were together.”

While Kyle definitely would not mind that part being true, but he had other things to focus. “Even if we were, it still wouldn’t justify him punching me, Alex,” he really wished they had that conversation any other time of their lives, one that did not involve blood. “He’s dating her,” Kyle doesn’t think he will ever be able to refer to either of them without a little of revulsion in his voice. “He has no right to be upset over you being with anyone else.”

Alex choked on a broken laugh. “I know,” but Kyle was starting to doubt if he really did. “It’s just…never mind,” Alex shrugged. “I am sorry then that I implied we might be together.”

Dear, sweet Alex really should not be doing this to him right now. “I was not offended,” he bumped their shoulders and Alex smiled.

“You have changed, haven't’ you?” his voice was small.

“I like to think I matured,” Alex snorted at that. “Hey, rude, Manes.” they were both grinning now. “I was punched by an extraterrestrial creature because of you, I could have died. You should be nice to me.” he joked lightly, trying to lift Alex’s spirits.

The things he did for love, honestly, but at least Alex was highly amused now. “We have arrived, my knight in shining armour.”

Kyle’s knees buckled a little, he wasn’t going to lie. He even leaned his body towards Alex in a moment of weakness, but the other man jumped out of the truck before he could have done anything stupid.

His head fell back in defeat. His life was a mess and Alex Manes was the reason behind it.

---

It takes two weeks for his nose to fully heal.

It had been broken in in too many tiny places to ever be the same but, to his relief, the crookedness was a subtle one, almost imperceptive to the human eye. And, in some stroke of luck, his breathing was breathing free of any abnormalities. Thank fuck.

Alex had been the perfect nurse, refusing to allow him to stay in his apartment alone during his recovery. He tried to protest, but the idea of Alex fussing all over him was too good to be denied with too much fervour.

If he hadn’t been in love then, he would have been now. His days in the cabin had been almost dream-like. They fell into such a domestic pattern that his heart fluttered every time Alex looked at him.

Kyle took the opportunity to get closer than before. As soon as the heavy pain medication was taken out of his daily routine, he had started surprising Alex with meals, Netflix and chill sessions and foot massages.

He lost count of how many times he woke up laying on the couch, his arms around Alex and his nose buried in his neck, while whatever show they fell asleep during was still playing in the background.

Going back to his apartment had been literal hell.

They got so involved in their own little world they built that it took a week for the news of Maria’s and Michael’s break up to reach them. It turned out that, after he and Alex had left for the hospital, the former couple had a huge fight over Michael’s reaction and when questioned by Maria if he still had feelings for Alex, the small hesitance of the alien was everything she needed to know to walk away.

His eyes were glued to Alex when Liz told them that, gauging his reaction, afraid his previous assertion during the fight might have been nothing more than wishful thinking.

While he looked a little bit pained, it wasn’t because he felt anything for Michael. It was an overall sadness for how catastrophically things had turned out for all of them. Hurt that might never heal, their friendship irreversibly destroyed.

What surprised him though, was Alex’s hands reaching out for his. As if he was seeking for comfort or reassurance. It still wasn’t what he wanted, but for the moment it felt like everything.

---

The arrival of a stranger in Roswell wouldn’t have passed by Kyle’s radar if said stranger wasn’t so bent in grabbing Alex attention to himself. The man, Jacob, had been less than obvious in his attempts to flirt with Alex, who always laughed at Jacob’s remarks.

It made Kyle green with envy.

Jacob was an ex-military like Alex himself, one with enough information about the depth of Project Shepherd and the damage it was still capable of doing, that agreed to help them in their own attempt to shut it down.

Kyle, to his chagrin, had been the one to find Jacob and invite him to spend a few days around town so they could talk without the fear of being taped. He now regretted ever sending for the man.

He will admit that talking to Alex proved to be more difficult than he expected. Talking to him would change everything in case Alex didn’t feel the same, and he was not ready to give up what they had. Things were almost perfect, and it would take a little more than a strong breeze to topple it to crash it all over.

But the presence of the older man had him sweating with anxiety. He was never one to wallow in silence, but Alex had made a complete fool out of him. Then again, no one had made him feel so raw with emotion, so vulnerable.

And the sight of Alex rolling with laughter as Jacob hovered over him this morning at the Crashdown was enough to have him make his mind up and strengthen his resolve. He would stop waiting for the right moment and would go after his man.

After one of the most traumatising conversations of his life with Liz, he finally managed to get her to spill some of Alex’s kinks. He would deal with the man’s indignation over violating his privacy later, but for now he called in sick and went shopping so he could gear up.

So, here he was, with tight jeans, silver belt buckle, white button up shirt, tan jacket, black cowboy boots and a black Stetson. He knew he looked hot; I mean he had seen himself on the mirror, but the get up made him feel a little bit stupid; but go big or go home right?

He hoped that Alex appreciated the effort though.

He took the long drive to Alex’s cabin, not only so he could muster up the courage, but also to avoid passing anywhere near town. He wasn’t ready for other people to see him like this. It felt almost cartoonish.

But if Alex had a thing for the cowboy aesthetic who was he to judged? After all he was trying to use that to his advantage.

Kyle parked right outside Alex’s cabin, taking a sobering breath before opening the car door. The path towards the porch never felt so heavy. Kyle wished he had brought some booze. He could use some liquid courage.

He knocked on the door and Alex voiced echoed outside. “Coming,” he could hear the steps behind the door and his knees buckled. It was too late to run away and fucking Alex Manes had him acting like a twelve year old boy that did not knew how to deal with a crush.

Pathetic.

“Hey, Ky-” Alex's greeting was cut short when his gaze fell onto Kyle, standing looking like a cowboy at the threshold of his cabin. “Why are you dressed like that?” His brows creased.

Oh fuck. He had no idea what he was going to say.

Thinkthinkthinkthink a little voiced whispered inside his head.

“Kyle?” Alex’s voice was now amused. “Are we late to a costume party I was not aware of?”

The cruelty was almost too much to bear. Alex was going to laugh.

“I better go,” His eyes refused to make contact with Alex’s, turning himself to go back to the car and admit defeat by humiliation.

“Wait,” Alex called holding his arm. “Where you going, cowboy?” Wow, Alex had to go there hadn’t he?

“Just, never mind, Alex,” Kyle shrugged, “It was a bad idea anyway.” He sighed.

“Kyle, don’t - ” his hands refused to let his arm go. “what was a bad idea? Dressing up like that?” His voice was now tinged with worry. “Please talk to me.”

“It’s for you!” He almost screamed in frustration. “Liz told me about the cowboy thing, and I dressed up as one for you.”

“Dressed up for me.” He repeats. “as a cowboy, because Liz told you that I was into that.” He almost hesitated saying the final part.

“Yes!” Kyle threw his arms up. “I’ve been in love with you for months and I had no idea what to do,” he started spilling. “At first, I would just do small things to get Michael annoyed, but the more I touched you the more I fell. Before I noticed I was head over heels over you and had no idea how if you felt the same,” he looked into Alex’s eyes. “I was too afraid of you rejecting me and I kept telling myself being your friend would be enough, but it wasn’t. Now Jacob is here and all over you - ”.

“Jacob?” Alex's tone was laced with disbelief and confusion, his eyes still locked with Kyle’s. “what about him?”

God, Kyle thought, Alex was the dumbest smart person he'd ever had the misfortune of falling in love with. “He is always flirting with you and you always laugh, always. You don’t even do that with me.” He needed Alex to understand.

Alex's laugh echoed as he pulled Kyle closer to him. “I am not interested in Jacob, Kyle” his voice was soft, his eyes warm and the edges of his lips curved in a smile. “I am interested in you. Have been for months now.”

Kyle felt his brain short circuiting. “What?”

Alex pulled Kyle closer, fingers curled in the lapel of his jacket until he could rest their foreheads together. “Did you really provoke Michael because he broke my heart?”

Their breaths mingled, their lips almost touching. “Yes,” Kyle’s voice was barely a whisper.

Alex snickered. “You are an idiot. You got hurt.” Kyle could deal with this.

“I am an idiot for you,” He replied. Alex body shook with laughter. “It was worth it.” His eyes searched for Alex’s. “You were a very mindful nurse.”

“And you a clueless patient,” their eyes met. “what, do you think I let any invalid cuddle me at the couch?”

“Oh,” It was all he could answer.

“Yeah, oh,” Alex took a step back. “we're gonna revisit your talk with Liz later,” looking pointedly at him, “but now tell me, cowboy, what are your plans?”

Kyle grinned and pulled him for a passionate kiss. When they pulled way, almost breathless, Kyle rearranged his Stetson and shot Alex his best smothering look, earning a laugh from the other man.

“Well, for the sake of poetry I was thinking you could always save a horse and ride a cowboy, Captain Manes.”

Alex eyes sparked mischievously, and he jumped on Kyle, startling the other man. “Easy there, cowboy,” Alex teased as Kyle found his footing, wrapping his thighs around the man’s waist. “Let’s not waste any more time. Take me inside.” Fuck, Kyle thought.

Alex was going to be the death of him, and what a sweet death it would be.

#alex manes #kyle valenti #roswell new mexico #alexmanesweek2019 #kylex #my writing

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navilluswrites · 5 years

Text

I Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly To Be Fearful Of The Night Part 1

Amos Burton x OC

Tyco Station. The Belt.

August.

The clinic was busier than normal today. Which meant that August and everyone else working there was spread thinner than normal. Which, under the best of circumstances, i.e. a fully stocked and up to date clinic with a staff that was fully trained, fed and rested, would have been able to handle but this wasn't this best of circumstances, this was Tyco. A station on the belt which as a general rule was never a place where the best of circumstances never seemed to occur.

August was going back and forth between three different patients. She was holding on the lungs of a kid named Kai when the com sparked to life. "August, Fred needs you at the docks. We've got injured incoming," came the female voice of Fred Johnson's second in command, Drummer. August clenched her jaw in annoyance and continued her work. She directed one of the nurses to what medicine the kid needed and had moved onto the arm of one of the five Black Sky members who were currently in the clinic. The Black Sun and some other OPA faction had gotten into a scuffle and the Black Sky had gotten their asses kicked and come limping to the clinic to be patched up. The genius she was currently attending to thought, despite his recent loss, that he was a badass and right before she reset his arm, kept asking her out for a drink. He stopped when she reset his arm.

The com crackled again, with the same voice, sounding slightly more annoyed "August."

"Kinda in the middle of doing my job right now," she responded while putting the cast wrap over the guy's arm.

"Last time I checked, part of your job is listening to your boss."

"Damnnit, I'll be there as soon as I can." She looked around frantically until she made eye contact with the other doctor.

"Go," said the older man, Ted, "I've been around here long enough to know how to hold down the fort."

"Sorry," she grumbled with an apologetic grimace before grabbing her medic bag and rushing out into the busy corridors and heading to the docks.

-----

"Alright, I'm here your highness, now what do you want?" she said with a mock bow as she caught up with Fred and Drummer.

"We've got some guests coming, and I suspect they'll need some medical attention."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh?"

"Trust me, this will be important."

"That line is getting really old," she grunted as she set her bag down on the ground and sat on one of the shipping containers. She and Drummer exchanged a look. She'd rarely seen Fred this...eager she supposed was the word for it, but also nervous. She racked her brain to think of who this important "guest" could be and all she could figure is it certainly wasn't a Belter. It wasn't that Fred didn't care about Belter's, he wouldn't be here if he didn't, but sadly Belter's rarely had anything to offer other than maybe some intel or boot on the ground. They didn't have the money that Earth or Mars had that opened doors to something that would make Fred react like this. That being said August didn't have the clearest insight on the inner machinations of the OPA. She was from Earth originally at least and eventually found her way out onto the belt for more than a few reasons but largely as a way to escape her old life and the people in it.

A few minutes later the docking clamp locked onto the ship they were waiting for. "Wait for me here," Fred said before walking onto the bridge. "You know I could be helping people instead of waiting around for you," she called after him in a tone that was somewhat teasing but also carried a note of irritation.

About fifteen minutes later Fred came back and gestured for her to come aboard. She wasn't sure what she was expecting but an MCRN gunship with James Holden and his crew was not it. But it did explain why Fred had brought a welcome committee. He was trying to woo them, either to get them to give him information or get them to do something, possible both based on what she knew of Fred.

There were four people on the ship. Three men, all Inners, and a Belter woman. They were all that was left of the Ice ship that had been blown to bits...and then the Mars Flagship that had suffered the same fate. Either they were saboteurs extraordinaire or the most unlucky bastards off all time. Even before they showed up at Tyco's doorstep the station had been abuzz with theories about them: who they were, what they were doing and why. For fairly obvious reasons a lot of people were trying to convince themselves that they were secretly OPA operatives because that would mean that the OPA had a plan. Based on her observations of the OPA the last few years, however limited, she didn't think that was the case.

The crew viewed her with suspicion as she entered, Fred Johnson looming over her. Considering what she knew about them she figured it would be fair that they'd be a suspicious lot.

"This is August. She's one of the top medics on the station and more importantly, I trust her. After what you've been through I want to make sure none of you move going to die on me. If there is anything you need during your stay here please let me know," with that Fred Johnson turned on his heel and strode back through the bridge. Leaving August, much to her annoyance, among the strangers who made it clear from their facial expressions that they didn't want any help. The Belter woman spoke first.

"We've all checked with the med-doc it gave us the all clear. And no offense but being trusted by Fred Johnson doesn't count for much in my book."

August chuckled, "That's fair but look I'm not here to try to get in your business, just let me do my job and check your vitals, make sure nothing's off and I'll get out of your hair." The Belter looked like they were going to argue when the man of the hour, James Holden, chimed in, "Can't hurt." The Belter and Holden exchanged loaded looks and then she shrugged and walked back over to a computer.

"Alright well seem like it would make sense to do this in the med bay?..." August said tentatively.

"Follow me" Holden gestured. Once in the med bay August ran her scans on Holden and was surprised when nothing came back. "How the hell did you survive two shipwrecks without a scratch?"

"I got lucky....others weren't so..." while he spoke she noticed the bags under his eyes, they were so dark and hollow he almost looked like a character in a horror movie or something.

"Are you sleeping okay," she asked while casually re-checking the data from the scans.

"What?" After a beat, he added, "As well as I can."

"You've been through a lot. A lot of trauma. I'm no psychiatrist but physical health isn't the only thing you need to take care of. Without your brain, your body's not much good."

She said with a kind smile, which to her surprise he returned.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said before heading out of the med bay and waiving the next person in. The next guy was also definitely an Earther. She flipped through the charts until she found his picture and name. A voice in the back of her head made note of the fact that he was "extremely fucking hot", but she shoved that thought away, she at least wanted to act like a professional even if she didn't always think like one (or act like one off the clock).

"You must be Amos?" she asking while glancing the information up his previous med doc scans.

"Yup," he said in a flat affect as he sat down.

"Says here you broke your leg?" She asked while trying to gauge his reaction. Where the Belter, Naomi, had seemed suspicious, and Holden welcoming, Amos seemed to be totally neutral, unnaturally so.

"Yeah, when we were leaving the Donnager." He said, still emotionless.

"Mind if I check it out?"

"Do what you gotta do," he replied. She knelt down and rolled up his pant leg. She took the med wrap off it, it was Mars tech so it was significantly better than what she had used on the OPA kid earlier today, and it had seemed to get the job done, she hadn't noticed him limping at least.

"What happened?" She asked as she scanned the injury.

"Got shot while getting out of there." His response was like a soldier giving a report on something very routine. Which is wasn't. Any of it. What led up to getting shot. Getting shot and blowing out your leg in an escape, and yet he acted like it was nothing. Holden seemed like he'd been through hell, this guy on the other hand...

"Hm...any pain when you walk," she questioned while checking the bone.

"Would you be able to do anything if there was?" His response caught her off guard, she supposed Fred's endorsement had only made her seem less trustworthy.

"I could try. But you didn't answer my question."

"It's fine," he said after staring at her for a moment. She was checking the scan and surprisingly it looked pretty good.

"Would you tell me if it wasn't?" She raised her eyebrow in question.

"Cap says you're okay so, yeah." His face was expressionless which seemed strange to her, she tried not to dwell on it, like she told Holden, the psyc end of things wasn't her bag.

"Alright well, I guess the Mars med-tech did the trick. My medical advice: stop getting shot at." She gave him a smile but he didn't react, just seemed to asses that she was done, got up and walked out.

It was certainly a weird interaction but she shrugged it off and continued on with her check-ups on the two other crew members of the Rocinante.

#amos burton #the expanse #fanfiction #the expanse fanfiction #amos burton fanfic #wtf am i doin with my life

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angelesclassified · 4 years

Text

He never missed a deadline!

WHAT IS the Black Toe Edition? It was a regular edition of "The WA Gardener" but we laughingly gave it that name, not a Black Label edition but the Black Toe edition, here's why! Bob Duffield was the publisher, a journalist who served as foreign editor of "The Australian" from 1968 until 1974, until he ran foul of Rupert Murdoch, when he led the infamous walk out of journalists at "The Australian" over the biased editorial treatment of the then Prime Minister Gough Whitlam. He wasn't fired, but was banished back to Western Australia to a less than fulfilling job at the "West Australian". He would spend most of his evening shifts with a cask of Riesling and a carton of cigarettes, sitting under the Narrows Bridge on the Swan River, contemplating his sins. On one occasion he found a moored dingy and decided to board it to wile away the time, and as he did he slipped and gashed his leg. He failed to treat it and it became infected, eventually he went to a doctor, who initially sorted him out, but told him he had to lose some weight, cut down on his drinking and stop smoking, or he wouldn't treat him any further. Bob told him what he thought of his advice, promptly ignored it and never went back. His leg got progressively worse and started to turn black, but he still refused to seek treatment and suffered with it for years without complaining, still drinking his cask a day and chain-smoking his Gauloises. Bored working at the West Australian he resigned and began writing freelance articles for leading magazines including Newsweek and Time, lectured at The West Australia Institute of Technology, now Curtin University inspiring a whole generation of journalists. His most memorable work was Rogue Bull, a 1979 biography of the mining entrepreneur Lang Hancock, who married Rose Lacson, a Filipina, born in Bacolod, Negros Occidental, which gives this story a Philippine connection to "The Swagman", if somewhat tenuous. When I met him he was an editor at the Independent Newspaper in Perth, which at the time was owned by Lang Hancock and his partner Peter Wright. We worked together for many years, both at The Independent and later I would typeset and produce artwork for a variety of magazines and books that he published, we also became good mates, and he would relate stories of his time working as a foreign correspondent, especially his time in Vietnam, his time working for Murdoch, his relationships with many of the public figures of the time. He wrote his life story, which I typeset and put into book form, but it was never published, due to his wife putting the kybosh on it. I do remember many of his stories and perhaps will relate some of them in future editions, maybe just the ones that won't get me sued, even though they are all true. One of the magazines he published was the "West Australian Gardener" for the West Australian Royal Horticultural Society but after a difference of opinion with the Society, he published his own version, "The WA Gardener". I found it amusing that Bob who lived in a second-floor flat in Rivervale overlooking the Swan River, without a garden. I suffered from chronic arthritis and gardening was not one of my priorities, and to cap it off, an advertising salesman that suffered from agoraphobia and never left his bedroom, selling ads by phone, none of us ever got out into a garden. Probably good training for producing this newsletter under lockdown. PRODUCING THE EDITION I received a call from Bob, who growled down the phone. "Ah! We got to get the next edition out!" "No problem", I replied. "Are the copy and layouts ready?" "Yes, yes, I have them ready", he mumbled, he sounded a little annoyed. "I'll send Myrna over to pick them up", I assured him. Myra was my wife at the time, a Filipina from IloIlo, she would do the pickups and delivery as it was difficult for me to get around at that time. "Good, good", he growled. "We got to get the edition out" "Ok ok, she will be over shortly", He sounded like he was about the ring off when he said. "Oh by the way, my big toe just fell off!" I did a double-take, "What! What do you mean!" He said he was walking across is kitchen and his big toe fell off. "Are you ok", I asked "Yes, Yes, he said, "Send Myrna, we got to get this edition out". I asked him what it looked like, I'm not sure why! He said it looked like the last snag on the barbie! "What did you do with it?" He said he flushed it. He hung up, I was shocked, I asked Myrna to go quickly and check on him and pick up the layouts and copy. While she was on her way to Bob's, I began to worry, so I rang Dr. Desmond Williams, we had worked on a directory for China. I asked him. "If your leg is black, and your toes are falling off, what is the likely outcome?" He said, "You will probably die, get to a doctor! I thanked him and rang Bob back. "Bob, you need to go to a doctor" He barked back, "I will, when, we get this edition out!" "Bob, you need to go now, if you don't I won't do the magazine!" "Don't blackmail me you little bastard", he sounded a little grumpy. I knew it was useless to argue with him. "Ok, Ok, but promise me you will go soon as the mag is done." He promised he would. Myrna picked up the layouts and got the copy back to me. I asked her how he was, she said he was ok, but the kitchen floor was smeared, she thought it was dry blood. He was sitting at his desk and had a t-towel over his foot. She grabbed the proofs and raced home. I worked night and day and turned the mag out in record time, got it to the printer and Bob kept his word, and went to the doctor. They admitted him to hospital, treated his leg and saved it, but he lost a few more toes. The next time I saw him he was wearing a stocking to aid circulation, glass of Riesling in one hand and a smoke in the other, he told me his leg looked like a raw leg of lamb and did I want to have a look. "Ah! No thanks Bob, I believe you." We made the deadline, as we always did. So that's why I call the edition "The Black Toe Edition." Even on his last day, they told me he was working on a book, finished it, then just laid his head down and left, he had a deadline. He passed away in 2000, he was only 65. I often think fondly of that big, gruff, bloody-minded newspaper man, especially at Christmas when he would always take us out for a lunch and sometimes the stories he told me would come to mind and cause me to chuckle. ROGUE BULL As mentioned Bob's most memorable work was about Lang Hancock, it was published by Collins, which is owned by News Limited or Murdoch. When Hancock died I asked Bob if there would be a reprint as it would be the perfect time. Bob said he wanted to, but Murdoch owned the publishing rights and because he still held a petty grudge toward Bob he wouldn't authorise a reprint. He was asked if he would write Rose's story, he declined as he said she was just too much hard work. I got the impression he liked Lang, not his politics as Bob was left of Marx, but just as a human being. He wasn't too unkind to him, but said he was actually a failure in that he never actually built anything himself. He had a lot of plans that never came to fruition. His greatest achievement was recognising the vast iron ore fields that have bought untold wealth to WA and in that respect he definitely wasn't a failure. On Gina, the daughter of Lang he recognised that she had the steel of her father and the cool pragmatic decision-making that has let her take the legacy of Lang and make herself a force to be reckoned with, making her the richest woman in Australia and possibly the world. Bob said of her. "Gina tries to be nice to everybody, but if they disappoint her, or annoy her, or in any way seem to threaten her, the friendly filter in the opal-clear eyes drops to reveal a more steely blue. It is not anger, for anger is an uncontrolled emotion and Gina despises people who lose control of themselves, for whatever reason." Her eleven-year court battle with her stepmother Rose over Lang's will is the stuff of legend, eventually it was settled, with Gina going on to be reportedly the richest women in the wold and one of the most powerful. Rose went onto become a beautician, a rich beautician. COPIES OF ROGUE BULL It is difficult to find, as it is now out of print. It is available in libraries and a search on the internet will bring up different sites where you can get second-hand copies. LINK

#Bob Duffield Rogue Bull

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thewritingsofafemalehunter · 7 years

Text

Beauty and the Beast Epilogue

A/N: HA HA! I bet you thought you saw the last of this series! And well honestly I thought I had too, but you can thank @clea-nightingale and @juniorhuntersam, for this last and final chapter (and this time I’m serious this is the last chapter) because @clea-nightingale planted the idea in my head and @juniorhuntersam encouraged it. Not that I’m upset about it I actually think this was a really good idea and it turned out ok, so without anymore of my rabbling please enjoy the final chapter.

Tags: @mery-magizoologist, @nanie5, @annewski, @juniorhuntersam, @clea-nightingale

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3779

Warnings: fluff

~A few minutes later~

”W-Wow that’s a lot to take in.” Sam muttered as he sat in one of the library chairs surrounded by the others.

“Trust me I know the feeling.” (Y/N) responded a small smile on her face. She was sitting next to Dean, who had one of his hands resting on her thigh, the heat from his large hand calming her still frayed emotions. Even though she knew most of what Dean and the others had relayed to Sam most of it was a lot to take in especially after everything that had happened, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t starting to get a headache from all of this over load of emotions and information. Sam smiled softly at her before looking back at Dean and the others.

“So let me get this straight I’ve been in a coma for five years, and you guys have been trapped in the bunker for that same amount of time except for Dean who could come and go as a demon, and for that entire time he was a demon, and all of this was because of that witch that we had been hunting?” Sam motioned with his hands as he talked pointing from Charlie and the others to Dean.

“Yep, told you man witches suck.” Dean responded and Sam rolled his eyes fondly before looking at (Y/N) who shifted slightly still finding it weird that Sam was suddenly up and walking and talking like he hadn’t just been in a five year coma. Dean squeezed her thigh reassuringly and she glanced at him smiling at him before looking back at Sam.

“And you're the reason the curse was broken because you fell in love with my demon of a brother who nearly died because of the guy we just salted and burned.” Sam stated more than asked and she nodded, the image of the flames consuming Michael’s body in a burial that she thought unfit for him.

“It would appear to be that way yes.” She said and Sam nodded his lips pursing slightly in thought. (Y/N) wasn’t going to lie she was glad that all of that was done and over with, Michael was gone, Dean was alive and no longer a demon, and Sam was awake which was a happy thing for Dean, and her father was-

“Shit.” (Y/N) cursed loudly suddenly jumping up from her seat startling the others, Dean stood up quickly worry in his eyes as he looked at her.

“(Y/N) what’s wrong?” Dean asked and (Y/N) was mentally kicking herself as she looked up at Dean.

“Shit, fuck.” She continued to curse as she moved away from Dean hurrying towards the garage hallway, the others not wasting any time in following her.

“(Y/N)! What’s going on?!” Dean spoke with urgency as he easily kept stride with her.

“My dad Dean! I completely forgot that he was tied up back at the house with that son of a bitch’s friend pointing a gun at his head! I forgot in all the things going on here! I have to get home and make sure he’s alright!” She could hear the panic in her own voice as she felt it rise up inside her as she hurried into the garage.

“Hey, hey, (Y/N) relax I’m sure your dad is fine alright, just breath, ok?” Dean asked as he grabbed her shoulders turning her arnd to face him and she stared at him only slightly perplexed at how kind he was being. It was going to take her a while to get used to this human Dean who showed slightly more emotions than demon Dean and was a hell of a lot more open about being nice to her.

“I am breathing Dean, I need to get home and make sure he’s alright.” She urged and Dean nodded.

“Alright we’ll go, but I’m driving you look like you're about to have a panic attack.” Dean dropped his hands from her shoulders and she nodded panic still swirling rapidly inside her chest. Dean turned around to look at the others.

“You guys all set with staying here?” Dean asked and they nodded.

“Yeah we’ll be fine, we can fill Sam in on the rest of the stuff he missed.” Kevin answered and Dean nodded.

“You sure you won’t need me to come along? I mean I get it that I just woke up from a coma but I can still handle myself in a fight.” Sam said and both Dean and (Y/N) shook their heads.

“No it’s just Zachariah, he’s not much without Michael.” The name tasted like bile in her mouth and she swallowed to get rid of the taste.

“Yeah, we'll be fine Sammy, you just stay here.” Dean stated and Sam looked at him before nodding slightly.

“Dean, if you’re going to take forever just give me the keys and I’ll go myself.” (Y/N) spoke both annoyed and panicky, turning around Dean pulled the keys from his pocket.

“Alright, alright let’s go.” Dean walked up to the car and (Y/N) hurried after him getting into the passenger seat and a few minutes later they were pulling out of the garage and driving down the road.

A few minutes later (Y/N) practically flew out of the car running across the front lawn and jumping up onto the porch, she burst into the house causing Zachariah to jump up off the couch and cry out in surprise. Spinning around Zachariah looked at her confusion morphing his face.

“Where’s Michael?” Zachariah asked as he looked between (Y/N) and Dean as he walked in besides her.

“He left, so help me god Zachariah if you hurt my father I will kill you to.” She growled out and Zachariah’s face paled in horror as he took a step back holding his hands up in surrender the gun still in one hand.

“I didn’t hurt him I swear, I was only doing what Michael told me to do and what do you mean he left?” Zachariah took a step back when (Y/N) began walking towards him afraid that she was going to punch him but instead she took the gun from him willingly handing it over glad to no longer be holding it.

“I mean he just up and disappeared after what happened with Dean I don’t know where he went but he left.” (Y/N) answered glaring at Zachariah as she clicked the safety on and took the clip out of the gun before walking over to her father setting the gun down on the desk.

“He left? How could he just leave like that?” Zachariah asked staring at her in shock but she ignored him instead pulling out Dean’s knife and began sawing at the ropes tying her father up.

“You ok Dad?” She asked ignoring whatever Dean was saying to Zachariah as she worked only pausing for a second and looking over when she heard the front door slam closed and Dean was the only one standing there.

“I’m fine, are you alright, that bastard didn’t hurt you did he?” Bobby asked as he stood up once he was free and (Y/N) shook her head.

“No more than he already had when we were here.” She answered and he nodded before quickly pulling her into a hug.

“Thank god you're ok, now who is the idjit standing in the middle of my living room?” Bobby asked when she pulled out of the hug and she giggled a little walking away from her father and over to Dean.

“Dad this is Dean, the guy I was staying with for the past month or so. Dean this is my father Bobby Singer.” (Y/N) stated and Bobby looked at Dean with a scrutinizing gaze looking him up and down. (Y/N) stood besides Dean completely unfazed by what her father was doing while Dean shifted around a little, clearly somewhat nervous about the look he was getting from her dad. The silence in the room seemed to stretch out for several minutes but was really only a few seconds as Dean finally broke the silence.

“It’s nice to finally get to meet you sir.” Dean answered, letting go of (Y/N)’s hand and walking up to Bobby sticking his hand out for him to shake.

“So you're the boy that’s been housing my daughter for the last month?” Bobby asked shaking Dean’s hand and Dean nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, sir.” Dean answered letting go of Bobby’s hand and letting it fall back to his side.

“Thank you for keeping her safe and you don’t have to keep calling me sir boy, Bobby will be just fine.” Bobby stated and Dean looked at him for a few seconds before nodding.

“Alright Bobby.” Dean stated and Bobby nodded in satisfaction before looking at (Y/N).

“So you wanna finally tell me the whole story as to what happened or are you gonna keep me in the dark still?” Bobby asked crossing his arm over his chest and (Y/N) smiled a little sheepishly at him glancing at Dean.

“Then your gonna want to sit down dad, it’s a long story.” She responded and Bobby raised an eyebrow at her before sitting down and she began telling him the story, Dean not leaving her side throughout it.

~2 years and 6 months later~

(Y/N) was laid out on the hood of the Impala, her hands behind her head and her eyes trained on the starry night sky a blissful smile on her face. They had been on their way to a hunt in Maine when they had decided to pull over to the side of the road for some much needed sleep when none of them could keep their eyes open any longer. The squeaking of the Impala’s door opening caused her to look away from the sky and at the driver’s door watching as Dean climbed out of the Impala rubbing sleep from his eyes and she felt her smile widened at the sight of him, he truly was adorable when he was sleepy.

“Hey.” (Y/N) greeted as Dean looked at her in confusion.

“What are you doing out here?” He mumbled and she giggled watching as he carefully slid onto the hood of the car besides her trying not to jostle the car too much waking a sleeping Sam in the back seat.

“It got to hot in the car and while you're comfy and all Dean I was also uncomfortable.” (Y/N) answered sliding closer to Dean once he was settled and snuggled into his side, one of his arms slipping under her waist holding her close. He chuckled and she smiled feeling his head coming to lay on top of hers.

“Understandable, how long have you been out here?” He asked and (Y/N) hesitated not really knowing how long she’d been out here, having left her phone in the car.

“No idea, a while I guess.” She shrugged as best she could, her gaze returning to the sky as Dean hummed in response. A peaceful, comfortable, silence washed over the two of them and (Y/N) was almost certain that Dean had fallen asleep again from how steady his breathing had gotten, and she smiled enjoying the comfort he was giving her. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on Dean’s chest feeling sleep start to creep back up on her but before sleep could fully take hold of her she felt Dean shift around underneath her shaking the sleep away from her.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper, clearly checking to see if she was awake, lifting her head out from underneath his she looked up at him confused.

“What is it?” She watched as a nervous smile came to Dean’s face and she looked back down at his hands, feeling the arm around her waist move and her mouth fell open at the sight of the little black box he opened to reveal a simple yet elegant ring. The diamond wasn’t big but it was still noticeable and it was only attached to a gold band, it may not have been anything fancy but to a hunter this was probably six months worth of hustling money.

“Will you marry me? I mean I know we’re hunters and everything and most of the times, if not all the times, hunters don’t get a happy ending but I love you (Y/N) and I want to try this. I want to be with you for the rest of the time that we have together.” Dean said and she looked from the ring up to his face in a stunned silence. She couldn’t believe what was going on right now, this was the last thing she had expected from Dean sure they had been dating for little over two years now but still she never thought this would happen.

“Sweetheart say something, please.” Dean asked and she snapped out of her silence glancing back at the ring and then up at him.

“Are you serious?” She asked and watched as confusion marred his face.

“As a heart attack, so is that a yes?” Hope laced his words and (Y/N) smiled tears pricking at her eyes as she shifted around and gently grabbed his face, pulling him down and kissing him.

“Yes Dean, I’ll marry you.” She answered him once she pulled out of the kiss and a large, almost goofy smile grew on his face as he took the ring out of the box and with one hand hand grabbed hers and slipped the ring on her finger. Grabbing his face again she kissed him pouring as much love into the kiss as possible, and she smiled into when she felt him kiss her back. His arm tightened around her waist, as he pulled her up on top of him, the kiss wasn’t rushed or overly heated it was full of love and they didn’t pull away until their lungs were burning with the need for air.

“I love you, Dean.” (Y/N) panted out smiling at Dean.

“I love you too sweetheart.” Dean breathed back before pulling her into another kiss.

~6 months later~

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she smoothed her hands down the skirt of her slightly puffy snow white skirt of her dress a soft smile on her face as she looked herself over. Her hair was up in the most intricate and princess like bun that she had ever seen, Charlie had been the one to do her hair after looking up some instructions and following it and she had to admit Charlie had done an amazing job. Smiling to herself she smoothed her hands down her dress again loving the feeling of the fabric underneath her fingers and the way it looked on her. Looking around the side room in the church she felt her smile only widen glad for once that as a hunter her and Dean were getting something good and fancy in their life even if ninety percent had been favors her father, and her herself, had called in from other hunters and people they had helped.

“Oh (Y/N) you look beautiful.” Charlie breathed out from behind her and she spun around to face her as she walked into the room, her father trailing behind her.

“You look just like your mother did on our wedding day.” She looked at her dad seeing the sad smile on his face, and she smiled back him a small blush creepy across her cheeks.

“Thanks you two.” (Y/N) muttered back looking down at her feet in embarrassment.

“They’re ready for you, you ready to go?” Charlie asked her voice only a little choked up as she look at (Y/N). Quickly (Y/N) snatched the bouquet of flowers off the little table that had been set up and nodded once, careful of her hair.

“Ready.” She smiled ignoring the feeling of butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she walked up to her father linking arms with him once they were all out of the room. Charlie signaled the others in the main hall and music started playing over the crap stereos of a boom box by the alter, looking back (Y/N) Charlie smiled before grabbing her own mini bouquet and starting down the aisle.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Bobby jokingly whispered in her ear as they took their positions and (Y/N) smiled looking at her father, humor and seriousness dancing in her eyes as she looked at him.

“More sure than I have been about anything else dad.” She responded and Bobby smiled back at her.

“Good.” Looking forward the two of them started walking down the aisle, the whole time her eyes trained on Dean. Internally she was smiling smugly at the look of amazement and adoration that crossed Dean’s face when he saw her, and she felt a much darker blush than from earlier spread across her cheeks. There wasn’t many people, just the pastor (a old hunting buddy of her father’s), Sam, Kevin, and Cas other than that the rest of the church and pews were empty, not that any of them minded this was both a safety thing as well as something both the groom and the bride wanted a small wedding.

A thousand different emotions seemed to swirl insider (Y/N) at once happiness, nervousness, love, fear, want, excitement, and everything in between and she had to fight back the tears as her emotions threatened to manifest into a physical form. She watched though as Dean ducked his head looking away from her for a quick minute, his hand coming up to wipe something off his face and she felt a few tears roll down her face too but didn’t bother to wipe them away. When they reached the end of the aisle it was like the world had narrowed down so that it was only her and Dean and she wanted nothing more than to grab his face and kiss him. And in that moment she could swear on her own soul that she had never seen Dean look more handsome than he didn in this moment, he was wearing his black FBI suit the one that was bought at a Goodwill and just a tad to tight on him putting a lot of emphasis on his shoulders, chest, and arms. There was the beginnings of a scruff on his face and she could already imagine the scratch feeling of the scruff against her fingers and the smile on her face grew as another tear rolled down her cheeks, another tear mirroring Dean’s as one rolled down his. Turning around slightly she passed the bouquet to Charlie as her father handed over her hand to Dean.

“You better keep treating her right idjit or else your gonna have to answer to her.” Bobby whispered the threat and Dean smiled his eyes never leaving hers as he took her hand.

“Always sir.” She smiled back at him, her heart swelling at the sight of the love and adoration in Dean’s eyes. She bit her lip when she felt Dean squeeze her hand keeping herself from letting more tears flow as she squeezed back.

“Do you (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Singer take Dean Henry Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and health, in the good and the bad times, till death do you part?” The priest looked at (Y/N) and she glanced at the priest before looking back at Dean a soft happy smile spreading across her face.

“I do.” (Y/N) breathed out a large happy smile coming across Dean’s face as his hands squeezed hers and she squeezed back.

“Do you Dean Henry Winchester, take (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Singer to be your lawfully wedded wife in sickness and health, in the good and the bad times?” The priest looked at Dean but his eyes never left (Y/N)’s both of them fighting the urge to just kiss each other right now.

“I do.” Dean said it firmly and her smile widened if that was possible, her cheeks hurting from all the smiling she was doing.

“Do you have the rings?” The priest asked glancing at the two of them.

“Charlie?” “Sam?” (Y/N) glanced back at Charlie while Dean looked back at Sam the two of them hurrying to produce the wedding bands. (Y/N)’s was a gold wedding band she had bought from a pawn store after saving up months of hustling pool and poker, while Dean’s was his mother’s wedding band a ring that she had seen only a handful of times during the planning of the wedding.

“Dean, repeat after me, With this ring,” The priest started. “With this ring,” “I thee wed (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Singer,” “I thee wed (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Singer.” Dean’s tone wavered only slightly and despite her best efforts (Y/N) felt tears roll down her cheeks. “As my wife, my companion, my best friend, forever and always for as long as I live.” “As my wife, my companion, my best friend, forever and always for as long as I live.” Dean stated as he slipped his mother’s ring onto (Y/N)’s finger and as she watched the ring slip onto her fingers she felt more tears roll down her face, unable to keep all her emotions in check.

“Now (Y/N) you. With this ring,” “With this ring,” “I thee wed Dean Henry Winchester,” “I thee wed Dean Henry Winchester,” “As my husband, my companion, my best friend, forever and always.” “As my husband, my companion, my best friend, forever and always.” (Y/N)’s voice wobbled the whole time with barely held back tears as she slipped the ring on to Dean’s finger and the priest smiled.

“With the power invested in me by God and the state of Kansas I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.” The priest had barely managed to get his last word out before Dean was pulling (Y/N) against him kissing her with as much love and passion he could manage in one kiss. (Y/N) melted into him her arms coming up to wrap around his neck as she kissed him back with just as much love and passion the cheers and clapping of the others fading into the background as they kissed.

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