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thebigqueer · 4 years ago

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"Together" - Leo Valdez & Piper McLean

Summary: Leo confesses to Piper that he loves Jason.

Word Count: 2294

Read on AO3

The wind brushes through Piper’s hair as she and Leo descend down to her new house. They’ve been running through the sky the past few days trying to move equipment around since she’s moved, and so far it’s been pretty good. Leo promised to stay a few days before heading back to his new place at the Waystation, and Piper’s found that she’s grateful for his presence.

It’s just been one new change after another. First the announcement of her move, then Jason’s death, and now suddenly Leo’s alive.

It’s almost funny, to say the least. Leo’s life for Jason’s. It makes her think about the prophecy of the seven…

No, she thinks. You’ve already thought too much about Jason. Just enjoy this time with Leo. He’s going to leave tomorrow and it’s better to let him have your attention.

Piper rocks back and forth as Festus touches the ground. A rumble echoes across the grass as he does. For a few moments, she and Leo simply sit there, her arms wrapped around his warm torso and his curls brushing against the tip of her nose as a soft breeze flows between them.

The sun spills in gold and orange rays across Piper’s new backyard. Green grass burns in the light. A sweet smell surrounds the two as they balance over Festus’ back.

Then Leo shudders. It’s a quick and sudden motion that takes Piper by surprise. He shakes against her, his shoulders shivering in the warm spring air, and he jumps to the ground. His body crumples in on itself as he thuds to the green expanse below them.

“Leo?” Piper asks with surprise. She jumps off the back of the dragon and lands gently by her friend’s side. “Oh, gods, are you alright?”

But Leo barely hears her over his own intrusive voices.

It’s too much. It’s all too much.

How can he be here just as everything is turning to shit? How can he be here, with Jason’s ex-girlfriend, and help her move in like nothing’s wrong in the world?

How can they just forget about Jason so easily?

Sobs rack Leo’s body as he cripples into himself. Tears prickle in his eyes and force shimmering cracks across his face. Painful anguish presses against his chest, billows up to his throat, and sob after sob, tear after tear, he’s letting himself go a little more, letting himself drown in his sorrow.

He barely acknowledges Piper’s gentle hand on his back, barely acknowledges her presence. The world around him swirls and spins, twists under his feet, and he’s hanging on by a bare thread.

He should never have left. He shouldn’t have run away like that.

He shouldn’t have turned from his fears of rejection just to save some girl.

On the inside, Leo knows Calypso isn’t just “some girl.” He knows he helped her achieve a life she never could have had on Ogygia. But nonetheless, a large part of him wonders “what if.” What if he’d never left? What if he’d stayed? What if he’d… he’d confessed to Jason what he really felt?

But now it’s too late, isn’t it? He let Jason slip away. He let all his courage build up for nothing.

He came back in the hopes that he could finally tell Jason what he’d been feeling for so long. Only to find that, in the end, Jason wasn’t even here.

He was dead.

Leo’s body continues thundering with grief and sorrow. He’s cracking from within, letting his emotions spill out, and there’s no mending him. Not after all that he’s gone through.

Distantly, Piper’s voice hums in his ears. Her gentle fingers glide over his back in a comforting manner, but Leo can barely register her caress and kindness. He’s lost. He’s never coming back.

“Leo,” Piper murmurs, her voice as soft as her touch, “it’s alright. You can let it out.”

At her words, a flame bursts in Leo. Rage and jealousy, irritation and frustration crawl up his throat and he turns on Piper, eyes burning with something desperate and vulnerable. Tears continue trailing across his face, and for once, Piper notices how broken and cracked he looks.

He’s not the same Leo she remembers him being. He’s something else.

“No,” he croaks, voice choked with tears and desperation. “No, I can’t let it out. Not anymore.”

Piper frowns. “What does that mean?”

Leo crawls away from her as another burst of raging flames erupts in his core. How can she be so oblivious? How can she be so dumb? How can she see him breaking like this and not understand what it’s about?

When he speaks, Leo’s voice carries through the warm spring air like icicles; they pierce Piper’s bare arms like shrapnel.

“I can’t say anything anymore,” he mutters, his voice as sharp as shards of glass against the daughter of Aphrodite’s ears. “He’s dead. And I wasn’t here for it. He’s never going to know.” Leo’s chest heaves as he takes each cold, sharp breath in. “He’s never going to know now.”

Dread pools in Piper’s blood as she stares at Leo, at this new monster appearing before her. Leo’s turning to the darkness; he’s standing on the brink of insanity. His eyes shimmer with tears and madness, with secrets and desperation.

“Know what?” she whispers. She tries to lean in, to offer support to Leo in the darkness, but he pulls away and stumbles to his feet, his chest still expanding with each breath he takes.

Leo watches Piper. Confusion flickers across her face, and at the sight of her, his heart skips a beat. Piper is beautiful. She’s perfect.

She’s everything Jason would love.

She’s everything Leo could never be.

He knows it’s not fair. He knows he shouldn’t be angry at her. But even then, as he stares at her, watches her eyes flicker with sympathy, glances at her trembling mouth, gazes at her deep, kind dark eyes, only rage consumes him. It billows hotly from his core and flows up to his throat, expands through his body, and he’s turning to fire, turning to rage, turning to anguish and guilt and pain.

He needs to tell her. He can’t hold this parasite in himself anymore.

A sob breaks loose from his chest, cracks in the air, and he tilts his head to Piper. “Tell me,” he whispers, “how… how did you feel about him?”

“About Jason?” she asks. “I… I cared a lot about him, Leo. We all did. He was one of my bestest friends.” A tear glimmers against her eye like crystal, and again a hot fire of rage blooms in Leo’s chest. It doesn’t matter what Piper does; she’s always so beautiful, always so desirable.

Why couldn’t he ever be that desirable?

“What is this?” she asks desperately. “What’s wrong, Leo? You can tell me.”

The world around him turns red and angry. The ground beneath his feet trembles with rage, and he has to press his nails to his palms to stop himself from combusting on the spot. “No,” he mutters. “No, Piper, you need to tell me. Did you… How much did you love him? I can’t tell you anything before you tell me the truth.”

Piper’s lips press tightly together. Between the two of them, the grass burns brightly. Coldness encompasses them in vulnerability. Tension seizes the air, grips their throats, squeezes the truth into existence.

“I loved him as we all did,” she murmurs. “If you mean romantically, though… We broke up.” Piper tilts her head away timidly, almost as if in shame. “We weren’t working out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Leo blinks in surprise. Suddenly all the rage dissipates; the angry fire in his chest simmers to a low sizzle. Tears cloud his vision, but they don’t feel as hot or angry as they were just moments ago.

His fingers loosen at his sides. His muscles lose their grip.

“You… you broke up?” he whispers.

Piper offers a firm nod. “I don’t think we ever felt anything for each other, honestly. I think it was just more of a… a mutual desire for something. You know? We wanted something in the heat of the moment. I think we had something when the world around us was going to chaos, but when it wasn’t burning in flames… suddenly our own relationship wasn’t burning anymore. It got boring. I lost myself. He didn’t know who he was outside of insanity. We broke up.”

Guilt seizes Leo’s heart like a vice. Two shameful tears trickle from his dark eyes and burst against the ground, glimmering in the sunlight. “Piper,” he mutters. “I- I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

She shakes her head and offers a small, sad, knowing smile. “It’s okay, Leo. It was better for both of us. I wasn’t satisfied and neither was he. I’m just glad he… he went happier than he was when he was with me.”

And that’s all it takes for Leo to crumble again. A single sob explodes from his chest, then another sob, and another, until he’s choking on his own tears, until he’s hissing at the salt against his cuts, until he’s crumbling, breaking, slipping through his own hands.

Piper stands suddenly, her comforting arms reaching out. “Leo,” she mutters, almost like a promise. All of a sudden, the son of Hephaestus overwhelmed with the scent of roses, with the warm embrace of Piper’s arms, with the tickle of her hair against his face. His sobs only echo louder and louder against her and he has to wrap his own arms around her waist to get a grip on the world.

“I’m such a fool, Piper,” he mutters through sobs. “I… I…”

Her warm arms press against his back supportingly. “You can tell me,” she whispers. “I’m not going to judge you.”

Leo dips his head against her neck, if only to look for refuge from the impending shame.

“Piper,” he whispers. “Piper, I’m so stupid. I… I loved him, okay? I loved him a lot. I loved him more than I could ever say.”

Piper stills underneath his weight, and for a second Leo considers if he’s royally fucked everything up. What if he’s just lost the one friend he’s got left?

“Love…,” she murmurs. “As in… more than a friend.”

Leo loosens his grip against her waist in an anxious haste. “Yes,” he agrees. His heart swells as he admits it.

He’s kept that in for too long. He’s spent too much time watching Jason in all his glory, spent too much time being jealous over Piper.

Admitting this to himself… it feels like a promise. It feels like a relief.

Piper moves her arms from Leo’s back and presses them against his shoulders. She tilts her head away and stares him in the eyes, her own dark ones absorbing themselves into Leo’s. His breath hitches as he stares at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

“Leo…,” she murmurs. “Oh, gods, I had no idea. I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way about him.”

Leo’s lip trembles as another quake of sobs threaten to break loose. “It’s okay,” he mutters through a thick voice. “You didn’t know. I could barely understand it myself when… when we were on the ship. It’s not your fault, Piper.”

Piper shakes her head and, to Leo’s surprise, a few tears glimmer in her eyes and slip down her own cheeks. She presses her fingers to Leo’s cheek and holds her face against his neck. “No, Leo, I’m so sorry. I just… I can’t imagine it must have been easy for you to… to see us like that. I just… I don’t… I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry I had to make you see that.”

“Piper, it’s not your fault,” Leo promises. “I was just struggling with internal things and… and I didn’t know how to cope. You didn’t know, either. It’s not your fault for being happy during that time. Don’t blame yourself.”

Piper pulls her face away from Leo’s and shakes her head. Her nose twitches as she sniffs and her mouth trembles as she tries to hold back another sob. “No,” she murmurs. “It’s just… I don’t blame myself for that. But you… you deserved to see him one more time. You deserved to let him know. And you didn’t get that. Leo, I’m so, so sorry.” Her thumb grazes the side of his face, tangles into his curls. Leo leans into her touch.

“But, Leo,” she continues, “just know… I’m so glad you told me. Jason may not be alive anymore, but just know that… he’s just as proud of you. We both love you so much, okay? Telling me something like this… it has to be one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.” She presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. I wish… I wish you could have seen him one last time, Leo. You deserve that much.”

“Piper…,” he whispers, but his voice is stolen as another sob takes a hold of him. Before he can say much more, Piper throws herself into his embrace; they’re holding one another as the world around them continues moving, continues glowing, continues living. They crumble to the ground and hold each other as the pain moves through their bodies, as the sorrow spills out into the world and turns the air to ice, as the truth embraces them in its truest form.

“I missed you,” she whispers. “Jason may be dead, but I’m glad you aren’t, Leo. We’ll get through this together, okay? We always have. I won’t stop now.”

“Together,” he promises, his voice ringing in Piper’s ears. “We’ll get through this together.”

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sir-gwaine-my-man · 4 years ago

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A rewrite of the ending for The Letter for the King

If we're being honest, did the ending live up to anyone's expectations? Certainly not to mine. My babies deserved better and I hope my attempt at writing can help to rectify that for anyone else looking for a happier - and hopefully better - ending. At some point, I'll probably write a fic for the entire series, possibly with an OC (maybe a younger sibling of one of the knights because I want more interactions with Piak). Feedback would be greatly appreciated! I'm always looking to improve. I struggle with accurate characterisation in fanfics when writing non-canon dialogue/scenes so if anyone has any tips then please send them my way.

I know there's maybe 12 people in the fandom (this had better become a running joke, so help me) but hopefully I will please those 12 of you. This will take place from when they exit the sewers. Without further ado, let us proceed.

5000+ words

~~~~~~~~~~

The thick, rancid scent of the sewers still lingered in the air as the novices clung to the ladder several metres up. Damp metal frigid to the touch, covered in something that they wouldn't dare to ask the origin of. Even Tiuri - who had made his way to the top of the ladder - could still smell the murky water (or, at least, what they thought to be water) below.

He swung the grate at the top open, gritting his teeth as he hoisted himself up and out of the entrance to the sewer. The fresher air was a welcome comfort in the dimly lit room, candles flickering gently in the little draughts that filtered in, and he was thankful to take in a deep breath of fresher air.

Pushing himself over the edge with a grunt of effort, he turned around to help Piak climb out, safely pulling him up. It was certainly far more graceful than Tiuri's attempt to get himself out.

"You're pushing me again," Jussipo snapped, looking down and glaring before pulling himself out as well, a look of clear disgust etched upon his face.

"Because you're going even slower than you were before," Arman retorted, evidently still frustrated at having to go through the sewers.

"It's-it's in my hair! It's in my hair." Jussipo's face contorted as he tried to hide the extent of his revulsion as he essentially jumped out of the exit.

Arman came out soon after Jussipo, quickly pushing himself out, glad to be away from the dreadful place, and was quickly followed by Foldo. "It's definitely not water," Foldo choked out through the stench, his face paling as he resisted the nauseating temptation to throw up any food still left in his stomach.

"See?" Tiuri started, trying to reintroduce some positivity into their quest that seemed to lack a favourable outcome for the foreseeable future. "I told you. Easy."

The others stared at him as though he were insane, many still looking disgusted from their time in the sewer. Foldo looked greener by the second. No one particularly wanted to know what was in the sewer now that they knew it wasn't water from his expression. They also didn't want to know how Foldo found out.

The group rushed out of the room, breaking out into a run as they hurried to get to the throne room. They had hardly made it down a single corridor before turning into a hall and running straight into a line of servants.

Attempts at acting natural were made. Bowed heads, feigned interest in the exquisitely crafted banners and candleholders - although, they had to admit, they were beautiful. But, of course, despite the dirt on their clothes, they still reeked of nobility and they neither looked nor acted like the staff of the castle, not to mention the swords hanging from their belts. Still, the servants had far more important matters to attend to other than herding some wandering nobleman's children back to the feast.

As soon as they were alone, they all raced through the open doorway, speeding down more passageways, thankful not to encounter anyone else.

"That was close!" Piak exclaimed with a smile, jogging next to Jussipo, clearly enjoying the excitement.

"Be quiet," hissed Arman sharply, turning back to the boy. "You don't know who could be lurking in the shadows, listening to our every word."

"Don't talk to him like that," Jussipo replied, moving threateningly closer, attempting to turn any anxiety brewing within him to confidence.

"I'd appreciate it if you directed your aggressive energy towards the task at hand, please," Tiuri sighed. "Besides, I think we're safe for now."

"Perhaps we should be a bit quieter, it couldn't hurt," Foldo suggested gently.

They continued their way through the castle, footsteps echoing far louder than they would've liked through the stone hallways. Cautious glances were frequently casted towards the windows, the steadily rising blood moon harsh and bold against the dark sky, glaringly bright as it outshone the gentle twinkling of the stars.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Arman asked as Tiuri led them down yet another tortuous corridor. "We're running out of time. You could be getting us lost for all we know."

"Of course I know where we're going," Tiuri insisted, vaguely remembering visiting the castle once as a child. If he was being honest, he was mostly guessing the path to the feast. "It's around this corner."

The door creaked as he pulled it open, but they paid it little mind as they hurried down a set of steps and into yet another corridor. It would be a miracle if anyone knew their way around the entire castle.

"Come on," he whispered as they ducked around a wall, praying that the area would be empty.

It was, in fact, not. "Where do you think you're going?" a heavily armoured guard asked as the five of them came to a shuddering halt in front of him.

Jussipo was just about to come forward - casting worried glances towards Foldo and Piak - with a story about how they were the sons of some visiting nobles and had gotten lost when the guard keeled over following a sharp blow to the head from the pommel of a dagger. The knights-to-be watched in confused shock as he fell over to reveal Iona behind him.

"Surprise," she said, tears evidently brimming in her eyes as she looked at the people she could almost call friends before she turned them in.

Arman rushed towards her in a fit of rage, his fist raised as he prepared to strike. He was followed by the rest of the novices, ready to jump to his defence if needed, but Arman was brought to a quick halt by the blade millimetres from his throat, glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Iona urged him back in what seemed to be reluctance.

"You have every right to hate me," she began, the dagger still held out in front of her.

"Well, we do hate you," Arman claimed, jumping forward again as Tiuri held out an arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"I hate me too. What I did... what I've done." She finally held the dagger back by her waist, a choked laugh escaping her as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill. "I'm sorry," Iona admitted, the tears that she had attempted to withhold streaking down her cheeks despite the wary glances the group gave each other, "for all of it. I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. But I just... I wanted you to know that."

With a determined look, she furiously wiped away the tears, seemingly angry at herself for showing such emotion. Iona turned away, ready to never see any of them again.

"Iona?" Tiuri called out.

Iona stopped, turning around as hope glittered in her eyes. Tiuri approached her, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace as if to say that he forgave her, it was alright now, she was forgiven. She returned the hug with one arm, seeming to relax for a single moment.

And then the moment broke, shattering into hundreds of pieces of betrayal and hurt as she snatched the letter with her free hand.

"Every time you think you've got her pegged," Jaro chuckled as he entered the hall with two knights following, a sinister edge to his laugh, "she turns around and she surprises you all over again." Tiuri backed up to the safety of the group, fear and pain smothering his features as Iona hesitantly handed over the letter, a frown upon her face. Was this really the right thing to do? Yes, of course, Tiuri had dashed her hopes of becoming a knight, this was her only way forward. Jaro took the letter with a sickening smile, pocketing it. The group's hands reached for the hilts of their swords, prepared for a final display of courage. "Looks like the letter's not going to the king after all. Now, do you want to walk away and live or make a futile gesture of defiance and die?" Each of the boys drew their swords with little hesitation, willing to put their lives on the line to save the world they knew. "A futile gesture it is." The three Red Riders and Iona drew their swords as well, a determined grimace etched upon everyone's faces.

Jussipo turned to Piak, the brother that he had sworn to himself that he would protect at all costs. He couldn't risk Piak’s safety, not for anything, not for the world. "Stay there," he whispered, gently pushing him back.

With a fierce cry, Jaro charged towards them, the novices racing into the fight. This included Piak who had decided to ignore his brother's instructions and fight anyway with little regard for his own life and lack of training, using his lack of size to dodge any incoming attacks.

Sword clashed against sword, metal ringing out in the brutal melodies of battle. Deafening clangs that brought the children's hearts to their throats for, after all, despite all that they had been through, they were still children. Adrenaline surged through each person, the fight blurring time and reality as they solely focused on the simple motion of swinging their swords. Back and forth. Blows and parries. Attacks and counters.

Piak stayed close to Jussipo, ready to jump to his aid at a moment's notice. That was until Jaro had forced Tirui to the floor. The tip of his sword inched closer to Tiuri's throat, slowly threatening to slice through skin. Piak took the distraction as an excuse to nick the letter from Jaro's belt, instantly jumping to action.

"I've got it!" Piak called out at the same time Jussipo yelled out his name more out of fear than anger. Piak passed the letter to him as Jussipo looked towards him in a mix of frustration and admiration.

"What did I tell you?" he asked in breathless exasperation as he deflected another attack. "Tiuri!" he yelled as he flung the letter through the air, Tiuri deftly catching it. "What are you waiting for?"

"Go!" Arman and Piak insisted in sync as Tiuri rushed out of sight, quickly chased by Iona and Jaro.

In that brief moment of distraction, in those few seconds in which the group thought they could recover, one of the Red Riders lunged towards Piak, the most defenceless of them all. In that split second before the sword hit him, Jussipo saw what was happening. Not Piak, anyone but him. He wasn't even supposed to be here, he was too adventurous for his own good.

In that split second, Jussipo remembered everything he could about Piak. The way he would leap around as he practiced fighting with a wooden sword. The way he could talk about anything and everything for hours. How he would sneak him extra food from the kitchens after a particularly tough training session. How he was so carefree despite all the troubles in the world.

In that split second, Jussipo made a decision. Whatever it takes, he thought, whatever it takes to save my brother.

With a breathless but purpose filled shout of, “No!” he leapt in front of Piak. Jussipo tried to deflect the incoming sword but he knew there was little point in even attempting to raise his weapon before the sword plunged into his chest.

Everything seemed to slow down at that point. He felt as though he should cry out in pain, the agony coursing through him immeasurable. He could hear his heart beating inside his skull, strong and steady and pounding and loud, far too loud. Why was it so loud? It was becoming difficult to breathe, ragged gasps attempting to escape his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so hard? The panic mixed with the agony in a violent surge, every ounce of his being fighting against the sickeningly cool metal inside him. And everything was becoming blurry and hazy and he wanted to just let go, to not be tethered to this world in which he felt so much pain. Why wouldn’t it stop hurting?

Was he dying?

And all he could do was blankly stare forward, hoping that the pain would simply vanish.

As he crumpled to the floor in a dazed heap, the faintest flicker of a smile swept across his face in the knowledge that Piak was safe, he had saved him. He hoped that Foldo would be alright. Sure, they had been friends for years, but it felt wrong to leave him after the two had just confessed their love for each other, but he would be fine, he had to be.

Piak stood behind his injured brother as the only emotion he could feel was pure shock. This was the person he had looked up to his entire life - Jussipo couldn’t die, the very thought was inconceivable. But he had to believe it, that sword should be inside him, but Jussipo had willingly sacrificed himself to save Piak. He crouched down next to his brother, attempting to support his limp body with shaking hands.

Foldo was the first to snap out of the trance. “JUSSIPO!” he screamed, his voice cracking, his world crumbling as the boy he loved threatened to slip through his fingers.

With a cry of despairing, rage fueled pain that no one his age should ever have to experience, Foldo swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing the knights backwards. Within seconds he was behind Jussipo, gently pulling him to his feet as he pushed Piak to safety behind him. Foldo helped Jussipo up the stairs, Arman close behind, knocking the Red Riders down the steps with a powerful blow.

The only thought running through Foldo’s head as he half dragged, half carried the stumbling Jussipo was how to save him. He was still alive, still fighting, there was still time. He would not let Jussipo die, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

They rounded a corner into another deserted corridor, certain that they had lost the knights. Foldo laid Jussipo against a wall as carefully as he could, his heart clenching as Jussipo groaned in pain. Piak looked on in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The world seemed to twist and turn and spin and blur as Jussipo tried to remain as still as possible, dizzying waves of nausea washing over him as darkness encroached his vision. Blood had already soaked through his tunic, slowly dripping onto the floor; a dark, thick substance that stained the ground and the novices’ moods. Foldo tried to press his hands against the wound, attempting to stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Arman murmured, “I’ll do it.” Foldo gave him a nod of appreciation, withdrawing his blood soaked hands.

“I should get help,” Foldo said, beginning to stand despite his very soul shattering before Jussipo loosely grabbed his hand, pulling him back down. Jussipo could hold on until Tiuri came back, he had to hold on.

“No, stay, please,” begged Jussipo.

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Gently, he brushed dark locks of hair from Jussipo’s face, terrified to hurt him any further.

Jussipo looked to him in dazed confusion, attempting to ignore the searing pain that shot through him with each movement. “Am I going to die, Foldo?” he asked, sounding so innocent and quiet that Foldo had to resist the urge to let out a choked sob.

“No, no. You’re going to be fine, I won’t let you die,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

“That’s nice, I believe you. There’s a lot of blood, though.”

“Don’t look at it, just look at me.” Foldo grabbed his hand, not daring to glance away from his eyes for a moment as he offered a weak smile. “Just try to stay awake. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his friends, Tiuri ran despite the burning in his legs, despite feeling as though his lungs would tear. He was close, so close, the dining hall was only metres away. The pounding footsteps of Iona and Jaro thundered behind him but he didn’t dare to look back, he couldn’t risk slowing down.

The room fell into a stunned silence as he sprinted in, nobility providing him with questioning looks. It wasn’t every day that an Eviellan boy charged in dressed in fine clothing. Jaro and Iona came to a hasty standstill, quickly realising that they had failed. With an awkward glance at each other, they subtly backed away, hoping that they could still escape with their lives.

Slowly, Tiuri took several careful steps forward, panting slightly as his eyes darted around the room, flicking to Viridian who simply stared at him, apparently not worried about the implications the delivery of the letter could bring. One look sent chills down Tiuri’s spine as haunting eyes met his own. The guests studied him, looking down at him, judging him for his clearly Eviellan descent despite his obvious nobility. As Tiuri approached King Favian, two guards blocked his path.

“I have a letter,” he started, his voice wavering as he stood before the most powerful man in the three kingdoms, “for the king.”

“What?” the king queried.

“What letter?” Prince Iridian asked, oozing power.

“Who cares ‘what letter’?” Fantumar demanded as he stood up, trying to play his part in stopping the letter from reaching its destination. “Does the royal court now allow mere children to enter the presence of the king?”

“My father died for this!” Tiuri cried before turning to the king. “The Black Knight with the White Shield died too.”

“The Black Knight?” the king asked, his interest piqued at the mention of such a well respected knight.

“I have his ring as proof.” He removed it from his pocket, the precious silver almost glowing in the light of the room. Favian continued to listen in concern. “He was slaughtered by Prince Viridian’s Red Riders.” Gasps echoed around the room whilst Viridian remained stoic. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who is this boy?”

“He is nobody,” Fantumar insisted, sounding remarkably suspicious considering Tiuri’s claim.

“I am Tiuri, son of Sir Tiuri the Valiant. Born of Eviellan, raised in Dagonaut. And we are all in danger if you do not read this letter.”

The king looked to Prince Iridian. With a nod, he said, “Let him through.”

Hesitantly, Tiuri approached the king, flicking a fearful glance towards Viridian. He bowed, holding the letter out in front of him as King Favian stood up to take it. And there, written out in an elegant script, sat the words that confirmed Viridian’s betrayal. Twenty families he had chosen to die, a member of one of those families slowly dying in the arms of a boy of another of those families within the very castle that Viridian resided.

The king studied it, hardly daring to believe what was in front of him. His own son desired to betray him? To kill his allies? No, it seemed impossible. Reluctantly, he turned to his youngest son. “What is this?” he questioned, not even sure if he wanted to know the answer. Viridian returned a blank stare in response. “Treachery? You take my crown? Kill my friends and allies?” He paused, still reeling from the news. “Answer me!” he yelled, fury lacing every word.

“You dare ignore your king?” Iridian asked, almost as furious as his father - despite sensing the betrayal all along - but twice as vicious. “Bow your head to your father!” Short, sharp paces clicked across the stone as he advanced towards his brother. “I will not tell you again. Bow your head. Beg for your king’s mercy.”

“If the world is to be healed,” Viridian began ominously, looking through the window to see the blood moon reaching its peak, a fierce glow shining into the hall, “then the power he has, the power you want to be yours, has to be mine. The decisions you take-” He stood up, walking up to his brother. “-the decisions the people on that list take will now be taken by me.”

“What is this?”

“Lives you’ve all led, lives of comfort and luxury, lives built on the bodies of soldiers like me and my enemies, are now over.” If it wasn’t for the cruelty dripping off of Viridian’s words, he would seem to be the most reasonable one in the room. “And yes, freedom is over too. And the world will have peace at last. A peace that will last forever.”

“He’s mad,” was all the king could offer to Iridian.

Iridian looked to a knight standing close by, handing him the letter. “Sir Tristan, gather your knights and send them to these families, they may need protection.” Sir Tristant gave a sharp nod, quickly leaving the hall.

“It has been foretold,” Viridian stated with an almost giddy smile. “And there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.” He looked to Tiuri with a sneer. “Even you.”

“Brother,” Iridian hissed, drawing his sword, “I beg to differ.”

Viridian drew his own sword with a snarl. Brother pitted against brother, familial love forgotten as the two faced each other as enemies. The swords clashed together in a blur of experience and anger. Viridian was the first to give in, lowering his weapon slightly and subjecting himself to his brother’s will. Iridian took the opportunity to sink the sword into his own brother’s chest, killing him almost instantly. Horrified gasps escaped the gathered crowd as the prince that had attempted to betray them was murdered before their eyes, Favian the most mortified of them all.

With one last look at the fully risen moon, Viridian keeled over. Dead.

But then came the darkness. From where Viridian’s body lay came a dread filled rumbling, shaking the entire room. Dark droplets of blood rose from his body, hovering in the air as they shimmered with magic and evil. They popped and fizzled in grey wisps of smoke, gathering and collecting as Viridian’s corpse was pulled from the ground by some sort of invisible force.

A rolling cloud of grey smog seemed to engulf Viridian, coalescing around him in a violent storm of malevolent darkness. Everyone in the room rushed away as the blackening cloud stretched out, absorbing every speck of light.

But Tiuri stood his ground. He may not have the magic he thought he did coursing through his veins but the idea of backing away, of faltering, never crossed his mind. He had faith.

From the dark emerged Viridian’s face surrounded by swirling wisps of the smoke, glaring out at the world he had sought to right. “NO!” he screamed. “I was to be the light that corrected this world! And you, boy, were to be the darkness! It was foretold, this cannot be!”

As his rage seemed to grow with every second, so did the size of the smoke. Churning and surging together in violent clashes.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, I wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Tiuri replied simply, looking back into the crowd.

With shaky steps, Lavinia pushed her way through the throng of onlooking nobles. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment. Any sense of logic had deserted her. Surely she couldn’t defeat whatever this was. The magic inside her, however, strongly disagreed. Its warmth spread throughout her body, tingling and gentle as it guided her to where she was supposed to be.

Her eyes were wide as she approached, fearing that she couldn’t do what was expected of her, couldn’t save everyone. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her breath escaping her as everything went cold the closer she got to the cloud of darkness.

“I know.” And he took her hand, guiding her into the darkness she was destined to defeat until it swallowed her whole as Viridian seethed, the smoke boiling in anticipation.

With gritted teeth, Lavinia allowed the magic inside her to spread out in a fierce glow so bright Tiuri had to look away. Viridian squinted at it, the light seemed to burn him away into wisps of dust.

“Foolish girl,” Viridian uttered with a maniacal smirk. He turned to Tiuri, the black smoke curling around him until he was obscured from view, ostensibly whisked away from the light. “You cannot defeat me, I am too powerful for you alone.” Lavinia’s eyes darted around in a panic as the cloud began to engulf her, the light shining out of her dimming.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Tiuri claimed, coming back into view with a dull glow, “she’s not alone.”

Tiuri and Lavinia’s intertwined hands shone with the brightest light the world had ever seen. An intense flash of white that had saved Tiuri, passing the tiniest amounts of Lavinia’s magic into him and igniting the beginnings of a power within him so great that it would be decades before it was fully understood. For now, they pushed every ounce of energy they had into sending the flow of magic into Viridian. Grunting cries of strain escaped them as all of their strength was forced into defeating Viridian.

“Stop!” Viridian yelled as parts of his magic induced body disintegrated.

“Never,” Lavinia hissed.

With a great cacophony of sound and an explosion of light that illuminated the night for miles, Viridian was blown out of existence. The darkness had been vanquished.

The two children breathed heavy sighs of relief, panting from the exertion. “You did it.” Tiuri beamed.

“We did it,” corrected Lavinia with a weak smile. “Guess you had some magic in you after all.”

“I’m not sure what it was, to be honest.” He studied his hands in confusion before looking up at Lavinia. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” And then she collapsed to the floor, Tiuri rushing to catch her, proving that she was, in fact, not okay.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Would now be a good time to get that reward?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor that the novices had taken cover in glowed with a fierce light as Lavinia’s magic spread throughout the castle. “They did it, they must’ve done,” Arman said hopefully. “Lavinia must’ve come back.”

“They’ll be here soon, just hold on a little longer, please,” Foldo told Jussipo who, even now, was still clinging to life, refusing to let death take him.

Arman’s hands had done very little to stop the insistent flow of blood, the red liquid staining his fingers. Despite his efforts, Jussipo had lost far too much blood for their likings. All colour had been drained from his face, ghostly white in the flickering candlelight. Shallow breaths occasionally made their way past his lips but they were often ragged and forced. His eyes were strained from the pain and it was evident that it was a struggle just to keep them open.

“Y’know, they had better knight me after all this,” Jussipo said with a weak smile, coughing slightly.

“It’ll be a grand celebration,” Piak stated, speaking up for the first time since the fight. “There’ll be a feast and tournaments and everyone can sing songs about you.”

“That would be nice. Their songs can’t beat mine, though, can they, Fol?”

“No, you’ve always had the best songs,” Foldo replied, a soft laugh escaping him.

It was only moments later when Tiuri and Lavinia stumbled into the corridor. Whilst she had regained some of her strength, she was still using Tiuri as support, his arm securely wrapped around her waist as she leaned on him.

The pair stopped short when they saw what had happened, the novices crowded around Jussipo’s weak, dying body. Tiuri and Lavinia hurried over as quickly as they could despite Lavinia’s fragile state, kneeling beside him. Jussipo tried to sit up upon seeing them, gritting his teeth and wincing in pain.

“Easy, easy,” Foldo repeated as he gently pushed him back down with Piak’s help, pushing back Jussipo’s hair again, “easy.”

“Did we do it? Did we stop him?” Jussipo asked, terrified that everything they had done would be in vain.

Tiuri smiled. “How could we not stop him?”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Jussipo smiled. Even if he died he could go knowing that he had helped save the world. But the feeling of relief and celebration was brief as they focused once again on the tragedy.

“Has he messed up my hair with all his… all his fussing?” Jussipo joked, the faintest flicker of a smile upon his face despite the stabbing pain throughout his abdomen.

“Your hair looks good.”

“Better than good,” Arman added. “It looks great.”

“I’ve always had great hair,” Jussipo claimed, looking to the boy that had quickly become his entire world, “Ain’t that right, Fol?”

Foldo chuckled softly despite the tears brimming in his eyes and the clenching of his heart, placing a hand on Jussipo’s shoulder. He couldn’t let him go, there had to be something he could do.

With a peaceful release of breath, Jussipo closed his eyes, finally free of pain.

“He will be alright, won’t he?” Piak asked, his voice threatening to break as his confidence faltered, tears glimmering in his own eyes.

Shakily, Foldo placed two fingers against Jussipo’s neck, desperate for any sign of life. He was met with a weak but persistent pulse. “He’s still with us, just,” he sighed gratefully.

Lavinia’s hand hovered over Jussipo’s wound as she snapped out of her fatigued daze, a shimmering aura glowing around it, but it was fractured, flickering, faltering. “No,” Tiuri hissed, grabbing her arm. No one commented on how the magic looked stronger the closer Tiuri was to it. “You’re too weak, you’ve just defeated Viridian.”

“If I healed you then maybe I can save Jussipo,” Lavinia countered, attempting not to sound as exhausted as she felt.

“This injury is far worse. You could die, Lavinia.”

“If I don’t then he will die.” Lavinia turned back to Jussipo with a fierce determination, Tiuri’s hand falling back to her shoulder.

The last remnants of magic and energy still residing in her soul were dragged out. Forced through her veins, scraping and burning as it clawed its way out. The magic seemed gentle and warm in comparison as it floated above the wound, an incandescent glow that seemed to twist and swirl. Blood stopped leaking out, vanishing altogether as the skin stitched itself back together. Lavinia collapsed back into Tiuri’s waiting arms, welcoming the comfort of sleep.

And then it was over, a scar being the only reminder. Jussipo blinked rapidly as he awoke, confused and mystified as the agonising tear in his chest dulled to a mild ache. Hesitantly, he placed a hand where he was sure the wound had been, amazed to find no blood. And everyone was smiling, they were all alright, they had won.

“You’re alright, you’re alive,” Foldo cried, tears freely falling down his cheeks as he grinned.

“I should hope so, you’d be lost without me,” Jussipo chuckled, looking up at him, the world brightening as the darkness of death left him. “You couldn’t have found a nicer corridor for me to die in?” He looked around the dusty, deserted hall.

“We didn’t have much time, the Red Riders were-”

“Shut up.” And Jussipo pushed himself to meet Foldo’s lips in a kiss of relief and passion and ecstasy, gently cupping his face in his hands. They felt invulnerable, immune to the dangers life threw at them.

“Eww,” Piak groaned despite his smile.

The pair broke apart with breathless smiles, their hearts pounding with love. There was no way they weren’t alive. Jussipo looked to his brother who threw his arms around Jussipo in a tight embrace, almost scared to let go. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m not going anywhere.”

And they were happy.

46 notes · View notes

celticcrossanon · 4 years ago

Text

Full Order of Service (as the one below is missing pages)

from https://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory/order-service-funeral-prince-philip-77134393

LONDON -- This is the Order of Service for the funeral of Prince Philip on Saturday:

ORDER OF SERVICE

All stand. The Coffin is removed from the Land Rover and is carried to the West Steps where it rests at 3pm for the one minute National Silence.

The Coffin is then carried to the Catafalque in the Quire.

Members of the Royal Family who have walked in the Procession are conducted to their places in the Quire.

Meanwhile, the choir sings

THE SENTENCES

I AM the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

John 11. 25-26

I KNOW that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.

Job 19. 25-27

WE brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

1 Timothy 6. 7, Job 1. 21

William Croft (1678-1727)

All remain standing. The Dean of Windsor shall say

THE BIDDING

WE are here today in St George’s Chapel to commit into the hands of God the soul of his servant Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. With grateful hearts, we remember the many ways in which his long life has been a blessing to us. We have been inspired by his unwavering loyalty to our Queen, by his service to the Nation and the Commonwealth, by his courage, fortitude and faith. Our lives have been enriched through the challenges that he has set us, the encouragement that he has given us, his kindness, humour and humanity. We therefore pray that God will give us grace to follow his example, and that, with our brother Philip, at the last, we shall know the joys of life eternal.

All sit. The choir sings

ETERNAL Father, strong to save,

Whose arm doth bind the restless wave,

Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O Saviour, whose almighty word

The winds and waves submissive heard,

Who walkedst on the foaming deep,

And calm amid its rage didst sleep:

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O sacred Spirit, who didst brood

Upon the chaos dark and rude,

Who bad’st its angry tumult cease,

And gavest light and life and peace:

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O Trinity of love and power,

Our brethren shield in danger’s hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe,

Protect them whereso’er they go:

And ever let there rise to thee

Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Melita by J. B. Dykes (1823-76) William Whiting (1825-78)

Arranged by James Vivian (b. 1974)5

All remain seated.

THE FIRST LESSON

Ecclesiasticus 43. 11-26

read by the Dean of Windsor

LOOK at the rainbow and praise its Maker; it shines with a supreme beauty, rounding the sky with its gleaming arc, a bow bent by the hands of the Most High. His command speeds the snow storm and sends the swift lightning to execute his sentence. To that end the storehouses are opened, and the clouds fly out like birds. By his mighty power the clouds are piled up and the hailstones broken small. The crash of his thunder makes the earth writhe, and, when he appears, an earthquake shakes the hills. At his will the south wind blows, the squall from the north and the hurricane. He scatters the snow-flakes like birds alighting; they settle like a swarm of locusts. The eye is dazzled by their beautiful whiteness, and as they fall the mind is entranced. He spreads frost on the earth like salt, and icicles form like pointed stakes. A cold blast from the north, and ice grows hard on the water, settling on every pool, as though the water were putting on a breastplate. He consumes the hills, scorches the wilderness, and withers the grass like fire. Cloudy weather quickly puts all to rights, and dew brings welcome relief after heat. By the power of his thought he tamed the deep and planted it with islands. Those who sail the sea tell stories of its dangers, which astonish all who hear them; in it are strange and wonderful creatures, all kinds of living things and huge sea-monsters. By his own action he achieves his end, and by his word all things are held together.

All remain seated as the choir sings

THE JUBILATE

O BE joyful in the Lord, all ye lands:

serve the Lord with gladness,

and come before his presence with a song.

Be ye sure that the Lord he is God:

it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves;

we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

O go your way into his gates with thanksgiving,

and into his courts with praise:

be thankful unto him, and speak good of his Name.

For the Lord is gracious, his mercy is everlasting:

and his truth endureth from generation to generation.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:

world without end. Amen.

Benjamin Britten (1913-76), in C

Written for St George’s Chapel, Windsor at the request of The Duke of Edinburgh

All remain seated.

THE SECOND LESSON

John 11. 21-27

read by the Archbishop of Canterbury

MARTHA said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. And even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world.”

All remain seated as the choir sings

PSALM 104

The Duke of Edinburgh requested that Psalm 104 should be set to music by William Lovelady.

Originally composed as a cantata in three movements, it was first sung in honour of His Royal Highness’s 75th Birthday.

MY SOUL give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.

The waters rise above the highest mountain,

And flow down to the vales and leas;

At springs, wild asses quench their thirst,

And birds make nest amid the trees.

The trees the Lord has made are full of vigour,

The fir tree is a home for storks;

Wild goats find refuge in the hills,

From foes the conies shelter in the rocks.

My soul give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.7

O Lord, how manifold is your creation,

All things in wisdom you provide;

You give your riches to the earth,

And to the sea so great and wide.

You take your creatures breath and life is ended,

Your breath goes forth and life begins;

Your hand renews the face of earth,

Your praise my whole life I will sing.

My soul give praise unto the Lord of heaven,

In majesty and honour clothed;

The earth he made will not be moved,

The seas he made to be its robe. Give praise.

William Lovelady (b. 1945) abridged and arranged for choir and organ by James Vivian (b. 1974) with the composer’s permission

Words from Psalm 104, adapted by Sam Dyer (b. 1945)

The choir sings

THE LESSER LITANY

Let us pray.

All sit or kneel.

LORD, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

THE LORD’S PRAYER

OUR Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name;

Thy kingdom come;

Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation;

But deliver us from evil. Amen.

THE RESPONSES

ENTER not into judgement with thy servant, O Lord.

For in thy sight shall no man living be justified.

Grant unto him eternal rest.

And let light perpetual shine upon him.

We believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord.

In the land of the living.

O Lord, hear our prayer.

And let our cry come unto thee.

William Smith (1603-45), adapted by Roger Judd, MVO (b. 1944)

The Lord’s Prayer, Music by Robert Stone (1516-1613) from John Day’s Certaine Notes 1565

THE COLLECT

The Dean of Windsor shall say

O MERCIFUL God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the resurrection and the life; in whom whosoever believeth shall live, though he die; and whosoever liveth, and believeth in him, shall not die eternally; who also hath taught us by his Holy Apostle Saint Paul, not to be sorry, as men without hope, for them that sleep in him: We meekly beseech thee, O Father that, when we shall depart this life, we may rest in him, as our hope is this our brother doth; and that, at the general resurrection in the last day, we may be found acceptable in thy sight; and receive that blessing, which thy well-beloved Son shall then pronounce to all that love and fear thee, saying, Come ye blessed children of my Father; receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world. Grant this we beseech thee, O merciful Father through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer. Amen.

THE PRAYERS

The Archbishop of Canterbury shall say

O ETERNAL God, before whose face the generations rise and pass away, thyself unchanged, abiding, we bless thy holy name for all who have completed their earthly course in thy faith and following, and are now at rest; we remember before thee this day Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, rendering thanks unto thee-for his resolute faith and loyalty, for his high sense of duty and integrity, for his life of service to the Nation and Commonwealth, and for the courage and inspiration of his leadership. To him, with all the faithful departed, grant thy peace; Let light perpetual shine upon them; and in thy loving wisdom and almighty power work in them the good purpose of thy perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Dean of Windsor, Register of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, shall say

O LORD, who didst give to thy servant Saint George grace to lay aside the fear of man, and to be faithful even unto death: Grant that we, unmindful of worldly honour, may fight the wrong, uphold thy rule, and serve thee to our lives’ end; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

GOD save our gracious Sovereign and all the Companions, living and departed, of the Most Honourable and Noble Order of The Garter. Amen.

O GOD of the spirits of all flesh, we praise thy holy name for thy servant Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, who has left us a fair pattern of valiant and true knighthood; grant unto him the assurance of thine ancient promise that thou wilt ever be with those who go down to the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters. And we beseech thee that, following his good example and strengthened by his fellowship, we may at the last, together with him, be partakers of thy heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Archbishop of Canterbury shall say

O LORD God, when thou givest to thy servants to endeavour any great matter, grant us also to know that it is not the beginning, but the continuing of the same unto the end, until it be thoroughly finished, which yieldeth the true glory; through him, who for the finishing of thy work laid down his life, our Redeemer, Jesus Christ. Amen.

ALMIGHTY God, Father of all mercies and giver of all comfort: Deal graciously, we pray thee, with those who mourn; that casting every care on thee they may know the consolation of thy love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.10

All sit as the choir sings

THE ANTHEM

GIVE rest, O Christ, to thy servant with thy Saints:

where sorrow and pain are no more;

neither sighing, but life everlasting.

Thou only art immortal, the Creator and Maker of man:

And we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall we return.

For so thou didst ordain, when thou createdest me, saying,

Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

All we go down to the dust; and, weeping, o’er the grave,

we make our song: Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

Russian Kontakion of the Departed

Translated William John Birkbeck (1859-1916)

Kiev Melody, arranged by Sir Walter Parratt, KCVO (1841-1924)

All stand.

As the Coffin is lowered into the Royal Vault, the Dean of Windsor shall say

THE COMMENDATION

GO forth upon thy journey from this world, O Christian soul,

In the name of God the Father Almighty who created thee;

In the name of Jesus Christ who suffered for thee;

In the name of the Holy Spirit who strengtheneth thee;

May thy portion this day be in peace,

and thy dwelling in the heavenly Jerusalem. Amen.

All remain standing. Garter Principal King of Arms proclaims

THE STYLES AND TITLES OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE PHILIP DUKE OF EDINBURGH

THUS it hath pleased Almighty God to take out of this transitory life unto his divine mercy the late most Illustrious and most Exalted Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Merioneth and Baron Greenwich, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order upon whom had been conferred the Royal Victorian Chain, Grand Master and Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, Lord

High Admiral of the United Kingdom, One of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, Admiral of the Fleet, Field Marshal in the Army and Marshal of the Royal Air Force, Husband of Her Most Excellent Majesty Elizabeth the Second by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, whom may God preserve and bless with long life, health and honour and all worldly happiness.

Thereafter, the Pipe Major of The Royal Regiment of Scotland plays

A LAMENT

The Buglers of the Royal Marines sound

THE LAST POST

After a period of silence the State Trumpeters of the Household Cavalry sound

REVEILLE

The Buglers of the Royal Marines sound

ACTION STATIONS

Then the Archbishop of Canterbury pronounces

THE BLESSING

All remain standing as the choir sings

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

GOD save our gracious Queen,

Long live our noble Queen,

God save The Queen!

Send her victorious,

Happy and glorious,

Long to reign over us,

God save The Queen!

All remain standing in their places as Her Majesty The Queen, Members of the Royal Family and Members of The Duke of Edinburgh’s Family leave the Chapel via the Galilee Porch escorted by the Dean of Windsor and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Music after the service

Luke Bond, Assistant Director of Music, St George’s Chapel, will play

Prelude and Fugue in C minor BWV 546 Johann Sebastian Bach

END

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years ago

Text

never let you go (2)

Summary: After losing the woman they love, Bucky and Steve make a desperate decision with unimaginable consequences.

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of demons and gore. Brief hints of SMUT. Swearing. Bucky and Steve are not exactly nice. A very brief appearance by my favorite Hunter (SPN crossover).

Prompt: “Heartache is one thing, but this…this is worse.”

A/N: This is my submission for the fantastic @sherrybaby14 for Sherry’s Fall Into You challenge, thanks babe for hosting. This is a dark story fam, different than my usual writing. Bucky and Steve really do make some bad decisions, so please heed the warnings. This is a short series, only 3 parts.

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

Previously...

“How did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs, drifting toward the balm of sleep. Bucky says nothing, simply snuggles closer, his steady breaths puffing warm on your skin.

“I remember what happened.” Softly the confession falls. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me how you did it. How you brought me back.”

Both men stiffen. Bucky stops breathing. Steve stops stroking his hair. Dread fills you, cold as ice. You know then, whatever price they’ve paid? It will tear the world apart.

Breath tickling the back of your neck, Steve murmurs so quietly, you strain to hear.

“We made a deal.”

*****

“The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.” Mahatma Gandhi

*****

Along the glass smooth lake, the tufts of grass are wrapped in furry white frost. Fog rises in slow curls from the mirror of dark blue, warm water battling cold air, while white ice crackles along the edges in paper thin sheets. Each morning you walk out to the lake, the ice creeps further, a bitter omen of what will come.

It all feels surreal. Impossible and improbable. An endless winter waiting in the wings.

From the outside, life is the same. The world turns, the sun rises in the east. Bucky still giggles madly at cat videos on YouTube and Steve still argues that cough syrup tastes delicious. For the three of you, nothing has changed.

But for the world, it has.

Part of you wants to hate them. It was the most selfish, self-sacrificing act either has ever committed in their long lives, but no matter how monumentally fucked up the situation, it changes nothing. Regardless of the road ahead, there are no limits to the love you feel for them both, and one truth burns with a steadfast certainty - you will always follow in their footsteps.

Perhaps that fact will be your downfall.

Staring bleakly across the clear lake, you think back to that night, when they explained everything. With the proverbial cards on the table, the most complicated question of your entire life now looms.

What will you do to save them?

*****

Eyes downcast, they sit beside each other on the edge of the bed, overgrown children awaiting punishment. Fingers linked atop your head, you pace a short path in front of them, back and forth, breathing fast, words locked in your throat. When they finally burst free, both men flinch.

“Explain what you mean. I don’t understand, Steve. What does a deal with a demon mean? What is that?”

Refusing to look up, Steve remains silent, nervously pinching the callouses on his palm. Bucky stares mutely at his toes, wiggling them into the ropey blue rug beneath the bed. He cracks his knuckles and you can tell he’s mustering his courage. Wetting his lips, he finally meets your gaze.

“It means exactly what Steve said. I know it sounds insane, but it was a real demon. Like the kind you find in - in fairy tales or something. We met a couple guys and they told us how to find her. Said you can make a deal, whatever you want, the demon’ll give it to you...” Bucky trails off, losing steam; another deep breath and he plows on. “...she gives it to you in exchange for 10 years. Those are the contract terms, the regular deal. At the end of the 10 years, that’s it. She comes back to collect, and you’re sent - down. To hell.”

Disbelief clenches like an iron fist, heavy and suffocating. It makes no sense - demons don’t exist. Something else must have happened, some unknown magic, a wormhole, an alternate reality, a time loop maybe. Each ludicrous option seems more likely than their calm explanation, they must be wrong. If demons existed, SHIELD would know. There would be a documentation, strategies, fighting methods.

There would be safe guards to stop idiots in love from making disastrous decisions.

“Bucky, what you’re saying makes no sense. Demons aren’t real,” you say carefully, and goosebumps flare across your skin when Steve lifts guarded eyes to yours. “Steve? They’re not real. It was something else…right?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Every fiber of your being screams this must be a nightmare, any moment you’ll wake up. Maybe you weren’t on the roof that day, maybe this is all a sick lucid dream. Maybe you’re alive and asleep in bed, and when you wake up Bucky will have stolen all the pillows and Steve will be in the kitchen making oatmeal.

Wake up, you chant to yourself. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

Nothing happens. Chest heaving, you spin away, hot tears burning your throat.

“So that’s what you did? You sold your souls to a demon? And in 10 years she comes back and - drags you to hell?”

“Wait,” Bucky says earnestly. “You didn’t let me finish, it wasn’t that. We didn’t sell our souls. That was the regular deal, but not for us. There’s no 10-year limit, we’re staying with you. All three of us, we get to stay together.”

He pushes off the bed and comes toward you, arms reaching for a hug. Surprise blooms over his face when you place both palms flat on his chest and shove. Stumbling back, he hits the mattress with a shocked bounce.

“No,” you grit out, “Tell me you’re not that naive. It had to cost something, so what was it. What did you give her?” Stubbornly, Bucky’s mouth tightens. Fine then. Turning to Steve, you cup his chin, tilting his face until you glimpse the swirl of shame glowing in his blue eyes. “Steve. Tell me what you gave her.”

It takes all of five seconds for him to give in; Steve never could keep a secret. Not from Bucky. Not from you.

“It wasn’t our souls,” he mumbles. Misery seeps from his skin and he stares intently, begging a forgiveness you never realized you had to give. “She asked for - humanity. That was what she wanted. We gave her our humanity.”

At his admission, a fresh urgency, a new panic, fills the hollowness in your heart.

“Your humanity? What does that mean? What happens now?”

Shrugging helplessly, Steve looks back to his feet. “I guess since we gave her that, then maybe we’ll - change. Maybe we’ll become - different.”

It clicks, then.

Different.

Two battle hardened soldiers, potent super strength flowing through their veins. If you take away their good hearts, strip out the kindness and patience and compassion, extinguish the beautiful tenderness that illuminates them from the inside, what remains?

Brutal violence powered by deadly strength. Something cold and destructive. It seems obvious now, why the demon offered this choice.

Stay above and be in love, happy and content for 10 years before death comes calling.

Or stay above and be in love, happy and content for as long as life allows, with one chilling caveat - abandon who you are.

Without a conscience to keep them in check, the scale of violence two super soldiers could wreak across the globe is breathtaking. And if they leave their humanity in the dust and use the serum thrumming in their veins for something dark and terrible? The outcome remains the same.

Someday in the future, death will still come for them. And with a list of innocent deaths attached to their names, it all means the same thing.

No matter what, they’ve damned themselves to hell. It’s only a matter of time.

“But she promised nothing changes between the three of us,” Bucky interrupts the morbid train of thought, gesturing at you, at Steve, at himself. “Other things might change, but she said the three of us, we’ll stay the same. We won’t change, not when it comes to you. We can make this work, I swear.”

His words make you want to scream. How could they be so stupid? How could they not realize?

“God dammit Bucky! You’re telling me that eventually every bit of goodness that makes you human, that will disappear? What then? The world has two psychopaths with fucking super powers? Is that what you’re saying?!”

“But we can fight it,” Bucky argues, rising again. He takes one step and you shove him harder, knocking him back. Frustrated, he slaps the bed. “We can. I know we can. This was a way around it.”

Before you, they both melt into blurry shadows as the tears spill over, rivers of sticky heat dripping down your neck, soaking the ragged collar of your shirt. Hopelessness shatters your voice.

“No you won’t, Bucky. You can’t. So now what? Huh? How am I supposed to save you?”

Deflated, Bucky hesitates before standing again. Cautiously, he steps forward, ignoring the hand you push against his chest, ignoring the bite of your nails scratching his skin. He murmurs your name, an imploring plea, and the sound breaks you. Trembling fingers curl into a fist and you slam your knuckles against the steel of his sternum, anger fading into fear. He says nothing, lets you expend your rage all over him, wild fists punching him over and over, until you collapse. Then he catches you easily, sitting on the bed, cuddling you in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding tight to your halfhearted struggles, before you finally give up. Burying your face against his neck, he rocks you gently, terrified tears drenching his skin like a spring rain. “But she gave you back. That was enough for us to say yes. You were worth the price.”

“I’m not, nothing is worth this,” you sob hysterically. Guilt pours out, overwhelming and soul-shattering. “This will kill you both, it’ll ruin you. I ruined you.”

“No.” Steve says fiercely. Gripping your arm, he gives a harsh shake. “You did not do this. This was our decision. We knew exactly what we were doing, sweetheart. This wasn’t a mistake.”

Steve moves closer, wrapping his arms around you both, one palm on the warm heat of Bucky’s shoulder blade, the other cupping your face. Pressing his lips to your forehead, the solidity of his presence a quiet reassurance. Tangling your hand in his hair, you tug hard, aching to bring him closer.

Maybe, you think, if you hold tight enough you can keep them intact. Humanity. Souls. Hearts. Whatever they’re made up of inside, maybe if you love them hard enough, you can save them.

“He’s right,” Bucky murmurs, trembling lips at your temple, “This was all on us. But if we had to choose between losing you and doing this again, we’d still do this. We’d choose you. We’ll always choose you.”

*****

There are five people who know the truth.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Steve tells them but keeps the specifics of the deal vague. Deep down, he knows Nick would lock them up if he knew everything. They were furious, but in different ways. Fury screamed at them for 30 straight minutes, before storming out in a swirl of black leather. Following close behind, Maria gave them a tight-lipped nod and somehow, that silent disappointment was worse.

And then there were the other three.

Natasha, Tony, Sam. All three received perplexing text messages asking them to meet at Bucky and Steve’s apartment; when they arrive, Sam knocks on cautiously and Bucky meets them with a blank face, wordlessly handing each a fresh bottle of whiskey.

“You’ll need it,” is all he says.

With each Avenger clutching their liquor, Bucky and Steve proceed to explain everything. Their sorrow, their grief. The inability to find any future without you. Their anger at everything, at the world, at each other. Calmly, they each offer their perspective and they see Tony looking confused, Sam looking uneasy, and Natasha looking - strangely resigned.

When they finally finish, there’s a long silence, until Natasha snaps the cap on her bottle of whiskey and takes a long swig. She wipes her mouth and asks.

“What did you do?”

Steve looks at Bucky, who stares determinedly at his feet. Nodding to himself, he rises slowly, walking into the bedroom. Beyond the doors, they hear the hum of low voices and then it creaks open. Bucky hesitates for a breath.

Then he leads you forward.

At the unexpected sight, Tony tumbles off the armchair with a garbled shout and Sam leaps to his feet.

Natasha still sits calmly.

“So. You met the Winchester boys,” she states. Defiance in his eyes, Bucky shoots her a cool glare.

“Yes,” he says shortly, and she simply nods. Carefully setting her bottle of whiskey on the floor, she rises gracefully and tiptoes toward you. Instantly, Steve and Bucky lean into a protective stance, mirrored snarls on their lips, but Natasha brushes them aside. With no hesitation, she wraps you in a fierce hug.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers in your ear. Burying your face in her hair, the sweet scents of lavender and leather swirl, so unequivocally Natasha.

They explain everything then. The deal, the magic, the price. All down to the last, gruesome detail. At the end of their story, the room is silent. Tony is the first to respond, ashen faced, shaking with unspeakable anger. He heaves his full bottle of whiskey into the fireplace and it explodes with a crash of flames, before he barrels through the front door with a resounding boom.

Sam sways where he stands, his vision folding along the edges. He wants to understand, he does. More than anyone, he saw the depths of grief into which they sunk, but this? He never considered this. But instead of screaming, he says nothing, just hugs you gently, thinking bizarrely of delicately spun glass. Shoulders sagging under the burden of knowing, he silently follows Tony, his footsteps as heavy as his heart.

And Natasha? Well. Standing in the doorway, she smiles sadly.

“I spoke to them too, you know. Found a crossroad in Colorado. Nine years ago,” she confesses. “One year to go.”

The door clicks shut, leaving them to ponder a new horror.

*****

The official SHIELD report stamps your return with CONFIDENTIAL block letters, and the file is buried deep in the vaults. It leaks to the press as a simple solution, a fake out, a way to throw the bad guys off the trail. Here you are, alive and well, on leave for an indeterminate period.

New York becomes too much. Hostile and loud, too many questions, too many opportunities to let the truth slip free. In the middle of the night, the three of you tangled in a mess of sleepy limbs, Steve offers a solution.

At sunrise you leave.

Refuge comes at a secluded cabin in upstate New York, a mossy pile of logs Steve fell in love with years ago and purchased on a whim. Hidden deep in the trees, it overlooks a crystalline lake and when you step inside, it smells of dust and mothballs. With a mop, a few dust rags, and a bit of elbow grease, it quickly becomes a home.

There, life finally moves forward.

Mornings with bitter coffee, mornings with breathless runs, mornings lazing in a massive claw foot bathtub, big enough for three.

Evenings by the crackling fire, evenings full of books and music, evenings filled with Bucky’s sweat slicked hair tangled in your fingers, with Steve’s quiet groans between your legs, with your shaking cries echoing off the walls.

Sheer perfection. Every waking moment.

After a few weeks, Bucky and Steve tentatively return to combat, agreeing to short missions that never tear them from your side for more than a few days. Stepping up together, they take on the world once more, protecting the innocent, righting the wrongs. Each time they return, they come refreshed and relaxed, full of sweet words and excited laughter, familiar bits of your former life spilling into the comfortable home the three of you have made together.

They seem so happy. So bright and wild and bursting with love.

It makes you wonder. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky was right. Maybe they found a way around the inevitable. Maybe the demon changed her mind. Maybe they’re safe.

Maybe it worked.

*****

Until slowly and certainly, things begin to change.

*****

Bullets are pinging around them, sparks flying through the air. Steve moves confidently, smoothly dodging every bullet slung their way with a flick of his shield. Behind him, Bucky slinks along, his gun at the ready. When they cut around the corner, three men put up a cursory fight, before all three are taken down with a flick of the shield and two well-placed bullets.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Steve mutters. Sifting through a pile of paper, he gathers up the files, stuffs them in a secure pocket at his hip and motions for Bucky to leave.

They hear a faint moan.

Propped against the wall, sits a hostage. Mouth taped shut, feet tied together. Blood streams thick and heavy down his face, congealing in a warm pool along his collarbone. Death is imminent, even across the room they can smell it coming. As they come closer, the man registers footsteps and opens his eyes, blinking blearily at the two men looking down. Recognition when he sees the familiar red, white, and blue, a glimmer of hope cutting through the pain.

Staring down, Steve twitches his fingers, an unconscious motion to help, before something inside denies the move.

How peculiar.

Turning away, he issues a rough order at Bucky.

“He won’t make it. Put him out of his misery.”

Bucky gazes at the dying man at his feet.

Shrugging, he raises his pistol and pulls the trigger.

*****

Sunlight streams through the tall windows of the living room, as you laze on the couch. Down the hall, you hear the shower running, the sound of Steve’s off-key baritone singing as he soaps the red stains of death from his skin.

When he shuffles into the living room wearing sweatpants and a soft green shirt, his tired eyes find you. The lingering stress falls away and he bounds forward, flopping on the couch with a careless oompf. Dropping a kiss on your forehead, he carefully arranges a pillow in your lap, and plunks his head down. Post shower, his blond hair is wet dark and squeaky clean, the spicy scent of body wash still lingering.

“Scratch my head?” he asks, adding a sweet pout that never fails to make you give in. Dragging your fingers through the damp strands, you rub his scalp and he sighs happily. When he stretches his feet over the edge of the couch with a wide yawn, his muscles shift and twist, reminding you of a lion you saw once at the zoo. Big and lazy, soaking up the warm golden sunshine.

“Nothing but a big lazy cat,” you murmur, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing slow circles over his heart. Closing his eyes, he grins at the comparison. Catching the hand at his chest, he brings your palm to his lips and presses kisses along each finger, before linking his hand to yours. Moments pass, and his body goes lax, a low stream of steady breaths as he drifts to sleep.

In the shifting afternoon sun, you stay there, watching the light play off his pale eyelashes. You think about Steve. Warm skin and golden hair. Sharp claws retracted; teeth hidden. Deadly to everyone, except those he loves.

*****

“I gave you the intel, I gave it to you!”

Bucky stabs the knife into the muscled meat of the man’s thigh, and the responding scream reverberates off the walls. Like flame hot metal through butter, the pale skin is splayed open, revealing marbled streaks of yellow fat, white bone gleaming beneath. Blubbering incoherently, bloody spit foams in the corners of his mouth, wild eyes rolling back in his head.

“I gave it to you, I did, I did, I did, please!”

There is a pause and for a blessed moment, the man believes he has a reprieve. Swollen eyes fly open, meeting bright blue and Bucky smiles.

And then he punches the knife handle straight through the man’s thigh bone. It cracks and splinters apart and the man screams and screams and screams and Bucky laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Did you think I fucking cared?”

*****

The sticky scent of maple syrup wakes you.

Crawling from the empty bed, you wrap the feather down comforter around your shoulders and shuffle from the bedroom, eager for the source.

The sight catches you off guard. Unimaginably soft.

There in the kitchen, Bucky stands in nothing but skintight black boxers.

Hair twisted in a messy knot, he shimmies through the small space, dancing absently to the music tinkling from the small speaker propped on the windowsill. On the stove, he has a flat skillet coated in butter and filled with bubbling silver-dollar pancakes. Along the edge of the counter, he taps out a rhythm with his spatula, tap tap tap-a-tap-a-tap, and your heart swells at the gentle domesticity.

When he whirls around, he discovers you watching from the doorway, sleepy and rumpled. He lights up, a honeyed smile on his lips, and stretches out a hand, a wordless request. Tripping into his arms, he tucks you safe against his chest.

“Morning baby,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling your ear. “God you look beautiful. How’d I get so lucky?”

The words are simple, lovely phrases he’s shared a million times before, but still your belly flips. Rubbing your cheek against his hot skin, you relax. Let yourself believe everything is perfect, while Bucky dances you slowly around the cozy kitchen until the charcoal crisp of pancake flavors the air.

“Buck, I think your pancakes are burning,” you breathe against the sandpaper stubble along his neck.

He merely hums.

“Let ‘em burn. I’m dancin’ with my girl.”

Mellow notes of smoky jazz drift through the air and you burrow closer, until Bucky pulls you down to the smooth kitchen tiles. The feather comforter pillows beneath you, the searing heat of his mouth tracing down your neck.

*****

“We’re out of time, set the bombs off. Now.”

In all the time he’s known known Steve Rogers, Sam has never heard his voice like this. Brittle. Cold. Devoid of emotion. On the ground below, amid soaring walls of steel and glass, screaming voices echo off the tower buildings. From his perch high above the melee, Sam stares watches people streaming from the front doors. He hesitates.

“There are still people inside,” he responds.

On the other end of the line is a bone crunching thunk, a truncated scream. Steve’s voice returns.

“Did I fucking stutter? Set it off. Now.”

Again, Sam hesitates, the trigger clenched in his sweaty hand. He shakes his head.

“Negative, Cap. There are still - “

“Jesus Christ, Wilson, you fucking pussy,” Bucky snarls. He rips the black box from Sam’s numb fingers and shoves him aside. Without pause, he flips the switch.

Across the street, the building rumbles and sways and in the space of a breath, the world is rent apart: glass shatters, steel beams screech, concrete explodes. All those still inside, fighting their way to freedom, go down in a crush of rubble, screams and shouts silenced by the thundering rush of crumbling stone.

Stalking around the corner, Steve is sliding the shield onto his back. Without a glance at the crowd below, he rushes at Sam.

“When I tell you to do something, don’t you ever fucking hesitate. You understand?”

Beside him, Bucky snorts and flings the device to the ground. He grinds it under his heel and strolls away, resuming his stance above the disaster. Blanching at the rage in those blue eyes, Sam takes a wordless step back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

*****

The last time Steve came to the familiar meadow, was because he needed space to let the rage in his heart spill into the world. In the desolation of those black nights, he screamed his fury into the heavens, broken beyond repair.

This time is different.

Velvety night drips through the sparse tree branches as you walk through the dense forest, Steve leading the way, Bucky close behind. Slivers of moonlight streak through the dark trees, illuminating the huffs of frosty white breath.

When you reach the clearing, Steve slips his warm hand through your gloved fingers, Bucky curves a protective arm around your shoulders. Together, they lead you toward the middle of the field, until they come to an abrupt halt.

Bemused, you stare at them. Under the shy glow of white moonlight, they look carved from marble.

Fallen angels, maybe.

“Is everything okay?” you whisper, eyes roving uncertainly between them.

From the depths of his pocket, Bucky pulls free a black satin box. It sits in the palm of his hand and he looks nervously at you, over to Steve, back to you. He clears his throat.

“We’ve been talking about this forever.” A crooked smile lifts his lips. “Since the first night you spent with us. This here, what we have with you, it’s the only thing we want. We don’t need anything official, but we thought you should know. We’ll love you forever, sweetheart. If you’ll let us.”

Gently, he opens the case, revealing a dark ring set against white silk. Eyes wide, you watch as Bucky lifts the simple band, two strings of delicate black vibranium twisted into an infinity circle. As he holds it aloft, Steve nudges him, and they both fall, kneeling to worship at your feet.

“What do you think?” Steve murmurs. Tentative, hesitant. As though the answer could ever be anything other the words rolling from your tongue.

No matter the circumstance, the love you have for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers is the one shining light in a world of darkness.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course. I love you both so much, nothing will ever change that. Forever.”

Under the raw, naked gleam of the bright night, you kneel before them, face to face with their delighted smiles. Together they reach for you, pulling you into the safe haven of their arms.

*****

“God dammit Rogers! You’re out of line with this shit!”

Leaning over his desk, Nick Fury wipes irritably at the fat beads of sweat dripping down his temple.

Across from him, Steve and Bucky sit in matching leather chairs, both still wearing their combat uniforms. They look like heathens, covered in dust and blood, the pervading reek of death defiling the pristine shine of the SHIELD office. Bucky sits with his legs sprawled open, Steve with one ankle balanced on the opposite knee.

Both are smirking.

“Are we though?” Steve shrugs, eyes wide. “If you’re not gonna do your job, someone has to pick up the slack. Like always.”

Nick grinds his teeth so hard they nearly crack. He sees red.

“That’s it, you cocky sonofabitch. We’re done with this. Effective immediately, you’re relieved of your duties. Both of you.”

Steve tips his head back and laughs, an inhuman sound. Nick feels his gut twist.

“Really? Buck did you hear that? We’re ‘relieved’ of our duties. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a fucking relief,” Bucky drawls. He picks at his fingernail, scraping dried blood from beneath and flicking it away. Tilting his head, he looks up at Fury with a poisonous smile. “But I dunno, the thing is Director, we’re pretty happy with our jobs. Pays the bills and gives us something to do, so I don’t think we’ll accept your offer. Another day, maybe. That sound good Stevie?”

“Sounds great, Buck.”

At a loss for words, Nick stares. Over the decades, he’s encountered some genuinely fucked up people, a common currency in this line of business, but this? This right here? This is a whole other level. Every hint of remorse, every bit of humanity, every last fragment of goodness is gone. Disappeared. Nothing more than ashes in the wind.

It is a bleak world, when superheroes become the monsters they hunt.

Steeling himself, Nick presses his fists into the desk to hide the shaking tremor of nerves.

“One last warning Rogers. Turn in your weapons and go home. Stand down, or I will make you.”

“Oh please,” Steve sneers, delight in his voice, “give it your best shot. I can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Smoothly simultaneous, they stand. The sound of raucous laughter follows them through the door and into the hallway, before abruptly ending as the heavy wood slams shut. Wide-eyed, Nick sinks slowly into his creaking leather chair.

The skin along the back of his neck tingles.

“Motherfucker,” he whispers.

*****

Standing at the edge of the dark lake, gentle ripples slide along the edges of cracked ice. It grows so fast now, stretching frozen fingers to claim the sheet of blue. Like a parasite, hardening the shoreline, freezing the world to stone.

The wicked irony of the metaphor is not lost.

Staring at the mobile phone clenched tight in your icy fingers, you turn it on for the first time in weeks and the screen lights up with a sea of notifications, red blips and blinking green lights, texts, emails, voicemails. Indicators of an increasingly desperate world beyond the confines of your comfortable bubble. Scrolling through, the names are an endless loop and your heart plummets.

Natasha, Sam, Tony. Nick Fury.

While Steve and Bucky have said nothing, the question itched at your brain. Upon each return, you begged them to tell you: what happened, how were they feeling, what did they see, was anything changing? And over and over, they answered with bashful shrugs and dashing smiles, fervent kisses pressed to your lips as they murmured the same response.

Nothing changed. Everything is good, we feel fine.

Nausea rises, thick and sour. Why did you ever let yourself believe them?

Before, they agonized over morality, what was right, the cost of their decisions. But now? The evidence of their lies glare up in black and white. Thumbing through, you see the increasing alarm in every message, descriptions of all they’ve done. Bombs, gunshots, torture. Blatant disregard for lives, for their team, for anything and anyone other than themselves.

Any semblance of humanity whittled away to nothing. Shattered by a desperate wish and a bargaining dance with a red-eyed demon.

Fuck.

Finger hovering over the latest message from Natasha, you brace yourself and click it open. The words jumble together, swimming black letters.

Nat: Dean Winchester. 785-555-0128. Call him. Please.

Eyes shut, you tip your face up to the sky, sucking in a lungful of sharp air.

For all the darkness circling their souls, the truth is, it remains pure and clear when it comes to their love for you. Bright smiles in the morning, rich laughter teasing through the day, sweet caresses in the night. The unconventionally beautiful relationship among the three of you created remains flawless.

Just as the demon promised.

Selfishly, you want that to be enough - if only it could be - but no. Some wrongs need to be righted, and this tragedy now rests squarely in your hands. Maybe you can save them. Maybe.

And if you can’t?

Heart hammering wildly in your chest, you punch the number, lift the phone to your ear and wait. It rings for so long, you nearly give up, until a gruff voice finally answers.

“Hello?”

*****

End

*****

#stucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fic #bucky x reader #steve x reader #supernatural #spn #crossover fic

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mikauzoran · 5 years ago

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Marichat/Adrienette/Adrichat: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Thirty-Nine

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...because time ran out.

The gigantic porcupine akuma (he was calling himself “Sonic”, but Adrien was pretty sure that he couldn’t do that because of copyright infringement. Besides, the name wasn’t even fitting. For starters, hedgehogs and porcupines were completely different things. Secondly, the porcupine akuma was bumbling and slow and brown and nothing like the speedy, blue video game hedgehog) swung around, swiping at Chat Noir with his massive claws.

The porcupine may have been sluggish and clumsy, but the dagger-sharp talons he wielded were nothing to sneeze at.

“How’s it going, My Lady?” Chat called to his partner as he dodge-rolled out of the way.

“Working on it!” Ladybug called back, searching their surroundings for the answer to her Lucky Charm.

She looked back and forth between the red and black polka-dotted baseball bat in her hand and the objects around her—tree, fountain, rubbish bin, boyfriend, park bench, newspaper stand, lamp post—to no avail.

“Ugh! I’m not getting anything!” she shouted to him in frustration as he dodged another swipe of the porcupine’s claws.

“That’s okay!” he assured, trying to be patient and supportive. “I’m good, so take your time. I’m sure you’ll solve it any minute now.” He jumped back as the porcupine stomped in rage, cracking the plaza pavement.

“I don’t have time,” Ladybug growled down at the baseball bat as her earrings gave a warning beep.

The akuma spun, raising his tail as if to smack Chat Noir with it.

Chat ducked, and the appendage narrowly missed taking Chat’s head off.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the attack. Porcupine quills shot from the tail, launching through the air.

Distracted, Ladybug didn’t see the threat until it was too late. She spun her yoyo to create a shield, but one of the spines got through her defenses, hitting her arm and dissolving on contact.

She dropped like a lead zeppelin, her Lucky Charm clattering to the ground beside her.

“Ladybug!” Chat screamed, heart stopping as he dashed to her side, fearing the worst.

“I can’t move!” she gasped in horror. “The quills must cause paralysis.”

“Thank God,” Chat sighed in relief, scooping her up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snorted, glaring at her partner.

“I thought you were dead,” he explained, awkwardly grabbing the baseball bat before leaping up onto a nearby roof. “I’ll take paralyzed over dead any day. Now, let’s get you somewhere safe and regroup.”

“I guess you have a point,” she grumbled as he carried away from the battle, speeding down the banks of the Seine as if he were the wind itself.

Her earrings gave another beep.

“Three minutes,” she hissed, cursing under her breath.

“We’ll be there in thirty seconds,” he promised, hopping down off the rooftop and heading towards the river.

“The Liberty?” Ladybug remarked quizzically as they landed on the deck and Chat Noir carried her down below, through the main cabin, and into Luka’s bedroom.

“Safest place I know besides my girlfriend’s house,” he replied proudly, as if it had something to do with him. “The Couffaines are out having dinner with Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling, so we should be undisturbed.”

It briefly occurred to her to scold him for revealing that he was close enough friends with the family to know that bit of information because that was the kind of careless detail that could get his identity exposed…but they had more pressing issues to attend to.

“What are we going to do?” Ladybug groaned as Chat lowered her down onto Luka’s bed. “I can’t fight like this. I won’t be able to purify the akuma…and I’m going to detransform any minute!”

“No one will see you here,” Chat coaxed, gently running a knuckle along her cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You can still breathe normally, right? It doesn’t feel like the paralysis is spreading to your lungs or heart or anything, right?”

Ladybug pressed pause on all the other worries flying through her head in order to stop and evaluate. “…No,” she replied finally. “My breathing feels normal, and I can still move my head. It seems like the immobilization starts below my neck.”

He nodded, breathing another sigh of relief. “Good. Okay. Now that the important stuff is out of the way…”

“What are we going to do?” Ladybug asked only semi-rhetorically, her voice tight and fragile.

She was doing a good job of holding it together, of not letting on how afraid and helpless she was feeling.

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” Suddenly, it occurred to him to ask, “Can you feel my hand?”

She shook her head.

He let go, moving his hand up to cup her face, running his thumb along her cheekbone, along the edge of her mask. “We’re going to beat this guy, and everything is going to be okay.”

Her frown betrayed her misgivings. “Chat Noir, I can’t fight like this. I’m not going to be able to purify the akuma.”

He bit his lip. “…Then…let me do it. Let me borrow your earrings. I know I haven’t been a very good Ladybug replacement in the past, but please let me try.”

She shook her head vehemently. “We can’t! I can’t remove the earrings myself the way I am now. You’d have to take them off of me. You’d find out my identity.”

His teeth sank further into his lip. “…About that…”

“No!” she insisted, her face awash in terror. “It’s too dangerous!”

He took a deep breath, perching one hip up on the bed beside her. “…Marinette? I already know.”

Her eyes went wide in shock and fear as she stared at him, abashed.

He lowered his head, shoulders scrunching up to his ears. “I’m sorry. I knew you were afraid for me to know, so I didn’t tell you when I figured it out. I didn’t want to take away your peace of mind.”

Her earrings gave a final beep, and, in a flash of pink light, her transformation faded away.

“How did you figure it out?” she whispered, voice glacial and carefully restrained. “What did I do wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You were just complaining about your therapist telling you that you didn’t have to save the world because you weren’t Ladybug or something like that,” he sighed. “And then it clicked out of nowhere suddenly. It was nothing you did.”

Her brow contorted into a scowl of confusion as she tried to recall the conversation. “When was this?”

He gulped. “About…a year ago? It was sometime in the fall. I think—”

“—A year?!” she exploded. “You’ve known for a whole year?!”

He winced, in the back of his mind worrying about whether this was a fireable offence and if she’d be looking for a new boyfriend after this.

Gathering his courage, he looked her in the eye and pleaded, “Marinette, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to constantly be living in fear.”

“Adrien, I have a right to know I’m in danger!” she snapped back. “You should have told me so I could be on my guard!”

“But nothing’s happened!” he argued, only it came out mostly as a whine. “You’ve been perfectly safe for an entire year.”

“But what if something had happened?” she challenged. “One of these days, there’s going to be a truth-telling akuma, and we’re both going to be screwed.”

“Fine,” he huffed, tail lashing and cat ears flat as he got up and walked over to the desk, his back to her and arms crossed. “Whatever. You’re right, and I’m just a reckless, thoughtless screwup like always. Can we just skip the lecture and focus on beating the akuma now? I don’t want to fight.”

“Adrien,” she sighed, regaining some of her patience as she remembered how much she loved him and didn’t want to hurt him. “You’re not a screwup. You just need to stop keeping secrets from me.”

He snorted indignantly, arms wrapping around himself tighter in search of comfort.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s just focus on defeating the akuma. We can talk our own problems out later.”

“So, you’ll let me borrow your earrings?” He peeked over his shoulder at her, turning slowly.

She shook her head. “You can’t use the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculouses at the same time. It’s too dangerous.”

He rolled his eyes, growling softly. “Marinette, I’m not going to combine them and make a wish that destroys the world or anything. Can you at least pretend that you have a little faith in me, please?”

“I do!” she insisted. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry. I just…” She blew out a long sigh. “Sorry. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

He dropped his transformation and went back to her side. “Hey. It’s okay,” he cooed, running his knuckle up and down her jawline. “Just take some deep breaths.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on the flow of air in and out of her body.

He sat with her for nearly a full minute, playing with her hair and stroking her face as she attempted to calm down.

Finally, her eyes opened, and she looked up at him with conviction. “Take the earrings. And the Miracle Box is in my bedroom. Tikki can show you where, if you need backup.”

A bright smile of gratitude spread across his lips. “Actually, I think I have a plan,” he explained as he carefully reached out and removed the Miraculous from her ears. “The akuma is a lumbering oaf. He doesn’t move fast, so if I gang up on him and overwhelm him, I should be able to get the drop on him, clock him over the head with your Lucky Charm, and grab the pendant the butterfly’s possessing.”

Marinette frowned, hung up on one detail. “How are you going to gang up on him?”

He grinned, pulling up his pant leg to reveal the Fox Miraculous wrapped around his ankle like a bracelet. “Oh, I’ve got a whole army of illusions at my disposal. You don’t have to worry about me, My Ladylove.”

She considered him for a moment before nodding her assent. “Okay. Be careful. I’ll meet you at your apartment afterwards to collect my earrings and so we can have our talk.”

Tikki was hanging out in Adrien’s kitchen, perched on top of a plate of gingersnaps, when Marinette reached the apartment.

“They’re in the bedroom,” she advised, taking an enormous bite out of one of the cookies.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “‘They’?”

Tikki nodded, pausing in her feast to point to the plain jet earrings on the counter beside her plate. “He left your Miraculous here for you.”

Marinette nodded, coming over to reclaim her earrings. She’d felt so anxious the whole time she’d been without them. “How did the fight go?” she asked her kwami conversationally.

Tikki giggled. “He made the poor akuma think he was under attack by all seventeen heroes at once with Trixx’s Mirage. I have to admit, Marinette, he’s become quite adept at controlling illusions. While his army was keeping the akuma busy, he snuck up from behind and gave the poor porcupine a solid whack. He grabbed the pendant while the akuma was down, and that was that.”

Marinette scrunched up her nose. “He literally hit the akuma with a baseball bat? Talk about inelegant solutions.”

“Yes…” Tikki sighed, “He’s not really suited to complex Lucky Charms. I like Adrien a lot, but he’s not the type of person I typically choose to wield the Ladybug Miraculous.”

Marinette leaned in to press a butterfly kiss to Tikki’s head. “Thanks for keeping him safe for me. …Is he upset about me finding out he knows my identity? Does he still think I’m mad at him? Is he worried I’m going to break up with him?”

Tikki grimaced, gazing up at her chosen sympathetically. “Adrien is a very sensitive boy who doesn’t know how loveable and deserving of love he is. He’s very insecure, so be gentle with him, Marinette.”

“Thanks, Tikki.” Marinette blew out a breath and nodded, giving Tikki’s head a pet with a single finger before making her way across the great-room to Adrien’s bedroom door.

She knocked softly and was answered by a hoarse voice calling out, “Come in!”

She opened the door and stopped short when she found Chat Noir and Adrien curled up on the bed together, Chat lying half on top of Adrien with his back to the doorway and his face buried in Adrien’s chest as Adrien nuzzled and stroked Chat Noir’s hair comfortingly.

Adrien grinned sheepishly. “Please don’t judge our weird coping behaviors. Our parents didn’t hug us enough.”

“No!” she hastily assured, coming over to sit on the bed. “I’m not judging! I just…” She paused in the middle of slipping off her shoes to study them. “Sorry. Which one of you is…?”

Her eyebrows pinched together as looked back and forth between them.

“He’s real,” Adrien informed, motioning to Chat Noir. “I’m the Mirage.”

“You’re real,” Chat croaked in protest, squeezing Adrien tighter. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t have a mind of your own.”

“Shh,” Adrien coaxed, pressing a kiss to the crown of Chat’s head. “I never said I didn’t have a mind of my own. I just meant that you’re the original.”

Chat gave an appeased hum, nuzzling Adrien’s chest.

Marinette’s heart swelled as she watched them, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ve missed this these past two months since I found out you two were the same person,” she confessed as she crawled across the bed to curl up with them.

Chat tensed at the contact at first but then quickly relaxed back against her. “Does this mean you’re not breaking up with me for not telling you I knew your identity?”

“Oh, Adrien,” Marinette sighed, giving the back of his neck a kiss. “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, but, if you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to break up with me yourself. Otherwise, you’re stuck with me.”

“We’re more than happy to be stuck with you, Ohime-sama,” the Adrien doppelgänger assured, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you when we found out.” His eyes pleaded for her forgiveness.

“We didn’t want to pile any more stress on you,” Chat added meekly. “We know how you worry yourself sick over everything, and we knew what a big deal revealing identities was for you, so…”

“We thought it was better not to say anything,” Adrien picked up the thread of conversation. “We’re sorry, and we know you have every right to be mad at us for not telling you, but the truth of the matter is that you would have been worrying needlessly if we had told you because nothing has happened this past year since we found out.”

“The most important thing to us was keeping you from having a mental breakdown,” Chat explained. “You weren’t in a good place mentally back then, Marinette. You’re still kind of a wreck, but last year was really bad.”

“We were afraid for you,” Adrien stressed, cupping her cheek and making her meet his earnest gaze. “It’s just like when we told you we were in a queerplatonic relationship so that you could stop stressing about cheating on Chat Noir. We were afraid knowing that we knew you were Ladybug would cause too much anxiety.”

“We didn’t want to push you over the edge like we did to Maman,” Chat concluded in a timid tone.

“Oh, my boys,” Marinette sighed, wrapping her arms around them and pulling them in close.

She gave them a tight squeeze and then let go so that she could tilt her chin up and capture Adrien’s lips, pressing her mouth to his hard. Once done with him, she leaned in and caught Chat’s mouth in an equally firm kiss.

“I’m still mad,” she informed them as she settled back down on the bed, her head on Adrien’s shoulder and an arm draped across both Chat and Adrien. “I mean, you should have told me, but I get why you didn’t…. I know you two are the same person, but your argument feels more persuasive when the two of you take turns laying out your thought process.”

Chat caught Adrien’s eye, and the two shared a puckish grin.

“We should team up on her more often,” Chat snickered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Adrien returned with an eyebrow waggle.

Marinette groaned. “No. Absolutely no tag teaming me. Bad boyfriends.”

Chat rolled over a little so that he was more on his back between Marinette and Adrien than on his side. “…Marinette, are you going to be okay now that you know we know?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I don’t know. I had a long time to think while I was lying there immobilized, waiting for the Miraculous Ladybug to kick in. I tried some of the strategies my therapist has gone over with me to deal with stress and anxiety, and I really don’t know,” she replied honestly.

Adrichat nodded, expressions solemn.

She sighed again and shook her head. “I think it’s going to take a while to get used to and adapt. I don’t have any control over it, so I just have to come to terms with it, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Katsuragi tells us,” Adrien affirmed, and Chat nodded in agreement.

“You know we’re never going to let anything happen to you or your loved ones, right?” Chat sought confirmation.

Marinette took his face in her hands. “Chaton, I trust you. I know how capable you are, and I know you’d do anything to protect me. You’ve died for me…. I’ve never doubted you. This is just… This isn’t about you,” she tried to explain gently. “I don’t know how to put what’s going on inside my head into words, but just know that I trust you implicitly, and I believe in you. This isn’t about you. This is about me trying to manage my own thoughts and fears and…and everything.”

Slowly, he nodded, accepting her words at face value. “Okay. Just… If you want to talk about it…”

“I’m concerned that you’re going to get akumatized and destroy the moon and flood Paris,” she blurted.

Chat blinked at her.

Adrien and Chat shared a look and then blinked in tandem before turning back to Marinette with a frown.

She winced. “Okay. I know that sounds crazy, but there was this alternate timeline where that actually happened when you figured out my identity when we were fourteen, and I had to go and fight you and fix everything so you didn’t find out my identity and turn Paris into Atlantis. I’m not being ridiculous. And that’s not even the only thing I’m worried about, so—”

“—Marinette,” Adrien interrupted as both Adrien and Chat reached for her, maneuvering so that she was sandwiched between them.

“We do not think you’re being ridiculous,” Chat assured, trying not to think too hard about alternate timelines and an akumatized version of himself attacking Marinette.

Adrien nodded. “We believe you.”

“We know you’ve got a lot on your plate and that there’s a lot you have to worry about.” Chat gently nuzzled her neck, started to purr soothingly.

“We just don’t think an alternate timeline where we get akumatized because we know your identity is where you should focus your energy,” Adrien coaxed, beginning to massage her scalp.

“Yeah,” Chat seconded. “I don’t think that’s an issue anymore. Knowing that you’re Ladybug isn’t going to get us akumatized. You breaking up with us is what would do it.”

“And you’ve already confirmed that that’s not happening,” Adrien chuckled teasingly.

“…I…guess,” Marinette replied, slowly coming around. “I just…I think it’s going to take a while for me to get used to you knowing and to feel safe again. You’re right that nothing’s happened in the past year, and the things I worry about probably won’t happen—except for maybe Papillon holding my family hostage, but—”

“—Hey,” Adrien cooed as Chat and Adrien nuzzled her and pressed her tight between them. “We’ve got you.”

“Would you feel better if you wrote down the things you’re worried about and then we made plans for every scenario?” Chat suggested. “You always seem to feel better when you have a plan.”

Gradually, she began to nod. “…Yeah. That’s actually a really good idea. That would probably help. Thanks, Minou. Beau Gosse.”

“Our pleasure,” Chadrien chuckled, pressing twin kisses to her cheeks.

“I like this,” she hummed in pleasure. “…Would it be weird to ask you to use the Fox Miraculous sometimes so we could all three be together? I really like snuggle piles.”

“We do too,” Adrien confessed.

“Sometimes I use the Fox Miraculous when I’m feeling really down,” Chat sheepishly admitted. “Trixx said he was okay with it,” he added hurriedly. “He said he was glad his powers could help me. I know it’s kind of bizarre, but…I mean, you know I don’t get much physical affection, so…”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Marinette agreed, reaching up to pet Chat’s hair. “I mean…my therapist is all about self-soothing techniques and having me use whatever resources are available, so…I can kind of see using the Fox Miraculous as a self-soothing strategy. You’re not hurting anything, and, if it helps, it helps, so I say go for it.”

“Oh good,” Adrien chuckled nervously. “I was sort of worried you’d think it was really weird.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean…I’m just glad you found something that helps you cope and feel better….”

“He does,” Chat affirmed softly. “It’s nice to have someone around who’s loving and supportive when I feel crumby and alone, so…Pretty Boy helps a lot.”

Adrien grinned and then stuck his tongue out, giving his double’s hair a fond tussle. “Glad to hear it.”

“Is it weird at all for you?” Marinette wondered aloud. “I mean, being affectionate with yourself? Not that I think it’s weird,” she quickly clarified. “I just meant, I would think it would be weird for me if I made a Ladybug Mirage and snuggled with her. I was just wondering if it feels weird for you.”

The boys shared a look and then burst out laughing.

“Yes,” Adrien chortled.

“Definitely,” Chat seconded. “At first anyway.”

“It was really, really weird,” Adrien confirmed. “I mean…I’ve never really liked myself, honestly, so…it was hard to be affectionate with someone I didn’t like.”

“Oh,” Marinette replied in a small voice, a deep sadness washing over her as she really took in his words. She loved him so much, and it made her heart hurt to realize that he didn’t see all the good inside of himself that she saw.

“It was actually a good experience, though,” Chat added. “Pretending to like myself actually made me like myself a little more. Thinking of Adrien as my boyfriend and having to be nice to him and treat him well made it a little easier to be nice to myself. I’m still not really good at self-love and self-care, but, in the past year, I’ve been doing a lot better. Pretending to be two different people made me realize how crappy I treated myself. I would never talk to another person the way I talked to myself, so I learned to be a little kinder.”

“I’m really glad,” Marinette cooed, giving Adrien and Chat Noir each an affectionate nuzzle and a peck on the cheek. “You deserve kindness.”

“Thanks,” they whispered, scooting in closer to love on her.

They lay there for a few minutes, soaking up the comfortable warmth of one another until an unsettling thought occurred to Marinette.

“…Adrien…are you mad at me?” she inquired timidly, bracing for his response.

“Why would we be mad?” Adrien replied quizzically.

She took a deep breath and looked back and forth between them. “Because. For the longest time I kept turning down Chat Noir because I was in love with Adrien, but then I went and fell in love with Chat Noir as Marinette and turned Adrien down, so…I don’t know. Don’t you feel a little betrayed? Aren’t you mad that I didn’t tell you I was Ladybug and just started dating you as Marinette? I know you found out a year ago, so it’s been a while, but…”

“It hadn’t actually occurred to me to be upset,” Chat sheepishly admitted. “I mean, I kind of freaked out a bit right afterward because my girlfriend is Ladybug and holy crap and all that, but…” He shrugged.

“I’m just happy to be loved,” Adrien assured. “Life is complicated, and you had your reasons for not telling me. It kind of hurt, you not confiding in me, but I knew it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t like you told anyone else, so… I was just happy that you loved both of me, that I’d somehow managed to win you over.”

Marinette groaned, snaking her arms around the both of them. “Why do you always have to be so good and loving and forgiving? How could I not fall in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien chuckled. “Like I kind of said before, we don’t really think we’re all that great.”

“And you both always seemed so far out of our league,” Chat added. “Having one of you want us was like winning the lottery.”

“Finding out we had both of you was like a miracle,” Adrien agreed. “How could we be mad when we’d been given such a gift?”

“I don’t deserve you two,” Marinette sighed, suddenly feeling unworthy yet again.

They shrugged in tandem. “I guess it doesn’t matter because you’re stuck with us.”

“I could live with that,” she chuckled, settling back down into their snuggle pile.

#Marichat #Adrinette #Adrienette #Adrichat #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Chat Noir #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Ladybug #Kissing #Reveal #Writing Prompts #Mikau's Writings #Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER 9 - Rapids

A03

Here’s the continuation on this story that took me three years to get out.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Belle had never known such fear.

She sailed the entire world, faced typhoons and sharks and poachers nearly her entire life, but the creature—the man—she was most afraid of was walking high and dry on land.

And threatening her merman.

Belle’s heartbeat began to escalate as she paced down Storybrooke’s streets, her mind spinning for answers.

This wasn’t something she could go to the police about. What the hell could she say? “Help, my mer-boyfriend is about to be killed by a poacher-pirate guy?”

They’d think she was insane!

But she rather have to plead her case than waste any more time. The clock was ticking.

Luckily Merlin and Ariel were in the kitchen preparing dinner, chatting and laughing.

She watched her friends for a moment, wondering just what they thought of her after her disappearances these last few weeks. She hadn’t been the best towards them lately, and they’d shrugged off her absence beautifully. She owed them the world.

Ariel looked up and grinned widely at the site of Belle.

“Well, look who’s actually home for dinner,” she teased.

“I’ll get the good wine,” Merlin chimed in.

Belle gulped and stepped further into the kitchen, clutching her stomach.

Ariel instantly noticed Belle’s demeanor and placed down the knife she was holding.

“Okay, what’s going on?” she inquired as she led her to a chair.

Merlin killed the heat on the stove, and joined them, his eyebrows raised in concern.

Belle clutched her stomach, nausea threatening to take over.

“Guys,” she began to explain carefully. “I’m…I’m in trouble.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open, automatically misinterpreting Belle’s distress.

"Oh shit, you're pregnant, aren't you?" He gripped the back of the chair he was holding onto tightly, taking in a deep breath to stead his nerves. "It’s fine, we can sue for child support and put it in a college fund to—”

“Damn it Merlin no!” Belle shrieked, covering her face in humiliation.

“Then what’s going on?” Ariel demanded as she stepped in front of Belle.

“This has gone on long enough! You’re gone all day, don’t come home until the middle of the night. Your sunburn and waterlogged but you keep going back to the beach.”

Belle gulped. Ariel wasn’t just angry, she was hurt, and she had rather dealt with her rage than her pain.

Ariel stared at her best friend of over ten years. They’d sailed the world together, survived hurricanes and sharks and god-awful boyfriends. There weren’t secrets between them. Until now that is.

“Please, Belle, just tell me what’s happening to you, what’s going on?” Ariel pleaded. “Whatever it is, I will help you and support you all the way.”

Merlin nodded beside her. They were all in this together.

“It’s…a bit hard to believe,” Belle explained.

Ariel shook her head. “There’s nothing in the world you can say that we won’t believe.”

Belle groaned a bit, looking back and forth between her best friends.

“Okay,” she sighed, knowing this was about to be a bloodbath.

“For the past several weeks, I’ve been befriending and studying a merman off a cove on the beach. And now, Killian Jones, the captain of the ship Eric works on, is trying to hunt and kill him and I need your help to save him.”

The kitchen became so quiet that only the sound of boiling water could be heard. Merlin and Ariel finally exchanged a rather incredulous look.

Belle gasped. “I know it sounds crazy-”

“Actually, it sounds a lot less…odd than what we were expecting,” Merlin shrugged, making a very obvious step to the phone hanging in the kitchen.

“Merlin,” Belle whined.

“We’re just gonna give Dr. Whale a call,” Merlin responded with a tight smile. “Maybe he’s got a good remedy for dehydration…and insanity.”

Belle covered her face, feeling like she really was about to pass out. Rumple was running out of time, and she was a phone call away from ending up in a looney bin!

Ariel looked torn, but determined. Belle knew from experience that she – a championed athletic swimmer – could easily tackle her if she tried to make a quick escape. Judging by the worry on her face and her clenched fists, she might just do that.

She had to be logical, but quick. She had to bring them to her side.

“Guys, wait, please,” she pleaded, earning Merlin’s stare as the phone continued to ring.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage she needed.

“I know you think I’m crazy, I thought I was too, so I don’t blame you,” she laughed. “But I need you both to believe me, to give me a chance.”

Merlin and Ariel glanced at each other, unconvinced but practical.

“If you could just come with me down to the docks, I can show him to you,” she swore. “Just for a moment? Please, please just trust me.”

Ariel and Merlin looked unconvinced and ultimately she had to be the one to grab the keys and make a decision.

“Five minutes at the sand dunes, and then can we take you to the hospital?”

Belle tensed. They really did think she was crazy.

“Fine,” she agreed hastily, “let’s just go.”

She sprinted to Merlin’s truck, Ariel quick on her heels as if she were trying to make a break for it.

Let them think what they want, Belle thought, as long as they got to Rumple and figured out a plan. She didn’t trust Killian not to make his move early and completely cut her from the equation in the process.

The ride to the beach severely contrast from earlier trips the trio had made. There was no laughter or good-natured banter between them. Just an eerie silence that threatened to silence them all forever.

Belle hated it. She didn’t want to have her best friends in the entire world on the outside. She hated how she had kept them there to begin with.

She'd make this up to them, she promised, but she had to save Rumple first.

Save the merman, make peace with her friends, in that order.

Belle was ready to fly from the truck when they came across the nearly forgotten mass of sand dunes, but Ariel seemed to act as a wall between her and freedom.

“Just…stay close to me, okay?” she inquired, not quite meeting her friend’s eyes.

Belle tried to get the lump in her throat down but failed. Merlin as well looked ready to spring after her.

Belle could have rolled her eyes at their behavior, but she understood in a way where they were coming from.

She thought herself mad sometimes at all this. Merfolk were stuff of legend after all, and the fact that she was up close and personal with one on a daily level still had her in shock.

But she wasn’t crazy, and Rumple was somewhere in the area and she had no choice but to reveal his existence.

The trio skid down the dunes, Belle’s eyes immediately searching for her merman.

The water was quiet, the faint echo of seagulls creating a lullaby over the area.

“Maybe he’s sleeping,” Belle suggested out loud.

“Belle,” Ariel sighed.

“Just…give me a second,” Belle said as she kicked off her shoes. She dodged Ariel’s grasp and eased into the cold water, shivering with anticipation.

She placed her hands above the water, feeling the vibrations from the life underneath it.

Rumple’s life.

“Rumple, please come out.”

A small wave crashed on to her, shaking her but not knocking her down. She looked up and found Rumple staring at her, grinning.

“Back already?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” she said, choking a bit on the relief that Jones hadn’t gotten to him yet.

Rumple noticed her distress instantly. “What is it, Belle?”

As his eyes searched her face, it landed on the other two humans behind Belle, both of who were gaping at them.

“Holy fish!” the female with long red hair said. “Holy actual fish!”

The male human began to shake and slowly eased to the ground.

“That’s a…a…”

“Merman?” Ariel said, just as confused as he was.

Rumple growled at the intruders, hands squeezing Belle’s tighter.

“It’s okay,” Belle assured, fingers grazing over his. “I know they’re strangers, but their friends of mine and they're going to help us.”

“Help us?” Rumple inquired.

Belle grasped his hands, her body shaking from the stress.

“There’s a man after you, Rumple,” Belle explained as the merman’s expression changed. “The same one who hurt your tail.”

Rumple growled. “Where is he? Did he hurt you?”

Belle would spare him the details of her conversation with Jones until later. All she needed right now was for her to agree for him to go with her.

“No, but it’s you he wants, and I can protect you but you have to trust me.”

Gold nodded. Of course he trust her.

Belle motioned for him to stay put and waddled back to sure where her two companions were still gaping.

“So …” she began, motioning to Rumple. “He’s pretty real.”

“No flipping kidding,” said Merlin who had collapsed onto the sand.

“I know you’re both taking this in, but we need to get him out of here.”

Merlin rose up, staring at her incredulously. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

Belle smiled widely. “It’s about time to uncover your pool, right?”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon, you want to take him to my place?”

Belle dropped down to his level, practically begging him to consider.

“Jones won’t set foot on your property to get Rumple this way,

“And,” Ariel jumped in, shrugging sheepishly. “It’ll create the perfect environment to study him.”

Belle gave her a look.

“To keep a close eye on him, I mean.” Ariel corrected.

Belle shrugged, satisfied. She knew her friend was going science-mode as she had when she first discovered Rumple and meant nothing malicious.

“So what do you say,” Belle inquired to Merlin. “Can we take him home?”

Merlin looked at the hopeful women before him and then at the merman who had yet to lighten his glare.

This all seemed like a very weird fever dream, and one unfortunately that he would not be waking up from any time soon.

Best to just accept it then.

“Fine, but you two better figure out how to get the fish on the back of my truck.”

Belle and Ariel squealed and kissed his cheeks.

“Okay,” Belle gasped, a weight lifting from her chest. “Can we get the truck down here?”

As the trio worked out a way to get Rumple to safety, the merman turned to the horizon where he could just see a ship sailing across the setting sun.

Jones.

Rumple hissed with intense hatred. That man was after him, and his Belle at that!

As Belle beckoned him to the shore, he swore immediate death on the man if he came near her again.

He was not getting his beloved. Not a chance in hell or high water.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #mer!rumple #foxmurphy #ouat au #ryik's fics #mermaids #rumbelle au #salt water

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rosegoldannie · 5 years ago

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Tell Me no Lies Chapter 19

TW: Kidnapping. Nothing too bad, but this chapter was really intense. This was a lot, so there should be another chapter after this.

Masterlist

“But...That’s impossible!” Aelin stammered, scrambling as far away from Arobynn as the small cars and her seatbelt would allow.

He gave her a sickening grin. “It’s quite possible, my dear girl.”

“She’s not your anything.” Rowan snapped, pulling her closer to him.

Arobynn sneered at him, looking Rowan up and down before turning to her. “And who is he?” He purred condescendingly. “Your replacement for Sam? How utterly pathetic.”

She let out a slight whimper, leaning into Rowan’s chest. Her roommate spoke in a deep, low voice. “Don’t say his name, asshole. You don’t deserve to have even known him if he was even half as good as she says he was.”

“Shut up.” Their captor snapped, bringing his hand to rest on the butt of his gun. “You’ll be dead soon, and I’ll make it painless if you don’t speak.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, you piece of absolute shi-”

“I will burn your eyes to cinders while she watches, and you beg and scream and plead for mercy. I can make you wish you had never been born with only my bare hands.”

“STOP IT!” Aelin shouted, dragging her hands through her hair, and shoving that horrible sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm her down. “What do you want from us?!” She snapped. She wouldn't let that panic, that wretched terror control her again.

Arobynn began driving again, but kept one hand on his gun as a threat, and glanced at them in the mirror every few moments. “I’m here to deliver justice.” They wove meticulously through several lanes of traffic, and a sense of dread began to settle deep in her gut. “I’m here to deliver justice for what you did a year ago.” His words hit her like knives in the chest.

Discreetly, Rowan began slipping his phone out of his pocket and sent her a pleading glare, a silent urge for her to stall for time.

“What- Are you serious?!” She snapped. “This is all because of Gregori and Ben?” How he was so furious over their deaths still eluded her. He knew as good as anyone how dangerous being in a drug cartel was, and yet….he still blamed her. And, hell, it wasn’t as if Gregori and Ben were even good workers, because they were mediocre at best.

Arobynn pulled off onto an onramp that led deep into the Oakwald forest. That dread in her gut only worsened as she realized where he was taking them, to that horrid place she had nearly died with Chaol, and where she was all but certain he had killed Sam. “Yes, and no.” He mused. “While I didn’t necessarily care for those two, when you failed to save them, it was the final straw. You failed me one time to many.” Again, he pulled off the onramp onto a hidden side road, leading to nowhere. That terror threatened to resurface, violently thrashing against the miniscule control she had. “I told you that night; when they were first brought into the triage center. I told you that they were to survive, no matter what.”

“And I told you that I couldn’t guarantee that! They had each been shot multiple times-”

“That doesn’t matter!” He roared, the car swerving wildly back and forth as they hurtled down the dirt road. “I gave you an order, and you disobeyed.” Those grey eyes met hers, just as cold and vicious as she remembered.

She sighed, gathering her courage and trying to buy Rowan time. “I tried my best. Really, I did everything I could, but...they were essentially dead on arrival-”

“I don’t care. I had given you an order.” Suddenly, the car screeched to a stop, and their captor whirled around, pointing that gun at Rowan. And Aelin had never known such fear as when he was staring straight down that barrel into all but certain death. It felt as if her life had flashed before her eyes, because she knew damn well that if she lost Rowan, she may as well be dead, because he was her life. He made her want to live, to fight that darkness which was always just a whisper away.

“No, no please! Don’t! I’ll do whatever you want, I swear!” She pleaded, feeling so nauseous it was painful. “Just please, please don’t hurt him.”

Arobynn ignored her completely, flicking the safety off with one finger. It was then that true fear began to seep into Rowan’s eyes, because there was no hesitation in those grey eyes. “Give me the phone.” He demanded. Rowan only stared him down, defiance raging in his eyes. Again, Arobynn snarled, “Give me your phone. Now.” And again, Rowan didn’t.

And so he turned that gun on her, and pulled the trigger.

“NO!” Rowan shouted, terror draining his face to a ghostly pale shade, as if he had never once seen the sun.

Aelin screamed, throwing herself away from the smoking bullet hole just a few inches away from her head, as her ears rang loudly. She couldn’t hear the exchange that followed, but the fury on Rowan’s face as he handed Arobynn his phone was palpable. If she hadn’t known him, loved him, she would have been more afraid of the world ending fury raging across his every feature than Arobynn. The red-haired man then barked another order at him, and Rowan gave her a short glance, full of love yet still angry, and exited the car, moving to the front seat. Arobynn said something else, and gestured from Rowan to her.

He then turned on her, and held out his hand.

Reluctantly, she placed her phone in his hand.

Then, he gave them both a long, warning look, and slipped from the car. Immediately, Rowan turned in his seat and leaned over the console, reaching for her. Distantly, she could hear him saying, “Aelin? Aelin are you okay? Can you hear me?” And as the ringing subsided, she nodded.

They watched as Arobynn set their phones onto the dirt which made up this sorry excuse for a road, and shot them each. Rowan let out a sharp curse, and their captor was back.

“Here’s how this is going to work.” He held each of their gazes for several long moments. “You,” He said, holding Aelin in place with a glare, “are going to do exactly what I say, or else I am going to put a bullet in your boyfriend. If he survives that, I’ll shoot him again. And if he survives that, I’ll kill him the same way I killed Sam. Only worse.”

She let out a whimper, even as she was filled with world-ending fury and hatred, the awful memories of what had happened coming flooding back.

“You do remember what happened to Sam, right?” He mused, feigning sweet, innocent ignorance, even as she nodded. “Well, allow me to refresh your memory. The first thing we did was pull out every single one of his nails, and then his teeth. Then, we hung him by his wrists for a week.”

She let out a wracking sob, pain unlike anything she had ever known crushing down against her, ripping the air from her lungs, and it felt like that night all over again.

“Then, we began burning him. And by god,” Arobyn chuckled coldly, “how that boy screamed. I’d never heard anything like it. Haven’t since. And I can’t blame him. The pain must’ve been unbearable. I mean, to feel your skin slowly cooking and blistering and melting-”

“Stop it!” She begged, hot tears streaking down her face. “You’ve made your point. I’ll do whatever you want, just…just don’t touch him.”

Seemingly satisfied, He nodded. “And you,” He turned, staring down Rowan. “Put these on.” Arobynn snapped, tossing a pair of handcuffs at him, all the while keeping that gun trained on him. Rowan glared furiously, but slipped the metal around his wrists. Arobynn huffed, reaching over and tightening them until he was grunting, and the skin around the cuffs were red and irritated. “And don’t think for one moment that I would hesitate to put a bullet in her head if I thought it would benefit me.”

Rowan couldn’t hide his shock and disgust. “You raised her.”

“And?”

“And you’re willing to kill her for what? For revenge?!”

Arobynn held his gaze for a long moment. “I’ve done more for less.” Rowan shook his head, disgust radiating from him. “What’s up your ass? Don’t act like you wouldn’t kill her if you were offered enough.”

“I wouldn’t. You’re a madman.”

“Then you’re lying to yourself. And they called Einstein a madman.”

“You’re no Einstein. You’re just a killer who’ll eventually cross the wrong person and rot in an early grave, and be forgotten by the world as soon as you leave it.” Rowan’s words were cold, the coldest she had ever heard. “No one will remember you, nor will anyone miss you. Your days are running out.”

Despite everything Arobynn had done, seen, he still had the good sense to look mildly disturbed. He kept one eye on the man in the passenger’s seat for a good while, until he decided that Rowan couldn’t possibly be hiding any sort of weapons on his person.

Once he was satisfied that neither of them were going to try anything, he kept the gun trained on Rowan, and began driving.

They wound through the woods, taking turn after turn until they were deep within the forest, and the area around them was pitch black. It had been a long while since they had seen any other people or cars. The terror that she had previously suppressed began to creep back up until Aelin was trembling in the back seat with her knees drawn up to her chest, near sobbing at any movement or sound. She was still reeling from the reminder of what had happened to Sam, and the pain he had endured...

Distantly, she heard the sound of running water, and her blood turned to ice within her veins, a sickening feeling settling deep in her gut. And as they grew closer to the water, she saw Rowan tense. He met and held her gaze in the mirror, then he moved.

He was little more than a shadow in the wind, and it was so sudden that Arobynn scarcely had time to react as Rowan lunged across the center console and grabbed the wheel, jerking it sharply.

The gun went off, and Aelin screamed, expecting to see Rowan covered in blood, gasping and bleeding and dying, but the bullet had gone clean through the roof of the car, missing him entirely. Rowan cursed violently nonetheless, and ripped the gun away from Arobynn, tossing it into the back seat.

And Aelin peered fearfully out of the passenger windows, their surroundings illuminated by the headlights, and saw that they were hurtling down a dock towards a large lake. Instantly she began trying to open her windows, pulling at the child safety locks, knowing the inevitable outcome. But the mechanism had jammed, and so she was stuck trying to find the malfunctioning piece and praying it was something she could fix. When that fell through, she began pounding at the windows with her fists and elbows, but it failed.

Then Arobynn shouted in fury, and Rowan told her to brace herself. So she curled into as small of a ball as her seatbelt would allow, and tried to cover her neck and head. Rowan had thrown his top half over the console to cover her body and protect her from the impact.

And then they flew off the end of the dock, seeming to hover weightlessly in the air for several moments before plummeting into the icy abyss with a roaring crunch.

For the first several seconds, everything was deafeningly silent as they sunk down, down, down, and Rowan only held her tighter, promising that she would be okay. Then they hit the lake bottom, and everything went black.

When she came too, frigid water was flooding in from everywhere, her teeth were chattering horribly, and Rowan was beating against his window as she had been only a minute before, Arobynn having been knocked out by the airbag upon impact.

“Aelin!” Rowan shouted, pushing himself towards her upon realizing her condition, blood gushing from a nasty cut on his cheek bone. “Are you hurt? Have you broken any bones?”

“I’m fine, you?” She called, fingers raking her now sopping hair away from her face.

“My head’s a little sore, but I’m fine.”

“Okay, that’s good. Probably just a concussion.” Aelin whirled around, scanning for anything she could use to help with Rowan’s cut, when she heard a soft crack, then a whoosh. Water gushed in from where Rowan’s window had been, and was now filling up the car at triple the speed.

“Aelin, we’ve gotta get out of here, okay? I’ll go first and clear the way, but I want you to be right behind me.” She jerked her chin in understanding, but he gripped her shoulder. “I’m serious; I want you right behind me. We’ve got to get the hell out of here and back to the road, understand?”

She nodded seriosly, and watched as he slid through that small opening. He swam a few feet out and turned to wait for her. As soon as his feet had cleared that window, Aelin was making to slide through and swim to the surface, when a strong pair of hands gripped her calves and threw her into the back seat.

She slammed into the seat, gasping upon impact and inhaling a mouthful of seawater, as Arobynn appeared over her, those grey eyes simmering with fury and the promise of death. And when he made to wrap his hands around her neck, she fought like hell, scratching and kicking and fighting and pouring every single ounce of fury and anger and hatred for Sam, her parents and herself into her onslaught.

But it wasn’t enough, because in the end, she was still a petite woman, and he overpowered her after a short struggle, wrapping those hands around her neck and squeezing, forcing her head down into the seat, even as the car became completely filled with water.

Distantly, she could hear Rowan pounding at her window and pulling at the door, but to no avail.

Even so, she kept fighting, determined that even if she was to die here, so would he. And she became the fire breathing bitch her friends jokingly called her. She kicked, she thrashed. She became a liquid flame, slashing and burning and roaring and maining, even as she thought her lungs would burst, and raked her nails down Arobynn’s face, making to kick him just as her door at last popped open.

In less than a second, Rowan had pulled her from the wreckage and slammed the door on their captor, and they were hauling ass for the surface nearly twenty feet above.

They breached the surface with heavy, sputtering, gasping heaves and coughing wildly. Aelin’s lungs felt as if they were bursting, even as she gulped air down, slapping at the water to stay afloat. Rowan wrapped an arm around her waist, pausing to draw her against him.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, waves lapping gently against them both as moonlight glittered like diamonds across the surface. He treaded water in place effortlessly, keeping them both afloat, moving towards that sandy shore.

She coughed up more water, her throat and eyes aching. “Yeah, yeah I think so. You?” Her feet hit the sand, and it felt as if the weight of the world crashed upon her.

Rowan tightened that arm around her, taking more of her weight. “I’m fine, here,” He quickly wrapped his now most certainly ruined suit jacket around her, and rubbed her arms to warm her up.

Her teeth chattered violently, her throat tightening again, as if those hands were still wrapped in a horrible grip around her neck. Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, making her movements short and jerking.

Once they were both sprawled across the sandy bank, she allowed herself a small moment to rest, her eyes slipping closed as her breaths evened slightly.

After an eternity, and not nearly enough time, Rowan let out a stiff groan, and sat up beside her. “I hate myself for saying this, but we have to get going.”

Aelin clenched her eyes tighter. “What? Where?”

He stood gingerly, holding out a hand to her. “Back to where he ditched our phones. I managed to get a call through to the police.”

Eyes widening, she took his hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. “Wow.” She muttered, giving him an approving smile as they began walking. “And you’re probably right. We have to get going or else we’ll freeze.”

Just through a small copse of trees, they saw flashing red and blue lights.

Comment, reblog or send an ask if you want to be added to my tag list!

A/N: I’m going to write a short fic about a ship in quarantine if that makes sense, and I want you guys to comment ships that you want to to be about.

tag list: @sailorsassley @whiskeybusiness1776 @mad-scientist-pyromaniac @la7sorcellerie @dayanna-hatter@mis-lil-red@aelinfeyreisa @bamchickawowow @togswiftie @teresa-1121@hizqueen4life @aelinchocolatelover @smexyminion@rowaelin-cressworth @illyrianbeauty @angelofmusic81 @rosesandglass@blackjacks-donuts @highlordrhysie @ame223 @sleeping-and-books @seducemewithyourbookcolection @high-lady-rhys @clumsybookworm18 @westofmoon @giorgia-the-trashpanda @burritowithfeels @happily-emma-after @awkward-avocado-s@fanfic-masterpost-site @tonypetersteve @msalazar3 @bookish-beans @terrasen-assassin @tntwme @lovemollywho @sayfic @writingyourownfate

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfiction

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lechemoflife · 5 years ago

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Getting out of Comfort Zone or remain in God’s Zone of Grace?

What comes to our mind when we hear the combination of words of “Comfort Zone”? I’m sure a lot of motivational speeches and inspiring quotes flashes across our minds. It’s because we often hear that we must move out from our Comfort Zone to succeed. On the other day I was listening to this Tedex Talk where I heard, “Successful life begins at the end of Comfort Zone”. So what do you think is Comfort Zone? Should we remain within comfort zone or move out of it? Well, personally for me, this is quite debatable. I’ll be trying to elaborate this on both the school of thoughts as listed below:

Step out of your comfort zone; success begins at the end of your comfort zone

Never come out of the Comfort Zone. Keep learning, keep expanding your Comfort Zone

Let us take a look at the first point. Does “stepping out of comfort zone” refer to some sort of adventure? We understand that it’s quite traditional to think that we must move out of our comfort zone in order to succeed. It has naturally become such a widely accepted thought. Yes, we must. We must get up and get out of our bed early morning even during the winters. We can’t lazy around like the way I do sometimes. We must get out of our homes to get to our respective work place. We can’t just sit and expect our rice-n-noodles bowl to come to our table on its own. We have to get up and get going. With respect to our professional life, areas where we feel we need to upgrade, we must step out, step up and open ourselves to learn the new methodologies, new technologies, adapt to new processes, pick up new skill sets and upgrade ourselves. We must open the door of our commitment levels; open and get out; open to learning, to practicing and be more effective. This is applicable to our jobs, business or even our personal lives. When we learn about Peter, we see him stepping out of his comfort zone. Peter seeing Jesus walking on the water, dares to step out of the boat in faith. Below is the excerpt from the passage; Gospel of Mathew 14: 24-29: 24But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary. 25And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. 26And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear. 27But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid. 28And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. 29And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus.

To step out from the boat on the stormy sea can be seen as a case of someone girded with a robust degree of faith and be perceived as an apparent case of stepping out of comfort zone. It takes courage and a mind that is incredibly faith-conditioned to do something seemingly so bizarre. It isn’t quite an informal affair…Is it?

Now, let us move to the other side of the table, to a school of thought that is poles apart. Let us turn to few references from The Word. Psalm 91:1 He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. 4He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

Let me tell you something you may already know; “The wisdom of this world is always contrary to the divine Wisdom of God”. However, if you notice I quoted from The Word in support of the first school of thought. And perhaps one could serve even more references to support the same; and this is because The Word of God is a two edged sword (Hebrews 4:12), and we the children of God need to discern by His divine Grace what means to whom, when, in what context and why. God’s Word has repeatedly mentioned about 6 times directly or indirectly that means “the JUST shall live by FAITH” (Hab 2:4, Rom 1:17, Gal 3:11, Heb 10:38, Ezek 18:9, Ezek 18:22). If that is the case, then why step out from the secret place? Why step out from under His wings? Why shouldn’t we abide under the shadow of the Almighty? Now Bible says in Hebrews 11:1 that “Now faith is the substance of the things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen”.

The wisdom of this world that promotes stepping out of our Comfort zone needs to take a back seat at least until the end of this article. I leave it up to you if you would want to bring it back to the front seat. Allow me to take you back to investigate the scenario of Peter deciding to step out of the boat into the raging sea to walk toward Jesus and a little further. Mathew 14:28 And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. 29And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. 30But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.

Imagine this whole episode prudently may be with your eyes shut just as it happened. You’ll learn that Peter’s mind wasn’t fully conditioned with the kind of faith that Jesus talks about in Mathew 17:20. Faith of Peter, it was a momentary excitement seeing Jesus walking on water. If Peter had a high degree of faith-conditioned mind, he would have stepped out of the boat just as if he’s stepping inside the boat. Friends, when Jesus is walking on water, when Jesus the creator and the master of this Universe is walking on the water, when Jesus who gave us the authority to be called as the children of God through his name (John 1:12) is walking on the water; then why can’t we too simply step out of the boat and join him on an evening walk talking to him with his loving hands resting upon our shoulders?

I call this phenomenon as “Expanding the Comfort Zone” which is a greater challenge than stepping out of the comfort zone. For instance, in our professional life too, we need to take up the process of learning and development as a routine and not some sort “stepping out” ceremony. A true child of God, doesn’t need to step out from God’s zone of Grace but needs to keep conditioning his faith to perfection like how an athlete conditions his body for his race (I Tim 4:7 ….exercise thyself rather unto godliness). Let me reiterate, “The wisdom of this world is always contrary to the divine Wisdom of God”. Remember…. while most of us believe in the phrase “Survival of the fittest” that originated from Darwinian evolutionary theory, God teaches us something that is altogether conflicting in its entirety. Let us turn to the Gospel of Mark 8: 35 “For whosoever will save his life shall loose it; but whosoever shall loose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it”. This verse is just so brilliant and if you notice, is the precise inverse of Darwin’s theory, which simply means don’t try to safeguard yourselves or your life to survive and sustain; because in doing so, you’ll LOSE your life. And what Jesus further puts forth is also very significant.

Consider the professional athletes; an athlete has to step out of his comfort zone early morning and be on the training tracks regardless of summers or winters. He keeps conditioning his body every single day for years no matter what comes his way, certainly not to lose the race right? The pursuit of a true athlete is not just limited to winning the race on the track but also many associated reasons; Respect, Honour, Expectations, Anticipations, Pride, Signature identity, Mending broken relationships. It could be any reason; I can tell you these because I was myself a trained athlete for 800mtrs track event in school. However, what do we see in the Gospel of Luke 13:30 “And, behold, there are last which shall be first, and there are first which shall be last”. I understand this verse doesn’t mean literal but spiritual. Whatever the case, in God’s word “race” is always referred to as a “Quest” or a “Pursuit” of certain accomplishment. In I Corinthians 9:24-25 this accomplishment is referred to as “an incorruptible crown”. Further in I Tim 4:7-9, it’s advised to “….exercise thyself rather unto godliness” and while this world and its wisdom tells us to focus on physical fitness and endurance, the God’s word sets the tone straight; “…bodily exercise profiteth little”

Remember Noah whom God commanded to create an ark? Noah took about 120 years to create an ark, a 120 years to create a zone of comfort, a zone of safety, a zone of prayer and fellowship with his family and loved ones. God specifically told Noah to get locked up in an ark, and while he built the arc, he kept preaching too for 120 years. He built the ark exactly as per the mandate and blueprint that God gave to Noah. Because it was God’s will that Noah remains sealed in His grace.

Remember the garden of Eden? …where the first man Adam and Eve stepped out of the comfort zone to try some sweet adventure? This wonderful garden was created especially for both to remain within the divine grace and with all the comforts. That little adventure affair of disobedience had to be paid by the cost of having to step out of the garden forever losing the grace in God’s sight.

Remember Cain who ran away after killing his brother Abel? He was distanced and out of sight, fallen from God’s grace. Jesus says in the Gospel of Mathew 11:28 Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you “rest”. Jesus isn’t calling us for an adventure but rest and comfort. Honestly, stepping out of comfort zone is way easier than staying within the comfort zone and to keep conditioning our faith.

David, one of my favourite personalities, on many occasions of prayers and supplications mention that God is his hiding place. He never seemingly wants to be separated from God but always wants to be in His hiding place, in His safety and comfort. He keeps talking to God with so much of intimacy that it immaculately reflects in his Psalms. Let us look at few of them: Psalm 32:7 Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble... Psalm 119:114 Thou art my hiding place and my shield... Psalm 17:8 …hide me under the shadow of thy wings Psalm 27:5 …in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me... Psalm 31:20 Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man... Psalm 64:2 Hide me from the secret counsel of the wicked… Psalm 143:9 …I flee unto thee to hide me. Psalm 61:3 For thou hast been a shelter for me… Talking about Psalms, I recall Solomon the wise’ Proverbs 18:10 The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe. Yes, the righteous runs into it NOT out of it. Let’s examine if we are indeed righteous because we don’t see anyone running out or “Stepping out” and still remaining safe. Our strong tower is Jesus. I solemnly clinch on to the school of thought that a true child of God doesn’t need stepping out of God’s Zone of grace and run away into the wild, out of sight, distanced and fallen from His grace. Rather it’s so much more challenging to remain within God’s comfort zone. I’m strongly of the conviction that one should never come out of their comfort zone; rather keep learning, keep conditioning the faith, keep surrendering to God’s will and His divine grace, keep expanding your comfort zone (God’s Zone of Grace), invite others under your roof of prayer and worship, into your fellowship, share the gospel, keep advancing in your spiritual journey and intimacy with God”. Moses also kept listening to God. He kept learning and depending on God’s grace. And he did quite well. From Egypt to the Mount Sinai for an appointment to meet God, from a stammerer to a great evangelical and prophetic speaker, He was an “Exceeds All” Performer altogether. Wherever he went, he was confident because he was within the divine comfort zone, obeying and surrendering himself to the divine will of God.

Shall we meet Peter again who stepped out of the boat? By God’s grace, in His cover of comfort and assurance and by faith, every “stepping out” would become “stepping in”. Let’s depend more and more on God’s grace and be found sealed within His hiding place. And in this pursuit, may our focus be on conditioning of our faith. Praise God.

#BreadOFLife #LechemOfLife #StrumsOfLlife #JimsonKJoy #ComfortZone #ZoneOfGrace #JesusIsLord #JesusIsWay #JesusTheTruth #JesusTheLife #JesusTheWay

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fatefulfaerie · 6 years ago

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Cursed

Happy Halloween everyone!! Here’s my contribution to the one of the best days of the year, a little oneshot. Well, littlish.

Link ran along the forest meadow with panting, heavy breaths.

He was late, terribly late, the rest of the Kokiri nowhere to be found as he leapt stone to stone across the small river.

Saria had even warned him the night before not to sleep in too late, Link assuring her that his excitement would wake him up bright and early.

But she was right, as always, Link securing his floppy green cap to his head at the thought.

A bright clearing was soon before him, the reflection of fireflies and forest fairies alike sparkling in his youthful, blue eyes as his pacing slowed.

It was the annual festival, where the Kokiri gathered to celebrate another year of joy and prosperity in their peaceful forest, another year of the Great Deku Tree’s protection. And the end of the festival, of course, was when Kokiris would receive their guardian fairies, the Great Deku Tree’s gift to his children.

Last year was the first year that Link was old enough to participate, yet a sickness made him bedridden, much to the delight of Mido.

So now, as he looked at the scene, he was captivated by it all, the ethereal lights of the forest, the upturned smiles on everyone’s faces as they gathered to sit on various cut logs in front of the Deku Tree.

Link couldn’t help but smile, too.

He had made it. He would finally get his own fairy.

Well, at least he thought he would.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” he heard Mido say, Links’ attention pulled to his snide smirk.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Saria said.

Link hadn’t even noticed that Saria had approached him, but smiled even bigger when he saw his friend beside him.

“Come on,” she said as she took his hand, leading him to the group, “you’ve only missed the opening ceremony, next is story-time.”

Saria stopped at the front row of logs, letting go of Links’ hand to cross her arms and glare at Mido.

There seemed to be staring contest between them, Link looking back and forth between Saria and Mido before Mido rolled his eyes with a perturbed,

“Fine,” hopping to the empty seat next to him.

Saria motioned to where Mido was for Link to sit there instead, Saria sitting next to him as he did.

Link was more than happy to sit next to Saria, but of course he got sat next to Mido.

At least, he had to remind himself, he wasn’t sick in bed. That was probably worse.

Probably.

“You know,” Mido started teasingly, “it’s usually a scary story. I didn’t think you’d have the guts to show up, Link.”

Link looked to Saria expectantly, as if for clarification.

“The Deku Tree usually tells us a story from old legends and myths, folklore, really,” Saria said, before stealing a glare at Mido, “sometimes they are scary.”

Saria changed her focus to Link once more to add,

“But even then, Link, I think that you are the most courageous person I know.”

Link smiled at her, Mido inhaling to dispute that fact when the Great Deku Tree cleared his throat loudly.

Small ramblings and whisperings of the Kokiri were silenced completely, all of them focused intently on the Great Deku Tree, anticipating the deep tones to come.

“Once upon a time,” he started, “in a far, far away land from this, there echoed dark tales of an ancient relic. Wicked, obscene, and villainous, its’ origin remaining harrowingly unknown even to this age, it was said to be the greatest culmination of evil power to ever exist. Just one touch wouldst seep away the life from its’ holder, bringing death and destruction to all around them until inevitably, the same fate befell upon them. This relic was known as Majora’s Mask.”

Link didn’t know what was happening to him as his hands balled to fists, something washing over him he’d never felt.

Panic?

The story had barely started, he couldn’t be scared now, he wasn’t.

There was no danger in this peaceful clearing, there couldn’t be. And, according to the Great Deku Tree, there never had been.

Ever, he had said, with a finality to it that told Link that he dare not question him.

So he never did.

The Great Deku Tree obviously didn’t notice Links’ minute reaction of fear, continuing with his story nonetheless,

“The mask, somehow, was imbued with a great and terrible power of temptation, drawing in its’ victims further and further into its’ spell until it became them, their darkest desires, their very manifestation of impulsion. For, thou must see, the reason why it was thus known as the greatest culmination of evil power was because of its’ uncanny ability to bring out the evil from within. Majora’s Mask hadst the unholy power to turn someone completely inside-out. In a figurative sense, of course, but inside-out nonetheless. And believe me, the literal would have been far more preferable. It killed without restraint, did unthinkable things in monstrous ways. At the hands of its’ wearer it accomplished its’ malfeasance. It is said that even celestial bodies themselves could not withstand the immense power it manifested. There was no parallel to the raw evil it was capable of. Like a child learning to grow, the evil within us is curious and Majora’s Mask was an aid to give it the penultimate chance to stretch its’ legs, cry out, and be heard louder than ever before. It is the unrestrained exploration of the darkest corners of our minds, our souls, our hearts. It dost not only cause danger and destruction. It is danger and destruction.”

Link was breathing heavily now. If he wasn’t panicked before, he surely was now, bringing his head down into his hands before his fingers clutched hopelessly around his blonde hair, the fabric of his hat.

“A mask dost many things,” continued the Deku Tree, “but primarily it serves an opportunity to conceal oneself from the world around them, to put on a different face, one that can be completely opposite from the one underneath. Majora’s Mask was said to do the same, only the face that is shown is one of purely malicious intent, from deep within the wearer. Burning eyes of rage, protruding spikes that portend the causation of pain, and small unseeable holes in its’ center. To keep the wearer alive, breathing, screaming, yelling in anguish. It fed on that anguish. The mask was alive, and yet somehow, preyed on the hidden immorality within all of us. There is a mask to be afeared within the tale, but really the one we must fear, the most of all, is ourselves. There is an evil in wait within all of our souls, lurking. And this world wouldst remain as peaceful as this forest if Majora’s Mask was the only thing able to release it.”

The deep voice stopped, Link barely hearing the murmurs of Kokiri as they got up from their chairs.

“I think that’s the scariest one yet,” Mido said casually, a resounding echo once it reached Links’ ears.

“Link? Are you okay?” was the next thing he heard, sitting back up and finding Saria’s supportive blue eyes when he felt her touch on his shoulder.

Her expression melted when she saw the panic in his eyes, Mido standing up and muttering the words,

“Big baby.”

“Link…” Saria said, keeping her eyes locked in his, making sure to make her voice as calm as possible, “it’s just a story…it’s not real.”

“But I saw it, Saria,” insisted Link.

“You saw what?” she asked innocently.

“The mask,” Link implored.

Saria sighed and smiled.

“You and your wide imagination,” she said.

“But Saria,” he tried desperately, “I…”

He wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase it, wanting so much to make her understand his panic before suddenly, as if waking up from a nightmare, he realized how silly it was.

It was only a story after all.

“Never mind, you’re right,” he said with a sigh of relief, “I’m not sure what came over me.”

It was a rather big weight lifted off his shoulders to know that he was worried fixedly on nothing.

But oh, it was so much easier, to merely believe it a story.

He forgot it quickly, haunted by many other things as the years went by, saving the land outside Kokiri from the infamous Gerudo thief.

But that story never left him, manifesting itself quickly when he started to truly fall apart.

#link #zelda #the legend of zelda #ocarina of time #majoras mask #skull kid #saria #mido #great deku tree #navi

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wittyno · 6 years ago

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The Umbrella Academy - Number Five and his mission

“Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.” - Grace Paley

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panickedvulture · 6 years ago

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Arachnophobia

Summary: You have a history of people not taking your phobia seriously, but then Brendon comes along.

Warnings: Arachnophobia, descriptions of a panic attack, descriptions of uncomfortable feelings, there are no descriptions of the phobia itself though.

A/n: Please do not read this if you can’t stand to read it. I wrote this for myself because I’ve always been surrounded by people who don’t take my phobia seriously and it’s made it worse and I’ve been having my own worries as of late. This is, however, a comfort fic so if you wish you had somebody in your life who would react like this instead of ridicule you, I hope you enjoy.

“But, you know they’re more scared of you than you are of it, right?”

“It’s not like they can actually hurt you.”

“Well, they’re everywhere even when you don’t see them so you might as well get used to it.”

Yes, yes, and yes. You often find yourself wondering what’s the point of classifying a phobia just for you to get ridiculed. Well, ridiculed in a nice way. Of course people try to help by giving reasons as to why you shouldn’t be so fearful of what you’re scared of, but apparently, the whole “irrational fear” part of the definition’s just flown over the head of every single person you’ve had the pleasure of running into.

You know they’re more scared of you than you are of it, you know they can’t actually hurt you so long as you coop yourself up away from every tropical habitat in the world (which is what you intend to do) and you know they’re, well…there.

But just because you know that doesn’t mean that information is helpful.

You’re the last person to ridicule people for their fears, phobia and not. And to be clear, fear is fear. Phobia is fear to irrational levels, fear that sparks anxiety and paranoia and disrupts your day from the mere thought of it. But still, it’s fear. You don’t find yourself questioning people’s fears or trying to ‘better’ them, but you haven’t met many people who’ll do the same for you.

Your one tiny quarrel is the abundance of people generally fearful and disturbed by the things you can’t stand to focus on. They’re not necessarily pleasant. But there’s still a difference between the people who collapse into a ball of panic(!) and the ones that squeal “Ew!” Prior to gaining the courage to escort or smash the bugger.

You’ve found it easier to not bother people with trying to figure that out.

Brendon’s at the store, stocking up on the junk food and pop-drinks you two will binge on as you watch whatever’s new on Netflix, and you’re home alone. And you’ve been fine in terms of your little problem. You haven’t seen anything, you haven’t felt or imagined anything—but there's this lurking feeling in the back of your mind that it's time. Maybe it’s just you paying extra attention to everything or maybe it’s just your instinct kicking in to help you prepare. You would have left with Brendon but you did put a pizza in the oven and his trip was intended to be short, but who’s to say how short it would wind up being if you went along. And then you’d just come home to a burnt down house. That’d certainly get rid of every potential problem that’s lurking but at the expense of the house of which you’ve dumped your saving in.

You see Brendon out the door, giving him a quick kiss goodbye in between his frantic rambling and trying to recall every tiny thing you two might need.

You might crave popcorn above anything exactly 27 minutes into the next show. Or you could be drinking an orange soda one moment and feel dependent on gulping down half of a strawberry soda the next.

He leaves and you occupy yourself by pacing. You hug yourself tight, your hands gripping your upper arms, then you make your way around in caution. You don’t stand too close to anything but anything can include the roof where they can hang and the floor they crawl up from. You spend about ten minutes watching the timer to your pizza go down. You spend another ten flipping through your List on Netflix to prepare for the different genre’s you’ll be handling with Brendon this weekend.

You pick at your fingers and pick at your nails and the sweat on them is so paramount by the time the oven goes off that you can feel the ickiness on your skin. The ringing was enough to make you jump out of your skin, but you take a moment to forget your quarrels and go to the bathroom and wash your hands.

After an immense inspection of every corner, you can lay your eyes on you see no threat and go back to the kitchen. You take out the pizza, cut it, make sure the counter space is nice and clean. Then it’s only a matter of time before Brendon should be coming back. You lean in the corner of the counter, stretching your legs out and crossing them over each other as you wrap one arm around your stomach for comfort and use the other to peer into your phone screen as close as you can for a sign from him that he’s on his way.

Sometimes he sends them, sometimes he doesn’t.

You take a shuddery breath. He’s been gone for twenty minutes and it doesn’t bother you, but it instead comforts you. You’ve lasted this long without seeing one, even after putting your most focused mindset on.

Then you look again, craning your neck and holding your phone down by your stomach to give your eyes a break from staring into the smudged screen.

And then you see it. Or you see what you think is it, but this has happened time and time again. You see something that resembles it, even by the slightest thing, from color, to shadow, to shape. And it’s never what you imagine it to be. It’s just hair or string from your socks conveniently tangled up into a ball. So you keep your eye on it, just enough to see it, but not enough to really observe it.

And then it moves.

And it’s ridiculous to have such a powerful fight or flight response to something so minuscule as what you’re not even certain of, but you have it and you jump away from the counter. Looking down it’s certainly what you imagined, scurrying away to its own form of safety, which you suppose is better than when you spot it before it spots you. But then it just sits there and you can watch it for as long as you’d like and feel a painful pang in your chest whenever it jitters and shows the slightest sign of moving.

Your fight response goes off and you walk around the small kitchen island and strain your eyes to see where it’s gone (if anywhere), but just the same when you think you see something you yelp and take backward steps away.

You can’t go on the couch because there's too many folds, you can’t go into the bathroom because it’s too compact and everything is too close together, you can’t go anywhere! You can’t go anywhere but the front door, and you can’t do anything but pace back and forth as you rake your sweaty hands through your hair once before gripping tight and muttering a mantra under your breath. What’s the mantra? It’s never consistent, it always changes, because the only thing that matters is to get it out of your head.

But the tears haven’t come yet.

Those don’t come until later.

Your eyes are too dry to cry, but you feel a prickle of wetness when the door handle jingles open followed by the rustling of paper bags. And you blink the tears into your eyes to ease the redness before blinking them away into nothingness.

Brendon cracks a smile at you, but can’t help but furrow a brow. You’re catching your breath, your jaw is a bit slack, and you’re trying to force a smile but he can’t find himself to consider it real when you can’t keep your eyes on him for more than a few seconds before you start patrolling for it.

“Are you…okay?” He asks slowly as he sets the bags down on the counter.

You jump and suck in a breath when he steps so close to where it was before. Then you can’t help it and then come the tears. They’re slow and your chest is tight and you bite into your lip and hug yourself with one hand while you nibble on the nails of your other, and Brendon starts cooing.

“Hey, hey…” He approaches you but you step back, flinching when he reaches out to envelop you in a hug. It’s not him but who knows if it’s on him or if it’s-it’s attracted to him specifically or what’s going on in its mind, you just can’t risk it having anything to do, with him.

“Y/n?” His voice isn’t as soft but it's definitely filled with more worry. He whips his head around and looks around. Of course, you’ve got him thinking there’s an intruder or something, some reason why you’re keeping so quiet.

You let out a whimper. That’s all you can do right now.

He holds both arms out to you, and it gives you time to calm yourself enough. Before the possibilities can start whirling around in your brain you’re engulfed in his warmth and you press your lips to his shoulder as you use the fabric of his clothing to stifle the shallow and wet-breaths you’ve kept in all this time.

“Y/n, are you okay?” He curses himself for asking an answer with such an obvious question, and yet you nod your head that yes, you are okay.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” He leans back enough to get a look at your face, but your lower halves press against each other and your arms (still crossed over you) press against his stomach too. He keeps his hands on your back, and when you take a moment to sniffle and look to the door he pulls you in again, caressing the back of your hair. “It’s okay…it’s okay…” He coos.

The mere difference between this and the typical response has you lurching out into another fit of sobs.

You’ve had people urging for you to kill the bugger yourself, to show it who’s boss. You retaliated though in what people would call a fit of cowardice, not a fit of rage, but using all of your strength to pull yourself out of their grasp as they pushed you closer and closer to it.

You’ve had people try to comfort you, give their spiel of facts, and then begrudgingly handle the problem for you while still giving the cold shoulder because how could you be that frightened of a damn bug?

He presses his lips to your forehead and whispers against your skin, “Wanna tell me what’s wrong? I’m here…” and he pushes some hair behind your ear.

You crane your neck just enough to sputter out, “Sss-sp-spider…” before looking at Brendon with what he thinks are the most pitiful, puppy-dog like eyes he’s ever seen. He only gets a glimpse though, cause then you’re back to looking everywhere but him, both observing your surroundings and trying to avoid the scorn you’re certain is going to come.

“Sp…” Brendon looks over his shoulder. He stares into space for a moment before biting into his lip softly and nodding. “Where was it?” He asks, holding your cheeks. Your eyes flicker to the kitchen, and Brendon hums to himself.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. You just…do you want me to kill it?”

You can’t answer that question.

Brendon reaches and presses a kiss to your forehead before grabbing your hand and guiding you away to where you can’t see. He holds your hands tight before departing, and the entire time while he’s gone you stand where you are. You don’t move, you don’t speak, you stare into a void to avoid discovering anything else you don’t intend to. You can’t find the energy to pace—standing still right in this spot he put you in seems like the safest thing you could possibly do.

You calm down while you stand there, knowing he’s taking care of it. There are so many ways someone can take care of it. It’s the clean-up, it’s dealing with you, it’s the aftermath…

He comes back but instead of criticizing you or poking fun or being condescending, he stands in the doorway. “You okay…?” You rub your arms and nod softly, but not without a twitch and a skip in your breath.

“Mm, okay,” He comes and hugs you, caressing the back of your hair again. He doesn’t speak until he feels your chest start to rise and fall evenly again. “You wanna go watch our show?” You nod weakly. “You wanna watch it down here or upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

“Okay.” He kisses your forehead, then guides you back into the living room. When he goes to walk directly by the kitchen he feels you hesitate then stop altogether. He knits his brows, then backtracks and guides you around the other way through the coffee table and the couch. He leans down to grab some of the snacks you already dug into, then you continue your way upstairs.

You let him leave to retrieve the things he went to the store first. It takes many attempts to assure you you’re fine enough for him to leave, but you genuinely are.

You sink deep into the bed. Your body is already so tired, so fatigued.

When Brendon comes back he treads lightly, setting your drinks and your snacks on the table by your side of the bed, and setting up his side of the bed. He takes off his bulkier clothes and after making sure everything is set up perfect he gets in bed next to you and pulls a thin blanket atop you both.

He clears his throat and you watch him try to figure out this TV’s remote, and you watch him make his way to Netflix. He starts up the next show on your list and you rest with your head on his shoulder and his arm snaked around the back of your mid-section.

“You know you’re safe with me right?” He asks, his voice a bit raspy.

You take a deep breath and look up at him, before smiling faintly and nodding. He cracks a smile and presses a kiss to your temple, before pulling you closer and bringing his attention to the show.

You’ve never seen a reaction like this before…but you admit it’s a nice one.

Really nice.

#Brendon Urie x Reader #Brendon Urie imagine #Brendon Urie imagines #Brendon Urie smut #Panic! at the Disco imagine #angst #phobia #comfort #imagine

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danddymaro · 6 years ago

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Gaara No Sabaku x reader | Happiness

Pairing: Gaara no Sabaku x Reader

Word Count : 2448

Fixed/Revised

Mostly in his POV

From original to Shippuden and onward.

I tried to not change too much of it, because Then it’d just be something else.

Happiness

His aquamarine eyes were a complete abyss of nothingness to many, with a deep void that was visible through the two seemingly bottomless pits.

They were rimmed with the blackest color in existence that definitely had a stark contrast to his pale skin.

His hair, being the color of passion, made him stand out in a full crowd and in short, he was someone that simply couldn't be missed by the wandering eye.

- But his appearance wasn't what made him an outsider.

To many, the physical attributes would have not mattered much.

It was what had grown within his being that made people avoid him at any cost. If you were to ask anyone, they would assure you he was a demon spawn, akin to a creation of pure evil.

He was a complete abomination, unloved, and only one purpose in life:

To create destruction.

He was Gaara no Sabaku

For many years the very name struck fear in the hearts of those of his village, as well as simultaneously aspired a deep nested hate within thier very cores.

Cold and alone, without anyone to care for him, he learned to care for only himself, and for so long time, he was the monster that his father and everyone in his land had made him out to be.

With no other choice, he’d long given up hope in being anything but that wretched creature, but it all suddenly changed and his life took a complete turn.

He soon saw the world in a different shade other than those of black and white.

Colors soon surrounded him, and this was all thanks to his new friend Uzumaki Naruto,

' Friend…' he would often repeat the word in solace, because, before then, the world would have not ever been associated with him.

The very word that associated with companionship, and love was unfathomable to him.

' Love…'

To think A damned creature as himself had love.

He had soon come to grasp something he had long given up on, and had felt wasn't meant to co-exist within his world of isolation.

It was incomprehensible, but, you see, the tan-skinned, blonde had a way of making everything possible.

- He always had a way.

It was because of that one boy, who was much like himself, that he saw the world differently.

And with all the new colors in his life, he came to the conclusion that his favorite would have to be (e/c).

- it only took him so long to realize it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Gaara p.o.v.

Scent...what a scent.

I remember a time long ago…

The scent of your blood was driving me insane!

It was so sweet and not only called to me, but my demon. We both searched for the scent of heaven that coursed on earth.

Stepping foot in Konoha I was overwhelmed.

My mind was in constant distraction, because of that damn scent. I arrived to be met with the sight of so many genins, many around my age, but none with the deliciousness that had taken over one of my senses.

Yet, I knew you were there...

The more my stomach twisted, and the more my heart raced, the more certain I grew of the fact that you would be near, and so I searched.

I searched for the creature that called out to me so strongly, and I followed that sweet scent and was soon lead to a simple genin.

I stopped dead in my tracks then.

- I remember it so well, I could tell it word for word if you asked.

But I know you won't, because, I know you're ashamed.

I was just in time to see your match; the preliminaries.

Your match was pitiful. Your moves were weak, but only because they matched your will.

Where was your courage?

Where was your confidence?

Where was your will to survive?

I didn't see it when your hand shook while holding a kunai.

I didn't see it when you lost your footing so early on.

It certainly didn't show when you gave up.

Of all things, that was what bothered me most, that you simply gave in without a fight.

I asked myself where it all was, and how someone so pitiful could call themselves a ninja.

I questioned myself if I was mistaken when I thought you were special, and by then, I tried to leave, but my feet stayed planted.

So, annoyed I looked on, and with my own surprise, I was relieved to watch you stand back up from your beating without assistance.

There was a type of spark in your eyes that flashed before you walked away with your head down, eyes drawing downcast. And at that very moment, I knew I wanted to see those downcast eyes' gaze set on me instead.

I needed them to look up in my direction. I felt a strong need to have them locked on my own and nothing else.

- I remember the first time I came towards you.

I didn't hold flowers nervously behind my back to woo you, and I didn't have the perfect line to make you swoon either.

- no

I was an uncontrolled beast without a leash and unhinged by that time.

I raged across the entire field with the intention of seeing those pretty eyes up close.

Such beautiful orbs had captivated me that they riddled every thought I had.

I wanted to rip them out and keep them all to myself, save them and keep them safe, just for me.

Those pretty eyes would be wide with shock and fear when I approached them...yes.

- That was my plan.

Those were my intentions because at the time I didn't know what it was to love or to hold affection.

During then, I didn't know how to place that emotion you caused with those twinkling drops.

All I knew was to cause fear.

All I knew was to wreak havoc.

And somehow in my mind, I assumed giving you all I could was my best choice.

I didn't know why I wanted to do this, believe me, I didn't.

I know I was much younger then, but the feelings of arousal I felt were sickeningly real and undeniable. I didn't know what overcame me, but I knew you were the one to cause this.

Only you could stop this pain in my chest.

But imagine this, my love...

Instead of pleasure, your eyes brought me shame.

I stopped in my tracks, dead on my feet.

I had yet to hear your voice back then, but I didn't need to.

Your eyes spoke loud enough.

During then, it was as if you had expected more of me. As If, perhaps, you believed I was much more than the monster everyone saw me as,

As the monster, I believed I was.

‘Do you believe this? Or am I hallucinating?’ I thought with stunned bewilderment.

Again, my chest had become pained.

Again, that feeling weighed down on me when I began to wonder if you cared.

I've cast aside the need for affection, so why did you bring it back forth? How did you breathe life into it?

For so long I questioned my entire existence thanks to you.

And I remember

It was then that I began to question my existence wholeheartedly. Once I saw the way you gazed at me, it made me snap out of my bloodthirsty rampage for just a second.

That day I turned and pretended to be unaware of your crouching figure, sparing you of my unease.

But I knew...

I knew you hid above the trees.

My predator eyes could see you looking straight at me with that wretched look that made me shiver in disgust to my own self.

You hid shaking like the leaves did while the wind became stronger upon my arrival. I tore my focus from you, instead, finding another to release my frustrations in, because I couldn't bring you harm.

I couldn't face you.

Because of some power you held, I could not touch you.

I was there and could literally feel your heart at my hands. It was there and pulsed wildly.

Yet, Rather than the sickeningly sweet pleasure that should have consumed me, your eyes brought me shame.

It was A feeling I didn't know I had any more, and I tasted bitterness at knowing this is what you will think of when my name crossed your mind.

-A rampaging beast.

- A bloodthirsty killer.

I ground my teeth together because strangely enough, I couldn't bear the thought of knowing that eventually, you will know the truth about just how ugly I could be.

You were so small and shaken. Your heart was mine at that moment, yet, I decided to reach for it another time...and in a much different fashion.

I was too young to realize this, but my heart, it was yours as well and with my withdrawal I left you, only to claim it later on in the future instead.

Years later, I saw you again.

I decided to go see the leaf's Hokage personally, seeing as I was now the Kazekage, claiming a title that had been passed down to me.

I'd use this as an excuse, A sorry excuse to see you, because, after all the years that had gone by, I hadn't let my obsession die.

To see just a glimpse, a small glance, that was my goal.

Perhaps if I saw you, then I would feel nothing but reminiscence, meaning that I'd long outgrown you. I could only imagine my silly infatuation would be nothing more than a memory by the time I came across you again.

And luck just happened to be by my side, because It wasn't long before we ran into each other.

I brushed by you, and would you believe it if I said I felt like there was a spark?

A literal spark was set between us.

Perhaps it was just static, but I will always believe it was somehow the connection between us that caused the tiny jolt of electricity to spread throughout my body from that one tiny contact.

Your (e/c) colored hair danced so beautifully with the breeze as I passed you, and I couldn't help but muse that they were similar to silken strands of ribbon flowing freely in the wind.

You left a sweet trail behind you, one that enticed me so. And I was so delighted to understand that, this time around, it was not the scent of your blood that drew me in.

I wasn't a beast driven by carnage, but rather a man driven by likeness and true attraction.

This was an intoxicating scent that called out to me and made me want to pull you back towards me. It was an earthy one that came from just you, and it didn't make me feel that sickeningly aroused way I did before, but rather, it made me feel at home.

The feeling of home came with your scent and I was washed by comfort.

It was soft, tranquil and made me feel at ease.

I will admit it now, I was hopeful in seeing you during the entire way there.

Those few minutes of sleep I'd have, I'd dream of you, focusing on the one thing to keep my sanity at bay.

I’d imagine you smiling at me as if I actually was interesting.

I’d imagine your hand softly slipping into mine, just before I'd give it a soft, reassuring squeeze to let you know I'm here, with you.

And I could only imagine that the smile on your face would be priceless.

I’d imagine the look of sadness that would cross your face as I left, letting me know how much you'd miss me, and what was much more, letting me see that you weren't afraid to show it.

Above all else, I’d imagine you looking at me like no other person had.

I’d hope to see your gaze drop to me and not see a Jinchuriki or Kazekage.

You wouldn't see me as any of these titles, but rather, just Gaara.

Simply, just Gaara

Years have passed and you'd changed. You'd changed so much from what I could see.

You'd grown little, but those beautiful, innocent eyes were now much stronger, and they didn't waver in the least bit.

They only looked straight ahead. You looked up at the world with your head held high.

You walked with your headband tied securely and proudly, and I could see it.

It brought a dainty smile to my face.

You were so much more different, So much more beautiful.

I had hoped to find the same girl I did all those years ago in that village, but instead, I came across a different young woman.

And you know what? I was ok with that, because every flower blossoms, and that you did just that.

I was someone else as well… I had changed too, and I hoped you would see that.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

PRESENT TIME -

Staring at you now, I try my best to hide my smile.

Everyone teases me for this, for being so obvious and transparent in my feelings towards you.

To my disdain, I only have the color of my cheeks to match my hair in proof of how much you still fluster me.

It's an effect I hope lasts forever.

Just then your hand slips into mine, and I can feel how soft and small it is while held within my own.

My eyes gaze away from you, looking straight forward instead because I know that you'll stay by me.

I only want to walk forward with you.

With a smile, I give your tiny hand a soft squeeze, reassuring you that I am here, and so are you.

I constantly have to remind myself this isn’t a dream and you truly are at my side, because It's all too perfect.

Grinning wildly, you only look down at our hands with what I can only describe as utter bliss.

Are you as happy as I am (f/n)?

This isn't a dream, not a fantasy where Gaara can be happy.

This is a reality where he can have a persistent, bright friend like Uzumaki Naruto, one who’d crawl under the darkest pits to reach out for him.

It's a world where I've come to obtain true bonds that last a lifetime and even longer.

This is a reality where the people of Suna look on giggling with glee as he displays affection towards his beautiful lover.

In this reality he isn't a monster, he is a leader, a protector, and a lover.

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