#Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End

[miracle-sham]

Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter P} |

| {Blue, Sapphire, I Want To Go Home To My Wife, Soulmates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Link] |

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| Dragons with soulmates were always said to have hearts made of the purest gemstones. Inevitably this led to them being hunted or captured for the wealth they could grant upon their death. |

| But sometimes, the reason for capturing one is far worse. |

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| Word Count: 1,029. |

| Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced non consensual drug use, blood and injury, angst, hurt/no comfort, grief/mourning, non-graphic non-consensual body modification/amputation, dragon Tim Drake, dragon Marinette, and soulmates. |

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| A/N: Here's the last fic of the event, finally cross-posted to Tumblr! |

| Please make sure to read those tags carefully before reading! But if you're able to handle that sort of content then I hope you enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

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 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her.

 Tim was helpless to do anything but watch from beyond the sickly green wrought iron cage—poisoned spikes on both the inside and outside of the bars to prevent any attempts at escape.

 Not that it stopped him, mind you. But all that brought him was mocking laughter, a cursed amulet preventing him from shifting back to his human form, clipped wings, horns cut, snout muzzled, sapphire scales torn and patchy—making it hurt to move, talons declawed—phalanges removed so they wouldn't ever grow back, and a cocktail of drugs fogging his mind and torpefying his body, all to keep him from being able to break out on his own.

 Marinette was his precious loving soulmate, she's a part of his hoard as much as he is of hers. Their hearts beat in sync. He could feel the distant frenetic desperate pulse of her heart tethered to him, completely in time to his equally pounding heart despite the distance between them. He could also feel the stinging scratches and scrapes on her hands and knees on his own, the deep ache in her muscles and bones in his, the flaring stabs across her torso and shoulders with every movement she makes in his as well, just as if those were his injuries instead of hers alone.

 She could probably feel the numb agony of the undoubtedly permanent damage done to him in this cage. How she was still able to keep going, keep fighting, with the pain slowly killing him—them—, was beyond him.

 That was how their soulbond worked, an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, a soul for a soul, pain for pain. Bearing what the other is taking, sharing the burden of their suffering.

 A blessing and a curse, always being able to tell whether your soulmate was hiding injuries or overworking themselves to the detriment of their body. It was… it was probably a relief for her, in the time after his capture—to know the Joker's been keeping him alive.

 Marinette's heartbeat stuttered as the fight drew away from the cage and out of his sight. Heart in his throat, Tim barely holds back a desperate keel. He can't afford to distract her now—

 Electricity, surging through his body. Lancing pain whiting his vision out.

 He could barely hear her screams through the crackling around him. No, no, no, no—please.

 Maniacal laughter rang out clearly above the thundering of their shared heartbeat and the sizzling searing of electrical burns tearing through their bodies.

 And oh, oh…

  Oh no.

 If he thought the electricity was bad enough, then the five pinpricks of pain in the centre of his chest shouldn't have been noticeable.

 But it was. And brutally so. His chest. Ruptured open. Tearing and shredding apart like something was being ripped out. Or well, not his chest. But Marinette's.

 Throat constricting, he could barely breathe. The pain was so consuming. He couldn't tell if the struggle he had breathing was his or hers, or both of theirs.

 His, apparently.

 Seeing as Tim could feel it.

 The very moment his soulmate's—Marinette's—heart ceased to beat.

 That gaping agony rupturing and rending through his chest and sternum—right through to where their hearts lay in each of their chests—was painting a clear enough guess of what was happening—had happened. To her.

 “No!” He barely rasped under the restraining muzzle. Please survive! He wanted to beg her, please hold on just a little bit longer! The others must be near soon…

 The tether snapped. The bond shattered.

 “Plea—” Tears leaked from his eyes, stinging the small sore scaleless patches of skin as they dripped down his cheeks.

 The pain of her injuries faded as her heartbeat's absence grew longer.

 The Joker skipped back into view from within the wretched cage, a blue crystalline heart of a dragon, bleeding and unbeating in his hands. “Would you look at this! A pure of heart sapphire!”

 Bursting into cackles at his own words, the Joker barrelled over, grin sickeningly wide.

 The breath caught in Tim's throat.

 It… it should have killed him too. He should be dead.

 “NOOO!” He rasped again, throat bleeding from the strain. Clutching at his chest, overcome, he desperately wailed for his other half. Don't leave me! He wanted to cry out to all that remained of her, please, how am I supposed to live without you?

 His wail was cut off sharply with a wet cough. Choking on the blood from his throat as the muzzle kept him from taking any deeper breaths. 

An emptiness—hollowness, settled inside his heart. As the lonesome silence, barring the incessant laughter, persisted.

 What else? He thought to himself deadeningly—despondently, what else am I supposed to do? Without you here?

 The Joker straightened up and sneered at Tim. “Awww, aren't you having fun?”

 “No,” Tim whispered under his breath, closing his eyes and using what little strength he had left to curl up into a ball, covering himself with his clipped wings. “I just want to go home to my wife, my soulmate…”

 “Well let's fix that then! They do say laughter is the best medicine!” The Joker crowed, dropping the heart on the ground before moving out of sight once again. Followed by a chuff and a hiss of liquid gas spraying from a machine.

 Tim flinched. Expecting the worst.

  The machine exploded. The cage rocked crashing over—freeing him.

 The sounds of gunfire and batarangs reached his ears but Tim only had eyes for Marinette. Disconsolate, he slowly crawled to her and her heart with everything he had left. Fragilely, he scooped her sapphire heart up in his claws and cradled it against his chest fruitlessly, as if the proximity to his own heart would somehow breathe life back into hers. Once he reached her body, he bowed his head and let the tears spill from his eyes.

 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her. But it was. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

 His heartbeat felt lonely.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this short fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| And if you liked this, don’t forget to check out my teammate’s works as well! |

[boxeboxer]

more miscellaneous writing.. this time Samy’s fun time in dreamland

She thinks of it. In the throes of half-sleep, tossing, turning, she dreams of it.

It forms a heady curtain just behind her eyes, dark and deep, like the smell of mahogany at the back of the throat: Deepali’s fingers kneading circles into her palms, the squeeze of their hands intertwined, held together as tightly as old roots. It sends electric pulses up through the marrow of her bones, even now, even at just the thought. Her stomach clenches again in that awful way.

She’d said nothing then, watching with still, touched silence. But it had swelled at the edges of her skull, begging her to form the words: I want to take in every bit of you. I want to eat you whole.

Her heartbeat manifests itself at her temple, her inner thigh, the soles of her feet. She rolls her ankles and rubs her knees together, and imagines it—a body so cold it forms dew where the skin meets, tracing with its form the invisible line from sternum, breast, to hip. Her voice is against her ear, gentle as it always is, catching on the hitches of her electrolarynx like birdsong. Samya wants to hold onto her so tight it breaks her spine, gather her up in her arms and pull, pull, pull, ‘til there’s nothing left of either of them, just and only dust and the feeling.

When she had reached up through her ribcage, past the wires and the mesh, what had been there? Her fingers brushed past the rigid shape of the battery, the plastic hot, damp with condensate sweat, radiation scoring her arms with its minute, star-like particle shower, the gentle tic-tic-tic of the engine somewhere within, only separated by a millimeter of steel beneath her fingertips—if she had closed her eyes, she’d think she had fed herself to a hungry mouth, teeth pressed eagerly to her skin as it ate and chewed, holding fast onto its beating heart. Then there was the wetness of something bleeding onto the webbing of her thumb. It smelled of an overripe fruit, thick like sap but free of its grit or stickiness. It flowed as smooth as oil. She’d closed her hand over the opening where it spilled. Summoning clairvoyance, she fused the frayed pieces back together. The heat of it had singed her fingers.

In that breadth of a moment, threading fieldline through the eye of a needle, she’d heard it—a voice, or maybe several. And casting stygian silhouettes against her retinas was that familiar red sky, the bloodied river, exactly the way she described it to her so many times before.

“A mirror… a name…”

“Dirty, dirty, dirty…”

“I can’t jump that far…”

A face presented itself to her—Deepali’s face, distant, clouded. It was just beyond her reach, like her image upon a reflected surface. She could make out the outline, the curve from her neck to shoulder, the bending of her arm as she took her outstretched hand and held it. Cold, amphibian skin it was. It was like touching glass. She grabs hard and pulls.

They’re in the water again. The frigidness of it forces a gasp between her teeth, every nerve ending alight like she’d touched a live wire. Their hands, still together, slip apart when the current overpowers them. It’s taking her away, pushing her further no matter how hard she kicks.

“Samya!” Deepali cries. Not Amari, not ma’am, not lady, not missus, not Doctor—Samya. At first, she thinks she’s calling out for someone else. “Samya, help me, I can’t swim!”

Her clothes are weighing her down, caught in the tide as if wind to sails. All she can see is Deepali’s hair above the waves, an orange flame fighting against the white water, before it’s extinguished when it disappears below.

Samya dives. Her ears are drowned with hydraulic sound, the rushing of her own blood and the pressure of the water heavy on her jaw. A chasm has opened below them, rendered as only a gradient into darkness with no bottom. Deepali’s disappearing into it, an eruption of air coming from her mouth and nose before her body begins to sink, dropping like she had been tied to stone. Samya swims down, down, fighting the buoyancy of her lungs, parting the water with her hands as if she could manipulate it as easily as she moved air. She tries to manifest thread, to expand what little nitrogen is left in Deepali’s circuits, to force her own brain to release the adrenaline to make her faster, stronger, but down here she is as helpless as everyone else.

How could it be true, that she was so sought after, so treasured—endowed with clairvoyance so rare, so alien? It hadn’t saved her, or her mother, or the world. Now, as Deepali drifts further and further away, she realizes she can’t save her either. They all keep slipping from her hands—she just can’t hold on tight enough. It’s never enough. She keeps fighting but it’s never, ever enough.

A memory, Deepali’s voice against the roar of the sea: “Even a machine is better than that.” They had felt like the same person right then, a shared soul, entangled across just a short distance in the sand. Let me be you. Let me live in you. I am you. Her lungs take in water.

She feels herself on the cusp of waking, the small of her back brushing blankets and warm sheets. Instead of the water, her eyes open to see hands treading fabric, fingers pulling at the fibers of a folded shirt. The sunlight, casting unfamiliar shadows over the bed, causes her to spring forward and put her weight onto her palms. Her lips are dry, the cracked skin rough against her tongue when she goes to lick them, but her skin is damp with sweat under her arms and in the space between her neck and clavicle. She calms her breathing and lets her heartbeat lower from its place lodged in her throat.

[scarasimplysimping]

Serendipity

Part one/?

Kazuha x GN!reader

sypnosis: you're an assassin sent by Baal to murder him.

word count:905

"Detain Kaedehara Kazuha, confiscate his vision, and the one he's stolen. He made a mockery of the Raiden Shogun and has sealed his fate. Execute him if you must, just make sure to bring back his head in a platter." Sara, your superior said in a cold voice. You could almost feel her anger radiating from the way she talked. She was graceful and concise nonetheless.

"Yes, my liege." You bow as you are dismissed and waste no time, already tracking him in no more than several seconds.

Your chase bought you to Liyue. It wasn't an easy journey, as you had to explain to your archon that the fugitive had already left Inazuma long before you started tracking him.

After unloading all your belongings (which wasn't much considering how small your boat was) you take a moment to inspect your vehicle.

It was almost entirely destroyed and looked as if it was going to sink in a few minutes. It was in no shape for a trip back to your homeland meaning you'd be here for a while.

Another thing is it was probably going to be a difficult journey back, even more so with a severed head.

Thinking could wait. For now, you deserved a nice long rest.

You take note that based on the stares of the people residing the inn you decided to sleep the night in, they knew you weren't from here. You'd have to change into something more simple later.

"Are you going to compete for the masterless vision? I heard it's traveled all this way from Inazuma."

Your head perks up when you hear those words from a stranger's idle chit-chat. You contemplate on whether you should approach them and ask or let them continue their conversation.

"Perhaps. Where did you say it was, again?"

"Guyun Stone Forest. Just north of Liyue Harbor."

How... convenient.

You're there just in time to catch a glimpse of said fugitive, bidding a blonde boy and his small floating companion a farewell.

Careful as to not alert the samurai, you tail him carefully and wait til he's alone.

You almost feel guilty when you sneak up on him in his peaceful nap. Killing him now meant he would not die an honorable death. You didn't give him a chance to fight for it. But you were not a soldier with a code. You were an Archon's loyal assassin.

Gripping the blade in your hands, almost hesitantly, you take a moment to admire his features. He is quite the beautiful man, you think to yourself. Seriously? You've rid children of their parents and yet you hesitate at the sight of a pretty face? How shallow you are.

You shake your head, vanquishing unnecessary thoughts as you raise the dagger, prepared to plunge it in his heart.

Kazuha opened his eyes just in time to dodge and stood upright, a couple meters away from you, thanks to his vision.

"You're quite the agile one. The grass couldn't tell me of your presence until you were arm's length away."

You stare at him blankly. You weren't surprised. No one said tracking a trained samurai with super-human hearing was gonna be easy.

The battle was quite long, yet you were down on your knees, bleeding out in no less than five minutes.

Your eyes meet his, and he takes note of the anger in them, the look he gives you in return is pitiful. "In another life, perhaps you would've been born free from a God's grasp,"

Kazuha says sadly, as his back faces you. He takes his leave.

You wanted to be angry, to shout at him, to order him to come back and deal the final blow. But instead, you find yourself using your remaining strength to stand up and follow a fresh scent of flowers.

Kazuha on the other hand, was already thinking about going back to at least give you a proper burial. After all, you may have been an assassin, but you were a loyal one til the end. Truly, he did not know why his blade didn't slice of your head. Maybe, just maybe he'd hoped that you'd survive and have a second shot at life.

It was almost sundown when he returned to the place where your body supposedly lay. Supposedly. Kazuha furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the lack of your corpse. Though thankfully(?), there was a rather noticeable trail of blood.

Did you follow him? No. He went in the opposite direction. Were you gonna ambush him? No. The trail of blood would give away your location. Was this a trap? Possibly. And yet he followed.

With each second that passes, Kazuha feels his pace quickening until he's running, hoping that you were still alive. Quite ironic.

He finds the trail ending in a field of pale flowers. Your crimson blood staining their white petals in such a perfect way. Your body lay there, unmoving as Kazuha kneels to check for a pulse.

And then he feels it. Something pulsating in his pocket. He takes the object out and inspects it, eyes wide with surprise and hope. The object only glowed more when he placed it on your unconscious form.

And so, without thinking, Kazuha swung your arm around his shoulder and was on his way to Baizhu's pharmacy in a matter of seconds.

It seems his old friend's masterless vision had found a master in you.

A/N: am complete shit at fight scenes so I skipped that part entirely. Who says you can't ignore your problems? Also I'm a procrastinator so there probably won't be a part 2 anytime soon.

[earnestly-endlessly]

hello! do you have any long, slow-burn fics to recommend? thank youuuu 💜

Dear anon, thanks for the request. I love long, slow-burn fics, so this is right up my alley. Some of these are on my favourite cherik fic list (which I am working on at the moment). I hope you enjoy these! 

                                           Slow-burn Cherik Fic Recs

Dark Embrace – blackwingsinthecold

Summary: Mutants are rare and far between. Enough so that much of humanity believes they don’t exist, despite numerous reports throughout the centuries. All that is about to change.

Charles Xavier used to be a criminal psychologist for the FBI and now he’s changed his career path to detective. Thanks to him, the crime rate in New York City has dropped over thirty percent. In large part due to Charles’s telepathic abilities that only a handful of people at the bureau know about.

Everything seems to spiral when a mysterious assassin touches down in the city and Charles can’t get a read on him like everyone else. At the same time, the loft next to Charles’s finally gets a new occupant after two years that provides a certain level of…distraction.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven’s acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

Anarchy in the U.K. – Yahtzee

Summary: “Good God, Erik thought. The Prince of Wales is gay.”

Charles lives in the unceasing glare of the public spotlight, yet keeps his sexual orientation a closely held secret, afraid he could lose his throne and force his deeply troubled younger sister into a role that would crush her. Erik, journalist and world traveler, has been a loner most of his life; he has little patience for closet cases. But a chance meeting in Kenya brings these two opposites together and sets in motion a love affair that will challenge the British monarchy – and their most deeply held beliefs about who they are, and who they should be.

The Marriage Bargain – kianspo

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson’s hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Comment: This story is amazing but is still a WIP as far as I know. Please don’t let that discourage you from reading because it’s amazing.

Sink or Swim – endingthemes

Summary: Erik is a struggling single dad of three kids with a burning hatred for Sebastian Shaw, the man who wronged him years ago. He’s tried to move on with his life, but a run-in with Shaw’s rude, spoiled omega, Charles, drags up old anger.

When Charles ends up in the hospital after an accident, Erik goes to confront him only to find that Charles has amnesia. In the confusion, Charles mistakenly assumes that Erik is his mate.

Erik knows he should clear up the misunderstanding, but how can he pass up this perfect chance for a little revenge?

(An Overboard AU)

White Nights – spicedpiano, tahariel

Summary: Duke Erik Lehnsherr of Ironhold needs an omega to carry on his line, and Earl Charles Xavier of Westchester needs an alpha to give him the political leverage he needs in order to make his sister Queen. An arranged marriage brings them together, but Erik’s lust for war and Charles’ hidden agenda threaten to tear them apart. In the frozen Northlands of Ironhold life is hard and cold, and both Charles and Erik must give up their pretense and see each other as they really are: perfect for each other, if only they’ll acknowledge it.

All the Rest is Rust and Stardust – spicedpiano, tahariel

Summary: Charles Xavier is the world’s preeminent mutant psychologist, called in to consult for the CIA when a raid on a Hellfire Club safehouse discovers a severely abused teenager, Erik Lehnsherr. Taking Erik in soon leads Charles to struggle between his conflicting responsibilities as Erik’s guardian and psychologist, and his desire to give in to the dangerous dynamic that is developing between them.

Tuesday Plays the Piper – Sperare

Summary: In a world where the population is barely holding steady, those of either gender who are capable of bearing children are considered a prized commodity. In all places beyond Westchester, their rights are few–and, with Erik Lehnsherr poised to tear down the gates of the city, even that last haven is on the brink of destruction. But, for Charles Xavier, the consequences of conquest may prove to be more personal than political. No one quite knows why Erik is so set on capturing his old friend and partner in the war against Shaw: Charles is no bearer, and he’s disinclined to aid Erik in firmly establishing mutant supremacy once and for all.

Charles, however, is all too aware of Erik’s reasons. Erik knows things about him that no one else does–things which, if brought to light, would would mean surrendering far more than just a kingdom.

Ritual in Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can’t find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn’t know Erik and Charles are in love.

City by the sea – Black_Betty

Summary: It never bothered Charles that he essentially belonged to someone else from birth. Ever since he could remember he had been told stories about the mysterious prince who was his betrothed, and who one day would be called husband. As he grew older, Charles caught his thoughts drifting away from lessons under strict tutors, his mind slipping into the hazy daydream of his life yet to come…

These ties, how fast they break – ikeracity

Summary: When Brian Xavier died, he left behind his widow and three children: Emma, Charles, and Raven. But having only omega-heirs, Brian’s estate is entailed away to a distant relative, Kurt Marko and his son Cain. Emma was supposed to provide for them by marrying the very wealthy Erik Lernsherr, but two days after the engagement was announced, Emma elopes with her lover Sebastian Shaw. Left penniless and their family’s reputation in shambles, the suitors stop courting and society shuns them. Charles is forced to seek employment as a governess (or the omega equivalent) to support his sister and mother.

Surprisingly, the only one willing to hire Charles is actually Emma’s jilted fiancee, who recently gained custody of his deceased sister and brother-in-law’s daughter, Anya. Erik wants the best for his niece, and recalls Charles to be a clever and accomplished gentleman, though he by no means lets Charles forget that he’s there at his charity, and one wrong move and Charles will be out on the streets.

Charles bonds with Anya, eventually bonding with Erik and then feelings happen until the Markos arrive to claim their inheritance, when Cain falls deeply in lust with Charles. Despite Cain being boorish, crude, and having no respect for social mores, Charles accepts Cain’s proposal. Now he has to deal with jealous!Erik and the humiliation of a fiancee who loudly discusses the scent of his heat in public and privately threatens to fuck him ‘til he bleeds so he can’t even walk without remembering to whom Charles belongs.

Comments: I adore this fic so much. Unfortunately, it’s unfinished but this is an amazing read, especially if you’re looking for a proper slow-burn. Also, this one is on the kinkmeme at LiveJournal, and the format is annoying. Please don’t let that stop you from reading it though! 

[my-brothers-corrupted]

Happy birthday, Reina! You’re one of the most supportive readers I have for this blog and my other one too and I also just think you’re amazing as is. Wanted to pay you back a little for being a friend and always leaving such amazing tags on my writing - so I went through some of them to find inspiration for a snippet I could write you :) hope you enjoy this nightmare.

“You can’t be here,” he whispers, and he hears his voice shake.

Blue eyes regard him like the pupil of a bird fixated on a toad struggling in its talons.

“You can’t be here!” he repeats, in a scream now, and he tears forward like a wild thing, his teeth bared, and his body shifts. He is a dog, he is a deer, he is a man, he is a mistake. And by the time he is lunging at the boy’s throat as he has lunged a dozen times before, the cold and unscarred hand of his creator snaps out like the strike of a snake and grips him by the throat.

He is a sheep now and he hears himself bleat, terrified by the transformation. He shifts to a bird, but it’s a dove instead of a hawk, and the hand on his throat squeezes down on white feathers. He shifts to a snake, but its scales are dull with lack of venom and his jaws are locked in by the grip of the long white fingers. He shifts into a ferret, hoping to squiggle away, but another hand lashes out and squeezes his writhing little body in its place.

He stares up with black eyes, tiny squeaks falling out of his throat, and he is humiliated, yes, humiliated to be forced into animal bodies with so little prowess – but moreover, he is afraid, he is afraid, he is afraid.

He changes back into a man. The hands shove him to his knees and he chokes. Blood runs between the fingers of the boy and he hears a dry sob escape his throat as he scrabbles at the horrible flesh, gagging out the names “Dapper! Red! Trickshot, anyone!”

Protect me, protect me!

“You,” pants his captor. “You. You stole. You stole my boys from me.”

Anti wails with rage and with terror, throwing his head as far back as he can, til he feels the wound in his throat squealch and open wider. He gasps as he neck begins to slide off his spine and a hand reaches up to snag his hair instead, shoving his knees down into the sopping mud of the forest floor.

“Where?” cries his captor, and he looks up, weeping, to see tears in the blue eyes, tears coursing down his face. “Where did you take them? Give them back to me! Give them back to me!”

“You can’t have found me,” screams Anti, and his form begins to switch again, wildly, randomly, in the man’s hands – mongoose, cat, tiger, boar! – but they do not once loosen or tremble, and there is no animal strong enough to throw them off. No, no. He has him. He has him. He’ll kill him. Or worse. There is a flash of lightning through the black weeping of the night and Anti sees illuminated at his sides the bodies of his puppets, staring down at him, motionless. A dry choke leaves him and now he can feel his eyes running like a mortal man’s, tears soaking into the rain on his face. The blue eyes are consuming and destroying him. He wheezes.

“Red! Red!”

He can see him standing close, too close, that old fighting staff gripped in his hands, and Anti’s heart constricts. At his side, Blue appears from the darkness, his eyes glowing, his mouth slightly parted, waves of his long, beautiful hair waving around his face, his hands lit with a soft and swirling magic, severity and grief in his face. On his every side, the sound of a clock ticking, louder and louder, begins to fill his ears up.

No, he can’t relive that night – that night when Red pressed him down, down, down into the mud, and Blue’s power wrapped around him like a vice, and he felt himself shredded down to essence. It was all he could do to choke and flee and find the first physical body that could keep him alive: the squaling body of the raven bird, its horrible flesh consuming and sustaining him, trapped in the blackened body like a parasite as his little brother was stolen out of his box, away from him, and he was alone for so many long years afterwards.

“Red!” He turns his eyes up to his enemy, to his brother, to his slave. “Red, obey me, obey me! Make him stop! Blue, make him stop! Dapper, change this back! Protect me, protect me!”

Someone laughs. He doesn’t know who. He wants it to stop. No, he can’t do this again, he can’t! He can’t have found him! He’s supposed to be safe! Dapper, change it back! Change it back!

“You should never have taken them from me, Anti,” whispers his captor. “You should never have done so many of the things you chose to do.”

“You made me like this!” howls Anti, and at last he manages to sink dog’s teeth into the boy’s hands. His captor cries out but does not release him, throwing his head back to reveal a twin scar laced across his white throat. “You made me to be this way! You knew what I was and you couldn’t stop yourself from creating me! Stupid fucking boy! You were the one who turned on me! You were the one who tried to bury me in the mud!”

“And now,” pants Jack, and Anti feels his whole body freeze over as one of the blue eyes of his creator turns a bright and vivid green, illuminating the darkened night. Lightning crashes over them and ignites the wood of the forest, and then Jack’s whole body is consumed in fire, but he does not move or flinch or cry out, that green eye still burning through the fire. “Now I will do it again. This time, Anti, I will make it permanent. Now I change the story. I am the creator and I will break and make anew.”

Anti screams, writhing as he is pressed down into the earth and his body begins to change. If he could focus, maybe he would notice that Red, and Blue, and Dapper are gone, and Jackie, and Marvin, and JJ have replaced them, laughing as though they don’t see him there. Jackie lifts Jameson into his arms and pulls him to his chest, promising him he will never be a captive again. Marvin is kissing the both of them, his face warm with magic as the black branches of the forest burn. Somewhere beside him, he hears Henrik and Chase and the high voices of children, and he hears them all chattering and laughing and whispering I love you’s, and as distantly as he notices it all, still he understands: none of them will save him. None of them ever really loved him. He was just a captor.

Bones shatter in his body. Flesh squirms and tears along his muscles, shrinking and sprouting the sharp barbs of black feathers.

“You can be an animal,” says Jack, smiling at him as fire burns his image away. “Because you refused to be a worthwhile man. Anti, why didn’t you just try to be a part of me? Yes, you were a mistake. That doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

Anti can feel the flame on him. Anti is burning alive.

“But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

Anti is a bird, his neck broken in Jack’s hands, and he cannot shift, he cannot change at all; he is stuffed within the body of the bird. Wet, grinding musculature, calcium prison bars, and the electricity of nerve endings can contain him for the rest of his life. Around him, his puppets are laughing. Around him, his brothers are free.

He knows it’s a dream.

It’s always, always, always a dream.

But that never seems to make it less frightening.

“You can’t have found me,” says something in the bird’s eyes, in the bird’s fluttering death throes, in the bird’s broken, bleeding, burning neck. “You can’t have.”

“No,” answers Jack, as they turn to ash together. “No, I haven’t. But one day, Anti - I will.”

[coutelier]

Things in the Woods

Excerpt time! At this point in the story we’ve met some of the characters. Namely Kaya, who wants to be a better person but with all her associations and impulsive nature is finding it difficult. Sayuri is the only decent person she’s friends with but her other associates are all crooks and bullies. We’ve also met Tenley, a young girl who wanted to be loved by her mother but then that mother was taken away and now all she wants is revenge, and Titania (for unknown reasons) has given her the means to do it. We haven’t met adult Jennifer yet - she’s like a detective and will show up after the crime has happened in order to solve it. Speaking of which, it’s time to get the actual meat of the story started. You see Titania has one rule - no one looks on the hidden people and lives.

Things in the Woods 

It was fine. Everything was fine. Kaya was sleeping in her car tonight, tiny droplets pattering on the windscreen. The weather had turned very quickly, inky clouds looming over the murky valley below where she was parked. But it was fine. Tomorrow would be a new day. It would be great if she had some sort of plan, but she was pretty good at improvising so why waste that talent?

The evening had gone smoothly. For a change, Candace had managed to get through the set without challenging every face watching them in the metallic and black hall to fight then been convinced to go home without kicking at anyone. Sayuri had been pulled and gone home with another girl. So that just left Kaya, here, alone, watching silhouettes of trees waving in the distance like they were praying to their gods for rain and had been answered. She nodded to the rhythm, letting it carry her away. Then she heard the scream.

Kaya was used to be woken by screams. Usually drunken antics and brawls, but this one had an abruptness to it that turned her spine to glass. And it was close. She squinted through the windows, checked all her mirrors, but the rain was getting thick. On one side were the warehouses and on the other a line of trees marking the edge of the road. The only other thing she saw was a ‘To Let’ sign hammered into muddy grass, and behind it a shoe. On closer inspection there was a leg too. Could someone have fallen? Not from the roof - that really wouldn’t have made sense. But she supposed it was her duty as a fellow human to go investigate.

The droplets felt like ice on her skin, so she wrapped her arms around herself as she padded toward the shoe. “Um, hey?” She softly cooed, “you okay there? Do you need…” she froze. No, the man lying behind the sign was definitely not okay. What he needed were his eyes as vile ichor just oozed from the holes they once were.

Kaya didn’t like to swear, but this seemed like a situation that was appropriate for it. So… shit. Other things were rising in her throat as she ran back to the car. She could feel her own heart trying to bust as she made sure the doors were locked, the only sound she heard was her own quick breathing. Was she panicking? Probably. That made sense. Sayuri talked about meditation sometimes so what would she suggest? Imagine yourself on a beach and breathe in and out with the waves. No, Kaya hated sand. Sayuri was no help to her here. Dibbles! She should call the dibbles.

It was a great plan except for one problem - the phone wouldn’t come on. Even though she was sure she’d charged it all she held in her hand was a useless plastic slate. Pressing the button harder didn’t seem to transfer any energy into it at all. It was only then she noticed nothing was on outside either. All the lights and streetlights around her had gone dark. She knew those things couldn’t really be connected to her phone, yet… what if they were? What if the killer was still around?

Kaya sunk behind the wheel, wide eyes darting back and forth between anything outside that might possibly not just be an illusion caused by the rain. In the end there was only thing that wasn’t. She saw it in the mirror, high up in a tree behind her where the rain beat down on the leaves and on something else. Something that wasn’t there and yet, as water covered it, it’s shape was. Then it looked through the mirror at her.

Kaya jumped and fumbled with her key in the ignition. Nothing happened. She turned it again. Still nothing. After the the third time she looked back and saw the creature was gone, but that was no relief - she would rather have known where it was, or so she thought, as it was now standing outside next to her. Whatever cloak had been obscuring it was gone and she saw a slender androgynous thing clad in some chitinous armor with a gray-brown bark like texture, leaf-like ears protruding from the mouthless helm. It reached down, one hand getting under the vehicle which it then flipped and started rolling down the hill.

Kaya braced as best she could, her shoeboxes bouncing around, hitting her from all directions. All she could really do was close her eyes, grit her teeth, and waited until she felt a jolt. To her relief it seemed that gravity was working from under her and she was still on the road that zig-zagged up the hill. But the engine still wouldn’t start no matter how much she pleaded. She released the brake and the green hatchback began to trundle forward, but with not nearly enough haste.

“Come on!” Kaya growled. All she needed was one, tiny spark. She felt another jolt, but not from the engine. The creature was kneeling on the bonnet, the black bulbs that were its eyes locked on to hers as it began drawing back its fist. “Greenback,” Kaya pleaded one last time, “do this for me and I promise I’ll take you to the car wash tomorrow.”

The engine roared. Kaya screamed in triumph, immediately reversing so that the creature fell back and away, rolling and landing on it’s feet in the middle of the road. There was no way of registering if it felt anything like surprise, but Kaya was well past her own shock and fear. She had the thing in her headlights so slammed her foot down, tires squealing as Greenback was launched at it. The creature didn’t flinch, but waited til the last second before vaulting over the car like an ancient acrobat leaping over a bull.

The smart thing to do was to keep going, not stop or turn around. For once Kaya did the smart thing, turning at the bottom of the hill although she had no clue where to turn next. This road was taking her away from town, which she quickly realized was the opposite of where she should be heading. But she couldn’t turn around. Not until she had put a lot of distance between and whatever that thing was. After a few minutes she thought maybe she’d gone far enough, but then a thud and the roof crumpled slightly. Whatever the thing was it hadn’t given up yet. Kaya spun the wheel, rubber burning on tarmac as she swerved, hoping to shake it off. In response some kind of blade punched through the roof, just missing her, then retracting so it could try again.

Kaya couldn’t shake it off. She had one idea that might kill this thing, but it meant sacrificing an old friend and only home. Sinking to avoid the blade, she made sure her seatbelt was securely fastened then patted the wheel. “Sorry, Greenback,” she whispered, “I’m sure you’ll get a shiny new polish in motor heaven.”

She waited until the creature stabbed again, then sharply turned the wheel. Greenback lurched, sparks flying as it slid onto its side then over and over, glass shattering and metal screeching as it twisted. It smashed through a fence, taking out a wooden post, finally coming to rest in a field.

Kaya wasn’t sure if she’d passed out or not. When she opened her eyes she was hanging upside down, a cow mooing some distance away but seemed to not really be concerned about her or what had happened to its fence. Despite being crumpled the door still opened, so she unhooked her seatbelt and let herself fall then crawl out the side of the wreck. She yelped, a sharp burning sensation on her hand. She assumed she must have cut it on some glass, but it was a piece of the creature’s blade; warm to the touch and very sharp. It looked more crystalline than metal. Somewhere amongst all the junk in these shoe-boxes she knew she had some towels so she wrapped one around the blade, concealing it in her jacket before completing the crawl and pulling herself to her feet, leaning on the side of the upturned vehicle as her legs felt like jello. Kaya patted Greenback one last time, but couldn’t stay for a eulogy. She wasn’t safe until she was back in civilization surrounded by people. Lots of people.

She staggered away a few feet then paused, shoulder blades pulling in toward each other. “Oh… fiddle-sticks,” she spun about, fist flying but the creature swatted it away with ease then kicked back, Kaya doubling over with a whoomph as she was flung several meters. Considering that it flipped a car over with no effort, she really should not have been surprised that it kicked like a horse too, even with its body contorted and twisted. Still it kept coming after her, bones and muscle popping back into place. Fighting this thing was futile, but adrenaline and the will to survive kept Kaya going. She rolled over, trying to crawl away but her hair was pulled tight, the creature lifting her to her knees as it stepped around, likely meaning to gouge out her eyes as well. Kaya struck first, with the broken blade she’d found in the car. It slid between a small gap between the creatures fore and upper arm, it letting go of her as it jerked itself away. So it could be surprised, Kaya saw. More importantly though, it could bleed.

Spurred on she tackled it. Despite the enormous strength it seemed to not weigh a whole lot more than her and went down, so Kaya stabbed it, over and over, but it kept squirming. She needed to kill it quick before it realized it could throw her off with ease. If it bled, maybe it had a heart or a brain, so she stabbed it through the eye. Even though it didn’t have a mouth, the howl was harrowing. Chilling. But finally it was still.

Kaya rolled off and lay panting next to it. Her body ached, her mind was confused and exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to lie here. But was she really sure she’d killed it? What if something else heard that howl? Best not to be around if any of that thing’s friends came to investigate. She had to get back to town then everything would be fine.

[godkilller]

KILLING :D C'MON LET AIZEN HAVE IT

Send “ KILLING “ for a drabble of my muse killing yours!

         RETRIBUTION! Something the ghost of an outstretched right hand had barely touched, but remembered so vehemently, as it haunted and ached at Gin’s empty shoulder to this day. It had been scorched on contact, he had burned for this, bled for this, nearly died for this—-and now this pathetic life was his to take and taste in a tangibility beyond a phantom grasp. Would he gasp if he grabbed for the throat, nails sinking ‘til blood filled beneath, would he choke for air, would he wiggle and writhe like a worm? Armless, bloody stumps promised that he would.

          He tested this theory, allowing himself the feeling of a crushed windpipe, of the sensation uncontrolled, a convulsion of sorts, to wrack Aizen’s beaten body. He did so until the pulse stopped, till his hand burned for release, and even then the traitor pushed his nails to maul upon exit. His life-preserving ability no longer stopped death, at this point, even a sluggish one like the result of a deeply personal touch of asphyxiation. 

          Gin yanked him forward, swift, into a greeting knee which slammed against his nose and jaw for a hard-stop in momentum, grip releasing merely to allow him room to fall backwards from the impact. Fluidly, Shinso drew and shot out to follow, piercing his gut, twisting till ribs groaned and snapped, to thoroughly nail him against the rubble spread beneath him.

          Destruction surrounded them, the mountains and woods were in absolute ruin… and at the eye of the storm he reigned. Gin stood tall at the epicenter, a billowing form with the force of a terrifyingly wrathful god. He had the false deity on his knees, exhausted, defeated, bloody. How the toll of the Hogyoku finally wore off after doses and doses of poison pumped through him—-Rangiku’s soul piece no longer acted as fuel for his insecure reach for power. The act of slaughtering him over and over had a therapeutic touch Gin admired. Delight, twisted, angry, thrummed at the fact that Aizen wasn’t going to die fast. She wasn’t here right now, Gin made sure of it. He could prolong this inevitability for as much as he pleased.

          Mercy was so far removed from the traitorous serpent that he devoured the word from all texts, down to the concept, in the same lightning-fast fashion as he had cut into the man’s mouth with ripping accuracy. He slashed the muscle out, reveling in the wordless nature of his prey that so devoted himself to clever words. Mutilation had its deeper charms.

          But didn’t gods bleed gold, didn’t their tongues weave silver—-at least, the kind of god Aizen thought himself as? Oh, what a disappointment red was in this instance—–a severed mouthpiece washed blood down the lips of he who dared smile, trying to coerce others in every living minute that he was in control at times that he actually wasn’t… like this too fell into the grand scheme, the fucking plan, was laughably desperate, weak. How weak he was, when stripped of all but the tattered prisoner garb on his back, his prized Zanpakuto gone, his precious stolen Hogyoku dissipating as they lingered now. This fragility about him… it was satisfying enough to forgive his blood’s boring color.

        ❝ Did you picture this endin’—-aaalllllll those years ago? Ahh, I’d say you fell pretty far from whatcha wanted… butcha never really got that high up, hm? ❞

          Aizen was hardy enough to handle the loss of his tongue—-a painfully fatal feat to all others, and his other wounds were beginning to show telltale signs of a fried cluster of regenerative cells (poison swallowed them before they could move to replace what was rotting away) and Gin grinned down as the bleeding noticeably did not stop, only slow.

        ❝ Looks like this’s your limit. ❞ Over seven hours, and Gin remained steadfast. Dreams of a scenario like this fueled him through any possible bout of fatigue, allowing him a consistent flow of brutality. Decapitation alone took Gin a little over 2 hours to fully appreciate the way Aizen’s expression slacked each time he ripped his blade across his neck. He took his hands and feet, fingers, toes, carved out his heart till it gaped, gushing in emptiness, dark, bloody, and he dug out each rib with Shinso acting as a plyer wedged between the spine. Gin never let Aizen’s legs regenerate beyond the knees, as the concept of him unwillingly groveling at his feet enticed him to no end. Unable to hold himself, to steady himself with often bloodied shoulders or mangled arms, the damned deity could wobble around like a little punching bag, brought back upright by a swift blade turned and made askew, though his heart, retracting.

          Taking his eyes, stabbing his ears, ridding him of his nose with his blade through the roof of his mouth, angled cruel and messy, taking all senses, taking, taking—–ah, if only Aizen had a soul for Gin to shatter and steal for his own devices, too…

          Killing him would have to do, finally. It was time to, he had gone through every fantasy, cycled twice, three times, four, five, six—-until Aizen’s immortality was reduced to myth. Gin stepped back, drawing his blade close, centering it flush to his chest to unleash a barrage of blades, all piercing, all as one and many, plunging stabs into every inch, tearing and shredding skin, then abruptly vanishing; a nearly invisible fine dust soaked into all entry wounds, every last crevice, until Gin held but a hilt and guard of his sword.

        ❝ ——–kill’im, Kamishini No Yari. ❞

          A ripping of sorts, the art of destruction, the very air itself surrounding Aizen snapped and popped with the pressure pulling it inwards, into the voids of every wound Gin punctured into his prey——deleting, devouring, Aizen was unwritten from the fabric of space, erased, tearing still, pure negation hungry and hunting, hissing, till all in its pulsating radius was swallowed whole.

[juleswriites]

I’ve been dying of boredom, so here’s another masterlist of #122 possible otp, brotp, notp, muse, and verse tags.  These are based off lyrics from several of Birdy’s albums.  Please like/reblog if you find these useful.

Birdy (2011)

watch her moving in elliptical patterns

what you say is way too complicated

twenty seconds ‘til the last call

I’ll be anything you ask and more

it’s not a miracle we needed

pour a little salt we were never here

staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

tell my love to wreck it all

cut out all the ropes and let me fall

I told you to be patient and I told you to be fine

I told you to be balanced and I told you to be kind

in the morning I’ll be with you but it will be a different kind

I’ll be holding all the tickets and you’ll be holding all the fines

suckle on the hope of light brassieres

God knows what is hiding in those weak and drunken hearts 

guess he kissed the girls and made them cry 

hard-faced queen of misadventure

God knows what is hiding in those weak and sunken lives 

giving love but getting nothing back

if you're homesick give me your hand and I'll hold it

guess the loneliness came knocking

smeared black ink

your face is ashen and I'm barely listening

I am not permanent

we’re only young and naive still

the mood it changes like the wind

hard to control where it begins

can’t help myself but count the flaws

claw my way out through these walls

we lie beneath the stars at night; our hands gripping each other tight 

you keep my secrets hope to die; promises, swear them to the sky

let go before it’s too late

can you hear what I say?; I have never felt this way

can I make it better with the lights turned on?

I still want to drown whenever you leave

please teach me gently how to breathe

I'll cross oceans like never before so you can feel the way I feel it too

I've seen fire and I've seen rain 

I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end 

I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend 

I always thought that I'd see you again

you've got to help me make a stand 

been walking my mind to an easy time

pack your bags and spread your wings

while you wave goodbye I’ll be getting closer

stand there and look into my eyes (and tell me that all we had were lies)

show me that you don’t care

you can tell the world that you’re tired

turn to my embrace; I won’t let you come to nothing

it’s a terrible love and I’m walking with spiders

I can’t fall asleep without a little help

it takes a while to settle down

it takes an ocean not to break

you make promises that you break

why don’t we share our solitude?

feels as if I’m sensing you through a lens

blunted and exhausted

sunlight comes creeping in and illuminates our skin

it’s hard luck when no one understands your love

Fire Within (2013)

we watch the day go by

under a trillion stars we danced on top of cars

lights go down in the moment we’re lost and found

I just wanna be by your side

if these wings could fly

my thoughts they slip away

we’ll remember tonight for the rest of our lives

I can be strong when I want to be

you think I’m weak ‘cause you can tear me apart

you think you’re in control

I want to be free

my heart is made from gold and forgiveness seems too bold

I still find it in my heart to say I love you

you don’t know how I fight for you

I just wanna do right by you

you’re my feet on the ground

I still carry your love

wherever we are I’m yours always

you light me up when all I see is darkness

if I fall apart you know where to find the pieces

you know where to find my pieces when they can’t be found

words with no meaning have kept me dreaming

all you never say is that you love me

all I’ll never know is if you want me

cut to my core but I’m not bleeding

the bigger you are the harder you fall

you have my heart but I lock it up

this burning flame has been burnt enough

blades don’t hurt when you have no fear

unlike most you don’t miss a thing

no one sees me; no one but you

I want to fly into your world

my wounded wings still beating

together we can make something beautiful

I was meant for you and you for me

maybe this daydream will turn into the real thing

we'll laugh when we worried about what we might be

I just hate to see you cry

sometimes I wish we could be strangers

you say that it’s all right and I know that it’s a lie

you don’t have to do this on your own

you don’t have to act like you’re alone

here I am still holding on while you’re finding ways to break our bond

you’re the one who’s saying goodbye

I have lost the words to piece us back together

I’m tired of sitting and waiting alone in the dark

pour oil on these flames; speed up my heart again

round we go in circles; does it have to be this hard?

we’ll find the strength this time

I can see straight into your soul

feeling oh so lost and out of control

I’ve tried to be fair and pretend that I care

purity lost in vain

I’m listening close to every word that you speak

counting down the days to be right beside you when you fall asleep

hold on before I’m gone

wise enough to be strong-minded

I don’t know where this is going

I can see by your smile that you’re glowing inside out

I don’t know where this is going; I’m just hoping

only seen in the eyes that know me

like a dream out of reach

where I belong is the feeling I want

[corellian-smuggler]

1,9,12

1. Don’t leave

The sound of rain assaulting the windows and hammering the wet earth beyond them was loud in the otherwise silent room, a raging tempest that echoed the tumultuous storm in her head as they hobbled together through the door.

“Ah!”

“Careful,” Han grunted.

His grip was sharp around her rib cage, his fingers biting into her side where he held her, arm tightening as he attempted to carry more of her weight. Disjointed, frantic images flashed across her thoughts: the frantic look on his face as he’d skidded on the slick duracrete, falling to his knees in front of her–how’d he’d lifted her in his arms–run with her down the alley, his flashing eyes and razor-sharp voice when she’d told him to put her down–beseeching, as they’d reached the main road, to let her walk… If they caused a scene, if they blew their cover…. his sturdy strength all but holding her on her feet as she’d staggered back to the dilapidated hotel…

Leia blinked dizzily as Han bodily guided her into the ‘fresher. At any other moment, she knew, she’d have hissed her indignation when he hoisted her up onto the counter, but all she could do just then was grit her teeth and steady herself with her hand on his shoulder.

Wordlessly Han darted back into the bedroom, leaving her soaked and shivering, perched on the edge of the sink. The cacophony of pouring rain was muted in the ‘fresher–enough so that she could hear the soft sounds of the water dripping from her drenched clothes onto the tile floor. In a kind of hazy fascination she leaned forward to see that the puddle gathering beneath her was tinted pink. Weakly she fell back against the cracked, spotted mirror behind her, lest she lose her balance and topple off the counter.

Han’s voice was still ringing in her ears.

What’re you doing? You trying to get yourself killed?

She closed her eyes. No, she hadn’t been, but…

The flurry of movement around her signaled his reappearance, and though she kept her eyes closed against dizziness and something alarmingly like shame, she could discern clearly the sounds of the medkit being tossed on the counter beside her, towels being pulled from the shelf, and the faucet running as he hastily scrubbed the grime and blood from his hands.

Not until she felt his fingers close around her wrist did she realize that she was still clutching her jacket closed over the scarlet stain blossoming through the white fabric of her waterlogged shirt. Her knuckles appeared as white as the material, and she rushed to assure herself it was from the vice-like grip she’d taken on the jacket, the exertion of keeping her fist pressed against the gushing wound in her side, and the cold, frigid rain–though her gaze flickered back to the bloody-water puddle on the floor.

Without speaking, Han was shoving her jacket down off her shoulders. She must have really been suffering from blood loss, she realized, if she was letting him strip her clothes off without a single word. Leia tried to peel her shirt off on her own, but lifting her arms sent an awful pain searing through her side, and so Han tugged the garment over her head and tossed it in a soggy heap with her jacket. The delirious observation that his actions held none of the gentleness or desire she would have imagined he’d display the first time he undressed her flickered absurdly across her thoughts, interrupted when he grabbed up one of the hotel’s dingy towels and barked at her to keep it held tight against her side.

Goosebumps breaking out all over her cold, clammy skin in the ‘fresher’s chill air, stripped down to her bra and clutching a bath towel to a wound that they both knew was the result of her own reckless stupidity, Leia weakly acknowledged that the only reasons her face wasn’t burning from humiliation were because she’d bled out all over the city, and because she was too dizzy as a result to feel embarrassment.

Han rummaged with sharp efficiency through the medpack, tossing things carelessly to the cluttered counter in his haste. He didn’t warn her or apologize when he shoved her hand aside to spray her wound with an antiseptic, or look up at her face when she hissed and flinched from the sting. Next came the sealant, which stung even worse, and for the first time Leia chanced a glance down at the angry red slash that cut from her right side down towards her navel. Not as deep as they’d initially feared, but bleeding heavily enough to be a cause of serious concern. She needed a medcenter, and they both knew she wouldn’t get one.

Han’s hands must have been shaking as he’d tried to tear open the first bacta patch, because suddenly he swore and she looked up to watch him rip it open with his teeth–an unprecedented lack of composure and control on his part that seemed incredibly profound, somehow, as she sat there half-undressed before him. Was it adrenaline that turned his hazel eyes to steely gray as he pressed the bacta patch against her ribcage? Fear that had caused that tremor in his otherwise steady hands? She was sure it was anger that resulted in the clench of his jaw, the awful, resounding silence between them as he tended her wound. She could feel the anger coming off of him in waves.

“Sit up,” he whispered shortly once he had five bacta patches adhered tightly down the length of the wound. Leia’s head spun a bit as she pushed away from the cold mirror, and she clutched his shoulders so that he could wind gauze around her.

“This’ll have to hold 'til morning,” he said bitterly.

Shaking, Leia looked up into his face. He’d leaned closer to see over her shoulder to secure the end of the bandage, and when he drew back their faces were terribly close, her hands still on his shoulders and his arms still around her. Cold water ran in tiny rivulets down her neck and back from her bedraggled, wet braids, and though he’d flung off his own jacket, he still wore his dripping shirt, icy where it brushed against her bare torso, and yet she could also feel the heat of his body through the fabric, warming the air between them. The occasional brush of his knuckles on her flesh as he’d bandaged her had been such fierce heat that she’d trembled. He was gazing directly into her eyes, and Leia looked back in silence, wondering when the moment would come, now that it was clear she wouldn’t die, for him to scream at her.

The silence stretched, suspended and tense and wary. Leia’s side was throbbing–she couldn’t bear to take the hypo that would dull her pain, and Han knew it–and she wanted badly to lie down, but she was frozen as he looked at her. The silence was worse than his judgement, she decided.

“Let me down.”

Han didn’t even blink, much less move away from her.

“Do you have any fucking clue how damn stupid that was?” he demanded. His voice was as harsh as she’d anticipated, and yet lower, too, than she’d thought–a deadly, commanding tone that alarmed her. She was reminded abruptly of his time in the Imperial Navy, and also, incongruously, too, of the night those weeks ago when she’d gone to the Falcon for flatcakes and whiskey…

Leia looked away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she acknowledged tensely.

Han cut across her before she’d gotten halfway through the words.

“You’re not,” he spat. “Sorry that you didn’t catch him, maybe, but that’s about all you’re sorry for, isn’t it, Princess?”

Leia felt her hackles rise.

“And what exactly, captain, do you propose I should feel sorry for?”

Han shrugged away from her, a gesture so callous and dismissive that it stung her far more than she would have thought, and he knelt to gather up the blood soaked towels and her wet, ruined clothes. Then he stood, and turned to her with such an expression of disappointed pity that her throat closed up.

“I’m not gonna watch you get yourself killed,” he said flatly. “I cut you a break the last couple times you darted off on one of your suicide runs, Your Worship, but this is it. If you don’t care enough about yourself to keep yourself alive, then fine, but don’t drag me into it next time. I’m done.”

“Suicide run?” she repeated incredulously. “That man had information about the imperial construction on–”

“You couldn’t’ve caught him, Leia, and you knew it, but you decided to die trying anyway, didn’t you?” he snarled. “Leave me out of it if you’re gonna sacrifice yourself for nothing. That’s not what I signed up for.”

Leia’s mouth opened soundlessly, her eyes prickling and her chest aching more fiercely than her injured side.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she seethed, her weak hands gripping the edge of the counter. She felt bare, and not just because Han held her shirt balled up in his hand.

The look Han gave her was so cutting, so horribly knowing, that her defensive temper–already feeble in light of her wounded, weakened state–crumbled to ruin.

“We still playing this game?” he asked gruffly. His eyes, cold grey moments before, had grown hot–fierce, deep golden green, sharper and more compassionate than anyone, including herself, would have given him credit for.

He stepped close, his hips touching her knees, his hands coming up on the counter to either side of her to brace his tall frame as he leaned over her, wet clothes clinging to him, scarlet traces of her blood streaked over his torso and pants, and in his damp, mussed hair. Her heart suddenly beat double time, and she felt the heavy weight of guilt and dread settle in her stomach as she realized just what exactly had been the implications of her recklessness that night…

His face, closer to hers than it had been since that night she’d sat perched in his lap at the holochess table, loomed inches from her own.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about, Princess,” he whispered.

With that he turned and strode back into the bedroom, leaving her where she sat, half naked and freezing on the sink, lightheaded and grieving and culpable.

Unable to move for several long moments, Leia stared straight ahead. He was wrong. He might have known that she was hurting, or that she felt responsible, but he didn’t know–couldn’t have known the gaping hole that she felt inside herself. He couldn’t fathom the despair, or the incomprehensible loss, no matter what she might have said to him that night. He had no inkling of the guilt that turned her stomach when she relived the moments before Alderaan’s destruction–the anguish of knowing that if it hadn’t been for her, if she hadn’t involved herself, and stolen off with the plans… Han couldn’t have conceived of the loneliness, or the pain, or the torture of dreaming every night that she was on her planet, with her parents, only to wake and remember it was all gone, all of it, and that she’d never again hug her mother, or see her father, or anyone or anyplace that she’d ever known and lived and loved. Some nights she knew it wasn’t real even as she dreamed it, and in those dreams she clutched at her parents and wept, begging them not to go–don’t leave, don’t leave, please don’t leave me–and she would feel wakefulness stealing over her, tearing her from them until she woke to the awful truth. It was a devastation that she’d never have been able to imagine, and so surely Han had no idea.

He didn’t know that she was lost, unfeeling and cold and apathetic, and he surely didn’t know that the adrenaline was all she could feel–all she could feel that wasn’t guilt or grief or anger–and he didn’t know that she had to let the rebellion fuel her–consume her–because if she didn’t she’d go mad in the abyss of her world’s destruction.

Leia pressed her trembling palm against her eyes.

He was right, at least, she admitted raggedly to herself, right in the assertion that she didn’t care if she lived or died. Sometimes, the hollowness didn’t allow for caring.

But it wasn’t suicide that she craved. She didn’t want to die. She wanted–it was–what was it?

Release.

No.

Reprieve.

Leia wasn’t sure how she’d ended up crumpled on the wet floor with hot tears trailing down her cheeks. All she knew was that she hurt. Oh, she was hurting. And her reckless, obsessive pursuits against the Empire only distracted without alleviating any of the pain.

Maybe that’s what Han knew.

Furious with herself, she scrubbed the tears from her face. She had neither the privacy nor the energy for the emotional breakdown that had been threatening her for the last three months. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she had the energy to get off the floor, and her wound felt like it was on fire.

But she had to stand. She had to pick herself back up.

She always did.

[miracle-sham]

MGI Mixer/Team IssA's Stolen A Masterlist.

———

| For Whom the Bell Tolls as Asphodels Alight (FWtBTaAA) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| A Brush With Death and the Fangs of Regret (ABWDatFoR) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| The Strigidae's Call at the Owl Light's Fall (TSCatOLF) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End (OaSSHBTtE) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| Make sure to also check out the rest of my team's fics, art, and other content for this event because they were all amazing! |

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| [Masterlist Link] |

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[lastbluetardis]

And Baby Makes Three (4/6)

Here’s the next chapter! A day early, again, because I’m going back under the cone of science this weekend to work on a presentation that’s due Tuesday. Enjoy! (Also, note the change in the number of chapters. I apparently can’t keep it concise, so there’s going to be six chapters instead of five.)

Ten x Rose, Soulmates AU, Teen

With the decision to try for a baby made, James and Rose eagerly look forward to this newest chapter of their lives.

AO3 | TSP | FF | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Epilogue

James felt the bed dip as Rose crawled back in, and he rolled over to spoon against her. She opened her arms for him and cradled his head against her chest as he idly traced his fingers across her bulging belly.

“All right last night?” he asked, brushing his lips across the top of her breast. Rose had been restless for most of the night, tossing and turning and getting up to use the loo half a dozen times.

“Ainsley was quite active,” Rose admitted, grimacing as she felt her kick. “And I dunno… I’m exhausted, but I feel like I need to get up and move around and… and do something.”

“Sorry, love,” he said, rubbing his hand across her lower belly. “Perhaps it’s that nesting instinct we read about?”

“Maybe,” Rose sighed, idly stroking her fingers through his hair. “Whatever it is, it’s annoying. I hope the next month doesn’t pass like this.”

James hummed in sympathy and nuzzled closer to Rose, massaging her belly and enjoying the feel of his daughter moving strongly beneath his palm.

“Fancy breakfast in bed?” James asked, tilting his head up to look at Rose. “Before too long, those will have to be put on hold.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Rose said. “You make the food while I shower?”

“It’s a deal,” James said, rolling out of bed to help Rose out too.

Twenty minutes later, James walked into their bedroom as Rose was rubbing a towel through her hair. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her top was pulled tight over her stomach, showing just how pregnant she was, and he thought—not for the first time—that he was the luckiest man in the universe to be able to call this gorgeous woman his.

“I can’t say I’ll miss being pregnant,” Rose said, tossing her towel into the hamper as she eased her way back into bed. She arranged the pillows behind her and leaned back against them, sighing in relief as she found a reasonably comfortable position.

“While you look stunning, I’ll have to agree,” James said, walking up to her to set their tray at the foot of their bed. “I am so eager to meet our little girl.”

He slid into bed beside her and pressed a kiss to his fingertips, which he rested on her stomach.

“Me too,” Rose said wistfully.

As they ate, they chatted idly about all of the baby stuff they’d accumulated over the last few months, trying to make sure they had everything they could possibly need for Ainsley.

“Up to doing anything today?” James asked, collecting their empty dishes. “Bit of shopping? Out for a walk? Visiting Dad or your mum?”

“I think I just want to stay in,” Rose said, wincing as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Everything all right?” he asked nervously.

“Just have to pee.” Rose sighed. “Again. And my back is killing me.”

James helped pull her to her feet and watched her shuffle off to the toilet.

He brought their dishes to the kitchen and filled the sink with hot, soapy water as he tried to think of something he and Rose could do today. Truthfully, Rose wasn’t the only one experiencing the nesting instinct; he, too, was getting anxious for their baby to arrive. He felt like they weren’t ready and that he needed to double check everything they had for Ainsley and make sure her crib was assembled properly and that they had enough clothes and nappies and blankets and toys and…

He heard Rose coming down the hall, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. If Rose saw how worked up he was getting, it would only set her off too.

Soothing himself with the knowledge that he and Rose had everything they needed for their daughter when she arrived next month, he returned his attention back to the plate in his hand. And if he or Rose thought of something in the next five weeks, it was a simple matter of running out to get it or ordering it online. They were completely ready.

“J-James?”

Chills shot up his spine at the terror and panic he heard in her voice, and he dropped the plate, ignoring the splattering of soapy water as he spun around towards Rose’s call of his name.

She was leaning against the doorframe with tears in her eyes and her hands cupped under her belly, half bent over. James’s leg started trembling so hard he feared they were about to give way under him when Rose whimpered, “James, something’s wrong.”

Oh, no, please, he begged, rushing over to his wife on numb legs.

“What is it?” he asked, frantically fluttering his hands around her belly. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m in labor,” she moaned as a cramp rippled through her. “I was on the loo, and I was bleeding, and then there was this fluid… I think my water broke… Oh, God, it’s too early!”

“Breathe, love,” James said faintly, trying to stay calm despite his racing heart. Their baby wasn’t due for another thirty-four days; she was too little yet. “I’ll get us to the hospital.”

James grabbed the duffle bag of clothes he and Rose had packed last week, grateful that they’d thought to do it so soon, before he ushered her to their car.

“Breathe, Rose,” he reminded as he heard her gasping with sobs. He reversed out of their driveway and sped through their neighborhood much faster than was safe as he made his way to the motorway. “Just breathe.”

“She’s not due yet,” Rose cried, wrapping her arms around her belly as though she could physically hold Ainsley inside of her until her due date. “She’s not supposed to be here ‘til Christmastime!”

“She’ll be fine, love,” James said, assuring Rose as much as himself. His brain frantically scanned for the facts he’d absorbed about their baby’s development at the age she was now, but he couldn’t seem to think past his panic. “She’s thirty-five weeks. She’s far enough along that she’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. She’ll be perfect.”

James took her hand and gave it a squeeze, praying with every fiber of his being that what he was saying would hold true.

They were admitted to the hospital as soon as they arrived and were taken to a private room.

A doctor examined Rose and told them that everything looked good, that both baby and mother were healthy; the baby just seemed to want to be born early, as evidenced by Rose already being five centimeters dilated.

James clung to the doctor’s proclamation that his wife and daughter were okay, and used that to act calm for Rose, who was still in tears.

“Shh, it’ll be all right, love,” James whispered, sitting on the bed beside her and opening his arms for her. She leaned into them and the dam broke as she sobbed into his chest.

“Breathe, love,” he whispered, rubbing her back and pressing kisses to the top of her head. “Just breathe. You heard the doctor. Everything is fine. Our daughter is just a wee bit impatient, is all.”

“Gets that from you,” Rose sniffled, forcing herself to match her inhales with her husband’s.

The rest of Rose’s labor progressed quickly, and the next several hours passed in a blur of blood, sweat, tears, and much less screaming than James was expecting. He remained by Rose’s side and held her hand as she pushed their daughter into the world.

Finally, only six and a half hours after Rose had walked into their kitchen and scared him half to death, a writhing, bloody, screaming baby was held up for them to see. The doctor efficiently cleared out her nose and mouth and wiped her down with a towel before setting the baby on Rose’s chest.

James’s ears were ringing and he squeezed Rose’s hand tightly as he looked at the tiny pinkish-purplish body of his daughter. His daughter! His little Ainsley. And she really was little. A lump lodged in his throat as he watched her flail her arms but quiet down as Rose rested her hand on her back. She looked so small and fragile, and he was responsible for protecting her and keeping her safe. A hot swell of love and protectiveness bubbled up in his chest and he wanted to scoop their baby up and hold her close because there couldn’t possibly be a safer place for her than in his or Rose’s arms.

��Cut the cord, Dad?”

A pair of medical scissors were handed to him, and he froze.

“It won’t hurt her,” the nurse assured, seeing the tension in his shoulders. “I promise. Right here, if you please.”

James settled the shears where the nurse indicated, and he clamped down. It took more force than he would have expected, and he glanced at Ainsley as soon as he cut through, to make sure he really hadn’t hurt her, even though he logically knew that her umbilical cord had no nerves in it.

He wrapped his arm around Rose’s shoulder and leaned down until his cheek was resting on the top of Rose’s head.

“She’s beautiful,” James whispered, hovering a trembling finger over his daughter’s cheek. “Oh, Rose, she’s beautiful!”

Rose sniffled, but she was grinning. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to their daughter’s forehead, and James followed with a kiss of his own.

“I’m going to borrow her for just a few minutes,” the nurse cooed, before lifting the baby off of Rose’s chest. “Just gonna take her to get measured and checked over.”

“Is she all right?” James asked, keeping Ainsley in his sight as the nurse took her to a table at the far end of the room.

“Appears to be,” the nurse answered, setting Ainsley on an examination table. “Just routine checks. Height, weight, blood pressure. Things like that. Just double checking to make sure she’s as healthy as she looks. I promise, you can have her back in just a little while.”

James nodded and turned his attention to his wife.

“You did so good,” he whispered, leaning down to embrace her. He held her fiercely, feeling overwhelmed and emotional. “Oh, Rose, I’m so proud of you!”

Rose beamed at him as she held him just as tightly.

“Our baby is here,” she giggled, tears still shining in her eyes.

“I know! And she’s so perfect.”

Another nurse interrupted them then, instructing Rose on delivering the placenta.

Rose grimaced, not particularly feeling like pushing ever again, but the nurse assured her it would be fairly quick and easy. Well, mostly. With the initial euphoria of holding her little girl worn off, Rose was displeased to find she was still experiencing cramping-like contractions.

“It’s to help deliver the placenta, then to help your uterus shrink back to size,” the nurse assured. “They should go away in a few days or so.”

Once the afterbirth was delivered, Rose was checked over by the doctor, then cleaned up by the nurses.

James held her hand tight, knowing that it was protocol for mother and baby to be given complete checkups after birth, but it still made him anxious to see hospital personnel surrounding his wife and daughter.

Rose could plainly see his distress, so she squeezed his fingers and brought his knuckles to her lips for a kiss. He smiled down at her in gratitude, and rubbed his thumb across her fingers.

“And here she is,” the nurse with Ainsley announced, holding a bundle of white and pink striped blankets in her arms. “Does Dad want a turn?”

James glanced down at Rose, and she smiled encouragingly and nodded for him to take their baby.

He held his arms out awkwardly, unsure of how to properly hold her and support her, but as soon as the warm weight of his baby was placed into his arms, he felt himself shift his grip almost without realizing it until Ainsley was cradled to his chest.

“Hello, my darling,” he murmured, feeling his eyes sting as his daughter blinked blearily up at him with dark, murky blue eyes. “I’m your Daddy. I’m so happy to see you, my precious darling. Here, look. Here’s Mummy.” James leaned his bum against Rose’s bed and turned so Rose could also see her. She traced a fingertip across Ainsley’s plump cheeks as James continued speaking softly to their daughter. “Mummy took such good care of you these last eight months. Should’ve been nine, you know. You really scared Mummy and Daddy today. But no matter. You’re here, and you’re absolutely perfect.”

James pressed a kiss to Ainsley’s forehead, and the feel of her soft, warm skin beneath his lips was so intoxicating, he did it again.

A little while later, the nurses gathered around Rose to help her stand so they could be transported to a private recovery room.

James stood to the side with Ainsley still in his arms, and he was torn between cuddling his daughter and helping his wife.

“If you give her to me, you can help Rose, and she’ll follow along after you in a few minutes?” the nurse suggested, holding her arms out.

James nodded, and pressed a parting kiss to Ainsley’s brow before he handed her off.

“I’ve got you, love,” he said, skipping to Rose’s side to help steady her as she attempted to stand. “Easy does it. Feel all right?”

“Bit sore,” she groaned, wincing as she stood up from the bed.

James held out his arm for her, and she took it gratefully. He wrapped his other arm around her back as she held on tight to him and the nurse on her other side, and attempted her first step forward.

It was slow going, but they eventually made it to the room they would occupy for the next day or two as Rose started to heal. She sank down onto the bed gratefully, and bit her lip on a wince as she adjusted herself until she was in the least uncomfortable position.

“All right?” James asked anxiously, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, then she glanced around the room. “Where’s Ainsley?”

“She’s on her way,” the nurse assured. “Dad, you may want to go fetch your overnight bag from your car now.”

James was reluctant to leave her side, but he knew it was a good idea to get their bags. He nearly sprinted to the carpark and back, eager to return to his family and not miss a minute of time with his daughter.

When he entered the room again a few minutes later, Ainsley was there, and Rose had her in her arms and was attempting to get her to latch onto her breast. A nurse was coaxing both mother and baby, and showing Rose how to best position Ainsley and her breast for feeding.

“Oh!” Rose gasped suddenly, and she grinned at James. “She’s got it!”

“Smartest girl in the world,” he proclaimed, beaming at his family. He set their bag in the corner of the room, and walked up to them.

“As I was telling Rose, you’ve got a perfectly healthy baby,” the nurse said, smiling down at the new family. “I know she’s early, but apart from being a little smaller than the average newborn, she’s fine. Your doctor may have simply gotten the due date a bit wrong—it’s difficult to tell sometimes—because she’s as healthy as any other newborn. She weighed in at 2.49 kilograms and is 45.02 centimeters. You’ve got yourself a healthy little girl.”

“Thanks,” James whispered, even as his eyes were focused on his daughter, and the sucking motion of her jaw and the way her palm was splayed across Rose’s chest and her eyes were drooping as she looked up at Rose.

He reached out and stroked her little fingers before wiggling his index finger under her palm, and grinned when she immediately wrapped her fingers around it. He leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of her hand.

Ainsley unlatched after only five minutes, and Rose glanced worriedly at the nurse.

“She can’t be done yet, can she?”

“Offer her your other breast,” the nurse suggested. “But keep in mind, this is the first time Ainsley has had to actively do something to feed herself. She might be tired. Or she might be full already. She’s never had anything in her belly before.”

But Ainsley wanted nothing to do with Rose’s breasts, so Rose instead positioned her against her shoulder and rubbed and patted her back gently and was rewarded with a slight hiccupping burp.

“I’ll leave you three alone for a bit,” the nurse said. “Ring me if you need something.”

When they were finally alone, James carefully settled himself into the bed beside Rose, trying not to jostle her or Ainsley too much. He wrapped his arm around Rose’s shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head as he looked down at the pink, sleeping face of their daughter.

“She’s so perfect,” he murmured reverently, tracing his fingertip across her cheek.

“Yeah, she is,” Rose whispered, resting her lips against Ainsley’s forehead, relishing the feel of her baby’s soft, warm skin.

“Oh, blimey!” James exclaimed softly.

“What?”

“We haven’t even told Dad or Jackie!” He rooted around in his pocket and fished out his phone. “On a scale of one to ‘I’m dead’, how furious would your mum be if I sent her a photo of the three of us? She wanted to be here for the birth, after all.”

“Just because that’s what she wanted doesn’t mean that’s what was gonna happen,” Rose snorted, recalling the spats she’d been getting into with her mum recently about why Rose only wanted James with her in the delivery room. As she stroked Ainsley’s cheek, all of her arguments with her mum during her pregnancy seemed so daft all of a sudden. “So, I’d wager somewhere between a seven and a smack on the head.

“Enh, I’ll take my chances,” James shrugged, opening his camera app. “She won’t slap me if I’m holding her granddaughter. Smile, love.”

Rose positioned Ainsley so that her face would be in the shot as James cuddled closer and raised his phone out in front of them for their first family selfie.

“Beautiful!” he breathed, looking at the photo of his two favorite girls.

“I look like shite,” Rose chuckled, raking her eyes over her mussed hair and splotchy cheeks and the dark bags under her eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” James said, scanning his eyes over the stunning, radiant smile of the woman who just brought their daughter into the world. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me, because you’ve just given me the most precious gift I could’ve ever wanted.”

He pressed his lips to her temple before leaning back against her bed with her as he sent his dad and Jackie a photo of their early arrival.

“Want to take bets on how long it’ll take for them to call?” James asked.

“Oh, definitely within the next thirty seconds,” Rose said. “At least for my mum.”

His phone started vibrating in his hand, and he saw the photo of Jackie and Rose that was his contact photo for his mother-in-law.

“Told ya,” Rose teased.

He rolled his eyes but answered the phone.

He could barely get out a ‘hello’ before Jackie screeched, “Why didn’t you tell me Rose had gone into labor, you plum?!”

“Hello to you, too, Jackie,” James said dryly. “Sorry about that, but Ainsley didn’t give us much warning either, if that helps.”

“When did Rose go into labor? When was she born? You said she wasn’t due until next month! Is everyone okay? Can I come by?”

“Rose went into labor this morning around nine,” James replied. “The baby was born about an hour ago. She wasn’t supposed to be due until next month, but I guess she decided to impart her presence upon us early. They’re both perfectly healthy. You’ve still got a few hours until visiting hours end, if you’d like to pop by.”

“I’m on my way,” Jackie said. “Oh, this is such a surprise!”

“Yeah, imagine how we feel,” James muttered. His phone beeped in his ear, indicating another incoming call. He moved his phone away from his ear to glance at the screen, and when he saw his dad’s name, he said, “Oh, Jackie, gotta go. My dad’s calling. See you in a bit. Bye!”

James fumbled with his phone and accepted his dad’s call.

“James, that’s not Ainsley, is it?”

He grinned and said, “Yup! Little madam was a tad impatient.”

“Blimey,” Robert breathed. “Congratulations, mate! And Rose! Oh, this is wonderful news!”

Rose smiled when she heard her name. She leaned over and rested her head on James’s shoulder and said, “Thanks, Dad! Are you gonna come visit us?”

“D’you want me to?”

“Of course!” James squawked. “S’not every day your granddaughter is born! Besides, Jackie’s on her way over and with Rose out of commission, I need you to be a buffer.”

“Oi!” Rose smacked his chest as Robert laughed in his ear.

“Then I’ll be there shortly,” Robert said.

James hung up the phone and turned it on silent before setting it on the bedside table. He turned back to his wife and baby, and something deep in his chest ached to cuddle with his daughter again.

“Can-can I have a turn?” he asked softly.

“’Course,” Rose said, sitting up to better transition the baby. “You don’t need to ask. She’s ours. Yours and mine.”

“Well, it’s not good form to just yank her out of your arms, is it?” James said dryly. “And-and I’ve read… I’ve read about the importance of mother-baby bonding and all that. S’crucial within the first few hours. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“James, I want you to bond with her too,” Rose said firmly, passing off the baby. “Father-baby bonding is equally as important. Don’t sell yourself short. She wants you so much already. Look.”

James brought Ainsley to his chest, but her little nose wrinkled and a furrow appeared in her brow as she was jostled. He shushed her softly and pecked a kiss to her cheek, but she continued squirming and grunting, and James watched in awe as she wriggled her way up until her face was tucked into the crook of his neck. She let out a deep sigh and clenched her hand around the fabric of his jumper before drifting back to sleep.

“I love you, my sweet Ainsley,” he whispered, relishing the feeling of her skin against his. “Always, my darling.”

Rose rested her hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze.

“I love you, James.”

James glanced down at Rose, who was beaming up at him. He couldn’t help but return her smile, and he opened his other arm for her. She snuggled up against him and rested her head on his shoulder as exhaustion washed over her.

“Sleep, love,” James urged, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Mum and Dad’ll be here soon,” Rose mumbled.

“They’ll understand,” James whispered. “It’s been a hell of a day. You’ve earned a bit of a kip.”

Rose yawned, and a moment later, James felt her relax and fall into a shallow sleep.

An hour later, a quiet knock sounded on the door. Rose blearily blinked open her eyes, and smiled sleepily when her mum and Robert poked their head into the room.

“Feeling up to visitors, sweetheart?” Jackie asked, already walking into the room with her eyes fixed on the bundle in James’s arms.

“For a bit,” Rose said. She really was exhausted and her whole body ached.

“We won’t stay long, darling,” Robert said, walking into the room behind Jackie. “I know you need to rest.”

“Is that her?” Jackie asked.

“Nah, I figured I’d let the nurses keep my daughter and I’d look after someone else’s,” James dead-panned.

“Oi!” Jackie said. “If you weren’t holding my granddaughter, you’d be getting a smack. Lemme see her, you plum.”

James lowered her down from his shoulder so her face was now on display. Ainsley wrinkled her nose and whimpered in displeasure as she tried to wriggle her face closer to James’s warmth.

“Such a Daddy’s girl already,” Jackie noted.

James beamed brightly.

“Can Gran have a turn with her?” Jackie asked, holding out her arms.

James pressed a kiss to Ainsley’s forehead before carefully handing the baby to Jackie.

“Careful with her head,” he said automatically as soon as her neck was no longer cradled in his hands.

“Done this before, y’know,” Jackie said dryly.

James coughed as his cheeks warmed. “Right. Sorry.”

“New dad fears,” Robert assured him. “Your mother and I could barely put you down the first week we brought you home.”

James settled back against the bed with Rose, and noticed how utterly exhausted she looked. Her eyes were barely focused and she was nodding off against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and made himself comfortable before urging her to rest against him.

“Congratulations, darling,” Robert whispered, pressing a light kiss to Rose’s forehead.

Rose smiled sleepily at him and opened her arms for a hug. Robert leaned down and gently embraced his daughter-in-law.

“Congratulations, mate,” he said to James, leaning over Rose to hug his son. “You’ve made a beautiful baby.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Jackie cooed, bouncing the baby lightly. “Does Grandad want a turn next?”

Robert smiled shyly and nodded, holding his arms out for the baby. She woke up on the transfer, but stayed quiet as she blinked up at her grandad.

“Hello, there, darling,” he murmured, brushing his finger up her cheek, across her eyebrows, then down her other cheek. She’d worked a hand free of her swaddle of blankets, and Robert tucked his finger inside her grip. “Aren’t you the most precious thing I’ve ever seen? Eh? Such a beautiful girl you are. And so loved, darling, so loved.”

A knock on the door heralded a nurse, and she smiled softly at the family in the room.

“How are you feeling, Rose?” the nurse asked, coming in and fluttering her hands across Rose’s body.

“Knackered,” she said bluntly.

“Yeah, you will be for a while as your body heals,” the nurse said sympathetically.

“And I kind of need the loo,” she admitted, but the thought of moving was utterly unappealing.

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” the nurse said. “Come on, up you get. As slowly as you need to.”

James moved off the bed and was about to help Rose stand, but Jackie beat him to it.

“I got her,” Jackie said. “Don’t you worry.”

James nodded and watched Rose hobble to the attached bathroom. He looked at the latched loo door and exhaled raggedly, his own exhaustion suddenly catching up to him.

“Been a hell of a day, hasn’t it?” Robert asked, stepping up beside James.

James turned to him and watched Ainsley tighten and loosen her hold on Robert’s finger as her nose and eyes scrunched in a yawn. A lump grew in his throat as the panic he’d felt since nine o’clock that morning finally hit.

“James?” Robert asked, seeing how pale James went.

“I was so scared, Dad,” he whispered. “Rose just came into the kitchen and told me something was wrong, and I’d never been so scared in my life!”

“Whoa, mate, breathe,” his dad said. Robert shuffled his hold on the baby to free up a hand, and he rubbed his hand up and down James’s back. “It all worked out, though. You’ve got a beautiful little girl, James. And a healthy wife. Everything and everyone is okay. Here. See for yourself.”

Robert handed the baby back to James, who automatically cradled her close. His heart pounded in his chest as Ainsley burrowed her little face into his neck and gripped his shirt tightly in her fingers. He nuzzled his nose into her downy hair and brushed kisses across her skin as he closed his eyes against his panic. Yes, she was utterly perfect.

“James?”

He inhaled deeply when he heard Rose’s call and plastered on a smile before turning to face her.

“You all right?” she asked softly, walking up to him and wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a long kiss to her temple. “Been a long day, is all.”

She stared at him critically for a moment before she looped her hand around the back of his neck and tugged him down for a chaste kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered. “You and our daughter.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured, swaying from side to side as Ainsley let out a mewling whimper.

“Right, it’s getting late,” Robert said, shooting Jackie a quick glance. “We’ll let you two get some rest. If you’re up for it, we can stop by tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sounds good,” Rose said, walking up to Robert for a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he whispered, holding her tight. He pressed a kiss to her temple and said, “Go on, get some sleep. You’ve earned it. And congratulations, darling. Ainsley is beautiful.”

Rose grinned and looked over at her husband and baby.

Robert helped guide her back to her bed and situated her pillows as she settled down.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, kissing her forehead one last time before walking up to James. “You too, mate. Get some rest.”

Robert kissed James’s cheek and stroked Ainsley’s hand before he waited by the door for Jackie.

Once their parents left, James pressed a kiss to Ainsley’s forehead and settled her in her cot so she could sleep and he could cuddle with his wife and hopefully nap for a bit too.

“Are you really okay?” Rose asked, staring critically at him.

“I will be,” he promised, nuzzling his nose against her temple. “It’s just… I was terrified, Rose. I was so scared for you and for Ainsley this morning, and I’m still a little on edge.”

“We’re fine, James,” she soothed, urging him to tuck his head against her collarbone. “We’re both fine.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife.

“Get some sleep, love,” Rose murmured, pressing kisses to the top of his head. “Who knows when she’ll next be up.”

Her heartbeat echoed in his ear, and he let the feel of her fingers through his hair and her arm around his shoulders comfort him. He still felt shaken from the events of the day, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and felt his muscles gradually relax under her touch until he was able to fall asleep.

Conversions, if you need/want them: 2.49 kilograms = 5.49 pounds 45.02 centimeters = 17.72 inches

[electricbluebutterflies]

(hold me close) ‘til the night turns gray

Or, how ebf thinks the Kabby accidental honeymoon might have started. And also the scar-kink fic I threatened @shefollowedfires and @marcuskanc with. Set between 4x01 and 4x02, and obviously here be smut // NSFW stuff. Title from “Hold Me Close” by Overcoats.

For the third night in a row, Abby slips into the spacious room Marcus has claimed as home while they're in the tower, medical bag in hand. She knows damned well  that he's a competent grown man and could change the bandages around his wrists easily enough, but she's desperate for reasons to be alone with him and this one looks respectable enough on paper. She's not sure which of his other traits will define him on Earth, but his tendency for weird injuries is growing a reputation and Abby sees no harm in using that to her advantage.

No harm, either, in a few lingering kisses before she leaves and wanders back to her own bedroom down the hall. But no more than that either.

She's not sure where they stand, honestly, and she's not sure how to start that conversation. What she does know is that Marcus has always been a rather private man (and before that, she remembers in passing, stoic even as a young boy), perhaps too much for his own good but always with valid reasons attached. He guards his heart and he's got enough scars to prove his choice. So if this is going to go anywhere, Abby thinks, then he'd better make a move because she's not gonna wait forever.

She slips into the room and lets out an involuntary gasp at what she sees.

"Something wrong?" Marcus asks in that quiet worried who-do-I-have-to-threaten way of his.

No, Abby thinks, no, the problem is that something is very right and her mouth is suddenly too dry for words. Other parts of her body, not so much.

For fuck's sake, she should not be this overwhelmed by the sight of a shirtless man! Especially not one she's seen in that particular state of undress at several points over the last however-many years! Especially not…

Too bad, because there is nothing she can do about the sudden wanting ache slightly below her stomach.

"Abby? Is something wrong?"

The freaking nerve of him.

"Just tired," she shrugs. Tired covers enough, she figures. Maybe not the involuntary lick of her lips as she slowly drifts closer, but the rest of it should be safe enough.

She moves mechanically, kneels in front of where he sits on the bed, undoes the bandage on his right wrist first, runs her fingers over the healing wound in the name of checking for swelling or bruising but it's more than that really. These new scars won't be easily hidden, but there's a certain beauty in them. He went through hell, again, because he was worried about her, again.

Abby Griffin isn't used to being on the receiving end of this kind of love, but she reckons she can let that change without any more crossfire.

She's not sure when she starts crying, but it's around the same time she ties the new bandage over Marcus's right wrist and moves her eyes and hands to his left. Here, the new scar is not alone. Involuntarily, her hand slips up his arm to the physical reminder of the last time something sharp intentionally pierced his skin. That one, badly tended in the immediate aftermath, has scarred into a jagged band of slightly paler skin halfway around his forearm. She did what she could when she could talk him into staying still long enough to let her, but that was days after it happened and there was nothing she could do and-

"Abby?"

Shit. She's crying, a complete mess, and-

His right hand slips under her chin, gently bringing her face up and not giving her much of a choice about looking at him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

She nods, blinks, struggles for breath. "I… you're braver than me."

Marcus shakes his head, ghost of a smile on his lips. "What makes you say that?"

"You always end up bleeding," Abby murmurs. "You have scars to prove your strength. I don't." Not apart from the one on her thigh, but she dares not mention that or even think of it right now. That wasn't brave, that was tragic, that was-

"And you always make sure I don't bleed out," Marcus murmurs, bringing her back to the current moment. "We balance each other, Abby. I need you just as much as you need me."

There are about a dozen things she could say in response to that, but instead she leans forward and kisses him like she's wanted to for a couple of months now. Not a what-the-hell kiss, not like last time, no, this time slow and sweet and nothing else on her mind but the body opposite hers.

This time, like it might go somewhere.

Abby's forty-one, not dead. Her hormonal needs might not be what they used to be, but they're still existent. And there's lost time to make up for, and plenty of time to kill while she's at it, and-

How she ends up straddling him on the bed, she has no idea. It just kinda happens, and she's pleased enough to shut up and go with it.

"I need you," Marcus breathes as she grinds her hips against his and feels his body respond to hers. Maybe not the three little words most people dream about, but plenty good enough.

She pulls back for a moment, remembering where they were before she got sidetracked, and leans down to kiss the recent wound on his left wrist before she ties a new bandage over it. Then upward, wet yet feathery kisses over his sacrifice scar, showing love as best she can and-

"You're still braver than me," Abby laughs. "But I think we need to forget that and take advantage of what we have here."

"In what particular way?"

"Something could change at any time, and we're already horizontal on a mattress, and…"

He rises to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, and a switch flips in her brain and there is nothing but this.

They could die any day now, Abby reminds herself as she removes her jacket and shirt and sighs contentedly as her partner maps her skin with his hands. There are countless things that could tear their world apart, and countless more she doesn't even know about yet. Might as well take a chance while she can.

Her bra is thrown to the floor, and then she attempts to shimmy out of tight pants while Marcus sucks on one of her nipples. Easier said but done, but she pulls it off, and her underwear's too wet to be useful anyways so that too is thrown into the multiplying pile a few feet behind them.

God. Yes.

She hasn't been fully naked around anyone since Jake - a good two years alone - and it's almost awkward and yet not because of the way Marcus is staring at her. His eyes are fully dilated with lust, and yet there's a gentleness too as he takes her in and starts to touch. As if, perhaps, as if he never thought he'd see such beauty and yet here it is in front of him and his for the taking and he's not fully sure what to do with it.

He glides two fingers through her slit and she throws her head back and laughs because of all the improbable things in her life, the fact that she's about to have sex with Marcus Kane in a freaking castle on Earth is just…

"Your turn," Abby growls, ghosting her hands just above his hips.

She shifts to allow for remaining clothing to be shed, and then she's got something to look at as well. There's a solid sort of beauty to Marcus, a body clearly built more for function than form yet aging well and capable of more than most men half his age. There's beauty as she wraps her fingers around his cock and strokes, beauty as he rests his chest against hers and lets her tease, beauty in the low growls and moans he makes. Nothing like she's used to, but feels like home in the exact same sort of way all the same.

She shifts her hips, sinks down onto him, and is made whole.

She could get used to this, she thinks. She could get used to rolling her hips against his, the comfortable rhythm she finds, one of his hands on the small of her back to steady her and the other between their bodies batting at her clit. She could get used to seeing this body opposite hers, not just the scars but all the other details and minor flaws that make him who he is, get used to seeing it in full glory every day for the rest of her life. She could get used to-

Marcus rolls their bodies almost without warning, and then she's on her back and he's above her and his thrusts are slower and deeper and oh. yes. good. fuck. yes.

Abby closes her eyes and lets bliss wash over her, a different kind than she ever got from her late husband or from her own hand but bliss all the same. Stupid cuddle hormone, she can't help thinking in the midst of her orgasm. This'd better end well or else-

A few more erratic thrusts later, he joins her in post-sex oblivion.

"Well that was-"

"I love you," Abby murmurs. "I definitely love you."

"I love you too."

She knows, in that way without words, how much more those words mean to him than to her. She knows, or at least highly suspects, that they're not a typical post-coital confession for him. And she knows, as she shifts a little to rest her head on his chest, that this is only the beginning for both of them.

"Stay here tonight?" Marcus suggests, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head.

"Leaving would mean having to put clothes back on, and I'm too tired for that," Abby replies, justifying herself even in the aftermath. "So yeah. I'll stay."

[miracle-sham]

MGI Mixer/Team IssA's Stolen A Spotify Playlist Masterlist.

———

| Team Playlist |

| [Playlist] |

—

| For Whom the Bell Tolls as Asphodels Alight (FWtBTaAA) |

| [Playlist] |

—

| A Brush With Death and the Fangs of Regret (ABWDatFoR) |

| [Playlist] |

—

| The Strigidae's Call at the Owl Light's Fall (TSCatOLF) |

| [Playlist] |

—

| Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End (OaSSHBTtE) |

| [Playlist] |

———

| [Masterlist Link] |

———

[miracle-sham]

Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End {Spotify Playlist}

This playlist is for my MGI Mixer Event oneshot in the Alphabet Soup fic that was originally posted on Ao3, back on the 19th June. I'll be crossposting the fic here on tumblr shortly, so apologies for the rather long delay!

[miracle-sham]

I posted 46 times in 2022

15 posts created (33%)

31 posts reblogged (67%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ramos123

@maribat-calendar-events

@ao3feed-maribat

@miracle-sham

@ghostdoodlen

I tagged 34 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#issa's stolen a - 16 posts

#maribat - 15 posts

#sham's posts - 15 posts

#mgi mixer - 13 posts

#maribat mixer 2022 - 13 posts

#mgimixer - 13 posts

#maribat mixer - 13 posts

#maribat? get in! - 12 posts

#mlb x dc - 10 posts

#ml x dc - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#also totally didn't have this one sitting in the drafts for month and forget to post it until now either nope definitely not

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter P} |

| {Blue, Sapphire, I Want To Go Home To My Wife, Soulmates} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Link] |

———

| Dragons with soulmates were always said to have hearts made of the purest gemstones. Inevitably this led to them being hunted or captured for the wealth they could grant upon their death. |

| But sometimes, the reason for capturing one is far worse. |

———

| Word Count: 1,029. |

| Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced non consensual drug use, blood and injury, angst, hurt/no comfort, grief/mourning, non-graphic non-consensual body modification/amputation, dragon Tim Drake, dragon Marinette, and soulmates. |

———

| A/N: Here's the last fic of the event, finally cross-posted to Tumblr! |

| Please make sure to read those tags carefully before reading! But if you're able to handle that sort of content then I hope you enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 This couldn't be it, this couldn't be the end. Not here, not now, not for her.

 Tim was helpless to do anything but watch from beyond the sickly green wrought iron cage—poisoned spikes on both the inside and outside of the bars to prevent any attempts at escape.

 Not that it stopped him, mind you. But all that brought him was mocking laughter, a cursed amulet preventing him from shifting back to his human form, clipped wings, horns cut, snout muzzled, sapphire scales torn and patchy—making it hurt to move, talons declawed—phalanges removed so they wouldn't ever grow back, and a cocktail of drugs fogging his mind and torpefying his body, all to keep him from being able to break out on his own.

 Marinette was his precious loving soulmate, she's a part of his hoard as much as he is of hers. Their hearts beat in sync. He could feel the distant frenetic desperate pulse of her heart tethered to him, completely in time to his equally pounding heart despite the distance between them. He could also feel the stinging scratches and scrapes on her hands and knees on his own, the deep ache in her muscles and bones in his, the flaring stabs across her torso and shoulders with every movement she makes in his as well, just as if those were his injuries instead of hers alone.

 She could probably feel the numb agony of the undoubtedly permanent damage done to him in this cage. How she was still able to keep going, keep fighting, with the pain slowly killing him—them—, was beyond him.

 That was how their soulbond worked, an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, a soul for a soul, pain for pain. Bearing what the other is taking, sharing the burden of their suffering.

 A blessing and a curse, always being able to tell whether your soulmate was hiding injuries or overworking themselves to the detriment of their body. It was… it was probably a relief for her, in the time after his capture—to know the Joker's been keeping him alive.

 Marinette's heartbeat stuttered as the fight drew away from the cage and out of his sight. Heart in his throat, Tim barely holds back a desperate keel. He can't afford to distract her now—

 Electricity, surging through his body. Lancing pain whiting his vision out.

 He could barely hear her screams through the crackling around him. No, no, no, no—please.

 Maniacal laughter rang out clearly above the thundering of their shared heartbeat and the sizzling searing of electrical burns tearing through their bodies.

 And oh, oh…

  Oh no.

 If he thought the electricity was bad enough, then the five pinpricks of pain in the centre of his chest shouldn't have been noticeable.

 But it was. And brutally so. His chest. Ruptured open. Tearing and shredding apart like something was being ripped out. Or well, not his chest. But Marinette's.

See the full post

8 notes - Posted December 6, 2022

#4

For Whom the Bell Tolls as Asphodels Alight.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter A} |

| {Clouds, Soulmates, Tattoos, He's dead again, Phantoms, I would die for you, Yeah but you won't shut up for me will you, Kisses, Cruel summer} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| [Original Post Link] |

———

| Soulmates are each born with a tattoo of plant that grows with them until they die. |

| And Marinette is too late to prevent her's from wilting into ash as the city burns down around her. |

| Word Count: 794. |

| Warnings/Tags: Soulmates, Major character death, Fire, Angst, Hurt no comfort, Grief/mourning. |

———

| A/N: Miracle-Sham here, this is my first published piece for the MGI Discord Team Mixer event, and the first part of our team's alphabet soup collab! So I decided to start us off with an angsty bang by setting Gotham on fire. If angst isn't to your taste then check out the other chapters as we've got some wonderful tooth-rotting fluff for other letters! Regardless, I hope you all enjoy reading both this and the rest of our chapters! |

| Also this is a repost as the original post disappeared from the tags half an hour after posting so if this is familiar, that's why :l |

———

 Gotham burns with her people. Glowing golden in the grim morning sun as every window reflects the rising pyres, despite the thick clouds of smoke choking the grieving streets.

 And there is a fragility to the world as the ashes settle, and hope is rekindled yet again. It is not so much a precarious peace in the aftermath of tragedy, as it is the lurking dread that this isn't over yet after all. But it is. And magic cannot undo all the harm and damage that has been wrought—it cannot solve everything—even if Marinette hasn't just been a few agonising moments too late in reaching Jason’s distress beacon. In reaching him.

Keep reading

 Robinson Park, where his beacon guided her, has been hit the hardest, scorched to the bone with not even a single shoot of flora surviving. She can heal that at least, help Poison Ivy regrow old and new plants alike—courtesy of the additional powers the Ladybug Miraculous has granted her. Marinette cannot heal the ashen asphodels wreathed around her wrists, however—no matter how desperately she may try.

 A soulmate tattoo severed at the grasp of death—never to bloom once more; after all, he's dead, again and there are no second chances left, not for him, nor her.

 Marinette has watched that soulmate tattoo grow upon her skin, from a cluster of tiny seeds when she was but a baby, to vibrant shoots with unfurling linear leaves when she entered school for the first time, to the few earliest thin buds after donning the earrings, to the wreath of blossoming star-shaped flowers upon meeting him. And now? It's wilting—dead—like the city around them, and his ashen crumpled corpse cradled desperately in her arms—bleeding coldness into her bones.

 Truly, it is a bitter knowledge to grasp within her hands, that she can wish it so he had survived—or travel back so that she can prevent it from happening in the first place. To watch her soulmate tattoo bloom once more, she'd give anything.

 But a bitter knowledge it is indeed, for no matter the wish, Marinette can never make it, as the cost will always far outweigh the heart-rending temptations.

 The phantom of his last words echoes in her mind as she blinks back clouding tears.

 “I would die for you, y'know.” Jason had said it with such a heartfelt but casual tone, as he leant back against a gargoyle unperturbed with a cheeky grin on his face. Had he known back then? That his words would ring true—that they were the death knell tolling for himself? Or had he seen the death knell toll for her, and took its claim upon himself instead?

 Never before, has she regretted her final words in response to him, more. With a roll of her eyes, she had snorted, grumbling with a playful exasperation. “Yeah but you won't shut up for me, will you?”

 But now the words leave the phantom taste of ash in her mouth.

 And his silent answer to that had been the twinkle of his eyes as he then knelt before her, all chivalrous like, and took her hand in his—cupping it gently as if she were something precious—before peppering the back of her hand with sweet kisses.

 That was the last she had seen of him, before they had split off to deal with the tragedy descending on Gotham.

 And now the city and her people have been left to mourn what has been lost to the cruel summer flames.

 Slowly, like the sleeping of the dead, Marinette stands—with Jason still softly held in her arms. A pall of ash clouds the streets and skies as she begins the long trek back to the roof they had designated as the recall point. Then, once they reach there, they'll need to head back to the Batcave so that Jason can be interred in the family's private mausoleum at the back of the gardens.

See the full post

9 notes - Posted June 8, 2022

#3

Jasonette July 2021 Masterlist.

———

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture (YSPEWF) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 2: Protection} |

| Amidst the Howls of Death Your Divinity Gives Me Breath (AtHoDYDGMB) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 3: Grave} |

| Memento Mori Cries Our Shattered Souls (MMCOSS) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytale} |

| Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar (SYRWaHtS) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} | (Chapter 1)

| Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns (DLtBSWTG) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 10: Light} | (Chapter 2)

| In the Atelier's Glow the Pupa Phoebus will Eclose (ItAGtPPwE) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 3: And They Were Roommates} |

| Crack Your Bones and Say Those Lies (CYBaSTL) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

—

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

See the full post

12 notes - Posted May 12, 2022

#2

A Brush With Death and the Fangs of Regret.

| {MGI Team Mixer Event} |

| {What other secrets did you keep from me?, Phantoms, Clouds, Would you just stop treating me like something you're trying to fix, Crimson, Wanna bet?, Am I safe with you?, and You hit surprisingly hard for the weakest member of your team} |

| Monsterhunting is a dangerous business, Marinette knows this well with how many close calls she's had over the years but perhaps this is the closest call to date. |

| Injured and answerless, she's forced to reckon with the missing pieces and gaps in her memories and hope she makes it out alive with her humanity intact. |

| Though it's starting to look more and more unlikely with every step she takes. |

| Word Count: 4,361. |

| Warnings/Tags: Alternative Universe—Fantasy/No Miraculous, Horror, Dread, Gothic Horror, Survival Horror, Unreliable Narrator, Monster Hunter Marinette, Vampire Jason, Alchemist Jonathon Crane, Memory loss, Blood and injury, Canon typical violence, Implied/referenced Character Death, Major character undeath, Implied/referenced vampire turning, Good Sibling Jason, Hurt Marinette, Hurt Jason, both deserce hugs, Angst, Mild hurt/comfort, Hallucinations, Loss of control, Loss of senses, Loss of trust, Swearing, Mind Mamipulation, Implied/referenced non consensual drug use, Implied/referenced needles, Unethical human experimentation, Near death experiences, Panic attacks/disassociation, ambiguous/open ending, Unreality. |

———

| A/N: Regarding the tags, please make sure to read all of them carefully before reading because even though most of it is all implied/referenced, it is still pretty dark/angsty. Also regarding the panic attack/disassociation those don't technically happen but they're the closest words i could think of to accurately describe what Marinette goes through during this fic and it gets a little heavy at point. If you struggle with unreality this may not be the fic for you because there is some very explicit unreality throughout the fic as a main theme, so if you're unsure please be careful. |

| If you think or know you can handle this kind of content, then I hope you enjoy this au! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. |

———

 Run! Marinette's mind screams. But her throat burns and her body aches like she's just gone toe to toe with an animated grotesque. And maybe she has! It's not like she can actually remember anything from the past three days, just a harrowing black void where her memory is and the knowledge that three days have passed, a fact that's waving red flags in her mind. Not to even mention that the rest of her memories predating the lost ones are blurry at best and incomprehensible at worst right now. After all, missing time and messed-up memories are dangerous symptoms for a monster hunter like herself to be experiencing, especially when disorientated and alone in an unfamiliar place—she knows that for certain at least. 

 Stifling a hiss between her teeth, Marinette dives, rolling into the nearest room and darting to one side of the door frame. Then, by hooking her fingers around it, cautiously shuts the wooden door—reinforced with iron bars and bolts—partially, until it's only barely ajar; as to make as little sound as possible to find her by.

 The manor house's basement is a maze and she's oh so vulnerably lost. She can't afford to stay here—stay still—for long. Holding her breath for a moment, she waits. The seconds pass like the dripping of blood from the deep gash curled across her collarbone and throat. Luckily though, the other new injuries she awoke with—littering her arms, legs, chest, and throat, looking dreadfully like signs of torture—are freshly scabbed over and haven't seemed to have reopened.

 A small mercy.

 Perhaps a little too violently for the stealth she desperately needs, she slams her shoulders back against the stone wall inside the room and lets herself slide to the floor, legs giving way beneath her. The impact will probably bruise nastily, knowing her luck.

 She hasn't got time to clean the wound on her neck, meaning she'll still be easy to track via the scent of her blood but really, it's too late now all things considered, and there's no water or alcohol she could even use to do so in the first place anyway. Scrabbling for a scrap of cloth, she tears the bottom of her tunic and wraps it with practised deftness around her neck to cover the gash in a temporary bandage—better than nothing.

 In, two, three, four. Her shoulders shake as she struggles for every slow breath, desperately willing her heartbeat to steady from its frenetic rhythm.

 Out, two, three, four.

 Footsteps approach.

 Marinette freezes, pulse skyrocketing and breath hitching in terror. No, no, no! He's coming, he's coming, he's coming!

 Who, she doesn't quite know but what she does know, is that instinctual fear for her survival clouding her mind.

 Closer, and closer, floorboards groaning and moaning in warning. Only accentuated by the scraping prowl of hardened leather soles against the wood.

 Bloody fingers scramble at the crossbow resting on her belt, silver bolt at the ready.

 The footsteps reach the threshold of the doorframe, nails squealing in the floorboard beneath the boots. Hinges on the door wailing as whoever lurks behind, slowly begins prising it open like a coffin.

 Quick as a flash, Marinette yanks the crossbow from its belt hook and up at the now-open door. Without hesitating to aim, fires. There's a clunk of the mechanism activating and a twang as it shoots.

 Thunk, as it misses.

 “Shit! Fuck!” An almost familiar voice yelps, sounding strained with a growl between their teeth.

See the full post

13 notes - Posted June 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fwigid They Fwoze Midst H-Heawt Thawing Woes.

| Apwil Fowols |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| E-Evewyonye awways thought Wadybug was unbweakabwe. That she w-w-was immunye t-to nyegative feewings, unwike the west of Pawis. That she w-wouwd nyevew fawtew, nyevew faiw, nyevew faww. And so nyo onye couwd have e-expected when twagedy w-wagedy stwikes and Pawis fawws at the hands of hew once bewoved hewo. |

| Nyow who couwd save them aww, f-fwom the icy cwutches of a devastating Akuma? |

| And wouwd anyonye e-even t-twy to save the o-once bewoved hewo, o-ovew the countwess suffewing civiwians? |

———

| Word Count: 4,970. |

| Warnings/Tags: Akumanette/akumatized Marinette, Implied/referenced character death motif, Temporary character death, Not really character death, Grief/Mourning motif, Blood and Injury, Canon-typical violence, Minor violence, Snow/ice powers and theme, Frozen apocalypse/icy wasteland, Lovers to enemies, Hurt no comfort, Angst, OwO/UwU speak/translated. |

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| A/N: So I wasn't actually going to post anything today until this morning before college, I remembered a conversation with Saf nearly a year ago about wanting to post a fic in complete UwU speak on April Fools and not having written anything in time. So here's half a fic in UwU speak because the full fic (which is hurt/comfort and Angst with a happy ending as opposed to no comfort) because I could not bring myself to translate over 10k into OwO speak whilst in class. 5k is my limit, plus again the last bit of the fic is unfinished. Anyway the entire time I spent translating this i kept thinking "I'm so sorry to whoever actually reads this in it's entirety". |

| The full fic, when completed, will not be in UwU speak and will be posted as a separate fic btw. So uh yeah, enjoy reading this and suffering I guess! And Happy Apwil Fowols :3 |

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Was it awways doomed fwom t-the stawt? Mawinyette wondewed howwowwy wowwowwy, eyes fwickewing fwom fwozen wuin to fwozen wuin. Bawewy Wawewy visibwe fwom within the seething fwuwwy wuwwy of snyowfwakes.

B-Bweak.

Bwinding.

An unyending expanse o-of gwistenying and swiwwing snyow and ice. Awmost too bwight and too obscuwing to see anything ewse. Even despite t-the d-duwwnyess of nyight.

A white-out iwwuminyated by the snyowgwow.

N-Nyow, the onwy company w-wompany she couwd keep wewe the i-immowtawised fwozen statues of the peopwe who wewe unyabwe to escape the devastation of the descending bwizzawd she wwought. Theiw siwence of wife was deafenying.

A chiwwing mockewy wockewy o-of what had haunted hew nyightmawes.

Kicking hew wegs idwy fwom hew pwecawiouswy wecawiouswy pwecious position on the w-waiwings of the Eiffew Towew, the famiwiawity wamiwiawity of the action a-awmost buwnyed as cowd as the fwigid city i-itsewf. Was this how Chat fewt? She mused, stawing at the bweached white a-and faded bwue spots of hew W-Wadybug?—Fwozen Heawt? Wady Bwanc s-suit. S-Shaking hew head, she couwdn't hewp but cuww hew w-wips swightwy wightwy in distaste. M-Maybe it's iwony wony that I-I didn't end u-up in bwack w-with wed spots wike aww the fawse Wadybug Akumas.

But hew nyew cowouws a-awe what she desewved. An echo of hew once-pawtnyew; just as she w-was an echo of the hewo s-she used to be. Especiawwy Weciawwy in how the a-accents of hew nyew suit echoed the suit the ice powew up gave hew, with the cwystawwinye and snyowfwake pattewns covewing t-the once-wed-nyow-white pawts, and the ice bwue cwystaws awong hew waist and a-awound the yo-yo.

P-Pewhaps, thewe was some smaww comfowt in t-t-t-that the destwuction she c-caused was wittwe i-in compawison to that of Chat Bwanc's. She tiwted hew head to t-the side and stawed up at the nyight's snyow gwow-wight cwouded skies. Hew moon was stiww intact f-fow onye, nyot that it was v-visibwe f-fwom hewe any wongew though. Though, nyot quite a s-s-s-smaww mewcy w-w-wewcy so much as a-anyothew chiwwing mockewy wockewy, weawwy.

She c-cwenched hew fists, so that the icicwes cwinging t-to the metaw dug into hew suit's gwoves. Fow two, onwy hew Pawis had b-been affected this time. And fow thwee, hew death toww was signyificantwy wignyificantwy wowew, what with onwy kiwwing a-a huge swathe of Pawis' popuwation as opposed to how he wiped out aww wife except h-himsewf. Hew Pawis stiww h-had suwvivows wuwking within the desowation. Tweading twacks thwough bittew winds, cwinging to swowwy wowwy petwifying hope. Suwvivows t-that wouwd scweam and cwy and yeww and twy e-evew so futiwewy wutiwewy to fight whenyevew they saw hew, weduced to a wwaith of h-hew fowmew gwowy wowy. The onwy sounds othew than the c-c-cwunch and cwackwe of ice and snyow, ow the tinkwing of i-icicwes in the wind.

Nyot to mention, hew H-Hawkmoth stiww wingewed on. With his bwack ice gwazed goadings that fwactuwed hew m-mind wike hew and Chat Nyoiw's bonyes benyeath his buttewfwy wuttewfwy staff.

A haunting wemindew that she had fawwen, faiwed them, that even theiw bewoved wittwe hewoes wewen't i-infawwibwe.

Scoffing to hewsewf, Wady Bwanc shook hew head and shifted hew position so t-that she couwd c-cuww u-u-up i-into a b-baww and west hew heavy weavy head upon hew knyees. Though, thewe was nyo cwown to weigh hew down, just the cowd hawsh wastewand that she h-had wuptuwed in wime.

(It was awmost iwonyic stiww, that the ice powew up suit she once wowe so w-wong ago, gave hew an icicwe tiawa but h-hew a-akuma fowm did nyot.)

Nyonyethewess Pawis as i-it was a-and nyow is, had fowmed the fweezing pwison of h-hew own making. Even with Hawkmoth's infwuence shattewed wike the ice of his statue's fowm, W-Wady Bwanc was tethewed—ice-bound—to Pawis. A cwuew twist o-of iwony w-wony that with hew fwozen heawt, Hawkmoth had ensuwed hew weaknyess was the w-wawmth, the h-h-heat. T-To e-ensuwe nyothing wouwd thaw hew heawt, especiawwy weciawwy nyot s-some pitifuwwy witifuwwy despewate pwofessions of wuv, fwendship, and cwaims t-that the weaw hew was s-stiww i-i-inside and that she just nyeeded to fight his infwuence.

Biting back a bittew w-waugh, she ignyowed the nyeaw siwent w-whispews in the back of hew mind cwying those vewy same pwocwaims. Something Hawkmoth hadn't anticipated. Especiawwy Weciawwy s-seeing how hew once-pawtnyew had tuwnyed out aftew so wong in isowation. Wouwd that be my fate too?

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18 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

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[miracle-sham]

MariTim/Timinette/Timari Masterlist.

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Oneshots:

| Our Faces are Hidden Behind Masks of Glass (OFaHBMoG) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen (VYSUYK) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| Instead of Dead, Become Two Dragons in Red (IoDBTDiR) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| Of a Sinking Severed Heart—Bleeding 'Til the End (OaSSHBTtE) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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Series:

| Death is the Stage, My Art is Your Grave (DitSMAiYG) |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

| When Sitting on the Roof, We are but Coffee Sleuths (WSotRWabCS) | | DitSMAiYG Sequel |

| [Tumblr Link] | | [Ao3 Link] |

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| [Masterlist Link] |

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