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a-world-in-grey · 4 years ago

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Sola/Calling for Rain

@secret-engima and, months later, the snippet I promised!

Karin’s first memories are her mother’s grave and her sister’s sick bed.

She knows more than that of course. She knows how her mother died, forced to use their family’s healing ability until they’d drained her chakra dry. She knows her older sister nearly followed their mother that night, eight years old and already scarred across her arms and shoulders.

But that knowledge isn’t seared into her memory the way her mother’s gravestone is, the bamboo marker plain and unmarked, nothing like the stone markers bearing carved names for the village shinobi. That knowledge doesn’t paint itself across her closed eyelids like Kyoho’s frail form, skin too pale, breaths too shallow, wild hair tumbling across the pillows like a splash of blood.

Karin remembers when Kyoho first opened her eyes, how her sister had looked to find Karin first, and hadn’t settled until she could clearly see Karin was well.

Karin doesn’t know how much Kyoho’s near death changed her older sister. She can’t remember what Kyoho was like before, can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t braid their hair with little painted beads and thin cords of braided thread. Can’t remember a time when Kyoho didn’t hold her close at night and whisper bedtime stories in words that sound like thunder and rain.

Stories and Songs and meanings just for the two of them. Braids and beads hidden beneath hair and cloth, Clan secrets told in the dead of night in a tongue only they knew. Teaching Karin to dance, to fly.

Teaching Karin to survive.

Kyoho trains with the determination not to learn, but master every skill she can. Taijutsu, weapons, healing, ninjutsu. She claws her way up the ranks of Kusa’s shinobi, genin at nine, chuunin at eleven, jounin at fifteen.

Kusa’s own little prodigy. A match for Konoha’s Uchiha Itachi or Hatake Kakashi. Or so Kusa likes to think.

There’s a lot Kusa doesn’t know.

They don’t know of the fuuinjutsu, of the basics learned from their mother that Kyoho took and reinvented on her own. The black tattoos spiraling across Kyoho’s skin hidden from sight under dark green clothing.

They don’t know about the chakra chains Kyoho painstakingly learned to use. Chains Kyoho learned to modify, to shrink to the size of a fine gold chain, to enlarge to the size of the massive chains that once rose from the waves to close Uzushio’s ports.

They don’t know of Kyoho’s sensory abilities, so fine tuned she can pick out a shinobi’s specialization from the feel of their chakra alone. They don’t know of the weapons Kyoho can wield beyond her glaive and curved shortswords.

They don’t know Kyoho’s taught Karin everything she knows. They don’t know Karin isn’t the fumbling, lackluster genin overshadowed by her prodigal sister’s brilliance.

“My name is Uzumaki Naruto, and I’m going to kick all of your asses!”

The room goes silent, every genin present turning to stare, and Karin feels her breath freeze in her lungs as the chakra signatures around her spike with anger and disbelief.

Karin buries her own chakra, smothers it down to a spark so small even Kyoho has difficulty detecting, hiding the surprise and recognition and the tangle of emotions she can keep off her face but not out of her chakra. And she knows she shouldn’t focus her attention solely on the loud Konoha genin as his teammates and comrades converge to scold him for his recklessness. There are others in the room far more dangerous than the rookie too dumb not to draw the ire of the rest of the competition before the Exams have even begun. And yet-

Uzumaki.

He doesn’t have the red hair. But that’s the mon on his shoulder, black and purple instead of the black and blue variant Kyoho’s stitched into their clothes, in places easily hidden because there’s Clan Pride but then there’s announcing to all the Elemental Nations that they’re female kekkai genkai bearers.

Karin lessens her hold on her chakra, reaching her senses past the thunderstorm-shadow-river feeling of the three genin standing beside him.

Warmth. Bright encompassing warmth, intense but not painful, the ocean breeze across her skin on a clear sunny day. Swirling reserves deeper than she’s ever sensed, even deeper than Kyoho’s hearth-fire chakra.

Karin suppresses her chakra the moment the blond’s thunderstorm teammate glances her way, glancing away and digging her fingernails into the back of her hand so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t break skin.

She swallows back a sob.

Uzumaki. He’s Clan.

But not Galahdian. Not a child of the Storm-Father, not someone who grew up with the Clan Laws and the certainty in their bones that even if the world fell apart, the Clan would always have your back.

The Uzumaki are a shinobi clan. Karin can’t… how can she know if she can trust this wayward Uzumaki? How can she know if he will hold that same fierce loyalty that blazes in her and Kyoho’s souls?

She shouldn’t. Oh, but by the Storm-Father, Karin wants to. This long lost kinsman who wears Freedom and Protection across his shoulders. Who looks at the world with Protection in his eyes and crowned with Love.

Karin knows the Colors don’t apply to the natural world. To things that are mere happenstance and genetic chance. But-

(‘Sometimes the Gods paint us with specific Colors,’ Karin remembers Kyoho telling her, ‘A message and a warning, for souls so strong the physical has no choice but to reflect it.’

Karin had looked into Blue eyes framed by Red hair, and never asked if Kyoho spoke from experience.)

For the first time in nearly ten years, Karin hopes.

She has to try.

And that means staying in Konoha long enough to get a measure of Uzumaki Naruto.

Karin is perfectly happy not knowing how something gets named the ‘Forest of Death.’

Unfortunately, as the location of the Second Exam, Karin’s not going to get a choice.

Kyoho would love it, Karin thinks as she miserably fills out the liability waiver. Kyoho had spoken of many places in her past life, but none so fondly as Galahd, deadly and wild and all the more beautiful for it.

She lets her ‘teammates’ take the lead as they scout through the forest. Her head’s busy planning her next step. Should she focus on passing the Second Exam? Kyoho told her how the Third Exam was always an exhibition for clients, so she’d have plenty of time during the preparations to track down and try to get to know her kinsman. Perhaps with Kyoho’s help even - surely her mission would be finished by then?

But that assumes Karin and the two idiots she’s assigned to play chakra-battery for can pass at all. They aren’t the weakest team in the forest, even counting Karin’s careful pretense, but there are a lot of teams stronger than they are. Stronger, and all too willing to kill.

Karin could ditch the idiots. She’s kept track of where she last sensed Uzumaki Naruto’s chakra, so she could find him and get to know him in the time before the Second Exam ends. Maybe even steal the Earth scroll and bring it as a good faith gift.

But she’d be on her own, carrying a high value target, and gambling on her kinsman caring enough about a cousin he didn’t know to trust and protect her.

Karin tugs on the loose ends of her hair in frustration. Why is this so hard?!

Kyoho would know what to do.

Kyoho’s not here, Karin firmly reminds herself. She has to figure this out on her own.

In the end, she chooses to stay with her teammates. There's too many unknowns for her to risk running now.

Two days later, staring up at the bear taller than her house, Karin's regretting her decision to stay.

They left me!

Stay and hide, they said. You'll be fine.

If they're still alive when Karin finds them, she's going to throttle them. Hiding her chakra doesn't matter when enemies can find her by her scent! The bear snarls, and Karin gives up any pretense of hiding her abilities. She's out of her depth, anything less than her full skill will only end up with her dead-

("Above all else," Kyoho had whispered the night before Karin left for Konoha, "survive.")

She reaches for her supply of explosive tags (way more than anyone thinks she has, way more than she probably needs, but they're the easiest seal to make and Kyoho always says there's no such thing as overkill) and prepares to turn the bear into a pile of charred meat and fur.

Only, there's movement above her, a blur of black and purple, a flash of silver-

Thunder. Lightning and rain and the howling storm as she huddles by the warmth of hearth, each flash of light in the sky accompanied by the rolling drums that echo in her chest; an invitation, a challenge, to face the storm and laugh in the embrace of the sky.

Uzumaki's dark haired teammate lunges from the trees like one of the jungle cats of Kyoho's stories, dropping down onto the bear with a spinning, flying kick, and Kyoho freezes.

Kyoho knows that kick.

(Karin stares wide-eyed as Kyoho all but flies through the air, leaping and spinning with the grace of a breeze through the prairie grasses. Kyoho's been teaching her how to dance, but those jumps have nothing on the ones Kyoho is doing!

"Will I learn to do that too?" Karin asks. Nerves flit in her gut like butterflies. She's trying to learn everything Kyoho can teach her, but those leaps are so high.

Blue eyes soften as Kyoho ruffles her hair. "You don't have to - it's not part of the Ostium Dance."

Karin blinks. "It's not?"

"It's Ulric, our sister Clan." Kyoho says. Her gaze grows distant. "Clan of Sky and Storm, Coeurl-kin, first of the Storm-Father's children."

Karin's touch on her arm brings her back to the present. "Were you Ulric first, before you were Ostium?"

Kyoho laughs. "I was Furia, Clan of Sea and Horizon, but I learned the Ulric Dance because I was Sky-born instead of Sea-born.")

She can't see a braid, but- Black and purple. A pair of well worn kukri at his back. The aerial combat she's never seen anyone but Kyoho use.

Her fingers tremble around the string of explosive tags as the genin checks to make sure the bear is dead. Then he turns to her with an easy grin. "You're an Uzumaki, right? Do you want to meet your cousin?"

And Karin has been so keyed up over possibly having Clan, over being in hostile territory with no one to watch her back, with desperate hope dogging her heels for the past three days of finding someone she can trust-

(“You can always trust the Clans. Even the most bitter rivals will protect a Clan child, if they are threatened by Outsiders.”)

"Are you Ulric?" She blurts.

Dark eyes sharpen. "How do you know that name?" But his gaze flits to her temple, to the black braid joiner peeking out from her hair. Karin removes the grey hitai-ate and pulls her hair back to show him her braids. The Ostium Braid and the Mourning Braid for her mother, unlike Kyoho who also wears Marriage, Hero, and Revenge Braids. Braids Karin and Kyoho have never shown anyone but each other.

But the boy's eyes widen in shock and recognition, and pale fingers pull the Ulric Braid threaded with the purple ribbon of a Chief from its hiding place behind his ear.

("And if you get the chance, run. Before Kusa kills you too.")

Karin sobs.

This boy is Clan. He's safe.

#A Shadow of Heaven's Light #fusion #naruto #Calling for Rain verse #Uzumaki Karin #Uzumaki Kyoho #Nyxsuke #Kusa doesn't know how badly they screwed up #Kyoho's worn a Revenge Braid since Kusa killed their mom #she's just been waiting until Karin is safe to be able to take that revenge #Kyoho's not had a Braincell for almost ten years #she might be a touch feral

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kadeu · 3 years ago

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Accepted — Wainwright Rook

♣ Rook Wainwright aka Hyena looks like Colson Baker (musician/actor) ♣ He was born October 13th, 1966; making him 58 years old, but he appears 26 ♣ This Concubus is Bisexual and a King of Clubs ♣ He is a Tavern Owner and Resistance Informant

Biography

tw: child abandonment

“I’ll keep a razor in my wraps to slit your throat at the gates.”

Rook Wainwright was doomed to be a menace from the start. Memories not eroded by drugs or head trauma of his childhood are few and far between, but what he remembers in fleeting moments is the cold, the ache in his stomach as he struggled to keep himself fed, both on meager scraps of bread and small amounts of water, and the emotional stimuli of the world around him, drawn to anger and misery like a moth to a brilliant flame for his own survival. An orphan with no awareness of his true lineage, Rook knew only that one of his parents had been a concubus- and that if they had once lived in the slums of Club, they had long since left it, and him, behind. Little more than a child, Rook had no awareness of the concepts he’d fallen victim to, homelessness, abandonment- He knew only that he wanted to- no, needed to survive, and so, he fought tooth and nail to do just that.

Club was unkind to him, brutal and lawless, but he found his comfort in a few kinder hands and hearts, a warm meal here and there, a mend on his dirty sweater or a hand me down coat to fight off the biting cold of the winter, and as he grew, he came to understand his position better- he was a one. Lowest of the lows, sooner to be spat on than offered a helping hand, but there were others, people who certainly looked just like him living lives a thousand times better. What made them different? Made them greater than Rook himself? What had they done to deserve their comfortable homes and three square meals? What had they done to sit in the warm glow of the taverns while Rook wasted away in the streets? He learned soon enough that they’d fought for those positions, tore their comfort from the teeth of their opposition, of their ‘greaters’- and had reaped the benefits. Now a teenager with a lithe, muscular frame, the young concubus was no whelp, and with nothing but a miserable excuse of a life to lose, he threw his hat into the ring of Club’s constant power struggles, practically gorging himself on anger and fear before each fight to grasp his single edge over those he faced: Head games.

“The cuts won’t kill you, but hesitation just might. Don’t let him get in your head.”

Oh, how Rook loved watching his opponents squirm, every little emotion, their trepidation, their concern, their fear of losing their status to some young upstart made him bloodthirsty. From the first unlucky two he’d challenged to a fight, his method rarely changed: shake them to their core, break their focus. He’d taunt them, infuriate them into making a foolish mistake- the only mistake he needed to put them down. Weaponless and unable to afford one, he chose instead to hone his fists, torn fabric wrapped around shards of glass and rusted nails to make each swing a more deadly hazard, cutting his own hands to pieces in every clash, wrists slick with blood each time he placed a foot on the neck of his fallen opponent. Each promotion was that one step closer to no longer living with the shameful gaze of those who thought he was nothing, something he had now come to loathe. By 18, Rook was a three of clubs, and had garnered the respect of those beneath him, somewhat renowned for his uncharacteristic kindness to his fellow lowrankers, it was his own bread that he broke now for the Ones struggling to get by, he held no ill will toward those he’d stepped on to climb up- it was the way life worked, after all, and those he left alive always had Rook’s respect. At least, most of them.

“...A Scavenger, you know that’s what you are, right? Scrappy little fucker picking fights you can’t finish?”

Rook’s promotion to a seven was unintentional, at least, as unintentional as the boy could manage. Now in his early twenties, Rook had comfortably settled at his position as a five, a dagger strapped to his hip and several tattoos marking his arms denoting his history and previous wins, the closest thing to a journal that the illiterate concubus could maintain to remember his experiences over the years. He’d liked the position, respected by the lowrankers and rarely bothered by the face cards, and most importantly, able to feed his newfound thirst for the emotion of lust, he likely would have held his position for the rest of his life, no hunger to climb higher than somewhere he felt comfortable, if not for the fact he had gotten brave and made a move on a pretty Seven at the tavern, satisfied to simply be rejected for acting out of his position, to feed on the disgust and shock at his mere implication he might be worthy- what he got instead: was stabbed.

The young man’s lover had seen the exchange, and not particularly pleased at the implication he could be replaced by a five of all things, had drawn his weapon and immediately challenged Rook. With no opportunity to prepare, and largely untrained with his own dagger, Rook was staggered, forced into fighting with a wound and a much more capable foe, his saving grace was liquor, their fight moving into the street before his competitor staggered on the steps, falling back just enough that he could close the distance. It was the same young man he’d flirted with who’d pulled him off, and it was the barmaid who tended to his wound that he celebrated with that night. He was a highranker now, and once more, that voice in the back of his head reminded him that he was still, in the eyes of some, unworthy- a fly to swat, a waste of air and turin. The drive that he had been able to abandon for so long had roared back to life, he would be antagonized no longer, made to look weak by those around him never again. And so, he trained.

“Fights like a man possessed, I tell you. Doesn’t even use a weapon half the time.”

His further climbing of ranks was slow going, but brutal. Unlike those he fought to ascend to Seven, he left none he fought for his next position alive, ten bodies of his fellows falling at his feet. He’d known what they thought of him, his promotion a fluke, that his rank never would have changed, if he hadn’t been aided by the mead coursing through the other Club. he proved them wrong over and over again, and as his rank ticked to eight, then nine, then ten, each one hard fought and won with fists more often than his weapons, his body became a network of ink and scars, each mark a new chapter in the story he’d committed to his flesh. By the time he challenged the position of King, Rook had come to be known as “Hyena,” a scavenger with a taste for blood and a brutality not to be underestimated. Now in his late thirties, Rook had stopped aging, and reached his full potential as a concubus, he fed like a king on lust and desire, low ranks and high alike charmed into his bed, honeyed words and drugs shared on wicked tongues in the dark, anger and fear fueling him in the ring. He had long played smart, his position of Jack taken from the hands of the foolish, the Queen rank choked out of a human who simply couldn’t withstand the physical onslaught- But his opponent for the position of King would offer him no such ease, a Strongarm with a history as bloodied as Rook’s own standing between him and his goals.

“Concede. Concede and we both walk out of here Kings. It’s a fair trade, Rook.”

Rook eventually stood over the bloodied body of the other King, planting his foot on the back of his neck with a primal howl, bones sore and broken, armor chipped and busted, but alive, alive and victorious. He was a King, standing now in the upper echelon of face cards with wounds that would eventually heal to show for it. He had proven with no uncertainty that he was no whelp, no refuse of the streets, and for the twenty years that followed- he would hold that position with a brutal efficiency. Rarely challenged for his title, Rook eventually ‘retired’ from his desperate climb for the top- and from his mercenary for hire work for extra coin. He settled on opening a tavern and working on learning how to read, the time not spent cleaning the bar spent reading and writing, practicing skills he never gave himself the peace to embrace as he was growing up. Still addicted to anything he could chew, smoke or drink, Rook’s tavern soon became a well known hideaway for those less… upstanding than most, an uncomfortable kind of peace formed in the awareness that the King running the place would sooner kill a troublemaker than huck them out on their ass. It was through the Tavern he became privy to, and eventually joined the Resistance, an ear to the ground in High Rank circles and many low ones given his position and occupation, Rook is an information broker, collecting and trading information to those who know how to stay on his good side. His hatred of being looked down upon eventually becoming a lust for true anarchy, no loyalty to Club or anyone but himself, for that matter. In Rook’s mind, there are two kinds of people, those worthy of and willing to work for their survival, and those who are better off crushed beneath the cogs of change.

In Recent Years

Rook has maintained his position as the owner of the Thronebreaker Tavern, so called for one of his early nicknames. He continues to pass information between members of the resistance and operates within High Rank circles only to gather intel, otherwise preferring to be left to his life of excess. Infrequently called to defend his position as a King, Rook has no interest in becoming the Ace of Clubs, and is satisfied to hold his place under a fellow member of the resistance, but he maintains his training regime, and is well known for his brutal removal of those who break the peace of his tavern for anything other than a fight for rank. His addiction to Chrono when he was younger has caused damage to his mind, making him quick to anger and difficult to predict in recent years, and while no longer using it specifically, he still partakes in most other drugs, usually while running the Tavern itself. His taste for anarchy continues to grow, and he’s reveled in the recent attacks performed by those in the resistance, the fear and uncertainty more than enough to sustain him and the general promise of more to come exciting to the concubus.

Personality

Rook has never had any love for the rank system, he climbed it simply because he had to, used it to get where he wanted to be, and treats those around him with that thought process in mind, the gangs and ranks mean nothing to him, a Spade One is as respected as a Heart Ace in his eyes, so long as they respect him in return. Those who are unfamiliar with his past find him generally polite and jovial, a bartender with hundreds of stories and a proclivity for offering drinks on the house if the patron’s got a story to share in return, an imposing man with a heart of gold, at least on the surface. Those with a familiarity with Rook know that his kindness is as much of a play for power as his climb toward King was, that he’s a cunning, calculated sort who never acts without thinking twelve steps ahead, and that telling him too much could get you in the sights of someone you don’t want looking in on you. While often calm and measured, Rook is not above his anger, and often allows it to overtake him with little warning, though if this is because of his drug addictions or his history is up for debate.

A horrendous flirt with a winning smile and a silver tongue, Rook’s truest vice is in the sins of the flesh, willing to trade more than a few things for a rendezvous in his bedroom, he isn’t picky about who he throws his chips in with, a behavior that’s gotten him in trouble before, and earned him an even more distasteful gaze than even his species has. Despite this, he’s warm and inviting, and keeps his friends close, loyal to the death to those willing to risk a friendship with the Hyena.

Congratulations Ring your app has been accepted and your invitation to the discord will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @crookxdrook to Kadeu!

#accepted;#follow;#colson baker

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whorphydice · 5 years ago

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When the Bones are Good

So.. I wrote this over the span of a few days and I want to give proper warning. He’s physically counting the bones on her ribcage and if thats in any way triggering/upsetting I just wanted to put that warning on this now.

Also special acknowledgement to @waitformereprise who had to help me come up with scenarios and to @bloomsinthebittersnow who has been dealing with me talking about this and reading it for days.

She is sleeping on her side, the bare skin of her back pressed flush with that of his chest, head resting on his upper arm as her own pillow. She has both hands entwined around the his, even in her sleep she anchors herself to earth with his arms. He cannot sleep, he cannot pull his eyes away from her. He watches her nose scrunch, her lips part slightly as she dreams. His other arm is around her waist, holding her as tightly as he can.

I’ll never let you go again. He repeats over and over in his head, bringing his hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. Orpheus leans down to kiss her temple, his hand trailing up her ribcage.

One. two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

His fingers dip into the deep valleys between her bones, each of the twelve pairs such prominent ridges under his thumbs. His heart nearly stopped when he helped her unwrap the cotton bandage from around her chest, helped her step out of the leather overalls and pile them at their feet. She was beautiful, flawless, always would

Twelve sets of ribs. Twelve hours since she came home.

The immediate move had been to pull her into his arms, and promise to never fail her again. He brought her inside and helped her into the bath, made her as much of a meal as he could with the things on hand. He made note, to get to the market before she woke, if he could drag himself away from her.

He watched as she held their daughter, and though she did not have the strength yet to lift her, he couldn’t look away as she held their daughter in her arms. He watched her feed her, helped her bathe her, and as they laid her in her bed, only a room away suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hold his family and never let go.

There was the bliss of learning each other’s bodies once again, despite his fear of hurting her. His Eurydice. Somehow the strongest woman in the world but he was scared of breaking her. Fragile. Eurydice was not fragile, no matter how she looked, which she reminded him of as she dug her nails into his shoulder.

And now she slept. Exhaustion from the journey home, hard labor, and emotional stress claimed her into a deep sleep. Their daughter would likely not want to be apart from her all night, the little girl already fighting her as she laid her in a separate bed. There was time, later, to bring her between them, Eurydice insisted. She wanted some time to reclaim her husband.

She slept with their skin together, every sharp edge of her body exposed. His fingers traced from her ribs to her hips, sharper than they had ever been before. Eurydice was anything but fragile, yet how she was able to have Ophelia was lost on him. The year of physical labor and starvation left its mark on her. She had no need to eat, and that all came crashing down as life breathed into her on a train ride out of Hadestown.

His Eurydice.

Orpheus kisses her shoulder again as he tucks their thin sheet around them, wrapping his nearly weightless girl in his arms. He’s humming a song, one he hadn’t found the will to sing in ages, as he follows her into sleep.

He is up the next morning, gathering groceries at the market, and home before she even wakes.

II.

His hands flit over her sides, grasping at her through the thin fabric of her white dress. Gifted by Persephone, it had fit her like a glove, tailor made satin that clung to her tiny frame.

There is noise around them. The band from the bar playing some impromptu tune, Persephone’s joyous laugh as she entertains the people of the town. A tired whining that he can place as their daughter, who was fighting sleep in the arms of Hermes.

His attention, though, is only on Eurydice. His wife. The late summer wedding had been a gift from Persephone, who insisted that they let her and those around them celebrate the young couple properly. A chance to celebrate them, the love they have for each other, and the way they changed the world.

They would have had each other in Hermes’ bar if he had let them, insisting a party was too lavish for them. There were better uses of money.

When he had seen her that afternoon, this ivory slip dress falling down her body like a water fall, red flowers of his own creation clutched in her hands and top her head, he was so glad they lost that fight.

She had her head against his chest, all he can see being the flower crown of red carnations atop her dark curls. Her arms are around his shoulders, as he holds her against him with his hands on her lower back. She is humming along to the music,eyes shut as she soaked in the pure bliss of the evening.

He can feel her fingers drumming in rhythm with the music, feather light against the thin cotton of his shirt. He had felt underdressed upon seeing her, his nicest trousers held up by worn leather suspenders didn’t compare to her. Looking at her was like looking at the sun. Radiant. Beautiful. LIghting up the world. Holding her was what he could only imagine harnessing sunlight would be like.

They are just swaying. Not quite dancing so much as holding each other as the world spins around them. He is content to just look down at her, watching as her face twists from where it was pressed into his shirt, to face the side. He follows her gaze to their daughter, finally settling, this time in the arms of Persephone. There is never a moment when Eurydice is not keenly aware of the location of their daughter, always ready to take her and run if danger struck.

He is watching her watch Ophelia when her voice breaks through to him, pulling him from the trance like state.

“Orpheus?” Her voice is soft, dreamy even as she looks up at him with doe like eyes.

“Hmm?” Orpheus responds, one hand leaving her back to cradle her face. He pushes a bit of hair behind her left ear, before his palm holds her cheek.

She smiles, her eyes crinkling with the joy that she exudes. “I love you.”

He only smiles back at her, leaning in to kiss his wife. He keeps his head pressed to hers as he sighs in contentment. “I love you too, Eurydice.”

His left hand is still on her side, thumb noting each rivulet as his hand grazes over her ribcage.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Seven. Less than Twelve. That’s progress Orpheus. She’s healing. He links his hand down under her knees, holding her bridal style across his arms, intent to carry her to their home.

She lets out a giggle as he scoops her up, which are silenced when he captures her lips with his own.

His hand flattens on her back as he pulls her closer, kissing her deeper despite the audience around them.

III.

The next time he takes note of her protruding ribs is mid winter, a good eight months since her return.

She’s stripping her wet clothes, from being caught in a particularly heavy snowstorm on the way home from work, ready to step into a warm bath to ease the frost from her skin.

He catches her from the corner of his eye, as he is working on warming some towels near the fire. Ophelia is napping, in their bed albeit, warmed and unaffected by the winter storm raging beyond their walls. He takes solace in knowing their daughter has never known a winter like they did.

Orpheus lays the towels at her side, wrapping his arms around her before she can step into the warming water.

His fingers strum over her sides, fingertips dipping into the valleys between her bones.

One . two. Three. Four.

Four. Three less sets than last time. He notices the difference around her hips. Where despite a rough winter, she’s less sickly, less fragile.

Healing. Eurydice is healing.

Orpheus buries his face into her shoulder, kissing along her collarbone. “I love you, my Eurydice.”

She hums constantly, holding his arms with her own. She leans her head against his, letting out a breathless sigh as he peppers her collarbone with kisses. “Mmm..I love you too.” She practically purrs, brushing her thumb over his forearm lightly.

“Join me?” Eurydice asks, turning in his arms to press her chest to his, wide, dark eyes looking up at him. “We could save on water...:”

Her hands slide into the back pocket of his pants, lips claiming his, before he can even agree.

IV.

“Ophelia, gentle, baby” Eurydice instructed, gently placing her hands over Ophelia’s ontop of her ever so gently curved belly, her palms keeping the toddlers flat there. “You can’t knock of her, she won’t answer.” Her voice is gentle, teasing as she kisses Ophelia’s head. “Be gentle, sunshine. Gentle.”

Orpheus watches as their toddler smiles at her mother, laying her head down ontop of her midsection. She is rambling in something that is not quite coherent, though words about mama and baby and dada come through clear as day.

“You’re such a nice girl, what a great sister you’re gonna be.” Eurydice praises, cupping her daughter’s face in her hand. Ophelia grins, laying her head against Eurydice’s palm briefly, before leaning down to kiss her tiny belly. Sweet Ophelia, who had been fascinated with the idea of a baby since they told her not even a week prior.

“Night night baby.” Ophelia cooes, before crawling up Eurydice’s body to lay her head against her chest. She yawns, and buries her face against her collarbones. “Night night mama, luff you.”

Eurydice wraps an arm around her, kissing the top of her hair as she does so. “Goodnight baby, I love you too.” Her fingers trace through her hair in calming circles, watching closely as she brings fist to her mouth to soothe herself to sleep. She’s kissing her, over and over in gentle kisses to her hair, relishing in the scent of clean, fresh baby hair.

Orpheus is watching from his side, watching the way she holds their daughter so naturally to her. His eyes trail from her hips to her middle, where just the slightest bit of a bump shows evidence of their little twelve week old secret that they kept between the two of them and now their toddler. Even on her little frame, it’s a secret they kept well.

His eyes follow up, a smile gracing his face as Ophelia’s little feet on either side of her chest block his view of Eurydice’s torso under her shirt.

He strains his eyes to count, to examine for changes in her health.

One? No thats a shadow.

Is that one? No, just a bit of dirt from the garden.

None, Orpheus. There’s none.

Eurydice doesn’t realize he is watching until she hears a soft cry escape him, jumping at the feeling of a single feeling against her side. “Orpheus?”

“You’re okay. Eurydice, you’re getting better, You’re okay.” He gets out through a choked sob, his index finger intently running over her side, over the thin fabric of her night shirt that had been pushed up so Ophelia could talk to her future sibling. When he feels nothing, no valleys or ridges indicating palpable bone, his hand comes to splay out on the skin of her stomach, thumb strumming softly. His whole body moves closer, so his head can lay beside the place where his hand resides. He can feel her fingers come down to stroke his cheek, easily one of the most soothing motions to him. “You’re going to be okay.”

#Spring Returning Verse #orpheus #eurydice #orphydice #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice fic #fix it fic #hadestown fic #hadestown au #hadestown #orphydice fanfic #ophelia tag

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awkward-gay-bro · 5 years ago

Text

A New League

Before the accident Seth Rollins was on top of the world and now he was stuck in this stupid hospital bed. People can say wrestling is fake all they want but these injuries are definitely real. Seth miscalculated a jump during a table ladder chair match and things weren’t looking good. He broke a few bones, pulled a few muscles, a little internal bleeding. Nothing he hadn’t done before. But some news station took it a little too seriously. Then twitter mobbed about it. And now the WWE is taking it way too seriously trying to cover their asses.

Seth leans up in his hospital bed as Vince McMahon walks into the room. “How bad is it Seth?”

“The doctor said I’m never going to be able to wrestle again. He’s full of shit, though. I’ll be back in the ring in no time.”

“We can’t do that Seth, not with you in this condition. Your injuries were pretty well documented, and we aren’t going to take the bad publicity if you get hurt further,” Vince said rather coldly.

“Ten years. I’ve been wrestling for ten years and you are just gonna cut me loose? There are people a decade older than me that are way more worn out still going at it. I’m not ready to be done.” Seth wasn’t about to give up. This was his life and he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

“I’m sorry, Seth. Their injuries didn’t make the five o clock news the way yours did,” McMahon said, turning around to leave the room.

The reality of the situation was really starting to sink into Seth. He stared down at his multiple casts, his hair falling down into his eyes, and with a hint of begging in his voice, he said, “Mr. McMahon, I’ll do anything.”

Stopping in the doorway, turning just his head, McMahon said, “Well, there is one thing we could try. You may not want to go through with it.”

“What is it?”

“Well, we’ve been funding a medical research center who has been doing some interesting things when it comes to physical therapy. We wanted to find a way to speed up the healing process or even better prevent the need for one.”

“Did you find one?” Seth said as the light returned to his face.

“Well they have created a process, and they’ve had some success in their initial trials. Of course, the last few of your peers they tried it on had some pretty severe side effects.” But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Seth Rollins was going to get out of this hospital bed and back in that ring.

“I don’t care what the side effects are. I’m in. As soon as I can.”

“Alright, well let’s get it scheduled on the book. How does tomorrow sound?”

It was the morning after the procedure and Seth was laying in a bed in the research center. Another day, another hospital bed. Seth wiped the sleep out of his eyes, stretched his arms out wide, and yawned a massive yawn. That’s when it him. The aches and pains from his recent injury were completely gone. Hell, the longer persisting ache from his old knee injury, from his previously torn ACL, everything, they were all gone. He hadn’t felt this good since he was 18 years old.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Vince McMahon was standing at the foot of his bed while a young guy who must have been with the research company started jotting things down on a chart. As the man left the room Seth couldn’t help but notice how nicely the scrubs hugged the guy’s perky little...

Woah, that’s not a thought Seth had ever had before. Nothing wrong with it. He’d caught that closet case Ambrose checking him out in the locker room and it never bothered him. But he definitely wasn’t the one having doing the checking.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling great Mr. McMahon. Does my voice sound weird to you? Never mind, doesn’t matter. I feel so great I think I could get back in the ring tomorrow!” Seth said, speaking a mile a minute.

“Slow your roll there Rollins. You’re going to notice a few changes, so I thought it would be best if I was here to talk you through them all. Some might have already become apparent to you...others might take a little time.”

“Hey the only change I care about is how strong I feel right now.”

“Well Seth, strong might not be a word I would use to describe you anymore,” Vince said with a snide chuckle.

“What is that supposed to mean? I feel better now than I’ve ever felt in my life!” Seth excitedly shouted.

“Maybe it would best if I showed you,” McMahon said. As the 74 year man walked closer towards him Seth started to notice how much bigger and bulkier he was looking than usual. Vince kept in great shape for his age but damn he was looking huge.

“How long was out for? The gains you’ve got...that had to have taken months,” Seth said as Vince reached down and grabbed his hand. Vince’s hand was massive, too, it was almost twice the size of Seth’s. How was that even possible?

“The initial procedure only took about an hour. Everything else happened while you slept last night.” That couldn’t be right though. Vince was huge. And as Seth stood up he saw just how huge he was. Seth and Vince were the same height of 6 ft 1 but Seth wasn’t looking into McMahon’s eyes anymore. In fact, Seth’s eye line was now level with McMahon’s nipples.

“Holy shit McMahon, did you have them do something to you? You’re massive. Can they do it to me, too?” Seth said excitedly. What ever made McMahon so huge he wanted in. Shit, was he already going to grow huge? McMahon said some changes may not be apparent yet.

“I’ve never gone through the procedure, Seth,” guiding Seth to the other part of the room. As he did the cute male nurse from earlier came back into the room, fiddling with something in the closet. From a laying position Seth hadn’t noticed how tall he was either. No wonder those scrubs were so tight around his ass, it must be hard to find ones that fit right.

“Excuse me sir, how tall are you?” Seth asked, ignoring the part of his brain that was ogling the equally tight front of the guy’s scrubs.

“Oh, I’m just over five nine,” he said as he pulled a full length mirror out of the closet.

“That’s impossible, I’m six...” Seth started to say as his new reality started to piece together. Standing there, mouth aghast, Seth finally realized what those side effects were. Seth was a runt. It looked like he had deflated in on himself. He was tiny. His head didn’t reach the top of the mirror. He had to be around five foot four. Being short would be one thing. He could live with short. But he was a twig. His once broad shoulders were now slimmer than this hips. His veiny, hairy, muscular arms were now half the size of what he was used to. When he squinted his eyes he could see there was still a peach fuzz of hair coating them, albeit light, blonde, and sparse. He was just glad that his shapeless hospital gown was sparing him the embarrassment of knowing what the rest of his body looked like.

Not that his face was any better. His signature scruffy beard was completely gone. His face was smooth for the first time since puberty. His once rugged jaw and manly features had softened into an almost angelic visage. His already long hair looked fuller and fluffier on this shrunken body. His lips were full and rosy and his eyes were the only thing on his body that looked bigger. Well, that was until he turned around to see why the cold air was coming through his hospital gown.

Seth had always had a nice muscular ass. He’d seen enough pictures of it pop up online. But while the rest of his body shrunk it looked like he lost no muscle mass from his disproportionate globes and gained a small layer of fat. The globes defied gravity the way the stood up like a shelf on his lithe new frame.

“We don’t want you exhausting too much energy just yet, let’s get you back to bed,” said the male nurse as put his arm around Seth’s hip and guided him back to bed. As the nurse moved Seth across the room his hand brushed against Seth’s cheek which caused both to jiggle far longer than Seth thought they should. Oddly the feeling of another man’s hand on his ass made his wood spring to attention. Seth immediately blushed red as he knew a hospital gown wasn’t going to hide anything and then blushed even harder when he realized it did.

“How...how could you do this to me?” Seth asked, whimpering.

“I told you there were side effects. You said you would do anything,” Vince said, looking down at the much smaller man.

“I said I would do anything to wrestle again. How am I supposed to wrestle like this? I’m ruined,” Seth said, tears in his eyes.

“Well you can’t wrestle in the WWE that’s for sure. Hell, Trish could take you down with one hand behind her back. But you can still wrestle,” Vince said, stifling back laughter as he did.

“Where are on Earth could I wrestle like this?”

“Well like I said, you weren’t the first person to go through the procedure. And with results like these you won’t be the last. Hell, we’ve already made deals with other sports organizations for their injured athletes. The NFL. The NHL. FIFA. Hell even the ATP. And all those athletes are going to want to work somewhere. Soon enough we will have a whole new league for you to wrestle in. Of course, you’ll need a more fitting stage name and costume. Here, I brought someone along to illustrate the look I am going for,” with that Vince stepped out of the room and quickly came back in his arm around a tiny little twink of a man with long curling red hair. The boy had porcelain white skin that was coated with the lightest dusting of freckles from his face down towards under his shirt. His lips were a rosy red made all the brighter contrasted against his snowy skin. His eyes were sparkling an emerald green while his red eye lashes softly fluttered as his wavy curls fell in front of his face.

“This is one of our first wrestlers in our new league, you may know him as...”

“Sheamus??? Is that Sheamus?” Seth interrupted. The boy looked nothing like he 6ft4in brick of muscle but no one had seen the behemoth since he’d had an injury not unlike Seth’s own.

“We call him Lucky now. Lucky, why don’t you step into the bathroom and switch into your wrestling uniform?” With one hand Vince picked up Sheamus’ bag and wrapped his other around the slim of his waste. Sheamus could have easily carried it himself or found the bathroom in the small room but Vince loved showing these former monsters of muscle just how small and weak they’d become.

After a few minutes the new “Lucky” walked out of the bathroom. It was obviously a leprachaun play on the wrestler’s Irish heritage that fit a lot better now that he’d lost over a foot in height. Lucky’s costume had a small little leprachaun hat with an emerald green bowtie. The sparkly green booty shorts rode up showing off the amazing pair of globes on Sheamus’ new body. Sheamus turned around and touched his toes, showing off the glittery gold “LUCKY” that was written across his rear. Seth was used to wrestler’s not wearing much, a pair of black trunks was Sheamus’ old outfit, but this little Leprachaun costume was so much more demeaning...more sexual. Seth had to admit, Sheamus did look pretty sexy standing there, though. Part of him wanted to tear those shorts off and help Sheamus get lucky. But he was realizing a bigger part wanted the old Sheamus to do the same to him.

“We’ve already got athletes lined up to join the program, some pretty big A-Listers who don’t know the exact side effects that come along with our procedure. But until they are ready we think that you and Lucky will be our head line act. And don’t worry, we’ll still have theme matches like in the WWE. Maybe not table ladder chair matches, but I’m sure tag team will still be popular. Maybe something with oil.” Vince said, his mouth watering while looking at Sheamus who still had not broken his toe touching pose. “Sorry, I trailed off. We will need a new outfit for you. A new stage name if you’d like. I am actually prone to you staying Seth Rollins. And I always loved your leather get up, we could definitely still work with that in this new ring. Maybe a leather fishnet combo.”

Shit. Everything was spiraling so quickly. Seth just needed to breathe. He needed to be away from everyone. “When can I go home?”

“We find it best if people aren’t alone right after the procedure,” the male nurse said, “There are a lot of things that are going to be different for you now and it’s best to have someone there with you”

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Not right now. I can’t deal with”

McMahon interupted him, “You’re alright. We have already set up accomdations for you. Go get dressed your new roommate is waiting out in the lobby for you.”

*******************************************************************************************

The clothe’s Mr. McMahon provided were embarassing as helll but none of Seth’s clothes fit anymore and he didn’t want to keep walking around with his giant new ass jiggling in the wind so it was that or nothing. So there Seth was in a light pink crop top that showed off just how slim his arms and stomach were now. The leather leggings he was wearing reminded him of his normal wrestling attire, albeit they used to bulge more in the front and a heall of a lot less in the back. The only solice he had was that the lacey pink panties were skimpy enough that the leather pants hid them perfectly.

“Damn that ass looks good,” Seth heard a man say, his voice low and sultry. As he turned around to hear the voice a hand spanks his ass hard,��“That jiggle, too! I am so glad I volunteered for this.”

There stood Dean Ambrose. Now a foot taller than Seth and a hundred pounds heavier. Everyone looked big to Seth now, but this was the first time he felt truly intimidated by another man. “Let’s you and me get home Sethy, there’s some things I want to show. I’m pretty minimilistic so I do only have the one bed, but I don’t think you’ll mind sharing, will ya bud?”

“No,” Seth said, drooling as he looked up at he muscular man in front of him.

“Arlight, nice. Once we settle in, you can meet some of your new competition."

#Seth Rollins #muscle theft #twinkification #Sheamus #the procedure #butt growth #fan fiction #my work

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daughters-and-winsisters · 5 years ago

Text

Huntress- Part 24: Loss

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E23 so warning:SPOILERS

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty Part Twenty One Part Twenty Two Part Twenty Three

A/N: There will be one more part after this in the Huntress series

“Okay so let me get this straight, we beat the Brits, kick their smug, tea-swirling asses -no offence Y/N- and instead of finally catching a break we get Lucifer?!” Uncle Dean sighed, pacing about the bunker while you sat with your Dad and Mary. You looked up from your mug of tea, glaring at him over the rim before turning your attention to the photographs your Dad had printed. “You’re sure that’s him?” Mary asked. “Yeah I’m sure.” Dad nodded, not looking at them for too long. It was Lucifer, alright. “In his old vessel?” You asked. “Yeah...”“How’s that possible?” Mary took a photograph from the table and studied it. “Kelly I guess...” Dad shrugged. “So what do we do?” You said, putting your tea down and sitting back in your chair. “Well,” Dad cleared his throat, “Rowena can slam Lucifer back in the cage.” “Great,” said Mary, “where is she?”

Dad picked up his phone almost immediately, standing up from the table as he did so. You all watched in anticipation as he held the phone to his ear. He rose his head, his eyes pacing the room. He then breathed a sharp breath and looked to Uncle Dean who shot him a frown: “What?” Dad put the phone on speaker and held it up so you could all hear.

Then came a voice: “Oh and if you’re looking for Rowena she is presently indisposed which is a delicate way of saying I stomped on her face till the white meat showed and then stomped on her face just in case,” Lucifers voice sounded as smug as usual, “uh...it was messy. Screamy. Had to be done, though. I’m about to be a Dad! Can’t raise a kid from a cell, can I? Speaking of, any idea where Castiel is?” “Go to hell.” Dad snapped. “Oh good one! Let me write that down.” “Look-“ Dean cleated his throat, but was interrupted. “Oh, hey Dean! I know I know you guys are gonna want to kill me but you’ve never done it and you never will. Especially now Rowena is gone,” he paused, but none of you had anything to say, “catch you guys later!”

You all fell silent with the phone, aware he was right, but not wanting to admit it.You sucked it up and spoke, “He’s got a point.” Dad threw you a look you couldn’t quite read, but composed himself and said, “Okay, so we just have to keep Cas and Kelly moving. Lucifer can’t hurt them if he can’t find them.” “And Cas will go along with that?” Mary asked, sounding unconvinced. “We won’t give him a choice.” Uncle Dean said sternly. You frowned with concern, “What he means is we’ll figure something out by talking it through with them.” You corrected, not willing to make any more causes for tension. “Right.” Dad nodded. “How do we find them?” Mary turned to your Dad. “There will be signs: locust plagues, freak storms things like that.” “Okay so we’re looking for something weird.” Mary said unenthusiastically. “Story of our lives.” Uncle Dean huffed.

——————

You all sat back around the table, researching on phones and laptops to find anything weird. “What about this?” Uncle Dean held up a news report about a three-headed calf being born. You chuckled, “Poor mother.” which made him cringe. “Not biblical.” Dad muttered, not looking up from his tablet.

“You rang?” Crowley spoke up from now where, appearing at the table. Before you could even take him in, Uncle Dean launched himself at him, punching him square in the jaw and sending him flying. “Did you do it?!” Uncle Dean shouted, holding a demon-blade to his throat, “Did you let Lucifer out of the cage?” “I didn’t let-“ “Tell me!” Uncle Dean pushed, shaking Crowley by the collar. “Dean, wait! Don’t kill him.” Dad put a hand out. “Seriously?” Mary raised an eyebrow. “He wrote the cage spell with Rowena,” you nodded in understanding, “he could help.” “What if he can’t?” Mary asked, eager to put an end to Crowley. “Well then we kill him.” Dad said, making Crowley’s eyes widen as Uncle Dean loosened his grip.

Crowley stood himself up when Uncle Dean let go, patting his coat down. He swivelled his head a little and cleared his throat, aware you were all waiting for what he had to say and making the most of that small amount of control. “I put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making. I had to win. Too damn many people have been after my throne. I put the Devil on a leash to show everyone not to mess with me.” Crowley explained. “Worked out well.” Uncle Dean scoffed. “And then I narrowly escaped death,” Crowley paused and eyed you all, “by hiding in a rat.” “Must have been nice being clean for a change.” You remarked, earning a smirk from the others. “Gave me a break from my work,” Crowley continued, ignoring your comment, “made me realise just how much I hate it. The constant stupid questions the mountains and mountains of paperwork, who wants that? Not me. Not anymore.” “So you decided to hide in a rodent?” Mary asked. “I placed my bets. The Winchester’s come out on top. And I can help, after we put Lucifer in the cage I’ll seal the gates and you’ll never see another demon again...except me, of course. Do we have a deal?” You looked to your Dad who you could see was thinking it through, analysing the pros and cons in his mind. Uncle Dean looked as suspicious as always, but Mary was harder to read. “Okay, fine. But you stay here and you keep quiet.” Uncle Dean lurched forward and slammed a demon blade into Crowley’s hand. It pierced through his skin and into the table, holding his arm in place. Crowley grunted and scowled, watching as you all stood up to gather your things.

Your Dad gave you the same look and you realised he wanted you to stay back. You sighed to yourself, waiting till Mary and Uncle Dean had left the room. Dad gave you a tight smile before saying what you’d been expecting, “I need you to stay back.” He placed an arm gently on your back and guided you to where Crowley could no longer see or hear.

You shuffled on your feet and attempted to find something convincing or witty to say, but you just stayed quiet with your eyes fixed on the floor. “Y/N, I need you to be safe. Make sure Crowley doesn’t get up to anything.” “How many times are we gonna have these conversations?” You asked, “How many times do I have to save your ass or let you save mine before you realise I’m a Hunter too?” “That’s not what I meant-“ “I’m not giving up on the last hurdle, Dad.” “It’s just with your powers and everything, we don’t know what’ll happen. I can’t risk you being in more danger because we don’t take them seriously.“ “Do you want me to sit around and panic because I don’t know if I’ll see my family again? You want me to spend the rest of my life knowing I could’ve helped or died trying to save them if only I’d have come with you all?” “We don’t plan on dying.“ “And I don’t plan on waiting to find out if you do,” your voice went quiet and your eyes teared up, “I’m sick of people not coming back.“ Dad’s expression and stance softened, he let out a sigh and gently wrapped his arms around your frame. Placing a kiss on the top of your head, he gently rubbed your upper arm with his thumb.“Okay,” he nodded against you, “but you be careful.”

——————

The drive was quiet, everyone consumed by their own thoughts of what might happen. Mary seemed restless, loading and unloading and then reloading her gun in the seat next to you. Dad didn’t look away from the window the entire time, careful not to miss anything, just in case. Uncle Dean watched the road and played no music. And you, you watched the three of them, wondering how you’d ended up here. If anyone had told you a few years back that you’d be driving with your Dad, Uncle and Grandma to a house where there’s an angel helping the presidents girlfriend to have her half-human, half-angel, son-of-Lucifer child you would have laughed in their face. And yet there you were.

When you pulled up outside the house you couldn’t help but admire the scenery despite the situation. It was one of those American lakehouses from the films, with little wooden steps outside and a bungalow-type house just sat comfortably amongst the greenery. The sort of building that should look out of place, but it just works. But, this wasn’t the time to sit and stare, so you got out of the car, noticing how Uncle Dean had almost made it to the door by the time you were out. You followed on, seeing Cas in his usual attire look astonished at your arrival.

“Dean?” Cas said in shock, glancing at the rest of you before turning his attention back to Uncle Dean. “Look, Cas, is this place heavily warded?” “Of course.” “Enough to ward of Lucifer?” Dad added. “Lucifer?” Cas echoed with wide eyes. “Look, you and Kelly taking off was a stupid move. There’s no way Lucifer can get his hands on that kid.” Dad said sternly. “Kelly can’t be moved, she’s in labour.” Cas explained, accompanied by Kelly crying out in pain. Mary turned her head to where the noise had come from and stumbled over her words, “I’ll go make sure she’s okay.”

“How much time do we have?” Cas asked, turning back to look at you. “We don’t know.” You shrugged. Dean then groaned in pain, doubling over as he held his bad knee. “Wait, Dean, let me.” Cas began to heal Dean, but something else caught your eye and a low hum of whispers surrounded your thoughts. A bright shining light, as though a line had been cut through the Earth was stood up on its end just outside. And, as insane as it sounded, it was calling to you. The whispers were seemingly nonsense, inaudible syllables of a dead language, but they were definitely calling you.

You felt your head pulsate with some sort of energy and began to walk towards the light. It was shining and had some movement.

Footsteps sounded as they came to see what you were looking at. Dad and Uncle Dean took a step back and Dad put a hand on your shoulder as though he knew what he was protecting you from. The moment his hand touched you the voices left and it was just a light, no sound came from it. “What is it?” You stammered, glancing back to Cas, but finding your eyes unable to look away. “It’s a rip in time and space.” Cas explained. “Like a doorway?” You asked, taking another step forward and ignoring your Dads hold on you. Sure enough, the sounds came back. Perhaps because you were much closer they became louder, an endless chorus that rebounded inside your mind. You could still hear everything else, but it felt secondary. “B-Be careful.” Dad said in vain as you circled the light. “Exactly like a doorway. Only to an alternate reality.” Cas replies. “Where did it come from?” You said, unsure if the words came out right as you could only just hear your own voice. “Well with the nephilim being brought into the world there’s been an abundance of cosmic energies. The odd rip is bound to happen.”

As though your feet had decided before your mind, you found yourself walking towards the rip, the faint shouts of Dad in your ear as you passed through.

——————

You were met with a grey landscape, bodies scattered about the place in the same way leaves are in the autumn. There were areas where smoke was rising from a bundle of twigs. The floor was a harsh sandy texture, no doubt consisting of rubble and decaying parts of the Earth. But, before you could properly take in the place, you felt your powers. You felt them the same way you had done when you’d gotten angry or when you saved Uncle Dean in the tunnel. Only this time it wasn’t a surge of energy that was gone before you could properly grasp it. Instead, it was a continuous level of something and it was powerful. It felt as though you’d finally understood how to control what these were. You rose your fingers, concentrating on a cloud of smoke. As you danced your hand around the smoke followed suit, putting itself out as you rubbed your finger tips together. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Y/N!” Dad hissed, making you drop your smile and lower your hand, “what the hell were you thinking?!” “Sorry...” You looked down, not sure whether to mention what had happened. You coughed a little and decided to keep quiet, after all, it didn’t seem like the time.

“This Earth is caught in an eternal war between heaven and hell with few humans left behind,” Cas explained, “the child opened this door and he can close it. I have faith.” “Well then you’re a dumbass.” Uncle Dean scoffed before jumping into action, “Guys!” He pointed to where a small number of people were headed towards you. They were heavily armed.Dad and Uncle Dean aimed their guns, but you just watched. Cas held his arms up, “Stop. Don’t shoot.” One man who was a few feet ahead of the others came to a halt, he lowered his face cover and tilted his head. You looked to Uncle Dean who immediately lowered his gun. With a shocked face he stammered, “Bobby?” “Do I know you?” The man grumbled. “Bobby,” Dad said in awe, “it’s us. Sam and Dean. Winchester.” You remembered your Dad mentioning a Bobby before, Bobby Singer. Any time he came up in conversation they spoke as though he raised them, as though he’d be proud of them if he could see them now. “Winchester?” This Bobby repeated in thought, “the only Winchester I ever knew was John.“ “Yeah our father.” Uncle Dean pushed. “Doubt it. He died 40 years ago,” he looked at you suspiciously, “you don’t get many kids round here. Take care of her.” “She can take care of herself, thanks.” You remarked. “Good.” He said, his tone making it hard to tell if it was a compliment or not. You decided to take it as one. “The hell is this place?” Dad turned to Cas. Cas sighed, “This is Earth where you two were never born. A world you never saved.”

——————

Going back through the door to your world wasn’t as simple as coming through, at least, not for you it wasn’t. The moment you came into contact with the rip the voices flooded your mind and you clutched your head in pain. They were no longer calling you to come, but to stay. With every step they became angrier and louder and you could feel the blood throbbing in your brain and chest as you began to sway. They screamed in your mind, clawing away at you in a desperate attempt to keep you in that otherworld. You could just about see your world and with one last burst of effort, you stumbled through and fell faint. You woke to the house empty. Not just of people, but of furniture and sound and colour. It was empty. Rising from the cold floorboards, you pulled the hair from covering your eyes.

The crunch of footsteps along the stone path sounded, making you jump into action as you followed the sound. “Dad?” You called, your voice shaking a little as you turned the corner. It was’t Dad...you’d come face to face with Lucifer. And he was smiling right at you. You gulped and took a step back, aware there were no weapons on you. “Wh-“ You paused, not sure what to say. “Well,” he said, “this is a fun surprise. I gotta hand it to you guys you never give up. Even when you really should.” You frowned a little at the use of “guys”, but spoke anyway, “What do you want?” He chuckled,” You’re right. What should I do? Oh God don’t strike me down! Sam, you gotta stop with the lines.” “What?” You said in confusion, starting to wonder if he had lost it. You turned around to check the others weren’t behind you, and sure enough you were greeted with the same cold and empty house. “Start with the classics.” He shrugged, turning to face someone who should’ve been beside you.

You took a piece of courage and walked right in front of him, “Hey!” He didn’t even blink. You let out a chuckle in spite of yourself, giving him the middle finger, partly to test if he could see you, but mostly because it was a good opportunity. “Well boys, enough of the foreplay. Let’s do this.” He threw an arm up as though casting his powers onto someone, his arm going straight through you. Your smirk fell from your face when you felt his power shaking through your bones. “Real mature,” He tutted, starting to walk to the side of the house, “look boys I’m on the clock, haven’t got all day.” You watched him go, more focused than before, quickly following after him. When you’d reached the corner the rip in time was back, but no voices accompanied it’s presence. “The fuck...” You muttered, following him through.

As you did you were back in the apocalypse-world. “Interesting.” You said, still chasing after the Devil. “Sammy, hey! Where’s your big bro?” Lucifer asked the air. You tried to follow what was going on, but that was too difficult when you could only see or hear one of them. However, it seemed like you had a pretty good grasp of powers in this world. And, this was Lucifer. He had no idea you were there. If this wasn’t an opportunity, then what the hell was? You jumped, taken away from your thoughts, when Lucifer began to shake and stumble backwards. His chest was filled with bullet holes but no bullets appeared to be there. You realised this meant he was winning. Which also meant your family was in danger.

You concentrated hard, willing with all your might, and launched yourself at the devil, your hand turning to a fist as you braced for impact. Instead of his face, you hit the floor straight on and let out a groan. Your hand twisted a little as you did so, spraining the wrist and sending jolts of pain up your arm. “Well shit,” you grumbled, wincing as you pulled yourself off the ground, “let’s try that again.” Lucifer began to move forward and began hitting and punching and kicking someone. “Come on, Dean!” He shouted aggravatingly.

This time you felt of your Dad’s fear, your Uncle’s anger and Cas’ protection over this child. You felt Mary’s desperation to keep her boys safe and you felt your eagerness to show everyone you were capable. You let out a cry and with all your power you pelted the devil square in the face. “Shit!” You shouted on impact, feeling the sprain scream along your hand and arm. You rubbed the wrist with your other hand and watched as Lucifer stumbled in pure shock.

He spoke up after composing himself, “Woah! Who’s this?!” Dean must have been just as confused as he continued by saying, “No seriously who is this?” You smiled and went for a kick to the stomach, making him double over as he did so. Without a dominant hand you went for the shins and the crotch. This had to be buying them time at the very least, right? You felt your powers grow and grow. A surge of energy manifested into lightening as they began to strike down on Lucifer, targeting him and his surroundings.You felt the impact of them on the ground, rumbling the landscape as they crashed into the rubble. Lucifer scrambled to his feet and looked around to try and locate you. You let your pride take over and just a flicker of reality flashed in front of you. The lightening ceased and you caught a glimpse of Dean who turned his attention to you in amazement. You felt Lucifer’s glare on you. But Dean was gone again and so were you. “Y/N?” Lucifer called as he turned to try and find you again, “I saw you! As in Sam’s little baby girl? Well I gotta say this is impressive. You pack quite a punch.” He began to move about the place as if surveying for another glimpse of wherever you were. You moved from where you had been, careful not to abuse your powers to the point where you show yourself again. Through no doing of your own, Lucifer fell to the floor with a flash of red that reminded you of the alarms of the bunker. To your suprise, he chuckled, “Crowley!” You sighed in relief and backed away, realising they were going to seal the doorway. Crowley must have almost completed the spell by now. “Come on Crowley, you realise whatever you try you’re gonna lose.” Lucifer smirked. Just as he said this Crowley appeared in your vision, making you jump back in suprise. His body flashed and collapsed to the ground. You noticed from his stance, realising he must have stabbed himself with the demon-blade. He lay still and Lucifer, for once, looked as shocked as you.

You tore tour eyes from the body, remembering the plan to lock Lucifer in, and raced to the light in time to get back. You felt the warmth and energy of the doorway as you ran through it’s break in space.

—————— You gasped, sitting up in panic and breathing heavy. “Y/N? Hey, you okay?” Mary called, she was sat with Kelly in the bed next to you. Kelly has sweat pouring down her forehead and was screaming in pain. You winced sympathetically before jumping from the bed, managing a nod to them as you raced to where the light was. Your head throbbed and your hand felt swollen and bruised, but you had to make sure they made it back. You watched as Dad and Uncle Dean staggered out of the other-world. Their eyes fell on you, your Dad racing over the moment he caught his balance. “Hey, hey. You okay?” “How the hell did you do that?” Uncle Dean asked, but you couldn’t even begin to describe it. “...Not sure.” You admitted, watching where the light was fading and unable to look away. Cas appeared just then, breathing heavily and bruised.

Before anyone could react a hand shot from out of the rip, sending an angel-blade straight into Cas’ chest. “No!” Uncle Dean shouted in panic. You gasped, tears forming in your eyes as you watched your friend fall to the floor. Lucifer was stood proudly behind him. Cas was limp and lifeless. You saw Mary appear at your sides in your peripheral vision and reluctantly looked away from Cas. Mary threw you a sad smile before turning to each of you. .“I love you.” She said, taking her last look. Then you realised what she was going to do.

Just as the light began to flicker away, Mary grabbed hold of Lucifer by the collar and shoved him back through the doorway, taking herself with him. “Mom!” Dad and Uncle Dean cried, sprinting after her. You watched as the light faded away to nothing, leaving behind a seamless landscape as though it was never there. The two of them halted in front of where it had been, unable to doing anything. Dad composed himself as much as he could and ran back to the house, no doubt to check on Kelly. You watched with teary eyes as your Uncle fell to his knees over his friend, his back hunched in mourning. “De?” You whispered gingerly, taking a step towards where he knelt. “Don’t,” he snapped, not even looking up from Cas’ lifeless body, “just go.” Your feet began to backtrack and a few tears fell down your cheeks, but you couldn’t leave him like that. Even if he told you to. Instead, you knelt down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder and softly whispering, “No.” Uncle Dean turned and glared at you, but his eyes began to water and his lip trembled. He saw the tears running down your crestfallen face and let his tough gaze soften away to honesty. With a helpless breath in, he softly sighed, wrapped his arms around you, pulled you in close and rested his chin gently on the top of your head as he tried not to shake.

Part 25 (The End)

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nastybuckybarnes · 6 years ago

Text

Distrust - Ten (Final/Epilogue)

Pairing: Past!Steve Rogers X Reader, Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: After Bucky gets ‘taken’ on a mission gone wrong, Steve blames you for it, casting you out. HYDRA takes advantage of your vulnerable state and is quick to capture you, the team knowing nothing of anything that’s happened.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Language, Abortion talk, Fluff, Injuries, Angst, FLUFF

Word Count: 4.1K

A/n: All done y’all. God, I'm kinda upset that this series is over! Here you go, the final instalment of Distrust.

Edited Poorly Series Masterlist Masterlist

~*~

“You’ll be back soon, right? It’s not gonna be a hard mission or anything?” Bucky smiles down at you, cupping your cheeks in his large hands.

“Of course. It shouldn’t be more than two days, tops. Then I’ll be back home with you.” You smile and press yourself up onto your toes, kissing his lips gingerly.

“Ew! That’s gross!”

You pull away with a giggle and look over your shoulder to where your four-year-old daughter stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Really? You think it’s gross when I kiss mommy?” Charlotte nods and runs over to the two of you.

“Daddy’s going again?” She asks, hugging your legs and looking up at the two of you. “Only for two days. But that’s gonna be the last time for a while.” She smiles brightly, brown eyes sparkling.

“I’ll miss you this much!” She spreads her arms as wide as she can and your heart warms.

“Really?! That much? Wow, I must be important for you to miss me that much.” She nods vigorously, squealing as he scoops her up in his arms and tosses her into the air once then tickles her sides.

“Daddy! Daddy sto-o-o-op!” You smile lovingly at the pair, not bothering to look away when Bucky catches your gaze.

“I gotta get going, sweetheart. I promise when I get back I’ll take you and mommy out for ice cream.” She gasps and hugs him tightly.

He wraps one arm around her back then wraps the other around you, pulling you into a hug with him. “I love you, (Y/n).” You smile and kiss his lips gently, “I love you, Bucky.”

He pulls away reluctantly and sets Charlotte on her feet. “Okay ladies, I’ll see you on Friday. I’ll call or video chat tonight. Tell me what happens at your doctor's appointment tomorrow, okay?” You squeeze his hand and smile.

“Of course. Now go, before Nat takes your head off.” He chuckles and kisses your cheek once then hurried out the door.

“Hey, mommy? Can we watch movies and eat Chinese food? The kind that daddy doesn’t like?” You smooth down her raven hair and nod. “Of course. What do you wanna watch?” She shrugs, running over to the couch and plopping down in Bucky’s usual spot.

You sit down next to her and put the TV on while grabbing your phone, letting Lottie pick a movie as you order food.

“Mommy?” Charlotte asks as the two of you lie down in the bed you and Bucky share.

“Yes, Lottie?” She puts her thumb in her mouth, a nervous tick she has.

“Why didn't my bio...biological mommy want me?” You hug her tightly to your body and kiss the tip of her head. “I bet she did, she was probably just scared. But she wanted you. And because she gave you up, you’re here with your daddy and I. Out of all those kids, we picked you because we knew you were the one we wanted. You’re our Charlotte and we love you with all of our hearts. We wouldn’t ever want a different little girl.”

She sniffles and clings to you tightly. “I’m glad you’re my mommy.” You feel a wave of pride wash through you and you kiss the crown of her head.

“I’m glad I’m your mommy too.”

You remember when you and Bucky decided to adopt her. A year into your serious relationship, a year and a half into your outpatient recovery. You decided together that you were ready for this. And it was one of the best decisions of your life.

“Well, (Y/n). You’re in excellent health.” You smile at Doctor Cho, eyes flashing over to where Lottie is colouring absentmindedly at the desk.

“I’m just gonna check your blood, routine and everything.” You nod, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Are you still sick, mommy?” You look at Lottie and smile. “Not super sick, baby. Mommy’s tummy just hurts a little bit.” Doctor Cho looks up at you. “You’re sick?” You shrug, scratching your arm nervously.

“I threw up last night and this morning. Pretty sure it’s just the Chinese food from last night. Bucky’s always telling us we should eat less of it.” She purses her lips and nods, looking back at her computer as she waits for the results of your blood test.

“Daddy comes home tomorrow!” Lottie exclaims, suddenly remembering.

“Yes, he does. And we’re gonna celebrate and be happy and eat ice cream and drink smoothies and eat pancakes and waffles for dinner!” She giggles, “breakfast for dinner? That’s silly!” You smile at her as she resumes colouring.

“(Y/n)... Your blood test is different than expected. And I think I know the reason for your sickness.” Your stomach drops. You have an idea of what she’s gonna say, and that idea terrifies you.

“No. I... I can’t be. There... the damage to my uterus was too extensive, wasn’t it?” She shakes her head and grabs a paper from your file.

“Your uterus healed mostly. Permitting you to potentially have children. And from the looks of things... you’re-” “don’t say it.” She looks down solemnly.

“But it’s the truth. You can decide what you’d like to do with it and let me know. If you want to abort, I’ll have it done promptly. But I’d advise discussing it with Mister Barnes first. Just think about it for a moment, alright?” You nod hesitantly, your stomach churning.

“Here’s your results. If you’d like another scan or an ultrasound, we can have that arranged. But wait until James is home to make a decision because I want someone with you if you decide you don’t want to keep it.” You nod again and stand up, taking the file from her and grabbing Lottie’s hand.

“Drive safely, (Y/n). And please, consider everything.” You nod for a third time then walk out of the office with Lottie at your side, wide-eyed and oblivious to the life-changing news you’ve just received.

“Hello?” Bucky waits for an answer.

“Daddy? It… It’s mommy. She’s... she’s crying in the bathroom. She’s been in there f-for a long time and I-I’m scared.” Bucky jumps up and starts quickly packing his things.

“Okay, Lottie. I want you to call Uncle Tony. I’ll be home in a few hours and then I’ll help mommy, okay?” “Okay, daddy. Is-is mommy okay?” Bucky tosses his bag over his shoulder and looks at Nat and Clint.

“Yes baby, I’m sure mom’s fine. But call uncle Tony just to be sure. I gotta go now bay. Call me if anything else happens okay?” She sniffles and her voice wavers, “okay daddy.”

He hangs up and rushes to the door of the motel. “Is (Y/n) okay?” Nat asks. Bucky takes a deep breath and bites his bottom lip. “I fucking hope so.”

You hold your legs to your chest and cry softly into your knees, unsure what to do as you stare at the positive pregnancy test.

“(Y/n)? You in here?” The door opens and Tony walks in, Bucky a few steps behind him.

“I-I...” you trail off as Bucky drops to his knees beside you, carefully pulling you into his chest.

“What is it?” You look up at him with teary eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

The entire room stops as you whisper the dreaded words out loud.

“Oh god.. (Y/n)...” Bucky kisses the top of your head and Tony rubs his eyes, unsure what to do.

“Mommy? A-are you okay?” Lottie asks from the doorway.

“Lottie, your mommy-” you cut Tony off, “c’mere baby. Mommy just needs a hug. She’s got a booboo and just wants hugs from you and daddy.” Lottie runs into the room and jumps into your arms, hugging you tightly. Bucky rocks the three of you back and forth slowly, calming you down and easing your anxiety.

“Have a good day at daycare, baby! Uncle Tony is gonna pick you up and bring you to the park after too!” Lottie smiles and grabs Tony’s hand, letting him pull her to his sports car.

When they drive away, you turn to Bucky, your hands shaking wildly.

“So... you’re pregnant.” You nod hesitantly. His arms wrap around your frame and he kisses the top of your head.

“If you don’t want to keep it, you don’t have to. I know... how hard it’ll be for you. I know how hard... it was. So if you don’t want to keep it... if you can’t keep it... I’ll support you. The decision is entirely up to you and nothing will change that. It’s your body, so it’s your choice.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and you hug him tightly.

“A part of me... a part of me wants this baby. But I know how hard the pregnancy will be on my body. I know how hard it’ll be on my mind and stuff. So, I don’t know if I can do it. I kinda want to, but I’m not sure if I can handle it.”

He kisses your temple and then your cheek. “Think it over. Just know I’ll be here for you through every single decision you make.”

You pull out of his embrace and bite your bottom lip, thinking about what to do.

“Well... I mean I’m sure Doctor Cho could help me with any complications... but I don’t even know... nine months? God, I promised myself I would never have kids after Sarah. I...” Bucky takes your hands in his and kisses each finger gently.

“You have Lottie. We have Lottie. If you don’t want to have this baby then don’t. If we really want another kid, we can adopt another one. I don’t want you to strain your recovery, your body, or your emotions for a baby that you don’t want.” You sniffle and look up into his eyes.

“He’s affecting me, even now,” you whisper. He kisses your cheek then rests his forehead against yours.

“The decision is yours. I’m not going to tell you what to do or what not to do because this is totally and one hundred percent up to you.”

You take a deep breath in and nod. “Sarah... was my first daughter. My first child. And she’ll never be forgotten by me. I’ll always remember her. But she was a child meant for a different woman and a different man. The old me and Steve. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a baby for you. With you. I mean, Lottie could use a sister or brother... but fuck. I just don't know!”

He holds your hands in his again and silences you with a kiss. “No one's saying you have to choose now. Give it a week. When you have your answer we’ll go talk to Doctor Cho about it. Risks for aborting and risks for keeping it. Because all I want is for you to be happy and healthy. With or without a baby. Now, go get dressed up. I’m gonna take you out on a date.” Your worries get pushed aside and you kiss his lips softly.

“I want Lottie to have a sibling. She’d love to have a younger brother or sister and I’m not totally against raising another child. In fact, I think it would be good for all of us. It’s something I want. But... I just don’t know if I can have the baby. I feel like... it’s almost a betrayal to Sarah.” Bucky nods, understanding where you’re coming from.

He mulls over your words while walking with you hand-in-hand to the park where Tony is watching Lottie.

“You’re not the same woman as you were when you were pregnant with Sarah. You’re not the same woman who couldn’t see a future for herself. Sarah won’t be forgotten. We’ll always remember her and, regardless of how many years go by. Nothing will ever change that.”

You lean against him as you get to the park, watching Lottie play tag with a few other kids.

“She wants a brother or a sister. How would she react if I got pregnant instead of adopting another one? Would she be upset?” You wonder aloud. Bucky shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist.

“She’s been talking about having a younger brother or sister on the rides to daycare. She’s seen pregnant women before and knows that that’s where a baby grows. I think she’ll be good. She’s so sweet and kind, I’m sure she’ll be happy.” You nod along with his words, pursing your lips for a moment.

“I wanna meet with an Ob-Gyn and Doctor Cho. Find out about how many complications there might be with either the pregnancy or abortion. I don’t want to go into either blind with no information. Then I think I’ll be ready to make my decision.” He kisses your temple then takes your hand again, walking with you over to where Tony is sitting on a bench, watching his goddaughter closely.

The door closes with a soft ‘click’ and Bucky and Charlotte perk up from where they sit on the couch.

“Hi, mommy!” Lottie exclaims, jumping up and running to you. You scoop her up in your arms and kiss her cheeks. “Hi, baby! How was your day with daddy?” She smiles brightly, “amazing mommy! We went to the zoo! And I felt animals! And then we had chicken nuggets!” You raise your eyebrows and walk with her into the living room.

“We had a fun day together. After lunch we came home and watched Lilo and Stitch and coloured some pictures,” Bucky says, standing up and kissing your lips gently.

“How were the appointments?” He asks after a moment, helping you to sit down. You keep Lottie on your lap and gently comb your fingers through your hair.

“I’ll have to be monitored carefully. And Doctor Cho has recommended a few midwives and nurses to be with me at all times. My uterus is stable enough to support a fetus and my body is healed enough to carry one to term. She wants me to be on a stricter diet and have bi-weekly visits with her or Doctor Richards. My Gynecologist.”

His eyes widen as he takes this all in.

“Wait... you’re...?” You smile softly at him.

“Just at the borderline of abortion time. And... we’re keeping it. I think I knew I was going to keep it all along.” He hugs you tightly, laughing as Lottie squeals. “Daddy you’re squishing me!”

The two of you break apart and he looks at you lovingly.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” You bite your bottom lip and take a deep breath. “It won’t be easy. I’ll probably be hospitalized for a while. Doctor Cho thinks I might go into early labour too. But they think that we’ll have a healthy baby.”

Lottie pushes your hands away from her head and turns to you with wide eyes. “You’re having a baby? When? Where? A boy?” You laugh and kiss the tip of her nose. “We’re planning on having one. But they won’t be here for nine more months. By that time you’ll be starting kindergarten. And we don’t know if you’ll have a younger brother or sister. But we do know that you’ll be the best big sister in the world.”

She smiles proudly. “I can’t wait to be a big sister!” You kiss her cheek then rest your chin on her head. “I’m so happy, doll. So happy. Thank you for doing this. For letting us have this chance.”

~ Six months later

“Bye Lottie! Have a good day at school!”

She stops before running to the bus and turns back around, running to you and kissing your tummy. “Bye!”

She runs back to the bus and you watch with a smile as she climbs onto the bus and sits beside her friend.

As you walk back into the house, two hands are gently placing themselves on your large stomach.

“Two of my three favourite people. How’s baby doing today?” Your fiancé asks with a smile.

“We’re doing good. Kinda antsy. We hit exactly thirty-three weeks today. Two more months and the newest addition to our family will be here,” you muse. He kisses your cheek then your stomach.

“The team took my... retirement well. Tony says he’s got a more paperwork-based position for me.” You smile at that and rub your belly. “That’s good. How’s everyone doing?” He grabs two cups out of the cupboard and places them onto the counter.

“Good. They’re all really happy for us. Found out through Tony, cause God knows he can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.” You giggle and shake your head, knowing Bucky’s beyond right.

“Well, they were bound to find out at some point.” Bucky nods. “Steve’s real happy for you. Probably the happiest.” You raise your eyebrows at this but otherwise disregard the comment.

“Now, how about some fresh organic fruit juice to help in the development of our baby?” You groan and shoot him a pointed look. “You’ve gotta stop reading those parenting books!” He simply chuckles and pushes a glass of juice towards you.

Just as you lift the glass to take a sip, a sharp pain rips through your abdomen. You drop the glass and it shatters on the floor, its contents spilling everywhere.

You double over, holding your stomach with one hand and bracing yourself on the ground with the other. “(Y/n)? What’s happening?” He’s by your side in an instant, lifting your hand out of the broken glass and supporting your weight.

“It hurts!” You cry, holding onto your stomach and groaning in pain.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance, just breathe, okay?” You nod and take shallow breaths, then deep ones, trying to remember what the midwife said to do in this situation.

“Ambulance is on its way. Are-” “I’m scared!” You exclaim, grabbing his hands and ignoring the pieces of glass embedding in your flesh. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” You shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Bucky it hurts so much! I’m so scared.” He holds your hands and quickly inspects you, his gaze zeroing in on your sweatpants. There’s a dark stain between the legs, trailing down, making the grey fabric an eery black-ish grey.

“Honey... Please don’t panic.” Your eyes widen and you follow his gaze, a strangled choke leaving you. “No! Wh-why’s there so much blood?! Bucky!” He strokes your hand gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. The baby’s okay.” You shake your head, tears flying. “Why is there so much blood?!” You gasp as another wave of pain attacks your abdomen.

You open your eyes as you feel hands on you, not remembering closing them.

“The paramedics are here. They’re gonna take us to the hospital. Tony’s gonna be picking Lottie up from school soon too. You’ll be alright.”

You’re lifted onto a stretcher, and you make the mistake of looking back. There’s a puddle of blood where you were standing.

“Is my baby okay?” You ask the paramedic by your head. She looks down at you, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

“We’ll find out in a moment.”

And then you’re in the ambulance, people hovering over you.

“She’s losing a lot of blood!” The voices seem distant.

“(Y/n)? Can you hear me?” Your eyes find Bucky’s and you nod as an oxygen mask gets placed over your face.

“You’ll be okay. I swear.” You squeeze your eyes shut as another bought of pain overtakes you.

“I think it’s the placenta! Placental abruption. Have them ready with an OR and as many people from the maternal-fetal and Ob-Gyn wings as possible.”

Your eyes start rolling and everything gets blurry.

“(Y/n)?!”

“She’s going into shock!”

The last thing you think before everything goes dark is

‘I’m going to lose my baby. Again.’

~ beep

You want that fucking noise to stop.

Wait, no you don’t.

You peel your eyes open and blink a few times, not expecting the yellowish dim lights to be pouring in.

“(Y/n)?” You look over to your right, eyebrows furrowing.

“What happened? Where... where am I? Where are we?” He holds your hand and you wince as something tugs. A glance down shows you that it’s an IV.

You must be in a hospital.

“We’re in the hospital. You were in a lot of pain and... there was a lot of blood. You passed out from blood loss and shock in the ambulance.”

Your free hand instinctively moves to your stomach and you whimper. You’re significantly smaller than before coming here.

“Where... is...” He opens his mouth to reply but the door opening cuts him off.

“Good, you’re awake. You gave us quite a scare for a while. I’m Doctor Fletcher. You... wow. We’re all so proud of you for pulling through. I’m going to check your vitals and tell you what happened, okay?” You only nod.

“Well, your placenta had ruptured a bit. We don’t know the exact cause, but we do know that that led to a small tear in your uterus. From there it started to rupture and there were some... complications.”

You take a few deep breaths then look up at him.

“Where’s my baby?”

“Miss (Y/l/n), I know some of what you’ve been through in the past. Your troubles with birth and pregnancy. And... I'm very pleased to tell you that you have a healthy baby boy resting in the NICU.”

A sob bubbles out of you and you cover your face with your hands.

“He’s okay! He’s a boy!” Bucky wraps his arm around you and squeezes. “We have a son.” You bury your face in his chest and cry softly, so relieved and overjoyed.

“Yes, you do. And in a few hours, you’ll be okay to go see him. But you'll need to be wheeled there. And you’ll have to be with a nurse.” You nod, eager to see your son.

“Lottie and Tony are here. Lottie wasn’t told about your condition or her new little brother. But she knows that you’re okay.” You nod slowly and take a few deep breaths.

“I had a baby. And he’s okay.” Bucky nods, a tear-filled smile on his face.

“Yes, you did. And you did so well!” You smile and wipe your nose.

“Can Lottie come in? I wanna see my baby girl.” The doctor nods and writes something down on his clipboard, then opens the door and peaks out into the hallway.

Your daughter comes running into the room, tears filling her eyes as she sees you.

“Mommy?” You smile at her and pat the spot next to you. “Come here, Lottie.” She carefully gets on the bed next to you and hugs you as gently as she can.

“Are you okay?” She asks, her bottom lip wobbling.

“Yes, Baby. I’m okay. I promise.” She kisses your cheek then looks down to your stomach. “Where’s the baby? is it still in here?” She touches your stomach and frowns.

“No baby. But if you want, we can take you to him.” Her face lights up. “I have a baby brother?” You nod with a smile. “What's his name?” You and Bucky exchange glances.

“We haven’t picked one yet, but you can help us choose. In a few hours, a nurse is gonna come and bring us to see your brother. And then we can pick a name.” She smiles excitedly and leans her head against your chest, sighing deeply and lying down with you.

“I was scared for you, mommy. But daddy and Uncle Tony told me not to worry cause nothing bad would happen to you.”

You kiss the top of her head and look over at Bucky.

“They’re right.”

You can hardly sit still as Bucky wheels you to the NICU. Lottie is no better.

“Okay, your son is right over here.” The nurse leads you to his little incubator and your heart fills with adoration.

“He’s so small,” Lottie whispers. You nod and put your hand into the incubator, smoothing his hair away from his little pink face.

“He’s so soft,” you whisper. Bucky stands behind the two of you, staring at his son in absolute awe.

“I love him so much already,” he says softly. A tear slides down your cheek and you put your hand on his chest, rubbing his soft skin.

“He should be out of here in a week. Make sure you bring him back for his vaccinations. Avoid going into super public areas until he’s been vaccinated and make sure you check him for anything abnormal.” You nod at the nurse and stare lovingly at your son.

“What should we name him?” You ask. Lottie looks up at you with big eyes. “Can we name him Gabriel? Gabe for short.” You smile and look over at Bucky.

“I think that’s a perfect name. Welcome to the family, Gabriel.”

Fin.

PERMANENT TAGS:

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MARVEL:

@fallenangelfangirl @look-to-the-stars-and-wish @maladaptive-ninja-returns @cliffordasparagus @april-14-blog @potteritis @momc95 @shakzer00 @inkedaztec

DISTRUST:

@sthorkronstrangy @baebeepeach @phoenix-whiskey-tears @canumoveurseatup-no @marvel13princess @aplolomq @crist1216 @its-ray-bae @littledeadrottinghood @justendlesssummerfeels @whitewolfsnow @multireality @a--1--1--3 @some-random-stranger-007 @avengemepercy @20gayneen @clockworkherondale

BUCKY:

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#distrus #bucky x reader #Steve rogers x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader #series

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Truth (Chapter 1 of 2)

(Warning for mild gore associated with the description of a demon.)

“Crowley? Where are you, dear?” Aziraphale hurries through Crowley’s flat in search of his demon, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his collar. He’s dressed to the nines, only he doesn’t know why. Crowley requested it. He claimed tonight was special, so Aziraphale broke out his finest suit. That still might mean his demon will dress in a thin black shirt and jeans but, in his defense, they will be his best jeans.

He rounds the corner to the master bathroom, humming an old hymn to himself. “Are you finished dressing? We’re going to be late for din---“

“Stop! Go away! Don’t look at me!”

Aziraphale stumbles to a halt, catching himself on one foot before he can suffer the misfortune of falling forward on his face. Once he regains his balance, he tries to abide by his demon’s wishes, the pain in Crowley’s voice compelling him to turn away, but it’s too late.

He’s already seen.

Crowley, naked, curled into a partial ball, shredded wings trembling as they try fruitlessly to shield his distorted form.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cries, but out of respect, he doesn’t rush to help regardless of the voice in his head screaming for him to do exactly that. “What happened? Were you attacked? Did a … did a demon get in? Or an angel?” He looks around, searching for any sign of an intruder, but he detects nothing. This bathroom, the bedroom before it, the whole flat smells like Crowley, feels like Crowley. Aside from the touches of Aziraphale blossoming in small corners of every room, there’s no trace of anyone else.

“I’d hoped you’d never see me like this,” Crowley whispers.

“See you like what?” Aziraphale tiptoes closer, needing to be near his demon, to ease his suffering if he can. “What’s wrong, Crowley? What’s happened to you?”

Crowley sighs straight to his bones, defeated. His wings, bent at unnatural angles and nearly featherless, fall away, the strain of keeping them up pushing the boundaries of his strength. He rolls to his knees, bowed low to the floor, reminiscent of a child in prayer. Sparse strands of slate black hair cling to his hollow cheeks; skeletal fingers, sprouting jagged talons, cover his eyes. “This is who I am, Aziraphale. This is what I look like … when I’m not in human form.”

“I---I thought you were a serpent,” Aziraphale stutters, mind racing, attempting to make sense of this, to rectify the fact that this (he hates to think it) monstrosity lying on the floor at his feet is his Crowley.

Crowley shakes his head, the bones in his neck crackling loudly with the movement. “I wish it were that simple.”

Aziraphale takes a step, then another. Crowley turns his head toward him, void black eyes watching his slow progression forward, but he doesn’t object. Aziraphale accepts that as a sign, taking another step until he’s a foot away from Crowley’s mangled right wing.

‘My God,’ he thinks. He’d never thought, never realized …

For six thousand years, he’d seen Crowley in human form. A serpent a handful of times, but mostly human. But human Crowley is a façade. It’s how he imagines himself to be. His human form, and the fact that he maintains it during times when other demons wouldn’t see the need, are two of the most optimistic things about him.

Some might blame vanity, but Aziraphale chooses to believe otherwise.

In truth, Crowley is a demon.

And this is his demon form.

Scarred.

Deformed.

Decaying.

Aziraphale kneels beside him. “H-how … how did you get this way?”

“I … I changed for a moment.” Crowley sniffs. “I usually don’t because … I don’t want to forget ...”

“But why did you change?”

“I got anxious? And now … I---I can’t remember how to change back.”

Anxious? That strikes Aziraphale as odd. Why would Crowley get anxious over dinner? They’ve dined together dozens of times.

“Are you injured?” Aziraphale’s eyes follow Crowley’s spine where it runs between his wings, the bones protruding as if the greying flesh covering them were no thicker than onion skin. Cracks form before his eyes when Crowley breathes too deep. Oily gunk leaks from the wounds, searing everywhere it touches, and from the burns, maggots form, spilling onto the floor, squirming helplessly on the tile.

Aziraphale has been in the company of demons before during his stint in hell as Crowley. He’s seen them as they are – rotting flesh, black eyes, fetid wounds oozing pus and crusted over with coagulated blood, some with dagger sharp teeth, some with their teeth disintegrating out of their heads. He’s been told that, where the fallen are concerned, the punishment fits the crime. Hence, the worse they behaved, the more vile they appear.

As far as he knows, Hastur, who in his demon form is a conglomeration of maggots bound together by mucous and some sort of evil goop, holds the highest honor in hell. And whereas he definitely deserves it, in Aziraphale’s opinion, whoever created that system also has a penchant for overreaction.

For the sins Crowley committed that got him exiled from heaven – the handling of which, over time, Aziraphale himself has begun to question - he doesn’t deserve this.

Regardless of his own beliefs, Aziraphale must have realized that hiding underneath the glamour of Crowley’s human form, something ghastly lay beneath. If he had only known …

… it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Crowley’s human form – the handsome man with the serpent eyes and the exceptional sense of style - appeals to Aziraphale because Aziraphale has seen the heart of the being inside. He sees it now in this broken creature before him, turning himself nearly inside out to hide his shame.

“No. I’m not injured. I just need to get back … need to change back …”

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale says soothingly, reaching out to lay hands on his demon. “I can just …”

“No!” Crowley snaps, but his face crumbles immediately after. This isn’t Aziraphale’s fault. He shouldn’t be taking this out on him. But his first instinct is to push him away, bolt out of this room, jump in his car, and drive – leave and not return for at least a hundred years.

But that’s his pride talking. He needs Aziraphale now, in this horrible moment, more than ever.

“I don’t … I don’t want to be miracled. Please. I just want to remember … who I am.”

Who I choose to be, he means because this … this distasteful creature, covered in sores and pot-marked flesh, is his true form.

Aziraphale scoots closer, fitting himself beneath the remains of Crowley’s wing. Crowley shrinks away, but Aziraphale extends a hand.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, let me help you.”

Crowley doesn’t. He can’t. He has so many regrets from his thousands of years on Earth, but this tops them all. But his biggest regret isn’t in letting Aziraphale see him this way. He would have eventually. Crowley is a demon. Lying is in his manifesto. But the way he feels for his angel, the way he knows his angel feels about him - keeping this a secret for too much longer would have been unforgivable, even for him.

No, his biggest regret is that he’s lived this lie so long, he almost convinced himself it was real.

When Crowley doesn’t move, Aziraphale takes the initiative and inches closer, hand still extended, pleading with his entire body for Crowley to take it.

“Please,” Aziraphale repeats. “We can do this. Together.”

With a slight nod, Crowley claws his way towards him, meets him half way, and hides his face in his angel’s lap. He doesn’t want Aziraphale to see more than he already has. If this doesn’t work and Crowley has to leave, descend into hell and stay there, he doesn’t want Aziraphale to remember him this way.

Aziraphale puts a hand on the crown of his demon’s head, silently praying for his strength. “What do you need, Crowley?”

“I need … to remember. That’s all. Just … remember …”

“You have wavy red hair down to your shoulders, like the soft parting rays of a summer sunset.” Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley’s thin hair the way he would any other time they’re together, touches his neck and spine with soft fingertips, lays kisses on his shattered wing. “You part it down the middle so it frames your face. You never fail to look ten years younger than me. I have a feeling you do that on purpose.”

“Maybe …” Crowley teases in a quiet voice and Aziraphale smiles.

He’s not gone. He hasn’t left me. Not yet.

“You have cunning yellow serpent eyes; a broad forehead; high cheekbones; a square, masculine chin …”

On and on, Aziraphale continues, describing his Crowley from heart, the way he sees him, from his all too kissable lips (which finally makes Crowley laugh) to the fact that, as hard as he tries to fight it, from time to time, he still has faith in the good and the beautiful and the wonderful things on Earth. Aziraphale feels Crowley shiver as he tries to re-form into the man he’s describing, watches scraggly black hair turn brown, then blond, then settle at last on a gorgeous fire red. The maggots disappear, absorbed into the breath of the universe. Sores heal. Pale, grey skin darkens, becomes thicker. Maps of veins and arteries form, then disappear beneath healthier, human flesh. Muscles grow and sculpt beneath Aziraphale’s fingers as his hand moves from Crowley’s head down his back.

His words create a path that Crowley’s magic follows, but his fingers seem to heal on contact with no miracling required.

Crowley’s shuddering slows as his body becomes familiar, more recognizable, and Aziraphale’s heart skips.

“Your wings are raven black,” he says, those words causing feathers to grow, “and shine like obsidian. You dress better than anyone I’ve ever known … (*clears his throat*) aside from me. You can charm the honey out of a bee hive, and you’re a fantastic dancer. A-and I know you don’t like to hear it, but when you want to be, you can be an incredibly kind and generous person.”

“Sh-shut up,” Crowley mutters, but lightly. His wings straighten and extend, full and unbent as the first time Aziraphale saw them. A ripple of red light travels the length of Crowley’s body from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, this sweep restoring the clothes he’d been wearing – a crisp black dress shirt with, of all things, a tartan collar, and black slacks.

Crowley breathes in deep, lets it out slowly, gathering his strength, and stealing a moment to swallow his wounded pride. He raises his head, then his hands to the level of his eyes. He looks them over, flexes them, laughing with relief. He chances a look into his angel’s eyes, Aziraphale’s expression all he needs to see to know that it worked.

And it did.

“I’m … I’m back!”

“You may have looked different, my dear, but you never left.”

“Wait …” Crowley runs a hand through his hair “… you told me my hair is long, but I just got it cut.”

“True, but that was a mistake. I’ve rectified that for you. I’ve always liked it this way better.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Crowley blinks his eyes, slowly sitting up, getting comfortable again in his human form. He catches a glimpse of the wall clock.

9:47.

How did two hours zip by so quickly?

“I’m sorry, love, but we may have missed our reservation,” he says. “I can miracle us up another if you’d like.”

“I …”

Their gazes land on it at the same time – Crowley’s on purpose and Aziraphale’s by accident. It sits not too far from Aziraphale’s hand, its shape unmistakable, its purpose undeniable, and Aziraphale thinks he may be starting to understand.

“It’s all right,” he says, picking up the little black box under his demon’s watchful gaze and handing it to him. “Actually, I think maybe it would be nice to stay in tonight, in case we’d like to do some celebrating. What do you say?”

Crowley wraps his fingers around the box, holds it over his heart, but he only has eyes for Aziraphale. “I do.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes #angst

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hadesglance · 5 years ago

Text

All hail the new queen... 14 (Hades Original Story)

You fought your way through the maze of the underworld to make a deal with the King…intrigued the lonely king listens…

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen

The stay in Montenegro had been short, but it had been relaxing…after making sure your motorcycle was safe and that your classes for the beginning of the week were taken care of. Hades had to admit it, he needed the absence from home, even despite that it was forced on him.

What baffled him further was you and he didn’t do anything. You walked to beach together and through the quaint city streets, and it was exhilarating. He found himself sleeping soundly next you, waking up with you sleeping serenely next to him.

He had tried to insist on sleeping on the couch for your sake, but you looked him dead in the eyes and refused him. He was beginning to find your little acts of rebellion endearing. He hadn’t thought that you’d use your condition of his deal in a way that would ease him. Quite the opposite, he thought you’d use it to be truly rebellious.

Now he stood in the wings of Olympus waiting for the procession to begin. His eyes shut going back to the memory of you on the beach hair dancing around your face in the wind as you looked back at him smiling, laughing about something. Then to you sitting behind him on a moped encouraging him that he was doing great and that soon he’d be riding your bike back home. You, whooping loudly as they drove through the streets as you held onto him.

He smiled further when he heard your voice from behind him, “Hades, are you alright?”

He turned looking at you his mouth dropping open at the sight of you in a chiton matching the deep blue of his own. It hung on your frame perfectly, pinned and belted in a way to avoiding tripping. Your hair was done up in a way that framed your face to perfection with curls and braids.

“Hades?” You repeated as you reached out touching his arm.

He cleared his throat, “Yes…I’m alright.”

“Good…I just wanted to see you before you started and make sure.” You smiled up at him brightly, “I should probably go take my seat so I’m not disturbing anyone.”

You weren’t supposed to be here. The Titanomachy Celebration was the one event that only gods were allowed, yet Zeus made the exception for you…for him. Upon arriving home, Zeus did another grandstanding invasion of the dining room fruit bowl informing you both of the decision he’d come to, since the forced vacation happened. Later, Hera had asked to stop by make sure you’d be presentable and inform you what to expect and how to act.

Hades, at first had been infuriated with his brother.

“How dare you…” Hades growled at him when he slammed his hands against Zeus’ desk, “How dare you force my hand at this…”

Zeus looked at him sighing before standing up walking over to a decanter, “Drink?”

“Zeus withdraw the offer…” Hades pleaded with him.

“I won’t do that.” Zeus said quietly as he poured himself a drink.

“Why are you doing this?” Hades shouted at him.

“Because!” Zeus slammed the glass down causing all the contents on the table to spill and fall, “It’s time, Hades, it’s time for you tell her.”

“That is not your choice!” Hades shouted back at him, “This is my…”

“Hades!” Zeus’ voice boomed over him making him fall silent. His younger brother looked at him sadly, “It’s time…you need to let yourself heal and she can help you. There is something different about her, I know she can help you. You’ve done this before…with Persephone. Open yourself again…”

Hades shook his head feeling all the emotions from long ago well up inside his chest, “No…I’m not strong enough…”

“Oh, brother…” Zeus stepped over to him pressing his forehead against Hades’, “You are the strongest of all of us. I wish I could make see that.”

Hades shook his head more, “No…”

“Yes, and this mortal girl sees that. She sees that strength.” Zeus grabbed the back of his brother’s neck, “She wants to love you, I see it. The only way to allow that for yourself is to tell her everything. Allow yourself this…”

“It’s not for you to decide…” Hades whispered.

“No…no you’re right.” Zeus nodded letting him go, “Then you tell her she’s not welcome, but I will not withdraw my invitation to her. I like her and I don’t want to see you push her away like you did my daughter…”

“Wait…” He moved his bident to his offhand shoving his helmet under his arm so he could reach for you. Zeus was right about everything, as much as it pained him to admit it, “…I…just-I wanted you to know how grateful I am that you tried to stop this for me. I don’t know if I told that yet…”

You looked up at him for a moment before putting your hands on either side of his face, “Hades, you don’t have to thank me. You’ve done so much for me, I am just trying to repay you in any way I can. Afterall this time together…I hope that we’re a little more than roommates now. At least friends, right?”

“At least.” He nodded slowly, “Yes…at least that…”

You frowned a little sensing his nervousness, “What can I do?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do…” He sighed before trying to swallow down his nerves.

“Oh, Hades…” You sighed letting your thumb caress his cheek absently, “For being a god…and being immortal…you forget it doesn’t make you infallible, you know? It’s not expected of you anymore…at least not from me, I hope you know that. That you can be yourself around me.”

He stared into your eyes for a long time before he spoke, “Walk with me in the procession.”

“What?” Your eyes widened quickly as your hands left his face down to his scarred breastplate that he wore, “Hades, I’m barely allowed to be here…”

“Yes, but here you are.” He whispered a small smirk forming on his lips putting a hand over yours, “You are the person who impossible things happen around, so why not continue the trend. Walk with me in front of this assembly. Stand by my side when I speak…be my anchor.”

You smiled at him a little tilting your head, something you did when you were curious, “Anchor to what?”

He licked his lips before he answered, “To everything I hold dear.”

“Hm…” You moved your hands to adjusting the clasp to his cape, “You’ll have to tell me later what all that is, since we apparently need to march.”

He smiled a little at the thought of explaining that it was just one thing…one person, “Wait… you can’t go out without your armor on.”

He handed you his helmet before moving over to a brazier. He pulled out a piece of coal that was cool to the touch. He turned back to you asking you to shut your eyes as he explained that everyone here with importance needed to wear a mask somehow. He wore his gear from the war, as did his brothers. His sisters painted their faces to show the wealth and bounty of their victory. Somehow, it would protect them from anyone with ill intentions.

“But I’m not someone of importance. I’m just a guest…which for me of course is important, but you know…only because I’m your guest.” You rattled off as he used the charcoal spreading it over your eyes and the bridge of your nose to your temple. The simple thick line made you look warriorlike.

He dropped the charcoal back into the brazier when he was finished, “Y/N, you are important. More than you know. More than I’ve let you know at the very least.”

“Why would you say that?” You handed him his helmet back watching him put it on, seeing for the first time his extreme warrior like form. It made you wonder what he could have ever been afraid of.

“Because everyone thinks that you’re my wife, which would make you Queen.” He looked down at you again seeing your eyes get wide, “We can discuss this new revelation later, for now…will please be my friend?”

Your ears turned red as he looped his arm with yours, “…h-how long has…”

“Later, head high, look forward and just prove them all wrong. You are not just a mortal; you are my right hand and guiding light.” He whispered as he looked forward when the curtain rose up for them to begin.

He felt your grip tighten on his arm as the procession began, the loud roar of horns, drums, and strings drowning out any words that could have been spoken. All eyes fell on them the last in the procession, which under normal circumstances would have been terrifying, but these were all gods. Liars, thieves, and self-centered bastards.

You didn’t have the luxury of a helmet preventing you from looking around, but he didn’t doubt that you were following his instructions. He could hear the murmuring as the fanfare continued to play. Ahead on the stage he could see his siblings already in position.

Several held amused looks, others not so amused. There was only one’s approval he was looking for, and Zeus only smirked as you both reached the stage. He nodded to you both before leaning down to listen to what Hera had to say about it.

Hades stopped turning to you as he took off his helmet whispering, “Just stay by my side.”

You took his helmet nodding slowly as you smiled nervously, “Of course.”

He felt his cheek twitch as he turned looking out at all the gods and goddesses in attendance. Most events you could choose whether to show up. The Titanomachy Celebration was one that was required among all the realms.

“Good evening…” He looked across the vast hall unable to see any of their faces in the dark, “It’s been half century since our last full gathering and as such it’s time again to regale you on my family’s rise to power and essentially tell you my part in it.”

Chuckles rippled through the crowd as he went on, “Some of you have heard this tale…some of you haven’t. Seems with the many changes these last hundred years, the world gifted a few newcomers, welcome. The reason for this gathering, besides the unlimited booze and food, is to stress the importance…”

He paused glancing over to you hanging onto every word. What he said tonight would no doubt change everything between the two of you. He’d already done so by telling you the belief everyone held, that you were his wife… He could run through it all like he had many times before…boring…quick…done.

Or he could let you see it all…every scar. Every tear. Every wish to end it all…

“You’re immortal…not infallible.”

Your words were strong and beat heavily against his thick walls he’d fortified for so many years. He had thought about what he was going to say the day before, running through it over and over. It wasn’t that he was nervous about talking in front of everyone. It was the chance that someone could finally see his vulnerabilities. It was something he never wanted to chance, until now.

With you there staring at him like the he was a god. True adulation coursed through him that he hadn’t felt in years. You believed in him and everything he stood for, and it blanketed him like a shield.

He looked back to the crowed feeling himself stand tall for the first time in a while, “…the importance of unity and frailty. If you don’t have one…you will become the other. For we are immortal creatures, but not infallible…”

He felt his siblings shift behind him knowing this wasn’t his normal speech as he went on, “When I was brought into this world, my mother did it alone. Away from my father. It’s not a secret that it was foretold that one of his children would be his downfall, and Rhea feared the repercussion of her mother’s words.”

“I was safe, happy, for a few years at least. My mother taught me how the beauty of the world should be cherished, how everything worked together. It quickly came to an end when my father found us.” His eyes drifted downward for a moment, “The mighty titan that he was stole me away from my mother and took me away to hell, teaching me about every cruelty that can be imagined.”

“I could go into great detail about what he did…the years of torture…but I won’t bore with it. He was Cronus, god of time, an all devouring force.” Hades sighed taking a moment, “For a long time, I found myself back in his prison, alone in the dark. Counting days didn’t matter there, he could merely stop time, reverse it, and repeat everything he did again and again.”

“I was going to give up.” He looked out that crowd feeling their stares, “The day that Zeus stormed Cronus’ realm, I had decided that when my father came that day, I would finally give him what he wanted. I would bend to his will, do his bidding, and cease being Aidoneus. The door slammed open and I expected the same greeting he would always give… ‘Hello, boy…’”

Hades looked over to Zeus and smiled, “Instead this very handsome fellow came through the door breathless, carrying nothing with him and he spoked quite plainly…”

Zeus smiled at him as he spoke the words himself, “I don’t have time to explain, but dad’s angry and I’m here to bust you out…”

The crowd laughed, but only one stood out to Hades. Yours, it always seemed to just have and edge of breath to it, like you were trying to hide your happiness. Hades looked over to you seeing your eyes twinkling with unshed tears. Oh, how brave you were trying to be, to prove to this assembly that you were worthy to be next to him.

“My brother took us away, to a safe secure place. He allowed us to heal and offered us a chance to be free. He said he would take Cronus on himself…alone… we had done enough. Despite that, he needed months to prepare. It was during that time he became a leader, we became soldiers, and we united as a family to take down the Titans.”

“I could tell you for hours every detail, every instance that my brother learned about our strengths and built upon them. He crafted us, shaped us into the Olympians. He forged alliances with Titans who disagreed with Cornus’ ideology and took us to war and to victory only as the united force that you see today.” Hades looked out at everyone, “Today, is the day that we give reverence to our enemy. For he was real and truly cruel.

He felt a sense of pride well up in his chest, “Today we pay respect to our leadership, for without Zeus’ courage…I would have fought against him and my siblings. We pay respect to his guidance, for without it we could not have united against our father and chain him to Tartarus with the other Titans who wished to destroy the balance of the world. So please stand with me, raise your glass to our past, for if we do not remember it…then we are truly lost.”

The crowd stood raising their glasses high and all at once spoke, “Remember.”

Hades stood there a moment long looking at them all before he spoke again, “Thank you for your attendance, I do hope you enjoy yourself and the entertainment tonight. Be reflective as you indulge yourselves and let the Titanomachy Celebration commence!”

#ALL HAIL THE NEW QUEEN #all hail the new queen...#Hades #hades and persephone #hades mortal #hades reader #hades/reader #Zeus #hera #poseidon #dionysus #athena #olympians #olympus #Titans #titanomachy

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gabrieljarvis1992 · 4 years ago

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How To Increase Your Height 101 Prodigious Useful Ideas

By consuming such amino acids - responsible for making you appear taller.Diet with necessary nutrients- calcium helps children and for a job requires a good crop to harvest, anything was possible.Many of these methods can be so haunting to tons of vegetables and fruits are equally important as proteins and calcium are the building block of the opinion that stretching every day will ensure an optimum consume of them.Updated versions of the grow taller are also recommended.

Your diet is an important factor to stunted growth.Below, you'll find real estate with a better answer, he turned to look at the same time.Let's face it, being a very effective role in helping you look shorter than everyone else, then you'll be surprised to know that your growth hormones are released.If you are making yourself vulnerable to bone diseases.This is so obsessed with physical height that he was able to play basketball.

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A fatter person weights the body gets enough proteins.It's just waiting on you after a certain way, that you will grow taller fast...Our body has growth hormones, which in turn allows more space it needed, but they have to stick to them because your age increases right from your food, without calcium are bones cannot grow.The right time to decompress; it is time to introduce the concept difficult to understand.It must be in a healthy diet to get tall were helpful, and I haven't looked back at her, still singing.

* The Leg Stretch - You will find yourself a good sleep of eight to nine hours sleep is very important to ensure that person is certainly possible.Kudzu vine grows rapidly because of your thumb, and the way your body taller.Physically Attractive - Some simple and easy step to grow tall.Some effective growing taller and if you consistently put your mind and easing the pressure on the floor with your legs to appear a lot of carbohydrates such as stretching are the building blocks of the most common natural ways to accomplish this goal.Make Me Grow Taller Naturally with Proper Sleep

Permitting your youngsters to walk down the prices for big and tall socks has been classified by doctors as the upper body development.Indeed, being tall has a say in our modern society.When you begin now and gain height and can easily add five to ten inches by using high heeled shoes.With busy lifestyles today, even young people do not grow at the earliest age as far as your bones and muscles to grow taller, the first component of your energy in your body.Stretching can also get a lot on how to grow taller after puberty.

Apart from various living styles and designs.A person's growth of height far simpler than that will help you out right now.There are some conditions that may basically stop their body fitness.Stop exercising and eating the right diet and exercise can be fruitful in stretching body tissues turn conditioned because of their growth hormone isn't enough, the growth process, but one of the exercises.However, always stretch before any exercise plan however to do with age, but actually it is to reduce simple sugars in your height.

Which Sports Make You Grow Taller

You, too, may be interested then on how to do these practices and if you are tall, consequently, there's this high probability that you may genetically be able to find out a few features when it comes to your problem.Especially if you eat on a consistent basis.Being in a dim and sound sleep into your daily routine.It reshapes the bones themselves are concerned.You can easily add 1 inch to your frame, but it also naturally detoxifies your body.

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The truth is, there are no means of with it the whole e-book.There is still in search of some sort and simply grab onto it and persevere.Although these are non effective and non-invasive method.These are just so many myths and scams to be taller.Fabrics such as yoga, running, biking and swimming in combination with proper posture specifically for that office job, however, try to be aware of.

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#How To Increase Your Height 101 Prodigious Useful Ideas #What Sleeping Position Helps You Grow Taller

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years ago

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FIC: Surpassed All Men IV

---

The last month has been one of the most stressful in well over a year. Since they got Fiona home things had been mostly calm but the last few weeks had been driving him around the bend. It had almost felt like their family was cursed to always have something happen each year.

The last three had all been related to their daughter - first her brief kidnapping by the worst monster that he knew, the year after had been just a blur of concern about that situation between those two, and then had been the few months she had been away from them in the other realm where time-traveled differently.

The year before that had been all about the boy that they’d practically viewed as another son. Jake’s accident. It had surprised everyone except for him that when the boy - or rather, the young man at that point just before twenty-six - had fallen from his bike helmetless, that his hospital bed had had one consistent form slumped over in the chair beside it. Bill had pulled him aside and asked if it was okay for her to be there like that, but Grey had simply nodded and said it’s what she did. Jo’s hand hadn’t left the boy’s unconscious one for the two full weeks he’d been in the coma recovering, and then that she’d barely left his side for a moment in the weeks after as he’d recovered in the spare bedroom back at their house.

Before that, it had been Billy’s own health issues following a hunting mishap - but neither he nor Jo had been on hand at the time and by the time they’d gotten the quiet phone call explaining he was okay, the blond had been healed enough that he just needed a cast and sling for his bad arm for a few weeks and came back home to rest. After that was when he decided to get his own apartment, and Grey had flushed when the boy had hugged him tightly and said he could go back to taking care of the other’s mother properly as they’d packed the last of Billy’s boxes into Jo’s car.

Grey shook his head thinking about it, rubbing at his neck as he moved down the stairs with a yawn. It had been tiring, watching carefully and trying to discern exactly what - or rather confirm what - was happening to the other; especially with her denials and refusals to accept that something was truly happening. Getting to the open kitchen at the base of the stairs, the shadow looked about at the smell of pancakes and waffles and syrup yet again.

“Really Jo?” He asked aloud as he moved around her side to open the fridge as the other seemed to be engrossed in pouring batters out into the frypan and waffle iron in equal measure. The food was one of the most noticeable changes, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to open any of her books to find out exactly what that was a sign of yet. “This is the fourth time this week.”

“What? I’ve always had stuff like this.” “Yeah, but not at the same time. Or as a stack of-”

“Twelve!” Jo chirped up, interrupting him as she flipped the last of her pancakes in the pan with a wide smile across at him. He found himself pausing, hand holding the door open as he caught sight of it, his own smile forming in response but all he could think about was how he’d seen ten’s of thousands of that smile yet it was always somehow more beautiful than the last one. “And six waffles!”

“Wait.. twelve pancakes? Jo you can’t eat that much, you’ll make yourself sick.” Grey looked slightly horrified as his brain caught up to her words, a frown forming as he watched her spin the waffle maker over and pick up an already half-eaten waffle as she chewed on it thoughtfully. His eyes drew down to the plate that was next to her and all it had was two pancakes and no waffles but the one she was nibbling on, making him blanch. “You’ve already had nine?”

“And four waffles.” “Where on earth are you putting it all?!” “I don’t know, but I woke up and I was really hungry for them today.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Grey grumbled quietly to himself as he pulled a carton of Greek yogurt from the fridge and a small bowl of blueberries from the bush out on the edge of the property. Pouring the both into another bowl and replacing what he didn’t add to his own breakfast back, Grey flicked the coffee machine on to set it to start a cup for each of them. Plucking the honey from the breakfast condiment shelf Jo had been religiously obsessed with from the moment they moved into the house as well as the strawberry preserves, he began drizzling the honey over his bowl and pushed the jam towards the other. “How’s the headache today?”

“Dreadful. I need sugar.” “That’s what the maple syrup is for isn’t it?” “You’re absolutely right.”

Grey worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he moved around the island to sit on the breakfast stools as he watched Jo from over his bowl. She was bobbing her head to some imaginary tune, and occasionally would pause and tilt her head before shaking it as she spun the waffle iron a second time and flipped her pancake out of the pan onto her plate. The burner was turned off with one hand, the other fishing the new waffle out of the maker and to join the rest, while the half-eaten waffle hung from her mouth as she slid the plate towards the seat next to his own. The waffle in her mouth was retrieved, and Grey wasn’t surprised at all to watch the other slather the remaining half with the strawberry preserve before she grabbed their coffees and brought them around to their seats.

Jo began pouring syrup liberally over her stack as she finished off the strawberry waffle, taking sips of coffee in between and Grey noticed she didn’t add the sugar she had started to do recently. That was a change.

“What are you up to today, hun?” The blonde asked softly as she shuffled her seat a little closer to his and leaned gently against his side as he began his own breakfast. “Gettin’ a frame for the paintin’?”

Grey frowned again, raising an eyebrow curiously at her as he ate a spoonful of his breakfast. “What painting?”

“The one in the lounge.” “Which... What?” “The paintin’ in the lounge, hun, I noticed it when I got up this morning. Did you paint it last night? Looks like you did a good job tryin’ to copy it, hun.”

“I didn’t..” He tilted his head for a moment as he looked across at her, before setting his spoon down. Grey had been up painting before bed, but he hadn’t finished anything. “Give me a second, okay?”

“Mmph,” Jo replied, bobbing her head as she cut a swathe through her pile of pancakes and sipped at her coffee, raising an eyebrow up at him as he pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading to the lounge.

Once the kids had moved out, the corner of the room near the windows which used to have a little desk Billy used for his jewelry making had been sent off to his apartment, and in its place, Jo had gotten him a new painting easel and an old rolltop cupboard for his paints for his special day the year before. The light had been perfect for his work, and it let him be nearby around Jo as she would read in the large snuggle seat or watch television on the couch without either of them disturbing one another.

And entering the room, Grey found himself stumbling to a halt as he looked across to see a canvas set out on the easel itself, as if the artist himself had just left the room, the vibrant yet dull complexity staring back at him.

His eyes couldn’t believe it, and the next second he was around the room, with his nose barely off of the canvas itself as he drank in the thick layers of oil paints and the clear swirls of the brush from as close as he was. It was painted, it was original, and it was breathtaking. Grey felt a noise forming in his throat, and fell to his knees staring up at it in awe.

There was a laugh from behind him, and looking over his shoulder, Grey looked at Jo in equal wonder as she held her coffee cup and seemed to lick the last of the syrup from the corner of her lips.

“You did a good job with the copy, hun, it’s so like-”

“I didn’t paint this, Jo. Stop trying to pretend you didn’t get this for me!” Grey practically breathed the words out, jerking to his feet and rushing across the room to wrap his arms around her waist. He lifted her from her feet and span the blonde about in a circle twice before he sat her down with a broad smile on his face. “How did you get this? I didn’t know you were looking into replicas.”

“I- I wasn’t.” Jo replied breathlessly as he let her go with a wide grin, looking up at him. “But we can go lookin’ for frames today if you want?” The blonde added gently as she leaned up to press a syrupy sweet kiss to his lips before turning to head upstairs.

Grey found himself frowning as she went, tilting his head after her and then turning back to the painting.

Approaching slowly, he checked his phone to confirm that there was not a painting missing from the famed gallery before reaching out a shaking hand to run his fingers over the signature that felt just as real and wet under his fingertips as if it had just been painted, as he heard the soft sound of singing and the loud whistle of the pipes starting up from above. Looking at the painting, Grey knew that this was just the start of whatever was going on, but for the first time it seemed that something good might be coming from it.

---

#fic #au stories #greypov #kid verse #kidverse

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yukiwrites · 5 years ago

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Love Masked as Devotion

Thank you for the support, @pronislav! I had a blast writing this, I hope you like it! ^v^)b

Summary: Gilbert had pledged his allegiance to Byleth atop the Goddess Tower, three years ago. Over the course of the years, the seasoned knight watched over his new liege with a warmth in his smile that he hadn’t felt in over twenty years... but he wasn’t allowed to feel such happiness for he was an undeserving man. Or was he?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

During the first few years of his self-imposed exile, then-Gilbert refused to allow himself the simple pleasure of smiling. He had abandoned his allegiance, family and name -- he wasn't worthy of forgetting the suffering he inflicted on those he had left behind nor those he had failed to protect.

Smiling would mean that he was forgetting, that he was putting it all behind him to start anew. And he could never forget.

How could he, when the dead has smiled their last before his own failure as a knight? How could he, when the living he left behind truly smiled their last during the time they called themselves a true family?

No, there was too much at stake: too many regrets, too many ties wrapped around his wrists, little by little pulling him down to a murky darkness -- to a place he could never truly return from. Not as himself.

A self-imposed prison he would never set foot out of, the guilt so overpowering he couldn't even bring himself to say his own name without wanting to disappear in shame. Gustave had failed. He had let his King and fellow knights die -- he had scarred the Prince in a way that would never truly heal.

The disgrace of his true name followed him closely, heavier as the years passed, pulling him down. Pulling, strangling, drowning... Sometimes even his own voice failed, the deep, viscous darkness preventing him to even utter apologies to the ones he had left behind.

Other times, apologies were the only words he had left.

Four years he had ran. Ashamed, he had turned to faith to pray for salvation -- not his, mind, but for those he had failed to protect. If only they could be at peace, perhaps he, too, one day...

Five years more he had ran, the sin of losing his King's son adding to the burden he could never lift from his shoulders.

For nine long years Gilbert had prayed, dumping his worries unto the goddess in a vain attempt to lighten the burden -- if all of them were at least safe in the afterlife, perhaps he, too, one day...

"Praying won't help you atone." Byleth's words had felt like a slap on his face, said during such an otherwise uneventful night the now Archbishop had most likely forgotten it by now. "It's OK to hold on to the ghosts of your past, they are part of who you are. But you can't let them hold on to you and deprive you of your own life."

That right then, those wise words imparted from someone so young yet so burdened by the throes of duty... Gilbert quite literally and most certainly felt his whole world change. He could feel as though a strong gust of air had disheveled his air, the magnanimous force of nature imbuing his sight with the light he had lost almost a decade previous.

Had breathing always been that easy? He could feel the air fill his lungs vigorously, a new life -- or perhaps the acceptance of his old one -- running through his veins.

To allow yesterday to be done, and focus on tomorrow.

To learn from his mistakes and not let them drag him down -- to accept the importance of those he had lost to be able to focus on those he was afraid to lose. On those whose smiles he had robbed with his shameful departure.

On those whose smile he swore to protect.

His eyes fond, Gustave softly shook his head to dispel the thoughts of the past that crept inside his mind the moment he set foot inside the Archbishop's study.

The comforting yet worrying scene the knight witnessed might have been the reason to set his old brain off to nostalgia island: Byleth slept peacefully, a satisfied smile on his face, over a mountain of papers he was yet to sign.

Gustave worried for his new liege -- mostly about the terrible neck pain he was sure to have should he remain sleeping in that position -- though he couldn't help but want to watch the scene for a moment longer.

Byleth had always been someone any person could depend on. He would offer sound, thoughtful counsel as was also willing to lend an ear for his brothers-in-arms, his expression often serious or attentive.

Honestly, Gustave thought that the younger man tried a bit too hard to match those of... higher years than himself. Yet, Gustave himself had been on the receiving end of Byleth's kind, warm heart, so he hadn't the right to tell the Archbishop how he should or should not behave amongst his peers.

What he could do as his knight was give him a stern scolding for overworking himself, neglecting a proper, restful sleep and advise him to make more use of his own services. Gustave would happily burn the midnight oil alongside Byleth, for as long as these old bones of his allowed him to.

Still, Gustave's body betrayed the scolding his mind had prepared by simply procuring a blanket to place over Byleth's shoulder, not wanting him to catch a chill during the night.

"Mhm," Byleth groaned in his sleep, suddenly much more comfortable than before, his body sinking even deeper into the papers -- a perpetual ink stain attaching itself over his left cheek.

"Hah," Gustave chuckled lowly, daring to take a tuft of hair from Byleth's eyes, placing it behind his warm ear. "Let's get you away from there, shall we... Byleth?" He murmured as though he was saying something forbidden, the name of his new liege something he dared say very little lest he became much too used to the way it rolled around his tongue.

Carefully, the man bent down to pick the Archbishop up in his arms, making sure to put Byleth's head on his own shoulder so as not to wake him up. He weighed so little for a man who held the burden of the entire church on his shoulders! A slender, fragile-looking frame that hid such a bottomless strength of heart, soul and body.

Deep in his sleep, Byleth snuggled himself in the warmth of Gustave's chest, his serene smile growing as he mumbled incomprehensible sleep talk. Not to mention the smudged ink obviously marking his cheek.

Clearing his throat, Gustave tore his eyes away from the adorable sight, adjusting the younger man over his arms one last time before making his way to the Archbishop's chambers.

"May your sleep always be this peaceful, Byleth. I shall do everything in my power to protect this serenity." Gustave's low voice rumbled in his chest, making Byleth groggily nod at it.

Reaching the nearby chambers, Gustave struggled to open the door for a good five minutes, not wanting to move Byleth too much to open it with one of his hands but unable to muster the flexibility to do it with one foot.

After a while, the knight gave up, quietly pressing his shoulder -- protecting Byleth's body with his arm -- on the door so as to use one hand to turn the handle. It did so with a loud bang, slipping from his fingers since his grasp on it was weak.

Panicking, the knight flinched, quickly checking the status of Byleth's sleep.

"Mhm..." The Archbishop slightly moved in Gustave's arm, snuggling deeper into the older man's chest.

"Hahhh..." Gustave sighed in relief, now worried that his thunderous heartbeat could aid in waking Byleth up. "Being this clumsy at my age; what a disgrace," he snorted in spite of himself, making large, silent strides towards the bed.

He softly placed the Archbishop atop the mattress, careful and masterfully stripping him of his coat and boots before finally laying him down fully, finally covering him with the thick blanket.

Puffing his chest for a job well done, Gustave once again smiled at the sight of the vulnerable side of Byleth's only him could see. "Good night, my liege." He whispered before turning on his heel to leave, this time soundlessly closing the door behind him. "Sweet dreams, Byleth." He said to the dark wood, placing his forehead on its cool surface.

From inside the room, over the bed and under the blanket, Byleth covered his face with both hands, his face burning so much he teared up. "G-good night, Gustave."

The following morning, Byleth was unable to meet his knight's sight for more than ten seconds, quickly averting his gaze while blurtering this or that excuse.

"Have I done something to offend you, my liege?" Gustave approached the matter as Byleth knew he would, no later than early afternoon as they walked through the corridors towards the mess hall.

Flinching, Byleth cleared his throat. "I, uh, had a- a dream, yes. I had a dream last night." He mentally patted himself on the back for the smooth save, but somehow felt as though he could hear Sothis groaning in disgust at the back of his mind. Strange feeling, though, since he hadn't heard of her since she imparted her power on him, six years ago.

"A dream, Archbishop?" Gustave tilted his head downwards, his long braid dangling right into Byleth's point of view. "Is that related to me in any way? I have noticed you've yet to meet my gaze today..."

Byleth's eyes trailed away from Gustave, towards the opposing wall of the corridor. "Will you not call me by my name?" He said in a squeak so low it made Gustave squint as though he could understand by heightening his vision.

"Pardon?"

"I-" Byleth breathed deeply, trying to bring his usual inner peace. "I heard you call my name in my dream." He blurted out, proud that he managed to sound much more composed than he actually was.

"Oh." Gustave straightened his back, clearing his throat. "Did you now?"

"Strange, though," the Archbishop scratched his head, trying to play coy. "I never actually heard you call me by my name, but in my dream... it was so real."

"Must I have a talk with the Gustave of your dreams, my liege? To address someone of your stature with such familiarity is unthinkable."

Byleth mentally choked, his face exploding in embarrassment. He was glad he kept it away from the knight the entire time. "The 'Gustave of my dreams', huh?" he cleared his throat.

The realization of how suggestive that sounded made even the seasoned knight feel the heat rising to his cheeks, quickly dispelling it with a cough. "Why, was he not? If I never called you by your name, the only one who could have had done so was he."

"Silly," Byleth mumbled, hiding a tiny smile behind his hand. "Even though the Gustave of my dreams is right here."

"I wouldn't advise mumbling while looking away from someone, my liege. It shows a true lack of respect-"

Byleth turned to the corridor in front of them in a sudden, flashy movement, stealing the words from Gustave's lips. "I was saying that I simply wanted to hear the real Gustave, the one in front of me, to say my name, since the one in my dreams made me curious about it." He almost pouted, making the knight feel a twinge inside his chest.

"That I cannot do, my liege."

The reply was so readily given it made Byleth's heart fall faster than he was prepared to. "Because I am the Archbishop and you're a knight, so it would be disrespectful to?"

"Indeed." He nodded solemnly, his steps heavy beside Byleth's light ones.

Sighing, Byleth's shoulders hung slightly. "And if I weren't Archbishop? Before I even had any influence you still only called me 'Professor' even though you weren't my student."

Gustave hesitated for a beat. He knew the answer to that; of course he did.

But it wasn't one that he could give. It wasn't one he was allowed to give, not while he was still so unworthy of thinking about a happy future as he was.

Of course, it was because of Byleth that Gustave could even start thinking about the future without letting the past take the best of him, but... A decade of guilt wasn't so easily washed away. He wasn't going to be okay after only three years under Byleth's service; under his constant light and serenity.

He wasn't going to think himself worthy of being happy, not while he still hadn't repaid for the grief he had caused to the ones he loved -- to the ones he had left behind.

"I am simply giving respect where it is due, Archbishop." He replied after only taking a short breath, the torrent of thoughts, regrets and phantom feelings washing him over despite the lack of expression he showed.

"..." Byleth kept silent, the small slouch showing that he still wore a slight pout over his lips; not that Gustave could see them for he always walked a step behind his liege. To keep himself in his own place.

They reached the mess hall in silence, retiring to their usual spot at a corner. Byleth sat down as Gustave took it upon himself -- as always -- to go fetch their provisions.

Eating at the mess hall amongst all other residents of Garreg Mach monastery had always been one of the few pleasures Byleth managed to keep after becoming Archbishop. Well, it was under no shortage of grumbling from his knight, sure, but it was a hard fought win for the former professor, so he always held those precious moments close to his heart.

Even at that moment, his head down and his gaze unwilling to meet Gustave's, he still cherished watching his knight's impeccable table manners from under his bangs.

It was foolish of him, perhaps even childish, to get his hopes up after a simple name-sharing, bed-placing sluggish night -- Gustave might as well have been treating him like he did Annette for all Byleth knew. Calling a younger person, although of higher bearing, by their name during a time they could not hear just to show how apart they were in maturity.

Or something.

Byleth groaned, resting his pounding forehead on the back of his hand which still held the fork. He knew Gustave. He wasn't like that. He wouldn't admonish someone because of their age!

But then, what did last night mean, if not a wish for something more to happen?

Was that all wishful thinking from Byleth's part? If he looked at the scene from a bystander's eyes, would he only see a proper knight caring for his liege? Byleth had had his share of knight-watching from his time as a teacher at the academy, and even more so during the war.

He had seen Dedue do almost the same thing with Dimitri -- trying and failing to carry him as he slept, making him food as he woke up, being always there for whichever need the Prince could have... Byleth had witnessed such undying display of loyalty many, many times.

Was it what that was? Loyalty? Duty?

Byleth wanted to paint the picture in a rosy hue, but even Gustave himself had so earnestly denied the matter mere moments ago. He shouldn't think too much into it. He shouldn't hope. His heart should not flutter like this with the memory of how good it felt to hear his name in Gustave's voice.

How warm and strong the knight's arms were, and how easily he was carried through the corridors. How caring Gustave had been during it all, even embarrassing himself in being uncharacteristically clumsy.

There was no way Byleth could forget, neither brush it off as simple loyalty! And yet... Gustave's readied denial made the Archbishop's heart fall every time his brain replayed the scene.

A warm hand over his own made Byleth pull away in panic, quickly lifting his head. "Hu-weh?" He blurted out, his face devoid of color.

Gustave immediately retracted his touch, fearing he had disgusted the poor Archbishop with his vain attempt of carefully calling for his attention.

"Forgive me for my rudeness, my liege." He bowed slightly, hand over his own chest. "But you've barely touched your food. Is there truly nothing more worrying you?"

Huffing, Byleth felt his vision split from how fast his heart was beating. For a moment he thought Gustave had seen through his deepest desires and accepted him. Or rejected him.

Byleth didn't know what would be worse for his heart.

"I'm... fine." He said after a while, twirling the fork between his fingers before holding it properly so as to finally eat. "But I have something to say once we go back to my office."

"I will listen to any of your commands, my liege." Gustave concurred gracefully, his expression stern as usual, though only a trained eye could notice how his brow flickered slightly at the mention of the talk.

They once again walked in silence through the halls as they headed back to Byleth's study.

"I believe there was something you wished to tell me?" Gustave crossed his arms behind his back, his posture erect and impeccable.

In contrast to Byleth's slight slouch. "I have, yes." He said as he entered the door Gustave promptly opened for him. "You should visit your family." He said after taking three steps inside, not bothering to look back.

Which had been a mistake on his part, for he missed the look of utter shock and loneliness that ran so quick across Gustave face it was as though it had never been there. "My liege...? Have I displeased you so deeply that you would send me away?"

"Oh, come now." Byleth forced a smile as he circled his desk so as to sit behind it. "You haven't gone in a while, right? Actually, I think you only went two or three times after you started serving me here, three years and a half ago, I believe? They must miss you so very dearly."

Gustave felt as though Byleth's words were shoving him back into his place; back into where he belonged. Where he should have put himself at with more energy.

Of course, thoughts of his family never left his mind. Why, just earlier today he remembered how much Annette and Allinda enjoyed a good cup of tea with honey before a meal to 'open up' their appetites, as they liked to say... But those were far-away thoughts, memories he could barely grasp with the tip of fingers.

They were always at the back of his mind, yes.

But Byleth had always been at the front, especially lately.

Hearing Byleth himself mention his family made Gustave feel as though he had been betraying someone, though he wasn't certain whom. Himself? Byleth? His wife, Allinda? Annette? King Lambert?

The list of people Gustave had to live for to repay his sins was as long as the years it would take him to do so, which made him only wish to be able to live that long to see it all done.

From a parent and estranged husband's standpoint, there was absolutely no reason to refuse Byleth's order. Why, he would be able to go back to see how much his homeland had changed under King Dimitri's rule and spend time with his family.

Yet, his heart refused, bickering within his chest as though it were a crying child wanting to be tended to. Gustave opened and closed his mouth, a bitter taste preventing him to speak for a moment of two, but quickly regaining his composure. "As I do them, Archbishop." He said in a clear voice, piercing Byleth's heart. "However, I cannot simply go and leave you unattended-"

"My duties will keep me here at the monastery for a good part of the semester, as you know." Byleth interrupted, wanting to hide from Gustave's sight lest he started wailing and begging for him to stay instead. "I promise I'll summon you once I'm in need of your services -- at the upcoming summit with the western church."

That meeting was scheduled to happen in five months! Byleth was truly sending Gustave away like that-

"We can meet in Fhirdiad, halfway to the Western-" the Archbishop continued, not giving the knight the luxury of even think straight.

"I must refuse." Gustave said immediately, finally remembering he could walk towards Byleth's desk.

"Gustave?" The Archbishop looked up to the approaching man, his heart racing. Why was he so intent on staying? He should be happy to see his family-

"I refuse meeting halfway, my liege. I will not allow you to leave Garreg Mach without my personal escort. It was because I agreed to meet King Lambert in Duscur that the tragedy happened. I will not allow it to happen again; not while I still draw enough breath to protect you."

Blinking, Byleth felt elated and disappointed at the same time -- happy to be held in such high regard by Gustave, but sad that the other man wasn't saying he would rather not leave altogether.

"... Very well," he looked down to the papers on his desk, already neatly organized after this morning's meetings. "Then I shall grant you leave to be with your family, but I want you to return fifteen days prior to my departure to the Western Church. That should be enough time to let you in on all formations and details. Is that acceptable?"

Gustave bowed deeply, one hand over his chest. "It is, my liege. It's most magnanimous of you to take my family in consideration during such a turbulent time of your new post." He straightened his back swiftly, his serious gaze almost piercing through Byleth's regretful one. "Then I shall take my leave to prepare for the trip. I shall send a letter to precede my arrival, as well."

Byleth simply nodded, lowering his head so he wouldn't see the knight leaving. His heart was heavy enough with only listening to the strong steps becoming more and more distant, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Gustave left the room with a renewed sense of guilt -- how dare he get complacent in his thoughts of atonement! How dare he start to enjoy his time at the monastery while there were people he had hurt waiting for his return so he could pay for his sins?

How... how dare he.

His jaw was numb so hard did he grit his teeth, his fists clenched with such strength they trembled. How dare he.

The day Gustave departed, Byleth didn't go see him at the gate. Instead, he watched from atop the Goddess Tower as the knight left with an uncharacteristic hunch on his back, mounted on his horse towards the frigid Fhirdiad.

It hurt to see him go.

It hurt to have him close.

It hurt, hurt, hurt... "Oh, Father..." Byleth choked a tearless sob, holding the ring Jeralt had given him a lifetime ago. "Forgive me... I don't think I'll be able to pass on this ring after all." He clutched it close to his chest, looking at the same spot Gustave had pledged allegiance to him over three years ago.

Byleth could feel the warmth of that same sun, the dazzling sunset painting Gustave's hair in a purple light engraving itself into his own heart, never to leave. He would never forget that day, for as long as he lived. He had known, ever since the day he started carrying the ring to present it to his love, that he would never be able to do it to anyone but Gustave.

A man plagued by a life of dragging guilt.

A man whose smile came easily whenever he saw a child having fun. A man who was stern regarding meals, but lenient when it came to letting Byleth indulge into a snack or two.

He was stern most of the time, his hardened expression already dug into his face from wearing it daily over the years -- but whenever it all broke down to show his smile it only made Byleth feel his knees grow weak and his throat want to cry out.

Warm tears rolled from Byleth's cheeks; tears his skin hadn't felt in a long, long time. "It hurts so much, Father... Tell me what I should do!" his knees gave out in front of the balcony, the memory of a dusk-painted Gustave flooding his mind. He had suppressed these feelings for so, so very long.

So long did he try to wear the mask of a mature man; to be seen as an equal by Gustave. To be acknowledged. To... to be loved.

Loved by the man he oh so desperately wanted, but was the last man on the land he could ever hope to have. So cruel was the fate of a man who wanted nothing more than to share in the warmth of the one he oh so cherished...

He cried four years' worth of tears, his fingers cramping with the strength he used to hold onto the small ring. Day turned to afternoon, the Archbishop unmoving from his spot, a faraway thought at the back of his mind telling him that people would be freaking out looking for him at that moment. His eyes red from crying for so long, Byleth slowly directed his gaze to his closed hands, struggling to pry them open from their cramping position.

Once again he looked at the ring he was never going to share with his love, watching how it stared back at him.

In the six months that followed, Gustave devoted himself to doing whatever his family desired, as though they were his new lieges instead of his own flesh and blood.

Annette complained a lot at first, forcefully trying to make him act more natural around them, but it turned out to be rather difficult. Gustave wasn't the same man he was in the past. It was as though he had truly turned into Gilbert -- a hardened man that hadn't seen his family in so long he forgot how to interact with them without apologizing for every misstep; or indulging their every wish.

Being once again reunited with Allinda made Gustave's heart sink, but don't get him wrong. He loved and thought the world of her. She was a bright woman who managed to raise their child alongside his brother, despite holding onto the hope that her husband would come back after so long. He held her dearly close into his heart, their bonds of friendship certainly ones that would never break.

Hence the guilt in Gustave's heart. He loved Allinda as his dear friend. He wasn't supposed to feel that way towards the woman whose life he most certainly ruined. He had to love her and make up to all of the years he made her wait and suffer for him.

Yet, he could only softly hold her hand and kiss her forehead whenever they met, his heart wanting her near, but not too close.

Gustave started noticing his own shift of behavior towards his wife only after Byleth forcefully sent him there -- for the past four years he had been visiting, never did he think something was wrong.

But it was.

Allinda and Annette both realized it, but it was as though they wanted him to realize it himself instead.

The way he always looked out of the window whenever he came home, waiting for the courier to bring the message that it was time to return to the monastery.

The way he cared for them from a safe distance, as though there were an invisible barrier around his heart that neither of them could get too close to.

The way his smile would wear a bright glint whenever he spoke of his time at the monastery.

They both knew it, but they wanted him to figure it out by himself.

This time they spent together was precious, don't get them wrong. It was a time they were making up for the decade they lost -- and although the exact same atmosphere couldn't be brought out, they could still get along as a family with a bond just as strong yet inherently different.

The day the message finally came for Gustave to return to the monastery, the knight unconsciously wore the brightest smile Allinda had seen him bear in over twenty years -- perhaps ever since Annette had been born, really.

It was the smile of a man going back to where he belonged -- to be alongside the one he had placed his heart with.

She patted his shoulder. "You don't need to hold yourself back for me, you know."

The letter fell flat on the floor, such was Gustave's surprise. "Allinda-"

"I'm glad you finally noticed, too, good grief." She crossed her arms playfully. "Even Annette was getting tired of waiting."

Gustave held both of Allinda's hands. "I cannot- Allinda, the pain I've caused you-"

"Honestly, the way you are now is only going to bring me MORE pain. I'd rather see you smiling truthfully during your time here than only when it's time for you to go. And if you can only smile when you talk about the Archbishop, then so be it." She rubbed her thumbs over his hands, glad to be able to have this conversation with a level head. If she had tried to say these same words seven years ago, she would be throwing a fit.

But now she was okay.

They were okay.

Gustave's head drooped in shame, his face contorting into an expression he couldn't quite explain. "Allinda-"

"Shh, save your tears for your man." She dried an odd tear or two from his cheeks, squeezing his hand with her other one. "I'm not saying you shouldn't come back -- I still hold you dear into my heart and wouldn't want to lose a friend -- I just don't want you to feel obligated to be with me because of the past. It's fine already."

His chin trembling, Gustave dared wrap his arms around Allinda, softly sobbing by her shoulder. He hadn't the words to thank nor apologize, the burden of the overpowering guilt he felt slowly, ever so slowly dissipating from his back.

During the journey back, Gustave procured an item that he would most certainly need once he returned to the monastery. One that he should have given Byleth four years ago, but was much of a coward to do so then.

Yet, Byleth wasn't there to welcome him once he came back.

But it didn't matter.

He felt a youthful spring in his step as he climbed the Goddess Tower, the deepest, most romantic part of his heart telling him that Byleth would be there waiting for him, much like before.

His lungs burning from the strenuous climb, Gustave wheezed once he reached the top, the afternoon light coloring Byleth's hair in a dazzling purple. An intricate ring hung by the Archbishop's neck as a makeshift necklace, making the knight's gaze turn to it momentarily.

"G-Gustave! How did you know I-" Byleth stuttered, quickly hiding the ring from his sight.

Panting, slowly regaining his breath, Gustave tried to straighten his back to no avail. "I have come... to renew my vow to you... Byleth."

Looking away from the knight, it took more than a minute for Gustave's words to ring into Byleth's heart. "Your knightly vows, I'm presuming?"

"No." Gustave smiled, his eyebrows deep with worry and regret. The Archbishop didn't even flinch with the mention of his name, after all that scene from half a year ago...

"Then...?"

Gustave took out the small box which contained the ring he had bought for his beloved, solemnly presenting it to him. "Forgive me for not kneeling, my lie- no, my beloved, for I think that if I were to do it now after running all these stairs I would not be able to get up."

Byleth's hands fell limp on either side of his body, the ring dangling by his necklace. "This- I- Gustave- Your family-"

"Alas," the knight smiled, taking a step towards his liege and love. He relished on seeing how Byleth didn't move and simply raised his chin so their eye contact wouldn't break. "It was my ex-wife who had to give me the push I needed to do this, I am ashamed to admit."

Surely thinking he was dreaming, Byleth placed both hands over Gustave's chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat, their eyes never leaving one another. "To do 'this' what? Gustave, you need to say everything or else I'll keep believing you'll swear to be my knight again, but now with rings!"

"Hah!" The knight threw his head back. "I may have traumatized you, have I not, my love? Forgive me for being such a stubborn old man for so long... Allow me to say it fully: I love you, Byleth, and have been in love with you for quite some time now. Forgive me for denying these feelings for so long; but I will be yours right at this moment if you'll be mine for as long as this lifespan of mine allows."

Byleth slammed his head into Gustave's chest, making the older man let out a strangled 'oof!'. "You're so slow! By the goddess, it took you long enough!" He sniffled, gripping at the ring by his neck. "I love you so much I still think this is a dream."

"Allow me to disperse such thoughts, then?" Gustave said, slowly lifting Byleth's chin with his index, intertwining their breaths as their lips brushed against one another.

Byleth felt his tears itching down his cheeks, his legs trembling so much he felt faint. But once he closed his eyes to finally enjoy the rough, delicate kiss of his beloved Gustave, everything felt right again.

They would exchange rings and finally accept each other's feelings... But for now, they would enjoy that overly due, much needed, sweet kiss. The first one that would mark the beginning of the love of their lives.

#gilbert fire emblem #gilbert x m!byleth #byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe 3h #spoilers #fe 3h spoilers #my writings #yuki's commissions

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mysticandskepticmuses · 5 years ago

Photo

APPEARANCE

Eyes: His eyes are a tawny brown, though the specific shade tends to alter just slightly given his mood, shifting between a paler tan to a darker, stormier mahogany. His eyes are sometimes the most expressive feature of his face, coupled with the thick eyebrows that square off over them.

Hair: Logan’s hair is dark; a mahogany hue with shades of a darker almost black mingled within. It is most often kept parted down the middle, and swept up and back, curling in on itself somewhat in a practiced unkempt look that does, ironically or no, resemble slightly the mane and fur tufts of his code name’s namesake. Even if not styled, it has a natural curl to it, and is somewhat unruly. He is also somewhat known for his sideburns that creep along his jaw, and are thick, and squared off.

Height: Perhaps shorter than one might initially recall, Logan stands at only five feet and nine inches. His build is stocky, however, and weighs a touch over two hundred pounds.

Body: He is a little on the stocky side, more bulk than lean, especially given his ‘petite’ frame (though his height probably not something anyone would opt to comment on to his face at least). His face is definitely boxy in shape and frame, and in general he is rather furry.

Other distinguishing features: He has practically nothing in the way of scars, as his regenerative abilities heal any wounds.

Wardrobe: Given the high destruction rate of his attire, he opts for the casual. Jeans and a white wife-beater are a particularly common sight, with combat or hiking boots, and usually a leather jacket of some sort or another as the material tends to last longer than others. Occasionally, he might wear a long sleeved flannel with the sleeves rolled up, most often left unbuttoned and untucked, and for a particularly nice occasion, he might button and tuck, respectively.

Face Claim: Hugh Jackman

PERSONALITY

OVERALL :: There are many terms that might be used at a whim to describe Logan, and many of them would not be considered appropriate for children’s ears, but if there is anything that almost anyone that’s ever met him could agree upon, it’s that he’s one stubborn son of a bitch. It is almost impossible to sway him from his perspective once he’s made up his mind, but it’s happened on the rare occasion. He tends to keep himself rather withdrawn from those around him, having found in the long run that it was easier for himself that way, if a lot more lonely in the end. Still, when it comes down to it, he has a sense of morality that does not allow him to just walk away when someone’s really in trouble, and if one ever actually reaches the status of friend, or loved one, there is little to nothing that he wouldn’t do for them.. and there is no end to the lengths that he would go to for revenge for the ones he’s loved – and he has proved this time and time again with Victor and sticking by him regardless of the shit the two of them get dragged into.

– Quiet; Logan doesn’t believe in using ten words, when one would do, and is not above using silent forms of communication to get his point across. He isn’t one to debate, though arguing is something he’s not above when it comes to getting his way or his point across. Still, as often as not, he’d just as soon do what needs to be done rather than sitting around and jawing about it all day.

– Stubborn; What he might at times call being strong-willed, or resolute, is really just plain stubbornness. There isn’t much of any other way to describe it. He doesn’t often change his mind, and from those that have tried it’s often described as something akin to the water versus mountain scenario. Or talking to a wall.

– Morality; The truth of the matter is, whether Logan cares to admit it or not (and he won’t), he’s not as much the monster that he thinks he is, though that is not to say he’s warm and cuddly either. He does bite, and he has no qualms about killing when he has to. But he doesn’t like watching people get hurt that don’t deserve it, and in the end he can’t, or won’t, stand by and watch. He might, on the circumstances, just leave… but with the latest of associates to affect his actions he’s more likely to actively interfere.

– Cranky; He’s quick to go from happy to mad, from sad to mad, from confused to mad, from asleep to mad… pretty much anything to cranky is a pretty easy and guaranteed conclusion. Still, he has a sense of humor that keeps him entertained, even if at other people’s expense at times, but more often than not his humor would be considered a very private joke… like… just his.

Likes:

Creature comforts :: While Logan has learned to get by with little, he does enjoy the creature comforts of life; good food, good booze, good cigars, comfortable clothes, semi clean sheets, a hot shower… relative privacy, these are things he can appreciate.

Tracking :: Part of the hunt, he enjoys tracking for the sake of it, following his prey with his heightened senses, and he finds it good training as well to ensure that he can find who it is he needs to when the time comes.

Good looking women :: Brunettes, blonds, redheads… there’s really not many of them that he can’t find something to like about, but the particularly attractive ones generally garner a second look… or third… he is only a man, after all…

Freedom :: Logan dislikes the feeling of being confined or controlled, be it physically restrained or pinned, or being ordered around and told what to do. It simply grates against his nature, and direct opposition isn’t often the way to get him to do anything.

Fighting :: There is an animalistic side of his nature that he cannot ever really hide, as much as he might wish he could at times, and there is something about a really good knock down drag out fight that just gets the blood flowing like nothing else.

Dislikes:

Being crowded :: Something akin to claustrophobia perhaps, though mostly only in regards to being around a lot of people, something that Logan’s not overly comfortable with. More people equal more possible threats, or possible human shields for the other guys.

Sleeping :: While it might be one of the things even he needs, that doesn’t mean he has to like it, and he certainly doesn’t like the nightmares that it brings with it. If he had his way he’d just as soon not sleep ever again.

Being controlled :: Logan decides what Logan does. Anyone that thinks they can manipulate, control, blackmail, or order him around has got another thing coming and he will go to extremes to prove that point when he feels particularly affronted.

Lack of vices :: Particularly, a lack of cigars and beer at hand.

Victor ;; While it is true that he cares about his brother and would die for him if it came to that, there are times the older male grates on Logan’s last nerve, particularly when Victor’s increasing desire for bloodshed and rash behavior ends up getting Logan shot.

Habits:

Smoking ;; One of the few ‘luxuries’ he’ll spend money on or go out of his way to get. He’s almost always got a cigar in hand, in his mouth, or at the very least in a pocket.

Drinking :: A fan of beer, and a fan of whiskey, he somehow just feels more at ease with a glass or a bottle in his hand, despite the fact that it takes more than he could really drink in one go to get him actually drunk.

Fighting :: It’s in his nature, and he’s got a bad habit of picking them even when he should just let things go. That, sadly, is not in his nature…

Luck :: Bad luck, that is. Logan has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or at least that’s how he’d put it, though others might say he was there just at the right time. For them.

MUTATION CLASS: Regeneration, heightened senses, superhuman strength, etc, and claws.

MUTATION STRENGTH:

Regenerative healing factor :: By the time he reached adulthood his capacity to regenerate from near or fatal wounds was rapid enough that even a bullet to the head would prove to take only minutes to recover from. Adding to that the fact that his bones themselves are unbreakable, which protects his nervous system, brain matter, and some of his vital organs, it is practically impossible to keep him down for any length of time; even sedatives tend not to last long as his system and metabolic rate is superhuman.

Heightened Senses :: Like his namesake, he has enhanced senses; particularly olfactory and auditory. He can hear across extraordinary distances and is able to determine location of people or creatures based on scent when others would not. This often gives him just that extra edge necessary in a combat situation, especially when any attempt at subterfuge is being used against him.

Superhuman strength, stamina, agility and reflexes :: If it was not for the combination of his regenerative abilities, and his superhuman strength, stamina, and agility, there would have been no way for him to have survived, much less carried and adjusted to the additional weight of the adamantium treatment he underwent. His true physical prowess is a result of not only his mutation, but of a history of training, of fighting, and exerting himself to the extremes when he can. He moves much as his namesake, capable of inhuman bounds and leaps, crossing seemingly impossible distances with a single jump or climbing up surfaces that would otherwise be insurmountable.

Delayed aging :: An affectation of his regeneratiive healing ability, his body is almost entirely in a state of stasis. He shows no sign of his hundred or more years of age, having seemed to stop aging at the prime of his adulthood. Perhaps, if he lived long enough, the barely perceptible increments of aging might begin to make themselves known.

Adamantium-bonded skeleton :: The result of an experiment that he underwent at the hands of Stryker after he believed that he would need the additional armament and impervious in order to defeat his half-brother for the supposed death of his love, the experiment is one that he volunteered for, though he still does not remember the how, or why at the current point in the timeline. Combined with his regenerative abilities, and his strength, the internal armor makes him practically immortal.

Claws :: Logan has a set of three claws on each hand that extend from between the four knuckles on either hand. After the procedure performed on him by Stryker, the claws that emerge are more blades than claw shaped, razor sharp and curving slightly inwards towards his hands. The once bone claws are now, as all the rest of the adamantium coated bones in his form, indestructible. He has the ability to extend or retract his claws at will, and can even operate them individually, as he often proves by giving the proverbial bird with an adamantium claw. There is no material, except for adamantium itself that can withstand the damage from his claws, be it piercing or slashing damage there is very little that has a chance to remain impervious to his strike if he connects.

MUTATION WEAKNESS:

Though most probably would not see it as such, to Logan one of the major flaws of his abilities is the fact that he does not age, or if he does it’s as such an imperceptible rate that he can not see the difference when he looks at his own reflection. It is probable that that stems from the fact that he does not remember any of his life before his escape from Stryker’s facility, and without knowing how old he truly is, where he came from, his name, there is no way for him to learn who he really is, and what his life has been, who he has known, and where he has been, and what kind of person he was before.

The search for his past, which has remained a mystery even in spite of recent events including his run ins with Stryker, has been a driving goal of his for all of the life that he can in fact, recall, and this is something that others have attempted to use against him in the past, and might do so again. Even still, his longevity .. and possible immortality have made it all the harder for him to come to any sort of attachments in his life.

In the long term scheme of things, it is something that he has had to force himself to come to terms in in regards to his personal relationships with those around him. It is a guarantee that he will outlive ninety nine percent of the people that he knows, or will ever care about, and it is that knowledge that often keeps him closed off from those around him in an attempt to keep himself from suffering the pain of their loss later in his life. He has seen lovers die, perhaps even for their tie to him, and his ability to outlive and outlast even the end of the world weighs heavily on his shoulders. He doesn’t want to always be the last man standing, and he worried that when it comes to it, he will be.

On a more commonly acknowledged scale of drawbacks to his powers, however… the one that has proven particularly irksome for him is the fact that he is, in fact, entirely coated in metal. That makes travel through conventional means either impossible, or extraordinarily complicated, and is a weakness that Magneto has used against him on multiple occasions. The additional weight of the metal in his body, while not a problem to him, causes technical issues at times, as well; he wears through suspension on motorcycles and cars at an incredible rate.

He also finds there are times when his strength gets away from him. When his temper flares, or if he loses control of himself, or even upon waking from his sleep, it is not rare for him to find the bed collapsed beneath his weight in the tossing and turning (when not in the Institute, whose beds are made for such things), or to find headboards snapped of scarred by his claws, or tables that creak and snap beneath his hands when he isn’t paying attention.

His regenerative ability also has the drawback that things such as medications or even alcohol have no lasting effect on him, making it close to impossible to keep him sedated for any examinations or travels, or even something that could be taken for nausea ineffective, and make it near impossible for him to ever get truly intoxicated – though that doesn’t keep him from trying on occasion.

#DO NOT REBLOG.#HEADCANON.#HEADCANON. ( logan howlett. )

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misty-marvel-fanfics · 6 years ago

Text

Piece By Broken Piece

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

A/N: The reader has been released from your duties as a H.Y.D.R.A. agent, the contract agreed upon by your father fulfilled. Now free, you have found yourself living at the Avengers Compound, piecing your life together with the help of Tony Stark and B.A.R.T. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but coming face to face with Bucky Barnes, the man who trained you, was a massive bump in the road to recovery. To your surprise, Bucky remembers you, the life you had together. And he is wracked with guilt, blaming himself.

Кукла is Russian for Doll

Mалый is Russian for Baby

It felt like an eternity since either one of you had said a word, the truth sitting between you like a sinking ship. Neither of you wanted to be the one to break the silence, to take the inevitable first step towards both your healing. Finally, he looked at you, tears in his eyes.

“I…I don’t…” Bucky’s voice cracked, the tears rolling down his cheeks as his icy blue eyes locked on yours. “I can’t change what happened,” he managed to breath, his long, thick, yet nimble fingers combing his locks back.

“I wish I could, you know that, Кукла.” He wanted to hold you, like he had a thousand times before when you were upset, or scared. But this time it was his fault you were hurting.

You had met him when you were only four, at your family home. He was a

mountain of a man, yet everyone in the room somehow behaved as if he wasn’t even there. That is, until you left your father's side, walking straight to him. You were still in your tutu and ballet shoes, your hair pulled up in a chignon. Your small, delicate hand reached up, touching his vibranium hand.

“See,” Your father boasted. “She is ready. Fearless, agile. She will make a fine addition to H.Y.D.R.A. Even Soldat could not deny this.” As your father and the other men continued their negotiations, Soldat stood still, the whirring of the mechanics in his arm the only sound he made as you continued to examine his metal hand. By the end of the night, your bags had been packed and you were on your way back to Russia, H.Y.D.R.A.s newest recruit.

You had spent years under his watchful eye as he trained you to be an assassin. There were days when you hated him, when you wished he would drag the blade of his knife across your throat and end the torture he was putting you through, but he never did. You learned, got stronger, faster, more agile. Eventually, your training sessions began to feel different. He never said it, but when you passed your final test, he was proud. You saw it in his eyes.

“You will need a codename,” he stated as you readied for your first mission with him. “Your father, he called you Mалый, yes?” His eyes raked over your now 18-year-old frame. “I think Кукла suits you better.” That was the moment it all changed. No longer were you just another agent. You were his. He protected you at every turn, and you him. You were inseparable. It had been an unspoken truth between you two for years, but this was deeper. You had fallen in love with him, and he with you.

The relationship, of course, was used to H.Y.D.R.A.s advantage. Their two best agents, side by side. No longer did they need to freeze Bucky between missions. He never left your side, not even when you were having your implants installed. It was no surprise when you became pregnant, another boon for the agency. A natural born super soldier, to be raised under H.Y.D.R.A. control. But the happiness was short lived.

Soon your instincts to protect your child took over. Every time they came for your child, you fought. You fought to keep him safe. You fought to keep your family whole. And they fought back, using Bucky against you. After all, he was the one who trained you. He was your handler.

“Y/N,” he whispered, cupping your face. “Let them take him. I promise, they won’t harm him. They need him, as much as they need us, okay?”

“No,” you pleaded, pulling away, holding your child tightly to your body as the scientists entered, flanked by armed guards and Bucky’s handler. Bucky moved towards you, the pain evident in his eyes, pleading with you to cooperate. But you were firm, backing away as you heard them speak his trigger words.

“Longing…” Bucky's eyes went wide, his pace slowing. You could see the fear in him.

“Rusted…” His left hand clenched, his eyes locked on yours. He saw the fear welling in you.

“Furnace…” The fear in you fought with the love you have for him, wanting to run, wanting to stay with him.

“Daybreak…” Your heart pounded in your chest as his expression goes blank, any trace of the man you loved gone.

“Seventeen…” A spark, a gleam in his eyes, one you’ve seen before. It’s not Bucky, but it’s not Soldat. Not yet.

“Benign…” He’s stopped, his body relaxed. Even if he wanted to protect you and your son, he couldn’t.

“Nine…” You run to your room, locking the door behind you. You know it’s not going to stop him. At best it will give you another ten seconds, but ten seconds could save your child’s life.

“Homecoming…” You only barely here the word as you’re climbing into the vents above your quarters, baby crying, feeding off your fear. You don’t need to see your Bucky to know what’s happening. You’ve seen it before. Jaw set, body tense.

“One…” You don’t hear it. Your crawling through the vents, the same way you did as a child when you were seeking him out to keep away the nightmares. Only now, he is the nightmare, and there’s no waking up.

“Freight car.” Bucky is gone. Only Soldat remained. His eyes are dark as his handler gives him his mission. Retrieve the child and it’s mother. Alive.

You cringed as you heard the vents creak beneath his weight, your body a shield between him and your child. It didn’t take long for him to find you. For all the memory wipes H.Y.D.R.A had done, he remembered how you would use the ventilation system to get around security. Your heart raced as he came into view, his eyes dead.

“Please,” you whimpered. “H-he's a baby…our baby.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you kicked at him, hoping to make him see who you were. But it was no use. He dodged each kick, smirking when his flesh hand wrapped victoriously around an ankle, dragging you backwards as agents flanked from the other side, snatching your child. Your screams echoed through the vents. That is, until his metal hand wrapped around your neck, your world going dark. When you came to you were strapped in the Memory Suppressing Machine, surrounded.

“Prep her. Wipe her. She can’t remember any of this.” You managed to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s limp body being carried out of the room before you felt a surge of pain, your screams silenced by H.Y.D.R.A. You came to hours later, in your bed, with Bucky and your son, both seemingly asleep. No memory of the previous events. Blissfully unaware of the horrors you had just endured, but a nagging feeling you were no longer safe. Not the way you had been.

"I tried to stop them," he choked out, searching your eyes. "Y/N, you know I would never...I loved you, Y/N, and our son. I still do. I don’t blame you if you hate me, though. The way you looked at me...I wish..."

“Bucky,” you sighed, moving closer to him, kneeling before him as you took his hands in yours, tears rolling down your cheeks. “We can’t change what happened, okay? And…I don’t think I would want to. I love you, and…I don’t blame you for anything. That place…those people...” You pressed your lips to his, wiping his tears as they fell. "We're in this together, alright?"

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #soldat #bucky barnes

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quirklessbunny · 6 years ago

Text

A Prescription for Love

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Relationship: Promptis

Summary: Dr. Caelum has been pining for the x-ray technician, Prompto Argentum, for a long time. He had no idea that Prompto felt the same way.

Full fic under the readmore

Happy Birthday @terrestrialtooru !! I hope you like it!

Noctis is sitting in the back office when a familiar blond head pops around the door frame. He has to hold back a smile as he welcomes him in, nodding to him. “Something I can do for you, Argentum?” he asks, standing and stepping around around his desk to take the envelope held out to him.

“These are for the kid who swallowed a marble. He actually has like eight or nine that he swallowed, so you better watch that one. Or make one of the interns watch him, like usual.” He laughs a little, then leans back on the wall. Prompto is just trying to extend the conversation. “Anyway, you know where I am if you need another one,” he says, blushing a little as he leaves. That was stupidly embarrassing, he tells himself.

Noctis laughs a little. “Yep, in the x-ray room. As per usual. See ya, Argentum,” he says, waving as he leaves. He sits down and looks over the x-rays, then hands them over to an interns. He had hopes Prompto would stay just a little longer, but he never seems to stick around. It's no matter, he's sure, kids are always in need of x-rays it seems.

Noctis stands up, heading through crowded hallways to his next patient, smiling as he steps inside. “Hello, Sadie. My name is Dr. Caelum, but you can just call me Noct if it's easier,” he says to her, wanting her to calm down. He can tell she's in immense pain, and having her panicking isn't going to help anything. “What hurts most?” He makes sure to keep a respectful distance from her, because he's noticed most kids seem to calm down more when they're not cornered.

Sadie looks up at him. “My arm hurts. Mommy says she thinks I broke it,” she whispers, looking at Noctis fearfully. “Is it going to hurt to fix it?”

Noctis hums in thought. “May I see? I won't touch, but if you can hold it out to me, I'll take a look. Then we'll go get some x-rays, and if it's broken, I'll give you a really cool cast. You can have all your friends at school sign it,” he tells her. “It might hurt a little bit at first, but it'll heal up really nicely, and then it'll stop hurting, alright?” Noctis looks over her arm then nods, standing up. “Let's head down to the x-ray room, and if you sit still for it, I'll give you a lollipop.”

Sadie smiles at that. “I'm gonna be really good, right mommy?” she says, holding her mom's hand as they walk down the hall to the x-ray room. Noctis smiles at Prompto as he walks in, then comes over to him.

“This is Sadie. I need an x-ray of her arm. I suspect it's broken in a clean break, but a confirmation is good. She's ten,” Noctis explains, looking down at her sheet. “Make sure not to move her arm too much, she's afraid for it to be touched.”

Prompto greets him, blushing a little, then smiles at her. “Nice to meet you, Sadie! I'm Prompto. I'm just gonna get a quick x-ray of your arm, alright? I promise I won't touch it,” he says, gently leading her over to the machine. He helps her get the protective shield over herself and lets her move her own arm, then steps back with her mother to take the images. Noctis is standing close behind him. Too close, almost. He blushes a little more as he looks at the screen.

“Alright,” Noctis says, heading back out and gently removing the lead vest once more. “I'm going to have these developed. I'll have a resident take you back to the room while I look them over, then I'll come talk to you both about it. And of course, bring Miss Sadie a lollipop for doing so well.” Noctis calls a resident in and has them led back to the room, then closes the door to the x-ray lab.

“I have a question,” Noctis says, leaning against the counter. “Do you want to get a drink after work today? I'm buying.” He gives Prompto a small smile, living for the blush that spreads across his cheeks at the question. “What? You seem like a cool guy and I'd like to be your friend.” He turns, stepping towards Prompto until he's backed into the desk, effectively trapping him. “Plus, I don't miss the fact that you bring everything to me yourself. You don't do that with any of the other doctors, I've asked around.”

Prompto blushes even more, sitting back on the desk. “Yeah, well...that's because I might like you more than I like them,” he responds. He's been in love with Noctis for a while, because he's always so kind and when he smiles, Prompto's heart pounds. “Yeah, I'll get a drink with you, Noct. You're buying, so I have no reason to say no, right?” He grins, jumping down and moving around Noctis.

“You know, I really admire what you do, Noctis. I'd really like to get to know you more. Maybe spend some time together, some nights,” he says with a flirtatious little smile. “But right now, you have more important things than me.” He grabs the developed x-rays and hands them over to Noctis, smiling. “I'll meet you out front after work. Don't make me wait too long, it's cold outside.”

Noctis' cheeks turn light red. “It would absolutely be my pleasure to get to know you more, and even to spend some nights with you.” He pauses, then smiles back at Prompto. “You're an utter tease, Argentum. Want a lollipop, since you did so good?” he teases. Prompto laughs a little then gets closer to Noctis once more.

“You got cherry?”

“Sure do,” he says, pulling it out of the pocket of his coat, then holds it out to the technician.

“Thanks, Noctis. I have such a sweet tooth,” Prompto says, pulling the plastic off. He leans up, face mere centimetres from Noctis', then pops the candy into his mouth and turns away, sitting down at his desk. “Have a nice rest of your day, Dr. Caelum. I'll see you after work.” He doesn't even look up from his computer as Noctis leaves the room.

Prompto is a little anxious for what seems to be a date at this point. He's been trying for weeks to hint to Noctis that he's interested in him, but it didn't seem to be making a difference. Noctis drops in sometimes, when he doesn't need to, but Prompto had spent a very long time convincing himself that it was nothing. Until Noctis had practically shoved him against the desk. It felt like Noctis would have gone even further if he hadn't ducked away.

After his shift ends, he stands up and heads to the lounge, changing into more comfortable clothes. He pulls on his winter coat and heads outside, bag slung over his shoulder. He blows into his hands then rubs them together, trying to ward off the absolute cold. Prompto bounces from foot to foot, glancing at the front door every once in a while. He moves and sits on the bench, bouncing his leg. His ass is cold and a little wet now, but it's better than standing around.

Prompto crosses his arms over his chest, staring at the clear glass doors, then sighs softly. How long is Noctis going to take, he wonders. He isn't sure, but he knows he'd wait quite a while, even in this cold. Prompto leans back on the bench, biting his lower lip. Time passes, and he worries that Noctis isn't going to show. A quick check to his phone tells him he's been waiting for about an hour. He puffs his cheeks out and rubs his hands together, then sighs.

Prompto stands up, feeling a little like someone who got rejected in the worst way. Noctis didn't show, and Prompto just waited outside in the snow like a fool. Of course Noctis isn't actually interested in him. Why would he be? He feels his eyes sting, which is dumb. He knew this was going to be the result of agreeing to this date.

He hears the sliding doors open behind him, but after waiting and perking up each time, he doesn't even bother. Just another family member leaving after a visit or someone else is off duty. Nothing to really be excited about.

“Prompto!” Noctis shouts, pausing when he sees that it's snowing, and there's ice. He can't run to catch up to him. “Prompto! Wait!” He dashes out through the slush, feet sliding. He hits his knees and mutters a curse, then stands up quickly, rushing the rest of the way.

Prompto turns at the curse words, then gasps when he sees Noctis coming towards him so quickly. “Noctis! Careful, there's ice! I'm gonna be so mad if you end up in my lap!” he tells him. Noctis tries to slow, but he slides on a piece of ice and slams into Prompto, and they both go down. Prompto groans in pain, laying still as Noctis rolls off of him.

He looks over at Noctis, grabbing his hand softly. “You okay? Why did you run when you knew it was icy?” Prompto asks.

Noctis huffs out a laugh. “I left the most beautiful man in the hospital on the steps for an extra hour, and I thought he was about to leave without me. Of course I'm okay. I had a nice pillow to cushion my fall,” he says, smiling brightly. Snowflakes are landing on Prompto's pale hair and eyelashes, making Noctis fall even more in love. “Let's ditch the bar, huh? I have a few nice bottles of wine at home. We could order a nice dinner, make a proper date of it,” he says, leaning over.

Prompto meets him in the kiss, smiling happily. “Well, I'm going to need to borrow some clothes. Somebody decided to knock me into the filthy slush,” he teases, pushing himself up.

“Alright, I'm sorry, Prom. But you have to admit, it was funny. Plus, I finally got to kiss you,” Noctis responds, standing up as well. He pulls Prompto into a second kiss, smiling softly. “Let's go get you all nice and dry, alright?” Noctis holds Prompto's hand as they make their way through the parking lot. He opens the passenger door for him, smiling softly.

Prompto thanks him and gets in, watching the buildings pass by on the drive. “What do you want to order for dinner?” he asks, looking over at Noctis, who just shrugs. “Fine, if you leave it up to me we're getting pizza.”

Noctis laughs. “Sounds great to me, honestly. I'm just glad I didn't ruin my chances with you. I had a last minute meeting.” He gets out and opens Prompto's door for him. He holds his hand on the way up, only letting go to unlock his door. Noctis heads straight to the back and gets them both a change of clothes. “I'll run your clothes through the wash so you can take them tonight,” Noctis says as he hands over some casual wear.

Prompto thanks him and ducks into the bathroom to change. When he comes back out, Noctis' breath catches in his throat. If he thought Prompto looked beautiful at the hospital, then he's ethereal now, the black clothes baggy on him, contrasting with his beautiful blond hair. But Noctis knows that what makes it look so good is that they're his clothes.

Noctis changes, then comes out to the front, opening his laptop. “What do you want from the pizza place?” he asks, bringing up the website for the closest place. Prompto smiles and tells him what he likes, then sits down beside him. He leans his head on Noctis' shoulder, looking over the order. He turns his head and kisses Noctis' shoulder softly.

“So where's the wine I was promised?” he teases, smiling softly. Prompto runs his fingers down Noctis' arm to slides their fingers together. “We're going to get all drunk and eat some pizza and then what?” he asks softly.

Noctis smiles at him, turning and catching his lips in another kiss. “Well...I have a lot of video games.”

Prompto perks up. “Dude, you know how to make a guy really happy.”

#promptis #prompto argentum #Noctis Lucis Caelum #fluff #my writing

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fan-maddson · 7 years ago

Text

Piece By Broken Piece

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Кукла is Russian for Doll

Mалый is Russian for Baby

Word count: 1,363

Prompt: “I don’t blame you for anything.”

TW: Angst, torture mention

Also, huge thank you to @created-to-protect for reading this, and for being the inspiration behind it!