#and because my blood pressure was DEATHLY low

[deathepicx]

i wanna make short comics about my life with mild pots but mild in quotes cuz it ain't that fucking mild and the fact that my cardiologist used the word "mild" because of my tachycardia symptoms being slightly, but not really, mild when every other symptom is always through the roof baffles me.

[midnightstargazer]

Regulus Black is probably my favorite Harry Potter character, but I don't understand why he's so often portrayed as being forced to join the Death Eaters.

Don't get me wrong, I totally get the desire to portray him sympathetically or give him a redemption arc. And I definitely think there's room for different interpretations as far as what he actually did as a Death Eater and why he betrayed Voldemort in the end. But there's really no ambiguity in whether he joined willingly or not. Every time he's brought up, including when the truth about his death is revealed, it's emphasized that he changed his mind, not that he was never loyal in the first place.

I know there's a popular headcanon that Sirius ran away to avoid being forced to join the Death Eaters, and I can see how that idea would naturally lead to Regulus being pressured to as well. But Sirius never actually mentions Voldemort or the Death Eaters when he explains why he ran away. He also tells Harry his parents were not Death Eaters, and while he indicates they were probably proud of Regulus for joining, he never suggests that they might have pressured him into it.

This is especially important because it's implied that Sirius had more nuanced feelings about Regulus than the rest of the family. (That's a topic for another day, but seriously, he put a hippogriff in his mother's bedroom and carelessly threw away dozens of family heirlooms, all while leaving his brother's room untouched). When he tells Harry about Regulus, Sirius shifts part of the blame for his poor life choices onto their parents, describing Regulus as a "stupid idiot" who was "soft enough to believe" their ideology. If he had any reason to believe they had forced Regulus to get the Dark Mark, and especially if that reason was that they had also tried to do the same to Sirius himself, why not say so?

The version told by Kreacher in Deathly Hallows reveals more about Regulus's decision to join: he expressed blood purist views, admired Voldemort, talked about him for years before joining, and was "so proud, so happy to serve." Again, nothing to indicate reluctance or coercion. He was certainly influenced by his family's ideology and most likely experienced peer pressure from his fellow Slytherins, but that's not the same as saying he was made to join against his will.

I wouldn't be surprised if, by the end of the first war, there were certain pure-blood families that expected their sons to become Death Eaters. Was there ever anybody who wasn't thrilled by that prospect, but went along with it because it wasn't easy to say no? Possibly. But I actually don't think Regulus is a good candidate for that. Aside from everything I mentioned above, he didn't go along with it. Just a year or so later, he was prepared to die to strike a blow against Voldemort. That's much easier to imagine coming from a true believer who for whatever reason had a change of heart than a reluctant Death Eater who only joined out of fear. And in my opinion, it's more interesting that way.

For what it's worth, I don't think he has to be forced into joining to be sympathetic or redeemable. Consider the following:

He was only sixteen when he took the Dark Mark, an age at which the human brain is not yet fully developed.

We're never told about any specific crimes he committed, and he was still a student at Hogwarts during most of his time as a Death Eater. He doesn't necessarily have to be guilty of extreme atrocities (although I tend to think he should be guilty of something beyond just going to meetings and having an ugly tattoo).

He was noted to be kind to his house-elf. Regardless of exactly what that looked like beyond not being cool with what Voldemort did to him, it creates an interesting contrast with the Malfoys and the way they treated Dobby. This suggests that Regulus didn't enjoy engaging in pointless cruelty just for the sake of being cruel. Which is admittedly a very low bar.

He did eventually turn against Voldemort, and none of the characters who provide accounts of this seem to fully understand why, making a wide range of headcanons plausible.

In an AU where he survives his trip to the cave, he would almost certainly end up going into hiding and/or changing sides, and therefore would be separated from the influence of his family and fellow Death Eaters, quite possibly surrounded by people who would challenge his views.

There are enough ambiguities and indications of nuance that (in my opinion) he can be portrayed as a morally gray character, set up for a redemption arc, or just humanized and portrayed with some degree of sympathy, without undermining the fact that he did make a really awful choice.

So what's the appeal of having him be a good person from the start? Like, I understand that morally gray characters are not everyone's cup of tea, but there are plenty of straightforwardly good characters in the series. What's the appeal of changing the narrative to make a Death Eater basically an innocent victim?

[alwaysthesitter]

When it rains, it pours apparently. Just got a call that my grandma's blood pressure and pulse are deathly low and she is throwing up profusely. She's 93 years old with extreme dementia so I'm worried this could be it for her. She's lived a long life and I know she's ready to go but I'm so worried about my mom if something happens because this is just another thing she has to deal with on top of everything else. Like yesterday the insurance agent finally came for the tornado and we found out we have 56,000 in damages (not including the 10k we spent for tree removal). This is just bad timing and all the good vibes would be appreciated.

[darkenedroses-world]

You find yourself in an opulent, otherworldly courtroom. The walls shimmer with hues of silver and gold, etched with ancient symbols that pulse faintly with energy. The air is thick with tension as two imposing figures face off before a towering, faceless judge draped in robes woven from starlight and shadow. The demon, known as Malachor, leans against the podium, his razor-sharp grin gleaming in the dim light. His skin is a deep, ashen red, and his wings stretch behind him like shadowy curtains. His eyes gleam with wicked delight as he gestures lazily toward the center of the courtroom, where you stand helpless, caught between his curse and the fey’s binding promise.

"I find this entire proceeding ridiculous," Malachor sneers, his voice a low growl that reverberates throughout the chamber. "There is no firstborn. There can be no firstborn. I made sure of that when our little contract was sealed." He taps his claws together, his eyes narrowing at the fey. "I’ve held up my end of the bargain. They’re infertile. Case closed." On the other side of the courtroom, the fey queen, a vision of ethereal beauty and danger, stands tall and regal. Her eyes glow with a soft, almost blinding light, and her silver hair flows like liquid moonlight. She tilts her head at the demon, the faintest of smirks tugging at her lips. Her voice, when she speaks, is like the whisper of leaves in a midnight forest, yet it carries with it an undeniable power.

"Your curse may prevent them from bearing children now, but it is no more permanent than the ebbing tide. Curses can be broken, contracts rewritten. Our deal was struck long before your interference, Malachor. And fey law supersedes your petty magic." She glances over at you, her eyes softening ever so slightly. "I am owed the firstborn, and I will collect what is mine." You stand in the middle of it all, every muscle tense. You want to scream, to argue, but the magical bindings around your mouth hold firm. You are powerless as they fight over your future, their words turning from sly remarks to heated exchanges.

Malachor’s tail flicks in annoyance. "Even if they could produce a child—which they can’t—it would be tainted by my magic. You would collect nothing but a hollow shell, an empty vessel." The fey queen’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits, her serene façade cracking for a moment. "You underestimate me, demon. And you overestimate the strength of your curse. Nothing is unbreakable. All it takes is the right touch, the right bargain…" The judge, silent until now, raises a hand and the entire courtroom falls into an oppressive silence. Its voice echoes through your mind rather than your ears.

“The matter at hand is not the strength of the curse, nor the terms of individual contracts. The question is: who holds the greater claim over this mortal’s fate?" Malachor leans forward, teeth bared. "I do. My curse was sealed with their own blood. Their womb is barren because I made it so." “And yet," the fey queen counters smoothly, "I have already claimed the firstborn as payment for a debt long before your curse was ever placed. That debt stands." The judge turns its eyeless gaze toward you, and for the first time, you feel the pressure around your throat and mouth lessen. "Mortal," it speaks, "your voice has been restored. What say you in this matter?"

Your heart races as the courtroom falls deathly silent, both Malachor and the fey queen staring at you with intent—one with a malicious gleam, the other with calm but predatory patience. You know that no matter what you say, it could change everything. One wrong move, and you could either remain cursed forever or be bound to the whims of the fey for eternity. Or worse—both.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath and speak.

"I… I never wanted this," you say, your voice trembling. "I never wanted to be cursed, never wanted to promise anyone my firstborn. You both trapped me in these deals." You look between them, desperation rising in your chest. "There has to be another way. If… if I could break the curse, if there was a child, could we—" You hesitate. "Could we rewrite the terms?" The judge raises a hand to silence you again, considering. "It is possible," it says slowly. "If both parties agree to renegotiate. However, if neither is willing to yield, the original contracts will stand."

The fey queen looks at you thoughtfully. "I am not unreasonable," she says, her voice softer now. "If the demon relinquishes his curse, and you give me a different form of payment, we may yet find another path." Malachor’s lip curls in disdain. "And what would I receive in exchange for such a generous offer?" He crosses his arms, his black claws tapping against his crimson skin, eyes locking onto yours. "I gave you what you asked for—a curse you accepted willingly. Now you want to bargain your way out of it? What makes you think I’d let you walk away so easily?" You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze. The fey queen, though kinder in appearance, is no less dangerous.

You stand at the precipice of something dark and unknowable. But you can’t allow fear to consume you. You glance toward the fey queen, her expression still unreadable but with a glimmer of something more patient. Calculating. "What do you want from me?" you ask Malachor, forcing your voice to steady. "What would it take for you to lift the curse?" He leans forward, his grin stretching wider, a flicker of flame dancing in his eyes. "Ah, now we’re speaking in terms I understand. If you wish to be free of my curse, I’ll require something precious in return." He pauses, relishing your discomfort before continuing. "I want your soul."

Your blood runs cold. The fey queen scoffs, her expression twisting in disdain.

"How typical of a demon," she mutters, shaking her head. "Always so predictable." She turns her gaze back to you, stepping forward ever so slightly. "Your soul is far too valuable to barter with. There are other ways, mortal." Malachor growls, his wings flexing behind him. "Do not meddle in my affairs, fey. This mortal made a deal with me first." "I do not meddle," the fey queen says coolly. "I am merely pointing out that your terms are excessive. And reckless." You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you as both of them seem to measure their next moves, your fate hanging in the balance. Malachor’s demand for your soul is no small ask, but the fey’s intentions remain unclear.

And yet… you feel a flicker of defiance rising within you.

"I won’t give you my soul," you say, meeting Malachor’s fiery gaze head-on. "That’s not something you can just take." Malachor laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that shakes the very air. "Brave words, mortal. But you are playing a dangerous game." Before he can speak further, the judge’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, stern and unwavering. "Enough," it declares. "The court will not entertain the demand for a soul in this matter. The contract was for a curse, not an eternal bond. If other terms are not agreed upon, the original agreements will stand." The demon’s smile fades as the judge’s ruling hits him, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

The fey queen, however, remains poised, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

"It seems we are back to negotiations," she says, her voice cool but with an edge of triumph. "As I said before, I am willing to reconsider the terms. There are many things you could offer me in place of your firstborn, mortal. I am not unreasonable." You hesitate, unsure of what exactly she’s asking. "What… what kind of payment are you talking about?" The fey queen steps closer, her silver eyes glowing faintly as she gazes at you. "You could offer me a favor, bound by magic. One that I may call upon at a time of my choosing. Or perhaps a portion of your lifespan, given willingly in exchange for freedom. There are many options."

She glances toward Malachor. "All far less costly than what the demon demands." Your heart races as you weigh your options. A favor to the fey, bound by magic? A portion of your lifespan? It’s better than losing your soul—or having your firstborn torn away—but the consequences still weigh heavy on you. "And what do I get in return?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. "If I agree to one of your terms… what happens to the curse?" Malachor growls low in his throat, his sharp teeth bared in frustration. "The curse remains if I do not receive something in kind. I demand my due."

But the fey queen cuts him off sharply. "The curse can be broken," she says, her tone resolute. "With the right magic, it can be undone. If you grant me what I ask for, I will break the demon’s curse myself." Her eyes flicker with an otherworldly light as she gazes at you. "You have my word." A tense silence settles over the courtroom. The faceless judge watches, waiting for your decision.

You breathe in slowly, your mind racing. The demon has trapped you in a nightmare, but the fey’s offers come with a price of their own—one you might not even fully understand. And yet, the thought of a future free from Malachor’s curse stirs something hopeful in your chest. You turn toward the fey queen. "Break the curse," you say, your voice shaking but firm. "And I’ll give you the favor you seek." The fey queen nods slowly, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "It is done." Malachor lets out a low, vicious growl, but the binding magic of the court has already begun to take hold. You feel a wave of relief and fear in equal measure as the deal is struck, the fey queen’s magic weaving around you like a gentle, silvery mist.

The curse that once clung to you so tightly begins to loosen its grip. As Malachor’s influence fades, he glares at you one final time, his eyes burning with fury. "This is not over, mortal," he snarls, his voice dripping with venom. "I will find another way to claim what is mine." But for now, you are free. The courtroom dissolves into shadows, and the fey queen’s presence lingers in your mind as you are returned to the mortal realm, the weight of your decision still heavy on your shoulders. You may have escaped the demon’s curse, but the favor you owe the fey now looms over you—a debt that could be called upon at any moment.

the demon that cursed you with infertility and the fey that you promised your firstborn are having a legal battle.

[queenofsaltymice]

I know this will never be seen. As I don’t have many followers and I’m okay with that. I just need a place to vent and feel my feelings without judgement. I need a place to write. However I will put trigger warnings on my posts just in case people do see them.

TRIGGER WARNINGS

•Infant loss

•Preterm Labor

•Emergency C Section

It’s been 3 months and 10 days, or 14 weeks and 4 days since I gave birth to my identical twin girls. Today June 22nd 2023 is my original 40wk due date. I never made it this far. In a perfect scenario I was supposed to make it to 34-36wks as twins are usually born earlier than the full 40wks. I however went into preterm labor on Sunday March 12. At 25wks and 3 days. I had an emergency C section as soon as I got checked into triage bc my babies were on their way out. I’ve never felt so much panic, anxiety, fear, and sadness. I bawled all the way to the operating room. Everything happened so fast. I was naked and flat on my back on the operating table. I was being draped and scrubbed. And as soon as my boyfriend sat next to me the doctors were pulling our first baby girl out at 0443am. I heard her little cry before she was rushed to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) I cried right along with her. I felt a little relief that she was okay. Her sister not so much. She was stuck up inside my rib cage. I could feel the doctors pulling her out. The pressure from having my child ripped out of me was unimaginable. The pressure and intense pain I felt as they were packing me back together was something I never thought I’d have to go through. The nerve block they gave me was wearing off. They had to knock me out. My second baby never cried. She was born at 0448am She was in way worse condition. Had to be resuscitated. Both babies were intubated and put on ventilators. The next 48hrs would be hell for both my partner and I. The first 48hrs of life are crucial for super premies. My second born never made it. She only lived 45hrs. She died on Tuesday March 14 at 0103am. She died in my arms as her dad and I decided to let her go. That’s right we had to pull the plug on our own daughter. Despite everything the doctors did she just was not improving. She was in multiple organ failure, she had a subdural brain bleed, he kidneys were hemorrhaging. She wasn’t peeing and her blood was just becoming deathly acidic. We talked it over for hours my partner and I, the doctors and us and we decided we didn’t want to see our daughter suffer anymore. It was the hardest choice either of us have ever had to make and I hope no one has to go through that pain. And if you’re someone who has gone through the pain of losing a child I empathize and feel deeply for you 💔

I hate myself for not listening to my body sooner. For not going to the hospital the minute I felt what I thought were Braxton Hicks. I hate myself for not carrying them like I should have. My body was their safe space and it couldn’t keep them safe. I question the doctors and if the rough delivery had anything to do with her passing. I go over her autopsy report day in and day out to see if anything changes. Even though I know it never will. Everyone tells me the outcome would have been the same no matter what. And not to blame myself. But I can’t help it. I lost a baby and I blame myself.

My other baby is still in the NICU. She was projected to be home on her due date June 22 2023. But she did not come home. She’s still fighting the battle. She’s still on oxygen support trying to help her lungs. I fear that I will lose this baby too. Even though I know the chances of that are very low. She’s making strides in the right direction. Gaining weight, drinking by bottle, growing. It’s just her lungs. She’s need more oxygen support right now because of how underdeveloped her lungs were when she was born. She’s a fighter for sure. She’s not only fighting for herself but her angel sister as well. They were both supposed to come home together and now they never will.

My heart is so heavy with the pain of the loss of my child. I don’t know how to exist or cope. 😓 No one should ever have to go through this amount of pain.

[kpop-cakepops]

hi !! i just thought of this really specific prompt where you and your best friend wonwoo go donate blood but afterwards he feels realllyyy sick and lightheaded so you hold onto him and help him walk bc he’s barely able to stand up. then you take him home to his bed and while trying to help him lie down, he kinda just passes out on you and he’s too heavy to move and you’re also rly tired so you kinda both just cuddle and fall asleep together

Hi Hi! This one sounds fun! Sorry I'm a bit late! I was a bit busy with my shop today! Enjoyyyy! (also I didn't get a chance to edit this so pls excuse any mistakes made)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,328

Genre: Fluff

Snuggle Donation// Jeon WonwooxFem!Reader

"Have I ever told you I hate blood?" asked Wonwoo as he cautiously walked out of the taxi and waited for his best friend to pay the fee for him.

"Yeah, like 20 times on the way to the clinic and 20 times on the way back home" Y/N assured him lightly. Her eyes watching him closely.

"You really don't look good, Woo. Do you need me to help you up to your place?"

He shook his head adamantly. "No. Absolutely not. I'm fine!" However, it took only two steps for the young man to go stumbling into the pole right in front of him.

"WOO!" Y/N'S arms flailed in surprise as she watched the tall man drop to the ground with a whine. "Are you okay?! Oh my goodness!"

"I'm fine! I'm fine! I just tripped is all!"

"Yeah right. I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. Wonwoo, when I told you to come with me to donate blood, I meant I would be doing the donating and you'd be doing the moral supporting. I know you better than I know myself, you're deathly afraid of needles and blood" The young woman's annoyed grumbles were hushed by Wonwoo's chest as she awkwardly tried to help his weakened limbs into the apartment complex.

"It was for a good cause" he retaliated, but Y/N knew it was about more than that. "I wanted to be a good citizen"

"Being a good citizen shouldn't equal to your fear reflex causing your blood pressure to drop so much you get SICK!" Y/N's continuous nagging caused her best friend to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, okay mom"

"Shut up" she snapped and pressed the button to his floor, people in the elevator looking at the two of them dubiously. "He's not drunk. He's just an idiot" Y/N assured but it didn't exactly help with the looks.

After what would probably mark Y/N's most difficult 5-yard walk ever, the two friends arrived at the tall man's door. "Where's your key?"

He smiled shakily. "Back pocket"

"Jesus Christ. You seriously owe me for this. I'm being so serious right now. You're gonna owe me so much you won't be able to pay me back ever."

She slowly moved her hand to the back of his jeans, carefully pushing her hand into his back pocket only to freeze when a loud gasp interrupted her from behind. "Oh my... Y/N, I didn't take you for a public loving kind of girl, my god. I get that we all know you two are lowkey getting it on, but wowza, aren't you two being a little bit bold?"

The embarrassed girl didn't even have to look over her shoulder to know exactly who was standing behind them. "You have got to be kidding me. Hey Seokmin, how about instead of standing there being an idiot, you help-"

"No no, I am really sorry about this. I won't get in your way. Don't you worry a single bit. Oh and Hyung? Just a word of advice, don't be silly... wrap the willy." Y/N could hear the smirk in Seokmin's voice as he slowly retreated until eventually, all she could hear was the ding of the elevator doors opening. "Goodbyeeeeeeeee lovebirds"

"LEE SEOKMIN!"

"Let him go. He's an idiot. He won't come back. He's got too much 'tea to spill' as he likes to say." Wonwoo warned. "I'm seriously about to pass out here. Can you please hurry it up?"

"Wow. Just wow. I could drop you here and leave, you know that right?" Her empty threats were met by Wonwoo's uncharacteristic playfulness.

"You love me too much to do that."

The flustered girl refused to acknowledge his little tease as she finally managed to push his front door open. The struggle to keep her best friend on his feet did not lessen as she huffed and puffed moving him little by little into his bedroom.

"You are heavier than I ever thought you'd be" she admitted.

"It's all muscle mass" he smirked.

It irked her that even when he wasn't feeling his best he still managed to retort. "You're seriously annoying, ever tell you that?"

There was no further opportunity for him to answer her, it seemed that what little energy her best friend had been running on was gone. He went absolutely limp on her causing her to fall onto the bed with the very tall and very heavy man on top of her. "Oh my god. Oh my God. Oh my god." Y/N cursed internally as she felt her friend snuggle his face straight into the crook of her neck causing her skin to erupt with chilling goosebumps.

"Jeon Wonwoo" her tone was stiff as she attempted to push him off her. "No, seriously, Wonwoo I can't get you off me." All she received in response was an annoyed grunt from her sleepy friend and yet another uncalled for dose of snuggles.

Y/N had done her fair share of activities with Wonwoo. Anything from reading, to people watching, to skiing in Japan, you name it, she'd done it... but cuddling? With Wonwoo?! Out of question! Never done it, never wanted to do it... or so she thought because as she continued to lay there under him an inexplicable feeling of comfort began to take over her. The slow and steady breathing of the giant boy that lay on her lulling her slowly until eventually she too surrendered to sleep...

"HYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNG!!!!"

However, that peaceful sleep was brought to an end 2 hours later by the same obnoxious voice that had caught Y/N with her hand deep in her best friend's back pocket.

Seokmin.

Both Y/N and Wonwoo stirred in their spot in the bed. They had somehow unknowingly shifted so Wonwoo was now lying next to her with a long arm draped over her top half, legs tangled in a sleepy mess. Anyone that happened to walk into the two of them would fOr sure get the wrong idea.

Seokmin was that anyone.

Wonwoo didn't even stand up to explain or even usher him out of the room. Instead, he grabbed the remote that was closest to him and flung it right at Seokmin's head. "I thought you said you weren't going to interrupt!" He hissed.

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU TWO WERE ACTUALLY GETTING IT ON IN THE DOWN LOW?!" Seokmin's exclamation made Y/N shift.

"No one's getting anything on. I just happened to fall asleep." She grunted as she tried to pull herself up, but Wonwoo's arms held her down and against him.

"Get out, we're tired."

Seokmin's eyes got big in realization. Wonwoo was being serious. Seokmin could see it in the way his older friend's face flushed flustered. "I- okay..." the soft smile on Seokmin's face serving to assure Wonwoo that what he had just seen would remain between the three of them.

Y/N shifted in Wonwoo's hold as soon as she heard his front door click shut in the distance. "Um, hey Woo? You can let me go now."

"No, it's warm this way," he said. "I like it."

Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly. "Uh, okay. That's okay... then." She squeaked as she nestled back into position. Her mind was racing as she felt her Best Friend snuggle back into her.

Wow, he smells good... he's so soft... since when was Wonwoo warm?

"Go back to sleep" Wonwoo murmured, his words slightly slurred letting her know he'd be sleeping again at any moment.

"Uh yeah... I'm trying" she lied.

Y/N wasn't sure what was going on or why she was liking the way they were both lying in a tangle of limbs, all she could gather in her just awoken mind was that she really liked cuddling and that she could use a few visits to the gym in the future.

[onechicago-upsteadrhekker]

I’d go black and blue (to make you feel my love) - Upstead one-shot

I’m an hour late for posting on Valentine’s Day but better late than never right??

I wrote this for the @upsteadofficial Love Song Prompt Challenge! It’s probably a little different from a typical V-Day fic but what can I say? I apparently love angst and hurting my own feelings.

Also a HUGE shout out to @mashleighh! Thanks for listening to my ramblings, checking my stuff and always making things better❤️❤️

I hope you all enjoy it!

Read on AO3

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Hailey watched Jay slip down the hallway dodging the various cops coming in and out of the run-down house before he turned the corner and disappeared from her view.

Blinking, she tried to push down the urge to follow him. She had a job to do and she’d told Jay she would cover for him, but the text Jay had just showed her mere seconds before settled uneasily in her gut.

Jim. I need your help. Please come over.

“Hailey!”

She gave a start, turning to Kevin who had clearly been calling her a few times, a puzzled look on his face as he tried to get her attention. Realizing she was still standing in the middle of the busy hallway, she moved off to the side with Kevin to let forensics pass.

“You okay?” Kevin asked, his eyes following a couple of patrol officers passing them before turning his gaze back on Hailey, “I called your name like five times. Where’s Jay? Sarge wants to know if you found anything from the security footage.”

Whatever Kevin had just said didn’t register; her eyes still trained down the hallway Jay disappeared through. Sliding her gaze back to her coworker, Hailey gave his chest a distracted pat already moving towards the front of the house, “I need to go. Will you cover for me?”

But before she could leave, Kevin gently grabbed her arm, “Hold on. What’s going on, Hailey?”

She turned back to him, sucking in a breath as she debated over how much she should tell him.

“It’s nothing serious,” Furrowing her brow, she shook her head, “Not yet anyways, but I need to go make sure Jay doesn’t do anything reckless.” She saw Kevin opening his mouth to say something, but she cut him off, “Kevin. Please. Just do this for me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

Hailey flashed a small, reassuring smile at his concerned expression before she took off in the same direction Jay had a few minutes ago hoping that for once, the sick feeling in her gut was wrong.

*

Her headlights lit up Jay’s truck as she quickly pulled over to park behind it, turning off the engine to sit in the dark for a couple of seconds as she decided what she should do.

It was obvious he wasn’t in the truck and the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right wouldn’t leave her alone. After a brief debate in her head over whether she should go undercover or not, the over-cautious part of her won out, quietly opening her car door and tucking her gun into the back of her waistband.

Hailey definitely didn’t want Angela Nelson to find out who Jay was and her by association, but she wasn’t about to enter a situation blind without him and not have a firearm.

She crept up the worn stairs and cautiously peeked into the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jay doing nothing but repairing a broken appliance.

If that was the case, she could then creep back down the steps, shake her head in annoyance for overreacting and never tell him that she’d followed him, but as soon as she saw the front door slightly cracked from where it had been kicked in, her heart sunk, knowing that she was right to worry.

Swallowing hard, she ordered herself to get it together so she could get Jay out of whatever mess his big heart got him into. She was a cop; she knew better than to jump to conclusions without evidence.

But then the part of her that quietly dreamed dangerous dreams and lingered on forbidden hopes also knew all the scenarios running through her mind were very real possibilities

The house was deathly quiet, and it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck as she carefully swung the door in and edged into the living room as quietly as possible, her hand never straying far from where she’d hidden her gun.

Hailey was barely a few feet inside when she heard the distinctive click of a safety being flipped off followed by cool metal touching her temple, “Make a move and you die.”

Before she could react, she was pistol-whipped in the back of the head. Her last conscious thought to dump her star and pray that Jay was still alive.

*

When Jay came to, the first thing he noticed was that his hands were tied behind his back, the second was that he was in some sort of basement and the third was that he wasn’t alone.

His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry, but he would know that blonde hair anywhere.

At first, he thought his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. He hoped his mind was playing cruel tricks on him because why would she be here?

God, she shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Not like this, not laying on the cold, hard floor, unmoving.

He blinked a few times, her facial features partially hidden by blood-matted, blonde hair coming into focus.

His heart stopped and his breath shuttered in his chest. His worst nightmare just came alive right in front of him because it was Hailey. Passed out and tied up a few feet away, out of his reach.

A million questions ran through his head of how, why and who but the most prevailing one was if Hailey was still alive.

Desperate, Jay tugged on his restraints, ignoring the pain it caused his shoulders and wrists. Squeezing his eyelids shut as he strained away from the pole he was tied up to and towards Hailey’s still form.

He had to get to her.

Tears that had nothing to do with the physical agony he was in sprang to his eyes as he realized there was no way he was getting out of the binds he was in. The steel chains were trussed behind his back and around the pole in such a way that he didn’t have much slack if any at all.

Just out of reach. A cruel twist of fate, mocking him. Reminding him that she was always just out of his reach. That she was there with him but not in the way he truly wanted.

Except now, in this moment, it wasn’t metaphorical. And god if that didn’t anger him even more than his cowardness in telling Hailey how he really felt about her.

Because there was nothing he could do. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and he needed to put pressure on her sluggishly bleeding head wound but the damn chains wouldn’t budge. He trained his eyes on her upper body, watching intently.

Was she even breathing? God, he couldn’t tell.

*

“Hailey!”

She was floating in that state between restlessness and unaware, not sure where her dreams stopped and reality started.

“Hailey!”

Jay’s voice wasn’t uncommon in her dreams, but he wasn’t saying her name in the husky manner that she’d come to assign to her night visions.

“God, Hailey! Please do something--say something. Anything! Please…”

Why was he being so loud? And why was her bed so hard?

“Please, just let me know you’re alive.”

It was the sound of his voice breaking that brought her back to the present.

The text message. Angela Nelson. Following Jay.

Jay. His voice. He was alive, thank god.

A sharp pain shot through head when she tried to open her eyes and that’s when she remembered getting knocked out. She moaned, trying to take stock of her injuries over the pounding that slowly surfaced to accompany the harsh stabbing. Her hands were bound in front of her and her ribs hurt from an injury she doesn’t remember receiving.

“Hailey! Oh, thank god!” She heard Jay croak out followed by a murmured, “She’s alive. She’s alive,” Clearly talking to himself.

And that’s when she realized he must have thought she was dead.

Oh, Jay.

He must be tied up far enough away from her to not be able to check for a pulse. Knowing that if he were able to move, he would be right there next to her.

She redoubled her efforts to open her eyes so she could at least see him and reassure him that she was okay. Maybe figure out where they were and ask if they could manage an escape or if they should sit tight, knowing that Jay had probably already run all the possibilities through his mind.

Groaning, she forced her eyes to open and she found herself thankful for dim lighting, “Jay?” She managed to rasp, trying to figure out exactly where he was in relation to her.

“Yeah, I’m right here Hailey.” He paused, and she could almost hear the way his jaw clenched in frustration at not being able to move, “Can you come over here? I just need—I need you over here. Next to me.”

If they weren’t in such a dire situation, Hailey might have downright swooned at hearing those words fall from his lips after she’d recovered from the shock. As it were, her heart was beating a little too fast in her chest and that feeling in her stomach might just be borderline butterflies.

Clearing her throat, she answered, “Just give me a sec.”

She slowly stretched each of her limbs as much as she could with her hands tied in front of her, carefully checking what hurt and what didn’t before she even attempted to sit up. Once she was satisfied that she wasn’t majorly injured, Hailey turned so that she was lying flat on her back which instantly caused her head to spin and her stomach to churn.

Letting out a low groan, she closed her eyes and willed herself not to be sick as the world slowly stopped spinning.

“You good?” Jay’s worried voice cut through the dizziness.

She sucked in a deep breath and decided it was best not to lie about her condition, “Yeah. Just feeling a little sick. I’m like ninety-five percent sure I have a concussion.”

Before he could respond, Hailey forced herself to sit up, using her abdominal muscles since her hands were tied in front of her. If he said anything to her after that, she didn’t hear it, white noise flooding her eardrums as she desperately tried not to pass out.

The comforting words of “Breathe, Hailey. Just breathe,” reached her as she started to become accustomed with sitting upright, finally feeling confident she could open her eyes without seeing stars.

She was facing Jay, and the first thing she noticed was the blood coating his hairline and running down his neck. His lip was a little bloodied and his eye was slightly swollen, and it made her stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with her head injury.

Gingerly, she scooted herself over to his side, grateful he was only a few yards away and angered as she realized that the way he was tied up meant he didn’t even have an inch of slack.

When she finally maneuvered herself so she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, she couldn’t stop herself from leaning her head on his shoulder. She told herself it was because she was still dizzy, and while she knew that was part of it, she knew she craved the comfort of being physically connected more.

And if Jay resting his head on top of hers was any indication, then he needed that physical touch just as much as she had. Silently reassuring themselves and each other that they were here. Together. Alive.

After a few minutes, Jay broke the silence, “What are you doing here Hailey?”

She couldn’t help the humorless uptick of her lips at the irony of the situation, “Well, I had a bad feeling, so I pinged your phone and followed you in hopes of getting you out of trouble.”

Glancing up at him, she gestured half-heartedly to the basement they were in, “You can see how well that turned out.”

When he didn’t say anything, Hailey lifted her head so she could get a better look at him. Careful eyes roamed over his slightly slumped form, checking him more thoroughly for injuries.

Now that she was closer to him, she could clearly see the beginnings of a black eye and an obviously split lip. The blood from his hairline mingled with blood that seeped from a wound on the back of his head, running sluggishly down the slope of neck and into the collar of his shirt.

She was relieved to not see any blood lower down on his shirt or pants, so she concluded that the most damage had been made to his face. His head injury did concern her slightly but he seemed pretty lucid so she figured it couldn’t be that bad.

Hailey knew it could be a hell of a lot worse, and that thought was what prompted her to raise her bound hands and gently touch his face in the pretense of checking his wounds but really, she was just reassuring herself that he was okay.

A lump formed in her throat when she thought about what she could have woken up to.

Shaking the thought away, she dropped her hands, sighing, “What happened, Jay?”

She felt more than saw his frustration. At himself, at the situation--she wasn’t entirely sure, but she had a pretty good feeling that it might be both.

“I got to Angela’s house and when I knocked, there wasn’t an answer, so I kicked in the door. The next thing I knew I was being hit in the back of the head with a pipe or something and then I woke up here.”

He tilted his head back, resting it on the beam he was tied up to. His eyes fluttered closed and she could see his throat working, “God, Hailey,” He turned to her and she was slightly surprised to see tears swimming in his eyes, “When I saw you lying over there, not moving. I-I thought my heart had been ripped right out of my chest. You scared me so bad. I didn’t know why you were here—I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

The way he was looking at her felt dangerous and she couldn’t help but think that they had been here before. Not even four months ago, standing in the breakroom when the threat of being torn apart was looming over their heads. When she was afraid to really look at him; afraid of what she’d find in his eyes if she did.

But today, right in that moment, when they were tied up and unsure of what the future held, she looked. She looked him right in the eyes and she clearly saw what he’d been telling her every time she’d caught him looking at her from across Molly’s and in every knowing glance they shared in the bullpen.

In the way he always checked with her silently before busting down a door, telling her without words that he had her back. In the way he told her he trusted her only using in his eyes.

And now. He looked at her like she was the very breath he needed to breathe. Like the world could crumble and he wouldn’t even blink.

He was looking at her like he was just realizing what love was; his eyes telling her that he loved her.

He was opening his mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what—it might have even been those three little words, but before he had a chance to get it out, there was a commotion from the floor above, breaking their gaze.

They were suddenly brought back to steel chains and dirty basements, reminding them of the danger they were in. If they didn’t figure out a plan, their great love story could be over even before it had the chance to begin.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Hailey asked a little shakily, drawing back when she realized how close she was to Jay’s face.

Blinking, he did the same and she could almost see the spell fully breaking as he slipped back into level-headed detective.

“From what I gather, Angela helped some friend of hers steal some drugs. The people who she stole them from didn’t take it too kindly; she called me and now we are here,” He said it in the weary manner of one who had been there and done that way too many times.

And sadly, they had, but this time it was different because they were the ones caught in the crossfire.

Hailey sighed, wincing slightly from her bruised ribs, “Where’s Angela?”

Jay shrugged, “She was here when I woke up. She’d been shot in the side, passed out. The two guys who have us carried her out of here; said something about dropping her off at a hospital because they didn’t want any unnecessary blood on their hands. And besides, it was pretty clear she wouldn’t be able to give them any information. Not in the condition she was in.”

Sighing himself, he turned his head towards her, “I don’t what they ended up doing with her, and frankly I don’t care at the moment. I’m more worried about getting us out of here.”

That wasn’t like him to just disregard someone he’d been trying to help—or anyone for that matter—for his own gain, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he really meant he was more worried about getting her out of here.

He was always putting others before himself. Her especially now that she thought about it, and she knew it was just another way of him telling her he loved her.

As soon as they got out of this mess, they needed to have a talk.

“Alright,” She nodded, “So what’s the plan?”

Jay’s heart swelled. Those words, the sure look on her face, the absolute trust she held in her eyes. She was looking to him for guidance, entrusting him to get them out of this without even one ounce of hesitation.

The love he felt for her only seemed to grow with each passing second and he was tired of hiding it. He’d intended on telling her, showing her exactly how he felt, but then he was reminded of the situation he’d dragged her into and the need to protect her outweighed anything else.

And it was because he loved her so much that he needed her to be safe. If anything happened to her—

He knew there was no coming back from that.

Once they got out of here, he was going to tell her everything he’d been harboring in his heart for what felt like ages. He was going to lay it all on the table; that she was it for him and even though he was terrified at the thought of losing her, he was going to work his ass off to make this work. To show her that they could do this.

He knew he had made mistakes in the past, especially regarding his love life and he knew that being together and working together had its fair share of challenges, but he wasn’t about to let her go. Not when he finally found the girl he knew he was meant to be with.

The sound of a heavy steel door clanging shut snapped him out of his thoughts and if he subconsciously tried to inch in front of Hailey despite his restraints, she didn’t call him out on it.

“They don’t know we’re cops, and you know nothing,” Hailey heard Jay rapidly whisper to her before turning back in time to see their two captors appear at the bottom of the steps.

The taller of the two made a beeline straight towards them and Hailey could feel Jay tensing up, using his broad shoulders in an attempt to shield her. It didn’t do much good because the next thing Hailey knew, she was being jerked up, a gun pressed to her temple.

“You are going to tell me right now where those drugs are,” The man’s words were harsh, his breath was heavy on her ear and she could smell the vodka on him.

Jay looked panicked but in control as his jaw clenched in barely restrained fury. She couldn’t help but notice how hot he looked, and she immediately kicked herself for even thinking it under these circumstances.

“She doesn’t know anything,” He practically growled, “Let her go.”

Vodka man brandished his gun menacingly towards Jay before returning it to the side of her head, “She was at that house! There was a gun in her waistband! She knows something!”

Hailey kept quiet, trying to weigh the risks of attempting to knock him out but she decided against doing anything while the other guy was lurking in the shadows. With Jay tied up and unable to move, she knew she wouldn’t be able to take both of them down, especially while tied up herself.

The words that fell out of Jay’s mouth next made her heart beat wildly, and not in a good way, “I’ll tell you all I know, okay? Just take me and leave her alone!”

But that was a lie. He didn’t know anything, and she knew once these guys figured that out, there was no telling what they would do to him. He flashed her a look, pleading with her to be silent, to let him do this for her.

She didn’t want to, but she knew that the best chance of their survival was to do what Jay was asking. So, she stayed silent, glaring when Vodka Guy threw her down and unchained Jay from the pole, leaving his arms bound before hauling him up.

Hailey watched as Jay was shoved towards the steps, his eyes never leaving hers until he was out of her sight.

*

A series of muffled cries suddenly broke the relative silence she’d been sitting in for the past hour and it took all of her might to not scream out his name as she desperately fought with the chains wrapped around her wrists and feet. There were tears brimming in her eyes and she could feel her heart shattering.

They were low, guttural shouts filled with pain and she could only imagine what they were doing to him to make him sound like that. Jay was the toughest person she knew, had endured things beyond her comprehension and hearing him like that scared her.

And knowing that he was in pain for her and that there was nothing she could do about it made her physically sick.

But more than that, she was livid at the people doing this to him. How dare they touch a hair on his head? How dare they do this to him? That this was to be his payment for doing something so kind, so good in a world filled with hate.

Jay was a good man—a great cop—with a golden-heart that wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way of what he thought was right and that was what she loved most about him.

She loved him. And she wasn’t afraid to admit any more.

If this whole experience had taught her anything it would be to not hold back. Life is short, and she knew that. She’d been in similar spots before and had these same profound revelations about how precious life was, but today felt different.

Because the truth was, he had her heart, completely and irrevocably. He had it before she even had the chance to say no and the way she loved him made her question whether she’d ever truly loved anyone before.

She’d been scared before. Falling in love with another partner; just falling in love in general. It was risky and scary and honestly downright terrifying. But what she felt for Jay, she was starting to realize was worth the risk.

Life wasn’t without risks, and experience taught her that a lot of the time she ended getting hurt when she took them, but right here, right now, listening to Jay literally telling her and showing her how much he loved her in every scream, she knew the potential of what they could have wasn’t pointless or without reason.

It was the whole damn universe.

And if someone asked her right here and right now, she would give up her spot in Intelligence, her career, her life, everything—all without a moment’s hesitation, and she would do it all for Jay.

Being thrust into this situation with him has removed any old inhibitions and the lines that were being carefully walked had been completely eradicated.

The whisperings of her heart that had once told her she should give it a try, that he felt the same were now roaring inside of her with words of “I told you so.”

And it was ripping her heart apart.

After all, they say actions speak louder than words and right now, Jay was screaming.

*

It was silent now, and it had been for a little over an hour. Hailey was starting to think she’d rather hear Jay be in pain than sitting in the quiet, wondering if he was unconscious, bleeding out, or worse, already dead.

The only thing that had kept her from going totally down the rabbit hole of worst-case scenarios was attempting to get out of the chains she was in. She was grateful that she hadn’t been tied to the pole as Jay had been, giving her the mobility to scoot around the floor in hopes of finding something that could help her out of her restraints.

She was done waiting for the team. She needed to get them out of there as quickly as possible even if she didn’t know exactly how she was going to go about it yet.

A few minutes into her search, she’d found a file and she’d been diligently sawing back and forth at the weakest part of the rusty chains for last hour or so. It seemed to be working, and she felt like she was finally getting to a point where she could just break them by applying some outside pressure.

The sound of a door banging shut caused her head to snap up and she quickly hid the file in her back pocket. What she saw then she knew would be haunting her dreams for years to come.

The nicer of their two captors had Jay’s arm slung around his shoulder, practically dragging him down the steps before he deposited him in a heap beside her.

“What did you do to him?” Hailey couldn’t help but gasp out, already moving to shield Jay protectively.

He didn’t say anything, and she could see the remorse in his eyes as he headed back up the stairs and out the only door to the basement. As soon as he was gone, Hailey turned to Jay, fighting back the tears at seeing him in this condition.

There was significantly more blood in his hair, his lips were split in multiple places and she was pretty sure he had two black eyes, but that wasn’t what looked the worst. His shirt was torn, and she could see significant burn marks from a taser dotting his chest along with what looked like shallow cuts from a knife.

“Jay,” She whispered brokenly, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him, “Jay, babe.” It fell from her lips effortlessly and she didn’t even think twice about what she had said as she moved to use her body weight to break her chains.

As soon as she could use her arms and legs, she knelt beside him to cradle his face and used the pads of her thumbs to stroke his cheekbones, “Hey Jay. Look at me, baby. Look at me.” Not waiting for a response, she quickly started going over his body to check for other injuries all the while murmuring his name over and over again.

This time she gasped out a sob, all the air leaving her chest as she rucked up his shirt and found the distinctive welts from being whipped covering his torso and back.

“Oh my God, Jay,” She cried softly, wanting to provide him with some kind of relief but afraid to do anything, not wanting to cause him any more pain, “What did they do to you?”

She was surprised when he moaned, not expecting a response as he let out a raspy “I’m fine”.

Hailey couldn’t help but let out a watery chuckle, her hands going back to carefully frame his face as she caught a glimpse of those vibrant green eyes she loved so much, “Only you would say that in the condition you’re in.”

“Kev called undercover. The team’s close,” Even talking seemed to cause him pain, but he powered through knowing she needed to know this, “Found the drugs. They’ll be here soon.”

It was spoken brokenly, but she got the message, and she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. There was no way she would be able to get him out of here by herself with him so injured.

Why did he have to be so adamant about her not knowing anything? He didn’t know anything either, but he’d somehow kept their captors from really harming her.

“Hailey,” Jay practically wheezed, catching her attention as he opened his eyes to find hers, “I can’t sit like this. It-it hurts too much.”

She barely managed to stop from crying again, biting her lip as she willed herself to stay strong for his sake. For him to admit he was in pain she knew he must be in a lot of it.

“Oh God, Jay,” Hailey swallowed back another wave of tears as she helped him move in a more comfortable position. She ended up half cradling him, his head resting on the swell of her breast and a protective arm around his shoulders to keep his back up off the ground.

She ran a gentle hand through his still miraculously styled hair, rocking him slightly and in all honesty, at the moment, she felt more like a woman sick with worry over the man she loved than a badass cop looking out for her partner.

Hailey’s not sure if she’s ever cried this much in her entire life or worried so deeply.

“What were you thinking Jay? Why would you offer yourself up like that?” She whispered to fill the silence, a couple of tears escaping on their own accord.

His gaze found hers. Strong, steady and certain in spite of all the pain, “I wasn’t about to let them hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Jay shifted in her arms, wincing slightly, “It’s my job to protect you, Hailey. And that doesn’t mean I don’t know you can protect yourself because you can—you’re a freaking badass, but it’s more than that,” Pausing, he reached up to tenderly brush away her tears with the pad of his thumb before whispering, “it’s because I love you and I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt if I can prevent it.”

Before she even had a chance to respond, the tell-tale sound of the metal door shutting prompted Jay to move faster than she thought possible with his injuries. She scrambled up after him, but she could tell he wanted to keep her behind him in an attempt to protect her.

If it was anyone other than Jay, Hailey would balk at the notion, but she knew that’s just who he was and how he operated. It was how he protected the people he loved. She knew it wasn’t some caveman idea that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. So, she stayed behind him, letting him do what he does just as he let her be the badass she was any other day.

Except for this moment when she was terrified, worried about Jay who by all accounts shouldn’t be standing.

“Where’s our father!?” The drunk one exclaimed angrily, stomping into the basement, “You said your people were getting our drugs and now my father’s not answering my calls!”

He was focused on Jay and Hailey’s eyes were drawn to the pipe she’d found when she found the file, cursing at herself for not bringing it with her to Jay’s side. It was only a few feet away; if she could just get there before their captor noticed, she’d be able to knock him out.

His reactions were slow because of the alcohol in his system so that’s what she was banking on, but she also knew it made him more dangerous and unpredictable.

The gun pointed in Jay’s face made her nervous and she was hoping to get out of here without either of them getting shot but if someone had to take a bullet, it was going to be her for going for the pipe.

It happened so fast. There were two loud pops and suddenly Jay was on the floor in front of her.

She could vaguely make out Adam calling her name as he dashed across the room, knocking Vodka guy’s gun out of his hand but all Hailey was focused on was Jay, on the ground, bleeding. She dropped to her knees, hands immediately going to the gunshot wound in his shoulder and yelled at Adam to call an ambulance.

Kim was suddenly in front of her, kneeling at Jay’s other side and Hailey looked up, her hands still keeping pressure as tears welled in her eyes. Meeting her friend’s gaze, she whispered out brokenly, “He just took that bullet for me.”

*

“What the hell, Will?” Hailey exclaimed in disgust, pissed off about the entire situation.

The red-headed doctor looked about as exasperated as she felt and part of her felt bad about the harried look in his eyes, but she was getting anxious and he wasn’t cooperating with her, so she didn’t feel too bad.

“Hailey, it’s against hospital rules,” Will stressed for what felt like the one-hundredth time. He shook his head; and he thought Jay was stubborn.

If possible, the frustrated look on Hailey’s face grew as she crossed her arms, somehow looking very formidable sitting cross-legged in the middle of a hospital bed wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

“Rules are overrated,” She stated through a clenched jaw.

Will’s eyebrows rose, “Uh. Not gonna lie. It’s a little alarming to hear that coming from a detective.”

She just glared harder and Will was starting to realize he had nothing on a pissed Hailey Upton.

He wasn’t sure if they were engaged in a battle of wills or what, but he was afraid of what she might do if he broke their gaze and looked away. He was honestly a little afraid to blink.

He’d gotten to know Hailey pretty well because of her partnership with Jay, but he wasn’t quite sure he realized just how fierce she could be until this moment.

How fierce she could be when it came to his brother.

Will had always noticed the concern and the protectiveness she’d had when it came to Jay’s injuries on the job. He’d thought the nature of their jobs was the reason for this but over time he’d started to wonder if it was because there was something more there.

Today, he stopped wondering. It was clear there was something there and when Hailey turned her head to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes, he wondered what exactly went down between her and his brother in that basement.

She turned back to him, the determination and love clear in those glassy blue eyes he knew his brother had fallen for, “Will, I have to be with him.”

Still, he hesitated, “Hailey…”

And just like that, the angry pissed off look was back on her face despite the tears in her eyes, “I’ll have you know that I can make your life a living hell, Will Halstead.”

The threat was clear in the way her jaw was clenched but he could see her resolve starting to waver and he just didn’t have the heart to argue with her anymore, hospital rules be damned.

His head dropped in a resigned nod, “Alright. You win,” The relief that wafted off of her was palpable and he couldn’t help but give her a small smile even as he tried to look stern, “But, you have to take it easy because you’re a patient too. Also, if I get fired, I’m blaming it on you.”

*

If there was thing Hailey Upton was capable of, it would be getting her way when she wanted it.

Maybe it was all that time spent manipulating suspects in giving her the information she needed or maybe it stemmed from wheedling sweets and trinkets and whatever the hell else she wanted out of her older brothers when she was a kid, but usually, when it came right down to it, she was always able to convince people to hand her the requests she’d made on a silver platter.

And that’s how she found herself sitting on her own hospital bed that had been rolled into Jay’s ICU room for the foreseeable future.

As soon as the nurses that had transported her from her room were out of sight, Hailey very carefully got out of her bed, maneuvering around the IV going into her hand and gently slid in beside Jay. He was asleep but she knew from Will that he had already been awake, asking for her first thing as he came out from under anesthesia.

She was extra cautious to not upset the various lines running from his body and to machines monitoring his vitals as she settled in bedside his warm body, gently resting her head on his uninjured shoulder.

Hailey didn’t know how long she’d been laying there when she felt Jay shift, his voice slightly horse, “You know, I might start enjoying hospital stays if they mean I wake up next to you.”

Lifting her head, she blinked back tears for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours. He was staring at her like she was his whole world, and he was just realizing what life was.

She wanted to kiss him. Was planning on it, but first she had to know, “Jay, why on earth would you take that bullet for me?”

Hailey was pretty sure she knew the answer. She was pretty sure it’s the same answer she would give him if she’d just taken a bullet meant for him, but she needed to hear it and not when he was laying on a dirty basement floor, writhing in pain.

She wasn’t sure laying on a hospital bed in a hospital right after he’d been shot was any better but it’s what they had, and he seemed pretty coherent for someone who had just had major surgery.

“Because I love you,” He said it so simply, so matter of fact and she marveled at the way it was so easy between them now.

And all it took was being kidnapped together.

Something happened between them while chained together in that basement. Something they had both been fighting for a while now and maybe it seemed sudden or rushed but Hailey knew in her heart of hearts that she and Jay were meant to be together.

Love wasn’t something you forced. It was something you had to wait for, maybe even had to get hurt along the way to really understand, but she now knew it was worth the wait.

“I love you too,” She almost whimpered before kissing him.

It wasn’t lusty, but it had an almost frantic urgency about it as they both silently acknowledged they could have very easily not had this moment.

He kissed her like he thought he’d never see her again and he told her yet again with his actions that he would follow her to the ends of the universe and to the very last of their tomorrows.

She knew they still had a lot to talk about. The things he especially went through in that basement, but she knew that could wait because they were alive and that was enough.

Because there was no doubt in either of their minds now.

They were right where they belonged.

Leave a comment! I’d love to know what y’all thought!!

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Four

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note ::  you should also check out my ao3 and wattpad my username is LEVIATTACKS on both platforms. ao3 usually gets to see my updates first, feel free to leave any comments you have i appreciate all feedback ^___^ → next part is here!!

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

He rises from the bed making you jolt, if he's moving towards his dagger everything will be over in a matter of seconds. The tension between the two of you is foggy and uncertain.

Your line of vision is cloudy, bleary tears seize it. You should have tried harder whilst researching, found a way to make Lev stay, it hits you like a sack of bricks - you didn't try hard enough, was that the issue, was that the mistake you made this time? Mind full of harsh expletives you continue to curse yourself. Of course he left, of course he fucking did. Your life was one large cyclical narrative of earning the love of others and ultimately losing it along the way some how.

The world conditioned you to become independent, to not rely on others for affection, earn what you must on your own. Making your own way through life is all you know yet here you are. On the verge of tears because this damn fool won't remember you. Happiness is a privilege.

Staring into the distance you don't see the way your husband's glare thins out, neither do you notice how he leans forward invading your personal space.

"Care to explain how we got into this situation?" Breath fanning across your face exactly the same way it had months ago you gulp and realise he's staring at your lacy nightgown in sheer distaste. Oh no, He's got the wrong idea completely.

You jerk your head up to explain and only then is the close proximity between the two of you evident, you nearly knock your head against his as if you're inebriated. "No, no. We've never done that. I promise we haven't. I wouldn't take advantage of you." You're sputtering and are all over the place trying to hold some sort of ground in this conversation.

"I see that you saw no issue with taking advantage of me in other ways. You scheming money hungry roach."

You want to clear your name and tell him you really haven't touched any of his money. None of it at all to the point it's shameful to admit, especially considering the fact that everyone else sees you as Duchess Ackerman.

"I have not spent any of your money I swe-".

A deafening bang resounds through the room - in his fit of rage he kicks one of the solid oak drawers at the side of your bed to the floor.

A squeaky gasp falls out of your mouth and you flinch away as you cover your chest defensively. Your arms aren't the best armour but they work for now. If he's to stab you your worst fear is him piercing through your heart. What you fear most is him ripping the vital organ out of the confines of your chest. If he laughs hysterically and watches it bleed out you'll never forgive him. Your worries and doubts are internally eating away at you as you witness the darkness seeping into the corners of his vision.

It's quiet and dark and with him as well as a heavy silence looming over you, the pressure on your shoulders is quite literally immense.

He takes a hold of your chin and obnoxiously squishes your rosy cheeks together, dark tundra eyes never falter from yours, that is until they abruptly sink south and he catches drift of the way your night gown has ridden up. Thighs on full display you want to pull the edges of the material down but are too afraid to move under his deathly stare.

"Do you know how long I was stuck inside of my own body? Having to act like a fool on the daily."

"What?" You shakily reply through parted lips.

He was able to see everything he did under the spell? This changes the dynamic significantly. Cheeks flaring up in embarrassment you recall how you ate up all the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears, the scarlet blush creeps to the back of your ears when you think back to how you fervently kissed him goodbye whenever he was sent to venture outside the walls. The sanguine tint only intensifies when you think about the night where you accidentally let his bare hands venture a little too far.

"Naive little thing," he grunts. "You will never be my wife." He scowls sniffing at you in pure repulsion.

Whiskey, cigarette fumes and strong sweat infused cologne revoltingly is what you're reminded of when you hear those words leave his mouth. The stench isn't present but nevertheless you feel your throat constrict, never expecting to see any sort of parallel form between Levi and that man. The one time you stood your ground against Father it led to you being dragged away from the palace grounds, beat until you were unresponsive and left for dead. He left you there with the intention of extermination, his final words as he bid you goodbye that night had been - "You will never be my daughter."

You have no words left to offer, you're tongue tied. Expressionless whilst he gauges your reaction, the both of you don't register how Levi's grip on your cheeks loosens, that is until the look in his hooded eyes changes. They're inky now smoldering with resentment, he lets go of the hold he has on your face completely.

The separation between your face and his palm is stony.

All you want at that moment is for Lev to come back and wake you up from all of this. You've had enough of this sick and twisted nightmare where he doesn't look at you the way he normally does. The way he manhandles you irks you and lights a dangerous fire in your stomach.

Blinking your tears away you finally speak after your long silence "I know that My Lord." taking what may be one of your final breaths you announce the unthinkable "Feel free to finish what you were unable to last time."

"No begging?" he chastises you pulling you by the back of your ear.

"Would you spare me if I did?" The close ended question you respond with leaves him stiff.

Snatching your forearm you note that even when he's not under the constraint of the spell physical touch is consistently one of his ways of getting a point across. He jerks your tired form forward. "Who do you work for?"

Blood running cold you know he won't kill you now. He thinks you've come here with a purpose, a motive, a reason. Hell, all you did was ask to be loved, to experience something before the candle which was your life burnt out.

"No one. You said you were conscious in your mind whilst it all happened, correct?"

He nods albeit begrudgingly.

"Then you must have seen how I tried."

His right eyebrow cocks upwards ever so slightly. "Tried?"

Now it's your turn to be frustrated. "Tried to keep my distance, tried to ignore your advances, tried to refuse your gifts, tried to maintain a level of respect so the both of us would have some dignity remaining if you were to return some day. When I realised you would not stop with your persistence I accepted." You fumed - the fretful irritation you feel only increases by the second.

"Cut the crap." He snarls at you.

You want to snarl back with just as much impatience but you bite your tongue.

Maybe it's because it's late at night, maybe it's because you're fatigued or maybe it's because you already felt feverish and emotional - Honestly, any other reason apart from your husband turning his back on you and announcing you're a mongrel. Feeling light headed you clutch at your scalp harshly trying to control yourself, even Levi's firm hand which until recently held your left arm recoils away.

Falling to your knees you feel the way the floor grates against your bare legs. Your urge to pass out is nearly met but then you hear him.

"Honey???" The concern in his voice which had made you fall in love with him now repulses you.

Fists balling at your knees you silently sob, pitifully shaking your head.

This can't be your reality.

It can't be.

You won't let it be.

That night you find out nightmares can happen in real life.

Levi Ackerman being a prime example.

After the bitter encounter you leave the room and order Lev to not come after you, you need your own space and as much as you want him to return to his sweet, loving self it's pathetic to seek any comfort in him. That tyrant is bound to make another appearance soon enough and mock you for falling into his trap again, but really can you blame the man? Is this his fault or your own?

Whoever is at fault there will still come a time where the Levi you love won't come back and call you his Love. You'll have to get used to that bleak desolate reality. Assuming he doesn't kill you before you have to.

Day has now broken and the brisk morning air bites at you, scantily clad in your nightgown, It's abnormal, you think to yourself. The position you're in is one you imagined countless times but you never really thought you'd end up this way. You're about to drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the Estate's field of hydrangeas, too tired to actually care anymore when you hear a rustle from one of the surrounding bushes.

"Duchess?" Your head turns when you hear Mikasa's soft voice emerge from the hedges, she steps through them and you both stare at each other. Mouth open, gaping in shock she takes in your appearance. You can only imagine how you look right now. Dark eye bags, you aren't wearing your usual noble attire not to mention Levi has accidentally left a bruise on one of your arms. It's faint because it is accidental (you hope) it does not go unnoticed by Mikasa.

Her gaze hardens and she approaches your disheveled form kneeling in front of you.

"What happened?" She whispers, the panic is evident in her voice and you awkwardly chuckle in response.

"I had a horrible nightmare. That's all, honest."

"And it's Y/N need I remind you again?" Mikasa is big on respect and sure, it is cute but you want to remind her it really is okay to call you by your first name. After all you would consider her a friend, you hope she sees you the same way.

Giving you a look of disbelief she takes the hint that you don't want to talk about it but much to your delight she does take the advice regarding your name. She sounds hesitant but that's how she usually is, she'll get used to it in no time at all.

"Well...Y/N, Breakfast has been prepared." You can see the way she eyes your unkempt hair and shivering form. "Would you like to eat with me and Sasha?" this is her way of comforting you.

Your lips quirk up into a smile for the first time in a while.

"I would love that."

Twenty minutes and a change of clothes later you've all relocated to your tea room, Sasha doesn't ask questions about your hair or odd choice of clothing earlier this morning. The shadows Levi's fingers left on your arm are now carefully hidden by the sleeves of your baby blue dress. "Oh! Viscount Kirstein me and Y/N saw him yesterday. He's just like the rumours." Sasha exclaims as she stuffs her face with a croissant.

Mikasa takes a short sip from her tea cup. "And the rumours would be?"

You pick a cinnamon roll from the center of the table."Undeniably handsome. I mean he's not my type though."

Sasha looks momentarily confused. "He was drop dead gorgeous what do you mean?"

You laugh a bit at the disbelief on her face, Mikasa chooses to not intervene - she's obviously yet to come to her own conclusions about him.

"Yeah but you said it yourself he fucks anything in a skirt." Sasha, is wide eyed at first and chokes on part of her buttered croissant, you have never been so vulgar before. You guess the argument has left you more likely to voice your reckless thoughts. Snorting you try to keep your laugh in, the ghost of a smile makes its way to Mikasa's face and eventually she too dissolves into a puddle of laughter. The three of you laughing together genuinely eases the recent burden on your soul.

Just as you're about to crack another joke the door to your tea room rumbles.

BANG!  You seem to always be cut off when you're here because Eren Jaeger has burst inside perhaps for the seventh time this month. It's the same routine as usual, he's panting and catching his breathe before he speaks. You're in no mood to hear what he has to say.

"If the Duke has sent you please leave."

Mikasa gives him a "You better not ask any questions and take the damn hint" kind of look but bless Eren for he is completely and utterly clueless.

"It's urgent."

"Still rejecting." You hotly reply.

Mikasa icily interjects "Eren, would you stop being so bothersome?"

He looks between you and Mikasa helplessly. "The Duke says he expects your refusal but I can't return empty handed, I'll be given a punishment and it'll be worse than being made to clean the stables." He gives you a pleading look and he's so much younger than you, it makes you feel like he's your responsibility. Eren has a charming way of making himself feel like everyone else's annoying younger brother. You accept that he can't suffer because of your selfish denial.

Sighing deeply you take a final bite of your roll, if you're going to die you may as well do so on a full stomach. Before you depart you awkwardly get to your feet dusting your dress to buy some time as you bid Mikasa and Sasha goodbye.

You're now following Eren through the halls of the estate. Deep down inside, you know you aren't fearful. He won't kill you, not yet at least, he thinks you're a useful source of information relating to his external enemies, he would be stupid to overlook that detail. You'll exploit it for now, your key is survival, it always has and always will be that way.

Bumping into Eren's back you apologize for being absent minded, you swear the walk to Levi's office has always been much longer. He spares you a worried glance and looks as if he's about to offer you words of support but he stops himself before he opens the heavy door to Duke Ackerman's office. Perhaps he doesn't find it appropriate. Good, you think to yourself. You don't wish to hear motivation from anyone right now, it's nothing personal, it's that nothing can possibly be of motivation right now.

The door opens ever so slowly, your brain races making everything move at a sedated pace. Then you find yourself jolting upright in surprise. You soon realise expecting Levi to be the only person there was naive on your part. Eyes tensely land on the blonde in one of the cushioned caramel chairs. It's the Commander of the Empire's entire battalion — Erwin Smith.

Levi has ratted you out for sure, you spare a glance towards him and see the way he's trying to hide his feelings of amusement. You want to lunge over his desk and wipe that smug smirk off his face. The playful lilt in his usual unreadable expression is driving you mad. Next to Erwin is respected and high ranking Squad Leader Hange Zoe, you're quite well accustomed with them you've exchanged your fair share of words together and Hange has never failed to bring a smile to your face. The amusing air around them lights up any room they're in... Apart from this one that is.

Eren closes the door behind you and you're silent not really knowing what to do.

"Take a seat my beloved." Levi drawls. This isn't Lev you know that much, he's always enthusiastically jumping to his feet when he greets you.

Awkwardly sitting in the chair next to your husband you shake Hange's hand first then move to shake Erwin's. His warm palms envelope yours and he places a hand on your left shoulder. It's not at all similar to the way Levi held you earlier in the morning, the feeling is genuine. He has no ill intentions, all he seems to want to do is open a conversation.

"Y/N, we may not have much time but." He stops, unsure if it's for dramatics but you still intently listen.

The sea that is his blue eyes draws you in, you've only ever seen him from afar. If honesty and gentleness were a person it would be him no doubt about it.

He pats your shoulder and you snap out of your day dream. "Y/N. Thank you for your sacrifice and commitment to this Empire." His warm yet serious smile which follows simply confuses you, in fact this entire situation is doing that.

Jaw slacking you're dazed and bewildered, your thoughts are diverting in all sorts of direction now.

Whatever does he mean by sacrifice?

[rvmmm21]

Idk if you are into vampire ma'am's but what if vampire joy has a little obsession with that precious girl called seulgi, sometimes she She can break into the department of seulgi just for getting some fun with teasing her, drinking her blood and maybe something else, Joy might be able to take her to her remote Victorian mansion for some fun without anyone interrupting her evenings 👀.

Pd:Have a good day and ily ❤️

wow look at me just realising i answered this very indirectly. part one’s here. this is for your “maybe something else” bit, hah. forgive the smut. and the time skip.

small note : i know the plot line is super shifty but trust me it levels out at the end... just gotta trust my terrible process. i know this probably isn’t a coherent story. i think uni is playing me. the time skip is BIG.

1. can't believe i now know what a st andrews cross is now. 2. i'm very much pleased with that pun, thank you very much and to you please thank you.

tw: slight dacryphilia, bondage.

. . . . .

. . .

Her mother had warned her about this. The dangers of living alone and far away, out of their protective care. 

The room swirls in disarray as Kang Seulgi stirs.

Her brain is slowly clearing the fog of events that had been so unbelievable she still couldn’t be sure if it had actually happened. Dry eyes blink once. Twice. In less than a second, it’s more than just the room that’s spinning. A cluster of unanswered questions taunt her through the haze.

Where is this place?

How did she get here?

What’s that smell?

But all it takes is that awfully familiar voice to take a sledgehammer to her senses. 

She jolts awake. Instantly. 

Hyper-alert. 

Her eyes shakily scan the dim lit room for its source. 

She doesn’t register the perpetrator’s whereabouts until deathly cold fingers wrap themselves around her throat–

– from behind.

And that’s when she realises this might not be the first time she’s woken up to darkness. To this darkness.

It’s the natural instinct to flinch away from the fingers under her chin that causes Seulgi to realise she really isn’t going anywhere. Despite the unforgiving pressure around her wrists, an additional bout of panic explodes in her chest when she whips her head left to right. 

Why can’t she move?

“A pretty colour for a pretty girl.”

Seulgi chokes at the hot breath fanning over the shell of her ear. The sudden whisper causes a trail of goosebumps to erupt down the side of her neck and she strains away from the feeling… rather miserably.

Why can’t she move?

“Don’t you think they’re beautiful?” the voice comes again.

It prompts Seulgi to observe the deep mauve archaic silk that binds her to each arm of a hardwood St. Andrew’s cross. 

Stretched out, immobile and dangerously vulnerable.

Stressed whimpers wrench past her lips as she begins twisting, turning and pulling. But try as she might, her restraints are stubborn, refusing to slacken even an inch. And Seulgi has a fair amount of forearm strength; muscle tone she’d built up through years of dance training and intermittent gym sessions. 

So the fact that the silk stayed so tightly wrapped quirked a suspicion as to whether magic had a part to play in all this. 

Magic… or a curse.

Wait, what?! Do you hear yourself? Stop being ridiculous, Seul. Curses? Magic?! They’re myths! None of this is real…

She gives another unsuccessful tug.

… right?

Other than the precarious position she’s in right now, Seulgi goes wide-eyed at the little she can make out of her surroundings. Pristine, empty glass jars lined up along a wall shelf; restraints of various descriptions she doesn’t possess the vocabulary to describe dangle dangerously low from the lofty ceiling. 

Her captor obviously indulges in… much darker interests. 

For a room so large, Seulgi sure is having a hard time trying to breathe.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.” 

Before she even sees anything, her body is instinctively taking lungfuls of air to soothe the burning in her chest when the restriction around her throat disappears. Suddenly, a swish of silken robes brush across her right side. And in the blink of an eye, Seulgi can’t pry hers away from the pale, elegant beauty swanning into her consciousness, the distinct scent of twilight and honeydew lingering in the air. 

“Aren’t they a pretty colour?”

Seulgi knows she’d be a fool to be difficult. “Y-Yes,” she stammers.

Decadent eyes singe into her very soul and Seulgi drops her gaze, suddenly all too aware of her own nakedness and wanting nothing more than to curl up and vanish out of sight. The humiliation is deafening, but for some reason her body has a blaringly different opinion. It’s probably something about being completely stripped and powerless before a fully-clothed, gorgeous vampire that will do that to you, she concludes.

Joy is feminine and intimidating and she’s wearing that smile. The same one that had loomed over Seulgi when they’d first met, when it was stained in the hues of her essence. From that night. Needle-sharp fangs are stark on porcelain skin and Seulgi begins to tremble at the thought of being defenceless against them should the vampire decide she’s a little thirsty.

“Sorry,” said vampire smirks, making a show of licking over them with her tongue, “non-retractable, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, you will get used to them.”

It’s a command more than it reassures.

Joy’s eyes are trained on her own fingertip as she traces swollen pink lips, lingering on the soft curve of Seulgi’s jaw. Something in her core tightens and she almost growls when the girl shudders and weakly tilts her chin up, allowing her access to pet down her throat. 

She smiles when she feels a gulp under her palm.

Her hand splays across Seulgi’s chest before pushing back until the human is gasping for breath, spine pressed unforgivingly flush into the heavy wood, while the other travels down to the apex of her thighs, stroking feathery lines onto warm skin. Not quite enough to make Seulgi beg for it, she knows, but more than enough to coax out those lovely sounds she adores hearing from her pretty little human.

Seulgi's mouth feels drier than a dessert watching a deathly pale hand lift to dark crimson lips, observing as Joy drags the pad of her thumb across her tongue, moistening it. And she can do nothing but helplessly watch as Joy slowly lowers her hand back down to the ache between her legs, the glistening digit settling right on her clit, already swollen with arousal. 

Seulgi gasps out. 

“This excites you, doesn’t it, baby?” Joy purrs into a scarlet ear. “You like being at my mercy?” 

Seulgi grits her teeth and shakes her head, but the moan spills out before she can stop it. It makes a crude smirk blossom on the taller girl’s lips. The two tantalising fingers that had been playing with her finally slide into her core… oh so carefully, so she feels everything Joy is doing to her; every inch of those slender fingers slipping past her resistance and filling her up. 

“P-Please…” Seulgi rasps. It’s too much and she can feel herself about to–

“Shh, no talking now,” the vampire cuts her short, making up these cruel rules on a whim. “Just those pretty little noises.”

Joy knows she’d like it if Seulgi would one day bare her metaphorical fangs a little too, to bite back… but for now, she’s so much cuter when she’s begging. 

Maybe soon.

“P-Please, I don’t wanna–”

“What did I say about talking?” Joy snarls down, clamping a cold palm over her mouth. “Don’t wanna do what? Struggle pretty while I do all the work?” She rolls her thumb against Seulgi’s nub and the girl screws her eyes shut with a breathy whine. “What don’t you wanna do, sweetie? Cum?”

The human is a blubbering mess, squirming but unable to pull her hips away from the relentless teasing. Joy fucks her effortlessly, grabbing her jaw with her free hand and pushing her lips onto Seulgi’s in a ferocious kiss at the first tear that trickles down rosy cheeks. Seulgi can’t comprehend how mean Joy is being to her. It seems like the vampire just wants to see how far she can bend before she breaks, she must really hate her. She must. Because poor Seulgi can’t think of why else those fingers are curling inside her like that, ruthlessly abusing every spot that has her shaking and shivering and moaning. 

Even then, it doesn’t matter how loudly she does it. The pulsing in her head and her lower region can’t drown out those pitiful cries that fill the air, the sounds of wetness as Joy slips a third finger in.

The pleasure is unravelling, and Seulgi is so overwhelmed with sensation that she knows she won’t last a second longer. “Let me– let me… please can I…”

Ignoring the broken rule, Joy senses her breaking point and narrows her eyes with a smirk. “Oh? Now you want to cum? ”

“Yes! Yes, please,” she frantically nods, pulling at her restraints with the remainder of her strength.

Aw. Her precious Seulgi. Always so polite.

“My poor baby,” she coos, uncaring to mask the edge in her voice, “can’t help herself? Go on then. Cum.”

Seulgi’s ears fill with Joy’s velvety tone as her fingers pump into her and her thumb stimulates her sensitive, sore clit with a pressure that she. Just. Can’t. Take. 

And then Joy is really making her cum. 

Seulgi’s mouth falls open and it feels like all her muscles are contracting at the same time. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her vision explodes in white. She’s so lost in the throes of ecstasy that she doesn’t feel the hand around her throat and a pair of soft lips on hers, choking her moans into pathetic little whines. 

Joy presses herself right up against Seulgi’s trembling body so she can feel her racing heartbeat while she fucks her through her climax. The feeling is so bright, so intensely heavy that sparks fly, her head spins and the room throbs in time with her pulse. 

Joy strokes down her side soothingly, guiding Seulgi back down from her high, the aftershocks of the orgasm causing little twitches here and there.

A silent shiver ripples through the spent girl when she feels Joy retract her fingers from her dripping entrance, cool air brushing over slick-coated thighs. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Seulgi falls forward as her limbs go slack with exhaustion, the sound of fabric stretching as it accommodates her entire body weight.

The vampire switches instantly, rushing to undo the restraints. She frees Seulgi one arm at a time, taking care to massage each wrist after doing so, kissing over the lightly bruised skin. She tenderly shushes the few whines that slip past Seulgi’s lips, very well accustomed to the natural responses.

She’s always like this.

After all the bonds have been undone, Joy scoops her up into her arms and immediately heads for the bathroom, continually pressing kisses to the top of sweat-matted hair.

“Shh, good girl, Seul. Good girl.”

Kang Seulgi awakens to the sound of crackling. Eyes flutter open to the room dancing with streaks of muted oranges, yellows and whites. A cup of hot chocolate sits on the coffee table in front of her with two pink marshmallows floating on top. She looks down to realise still can’t move, but this time it’s because she’s been cocooned in a heap of fluffy blankets. 

She feels all squeaky clean and so, so warm.

But the image of the person– vampire, kneeling by her side of the bed is what brings a smile to her face. Her Joy. Her tall, strong, undead, beautiful Joy. She wonders what she’d ever done to deserve this.

Seulgi mumbles, gazing at her with tired, loving eyes. “Mm, thank you Youngie, you did so well.”

Joy’s chest bursts with pride at the praise. Soft flames light her face up and she melts at the sight of her recuperating lover. She climbs onto the plush mattress to snuggle with her little Seulgi burrito, wrapping her arms around her in the perfect hug.

The two spend the next few minutes in blissful silence before Joy peers down to an inquisitive baby bear. She’s quiet, but the vampire can read the want in those eyes far too well now.

“Yes, hun?”

At this, a small pout tugs at the other girl’s mouth. “I still think it would’ve been fun to use the other thing. Can’t we try?”

Joy very nearly slaps a hand across her own forehead. “Baby, you know the answer to that. Not everything down there is a toy, okay? Just because I let you explore my collection, doesn’t mean we have to play with every single one of them.”

The half-hearted lecture fizzles into a tangent about the collectibles in her basement. “Oh goodness. Seul, remind me to clear out those boxes in the back tomorrow. Thought I needed them for the Salem Witch Trials but– no they were completely useless.”

She glances down at Seulgi, who’s been listening to her spoken thoughts this entire time with intent, ‘innocent’ eyes. Oh no. “Hun, you know all that happened in the seventeenth century, right? So like… centuries ago?” 

“Mhm,” comes the small reply, all but convinced.

“Yah, so don’t get any fancy ideas, mmk?” she warns, waving a finger at the brief flicker of excitement in those brown pupils blown wide, “because it’s not happening.”

Ah, and that’s where poor Joy is wrong. Yet again.

There’s an awkward silence as both girls pause to recall the number of things in that room that they’ve used for… severely recreational purposes. 

The vampire dusts off those very exciting thoughts, unable to deny her own enthusiasm at her Seulgi’s creative, conniving mind.

“Seul? Did you hear what I said?”

Nothing.

“Seul?” she tries again. “Baby bear?”

But Seulgi needn’t answer. The small smile on her face as she drifts off to sleep curled up in Joy’s front is all the vampire needs to be reminded of who really has the final say in these matters. Utterly defeated, she wriggles under the thick duvet to join her snoozing bear-itto for the night.

“Oh hun, please be gentle,” Joy whispers, shaking her head in disbelief at her tiny mortal that keeps her in a constant state of love-struck awe, seemingly to be able to take everything and more. “I’m scared of what you’re going to pick next.”

[gloochie]

here’s a fuckin rant about how in love i am with sunny’s portrayal of realistic anorexia // ed tw obviously

doesn’t take up the character’s entire personality

yeah there’s tons of shows with characters that have eating disorders, but usually that is the only purpose of the character, so their entire personality is just the eating disorder. yes that is how it can feel for the individual in real life, that they are nothing without their eating disorder, but that isn’t how other people see them. their friends see a regular person and often don’t even see the eating disorder at all.

dennis is orthorexic and anorexic, that’s obvious, but that isn’t all that either the other characters or the audience see. as he’s primarily known as a ‘psychopathic narcissistic serial killer / golden god’, especially by ‘dudebros’. the other characters obviously think this as well, as the word ‘eating disorder’ and ‘dennis’ have yet to coexist in a sentence, and only on one or maybe two occasions have the other characters seemed to show any sort of concern for his habits.

the other characters don’t care or lack knowledge [ highlighting male eating disorder / mental illness awareness ]

from memory there are three occasions where the other characters seem to recognise his unhealthy behaviour. [ although there are many references to his ed in various other episodes ]

the first example is in ‘the gang exploits a miracle’ which is also the first and most major portrayal of his eating disorder in the show. dee had told him that his face looked fat, so he proceeded to not eat for three days. when frank discovered he was fasting, he said ‘why the hell are you fasting’ and sounded annoyed. and when he noticed him spacing out, he told him that he should eat but said nothing else. then when dennis faints at the end , he merely says ‘that’s what you get for not eating’. so the entire time, frank found his behaviour irritating rather than worrying. when dee discovers that she caused dennis to fast for three days, she expresses faux concern before informing him that he’s a terrible person. despite finally revealing to him that his face doesn’t look fat, she doesn’t hesitate to continue to put him down. [ mac and charlie seem to have absolutely no significant interaction with him in this episode, so their opinions at this point don’t exist ]

the next episode is ‘franks pretty woman’ dennis takes mac to the doctor to get a physical / blood test to try and show him that he’s unhealthy. dennis is then shocked to discover that both of them are unhealthy - albeit on different sides of the scale -, as it is revealed that dennis has anemia, dehydration, low blood pressure, and multiple vitamin deficiencies. these are all side affects from a restrictive diet. he also explains to mac in detail the other steps he takes, including skipping meals, and excessively exercising. mac does not seem too phased besides from exclaiming ‘that’s sounds miserable’. when dennis almost faints and informs mac he hadn’t eaten yet that day, mac reacts by saying he’s going to get him something to eat, which he does. the two end up eating chimichangas. mac says [ paraphrasing ] ‘see? i told you they’re good.’

the final time dennis’ eating habits are really noticed by the gang is in ‘the gang chokes’ in which he claims to have an ‘allergy’ to gluten, sugar, and dairy. this is obviously false as in previous episodes he’s eaten cheese, pizza, and other such things. despite mac forgetting, he tries to help dennis stick to his ‘dietary requirements’. later on in the episode, dennis claims to have ‘depleted his electrolytes’ and had fallen ill due to the pollen in the air, although he was acting similar to ‘exploits a miracle’ which may point to him fasting. mac is quick to help, he picks him up and carries him bridal style all the way home [ despite dropping him twice ]. finally, dennis grows sick from drinking the pizza and soda shakes that mac has been giving him, and mac claims it ‘wrecks havoc on his system’ which is why he’s sick, although the real reason is rarther ambiguous [ actually intolerance, mild refeeding syndrome, generally unwell? ]

dennis does not look anorexic.

this is possibly my favourite part of their portrayal. in movies and tv that are made to raise awareness about anorexia, the character in question is almost always deathly pale, extremely underweight. however, dennis isn’t like that at all. in seasons 9 and 10 he looks to be a very healthy weight, and in previous seasons he was still relatively healthy.

this is amazing to see because not all cases of anorexia are anorexia nervosa, not all patients meet the weight requirement for the nervosa diagnoses. so portraying someone with disordered eating but a non disordered body is great representation and often more realistic.

[ despite this, there’s obvious proof that glenn howerton has begun slimming down for his role as of at least season 14, dennis is starting to physically show signs of anorexia. ]

fatphobia projection

dennis is extremely fatphobic. in ‘aluminium monster vs fatty magoo’ he calls the slim models ‘fat’ and ‘ugly’, to the point where he takes their place [ while wearing a corset ]. he is also shown to find mac disgusting when he gains weight, he finds it so distressing that he obtains illegal medication and drugs mac so he will lose weight.

this is all a very common thing with anorexia and other restrictive eating disorders, the ‘ed voice’ that tells you that you’re fat says that others are fat as well, and your illness makes you internally fatphobic.

he isn’t just insecure about his weight.

there are many different reasons that one gets an eating disorder, whether due to trauma, preexisting mental illness, from stress, parental abuse etc. however one main reason is to gain a feeling of ‘control’ over ones body, to be able to shape it to your will and make it as ‘perfect’ as you can.

in dennis’ case, he claims to see himself as a ‘golden god’, sculpted by the gods, and just all round flawless. this is extremely obviously false, as the second a flaw is pointed out to him he takes extreme measures to rectify such a thing:

‘the gang exploits a miracle’ - he starves himself for three days after dee says his face is fat

‘how mac got fat’ - he dyes his hair and gets a chemical peel after feeling pressured to keep up his ‘reputation’ as the attractive one in the group

‘the high school reunion’ - he wishes to make a good impression at the reunion, and it’s pointed out that he was wearing a girdle to ‘seem thin for the occasion’, he was also wearing makeup but it’s not clear exactly when dennis started wearing makeup on a daily basis so i’m unsure if that was normal or not.

‘dee day’ - he’s extremely insecure and withdrawn without his makeup, he’s unable to hit on the council woman. when he later returns to the bar with his makeup back on, he denies wearing any and claims he was merely tired. this insinuates he wants the gang to believe his looks are natural and not fabricated

there’s also the fact that they’re representing male eating disorders! i don’t think i’ve ever seen a piece of mainstream media that portrays a male with an eating disorder. it’s fucking amazing of them to do it, not to mention do it as well as they have done.

in conclusion, RCG is portraying the most realistic and accurate disordered person i’ve ever seen in media.

[secret-engima]

Title thingy if ur still doing that, my friend. Not Everyday Is A Good Day (Live Anyway)

Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

So many things I could DO with this title. *squints*.

Did I ... ever do that ffxv naruto crossover I came up with at like 3AM?

Let’s assume I didn’t and roll with that.

It ends with dying.

It starts with waking up after dying, and finding a world gone bloody and primitive and strange.

It starts with a little boy from a village no one knows opening his eyes one day and ... remembering. Feeling the burning Light under his skin that tangles with the energy in the world around him and realizing he is alive once more ... and the world is completely different from what he remembers.

It is not a good beginning. Because the world has more than fallen apart since he was last awake, and people are superstitious and afraid of odd things.

And there are few things more odd than a little boy with too old eyes and a too sharp mind. A little child with no fear of death, with a birthmark on his front and back that looks like a blade went right through his heart, who dances in the storms with the rain beating his skin and a grin that is two shades too wild to be human.

It is not a good beginning, and there are a very many days that are even worse.

He lives anyway. He lives and he learns. Of ninja and clans, of a world where all have a fragment of magic, a tamer version of the Thing in his veins. Where the powerful wage war and technology is long, long lost (stolen, he thinks, by the paranoid, or perhaps forbidden by them out of fear of another Niflheim).

He lives, and when he is only eleven, he takes what few things he has to call his own and he leaves the village behind. No one misses him.

He walks and walks and walks, deeper and deeper into the wilds. At one point, he meets a giant orange fox who burns with old anger and simmering indifference. Their eyes meet, an old King and a newborn Astral, and the fox dips his head in silent, surprised acknowledgment of the truth men have forgotten. He keeps walking. Living off the wilds like he has done a thousand times in memories not his own, unafraid of the beasts, for they are not daemons, and nothing is scary after facing down daemons.

He finds a nice little nook in an unassuming wood, and there he builds himself a home. There is a village a few days walk away, and after growing bored with making too many potions to place even in his massive armiger, he goes to the village and sells them as herbal remedies. They taste terrible to drink instead of crush against skin, but they work just as well when swallowed.

The people of this village are superstitious too, but they do not know him as a boy turned suddenly too old, only as a mysterious wood hermit who looks too young for his eyes and sells miracle medicine for a pittance, who will save lives from incurable fates with a touch of green hands and a flicker of burning feathers and ask nothing in return.

It takes him a long time to realize the little house they’ve built him for when he comes to visit is actually a shrine.

Yoru, they call him. Night. For his hair and his quiet, for the shadows that walk in his steps. He thinks it’s funny, that even now, in another life, he still ends up with a name that means Night.

And it is a very lonely life, to be held as a friendly, if strange spirit of the woods by other humans, to be alone in his memories and his ghosts in a world that remembers his sacrifice when the humans there do not. The Astrals he has always known are deep in slumber, and for all he is lonely he is reluctant to wake them. Not everyday is a good day.

He lives anyway.

He is thirteen, he thinks, maybe fourteen, when she finds him. She is only his age, and she is so very, very pretty. A rarity with hair the color of pale gold and eyes as blue as the sky.

Funny how they look the same as they did in their last life.

She is a noble’s daughter, and she is too young to be out of her family’s care, but she is not the daughter of the nobleman’s wife, and the son who IS is deathly ill.

Heal my son, says her father with desperate eyes, and I will give you my daughter.

He is angry at the thought of it. At seeing her, who has saved the world and holds his heart even now, being used as a bargaining chip with what these people think is a wayward forest spirit. He could do anything to her in their minds.

And they do not care.

The son matters more.

He accepts and he heals the son they have brought of his illness (something simple, something the non-magical medicine of his era could have healed).

The nobleman, his son, and his escort depart. They leave her behind.

She takes his hands in hers and whispers that she is glad, they touch lips, brief and chaste, and she laughs when he names her Tsuki. His Moon.

Maybe it is a good day after all.

The locals acclimate to her quickly, whisper over the powers they think she has gained by becoming his bride. He does not care, he has his Moon and his little forest home. If his brothers find him ... then life would be perfect, but until then, he is content.

And then a ninja sets his house on fire.

Well, the village shrine really, but it’s the same thing now after Luna talked him into moving in permanently so as to better treat the villagers.

There are five of them, three with black hair and fire licking their bones and two with brown hair and magic like water or earth. They are fighting, and while one of the black hairs sets the shrine on fire, it is one with brown hair that knocks down the lovely Tori gate he’d grown rather fond of.

His magic unfurls, heavy and displeased, and all five drop to their knees with gasps of shock and fear. Two struggle to their feet, collapse again when he presses downward with his magic. They have more magic than the villagers, but compared to him and his Moon, they are raindrops in an ocean.

“Leave this place,” he snarls, his voice layered with a hundred others, and the ninja blanch as they flee.

Except one. The brown haired one who knocked over his Tori gate and is apparently bleeding very badly from his torso, struggles to stand and then collapses.

The other brunette leaves him behind.

He sighs as his magic curls inward and it’s the work of a moment to drag the man inside the crispy house and see what’s wrong. A few potions set the man to rights, and when he wakes up hours later, stupefied and wary, his Moon laughs as he sends the ninja on his way with a scowl.

Three days later, two ninja arrive in the village. All the villagers glare, they are still trying to figure out how to fix the gate on such short notice, but the ninja make no trouble as they approach the shrine home.

“I am Hashirama, leader of the Senju Clan,” the elder says with a low bow, so low his long brown hair touches the ground, “and I came to offer thanks and apologies for my clansmen.”

The white haired one just scowls, skeptical as he stares at the shrine and its inhabitants.

“I am Yoru,” he answers, all of maybe seventeen now, “and this is Tsuki. Your ninja knocked my gate down. And three more set my house on fire.”

Hashirama winces, “I am sorry for the gate, I can fix it if you like.” Yoru tilts his head and Hashirama takes it as an agreement.

Tsuki makes a noise of surprised delight when a new gate grows up from the ground, living wood in the desired shape. Yoru makes a pleased noise, his magic couldn’t do that. He looks back down at the Senju in interest, “I’ve never seen a ninja do that before,” he muses, and the man laughs a touch nervously.

They have come to make amends, but as far as Yoru is concerned, the gate has paid their tab. Even so, he asks questions and when he learns of the Senju’s war with the Uchiha, he frowns.

“Leave my village and my forest alone,” he says, “So long as you are within twelve miles of the village, you are not to fight.” The white-haired one protests, but Yoru will not budge.

It doesn’t take long for him to have to enforce that rule.

He hears the burning of wood and the feels the flare of magic and sighs as he warps over there. A glance proves it’s the brunettes and the black hairs again.

He lets his magic surge out and flatten them in their surprise, snuffs the flames with an ice spell, and glares, “I said,” he intones darkly, “no fighting near my home.”

“You dare-!” snarls the leader of the black haired ones, only to falter when Yoru turns his gaze on him. Speechless under the weight of the gaze.

Most people are when facing eyes the color of age and blood.

“I don’t know what war you fight,” he says slowly, “but you will not fight it here. If you do this again, there will be consequences.”

He looks over at the Senju, silent warning that his message applies to them too. Then he sighs and folds his arms over his chest, “Are you even fighting for a cause? Why are you so determined to kill each other?”

Both sides break out in shouting, accusations of death and vengeance that makes him feel weary. Tsuki touches his shoulder from where she has caught up, her eyes solemn, and Yoru scoffs, “What a pointless reason to fight.”

“And what would you know?” Snarls one of the Uchiha as he stalks forward, moving under the weight of Yoru’s magic only because Yoru is not projecting it all. The sword lashes out for Yoru’s neck, and his armiger flairs to life, blocking the blade and pointing four more at the man’s throat.

The leader of the Uchiha hisses a name, it sounds like “Izuna”.

Yoru looks into red eyes with black marks and crushes the attempt at an illusion (so pathetic compared to Ardyn’s a lifetime ago) with barely a thought, “What would I know?” he muses softly. “What. Would I. Know?”

His magic begins to rise, shifting into visible spectrum, crystalline shares and licking blue fire, an armiger of dancing blades risking in ghostly white. He can feel his skin cracking open and gleaming, mortal skin fracturing under the pressure of angry magic, he lets it form, lets his skin turn grey and terrible, lets his magic coat the summer field with ice and his shoulders with ghostly blue fire.

He watches as the Uchiha who lashed out at him pales, eyes flickering frantically, trying to see through a trick that does not exist.

“Do not presume to know me,” Yoru growls, “do not presume to know my heart or my ways. I have seen what vengeance wreaks. I have walked through its graveyards, I have stood beneath its blackened skies and tasted its ash as the world rots beneath the endless night. Vengeance will eat you alive and hunger for more, it will demand more blood than the world contains and at the end of the day, the dead you claim to be avenging Will. Not. Care. Vengeance is not a reason to fight. It is a reason to die. And if it is death you want, then I will give it to you. I will burn your home to as he and stand upon the bones, and when I am done and the world goes quiet, there will be none who look upon them and will be able to tell your bones from those of the Senju you despise. Is that what you want, little ninja? To paint the world brown with your dried blood? To rouse what lies sleeping and destroy what yet breathes?” All the ninja have gone dead white and Yoru snarls, old, tired fury in his blood, memories of Conqueror-Fierce-Warrior-Mystic stirring him toward violence, “Well? SPEAK and it will be so. Speak and I will SHOW YOU what vengeance is-.”

Tsuki’s- Luna’s- arms rest on his bicep, unflinching from the heat, and she whispers, “Peace, my love.”

His anger cools. His skin heals over. His armiger fades.

Yoru steps back from the white-faced ninja, those who have heard of the supposed healer guardian of the forest but not believed it until this moment, and he warns with dark exhaustion, “Leave. Leave and think about what it is you really want. For your world to burn? Or for your children to be able to grow old rather than lie forgotten in shallow graves and crows’ bellies. Fight here again, fight anywhere with in fifty miles of my home, and I will end your blood feud for you, and neither side will celebrate my intervention.” Yoru turns away, ignoring the wide-eyed Hashirama, the spinning red eyes of the Uchiha, “go away and cease playing at war.”

Tsuki leads him home and he lies on the floor for a long time. Letting the cool of the wood leach into his bones, letting his magic curl lazy patterns in the air as his Moon and his Love curls patiently against his chest, waiting for him to rise out of the memories howling in his head.

Today is not a good day.

Tomorrow might be better, when it comes, but even if it isn’t ... well.

Not every day is a good day.

He lives anyway.

And he will never forget what a blessing that is.

[frozenartscapes]

Monsters Don’t Save People - Part 2

I was inspired to do a follow up to the first part, found here. I might have kinda combined it with what happens in Shambala but with someone else we know who can turn into a giant, magical monster.

---

“What do you mean you lost them?!”

Her scout captain took a step back in alarm, not used to hearing such an outburst from the Emperor. “I...I apologize, your Majesty,” he stammered, “But after that attack in the village the other day... In the chaos, we lost the trail. I’m afraid we have...erm, nothing.”

Edelgard grimaced, her teeth gritting so tight they were beginning to hurt. “There are no signs anywhere of where they might have escaped to? No magic signatures? Discarded weapons? Footprints?”

He shook his head in dismay. “We will keep looking, your Majesty,” he vowed, “And your spymaster is conducting interrogations of the surviving villagers as we speak. But...it’s not looking hopeful.”

A spike of frustration and anger shot through her heart. She clenched her fist to the point her gauntlet strained under the pressure. “Then keep looking. You may go,” she commanded.

The scout captain nodded, failing to hide his relief, and scampered out of her tent to the relative safety of their base camp.

Once alone, Edelgard returned to her desk with a map of Fodlan spread out across it. Little flags and markers traced the path they had taken so far, all on the hunt for Those Who Slither and their hideout. They had been following a decent lead, until their foe took drastic action, flooding a village along their route with mutated monsters in an attempt to distract them.

Apparently, it had worked.

Edelgard let out a low growl in frustration, scouring her map and attempting to figure out where they might have run to. Every possibility didn’t seem likely. Her enemy this time around wasn’t as predictable as a foreign power. They were elusive, sneaky, and desperate. They could have led them on a wild goose chase before warping across Fodlan, for all she knew.

Anger surged again. Foolish. She was foolish for thinking this would be easy. She should have kept following at a distance. Assembling her Strike Team and attacking Those Who Slither alerted them to her plan. And now they were back to square one because she couldn’t be patient.

She had spent too long being patient. She didn’t have much time left, she couldn’t afford to be-

CRACK!

In her rage, she had slammed her fist down on her desk. But rather than stopping when it met the wood, she had struck with such a force that it went right through, splitting the solid wood desk messily in two.

Not expecting the table to give, her momentum sent her stumbling forward, into the wooden debris. She caught herself before she was flat on her face, but still had to take a moment to recover from the shock.

She let out a long, shaky breath. Calm. She had to keep calm.

She pulled her hand out of the wreckage of her desk and was anything but calm.

Black, charred skin. Long, razor-sharp claws. They had ripped clean through her metal gauntlet, leaving the shreds dangling from her hand.

With a startled gasp, she staggered backward until she collided with the edge of her bed. She shakily sunk down, eyes never leaving the monstrous appendage.

‘Breathe,’ a voice in her head instructed her, ‘Breathe. Calm down. Or else it will get worse.’

She struggled to take in a few weak breaths, but panic was quickly taking over. Her wicked hand clenched into a fist under her will, confirming that this was, in fact, real and a part of her.

Tears pricked in her eyes. ‘So it does come easier, now...’

“Edelgard?”

Her head shot up toward the entrance to her tent. Another attempt at a deep breath, and: “Yes?” Her voice only sounded slightly strangled, so she took it as a victory.

“Is everything all right? I heard a crash... May I come in?”

It was Marianne, and while she would rather not have anyone see her like this, of all the people who could have come to her tent she was probably the best. Edelgard gulped, and hid her mutated hand behind her back.

“Everything is...fine. Yes. You may enter.”

Marianne entered the tent with a look of concern on her face. Her eyes first landed on the destroyed desk, and a gasp escaped her lips as a hand shot up to cover her mouth. “Oh dear!” she cried, “What happened?”

‘Shit,’ Edelgard thought to herself. She had forgotten that she’d have to explain the desk. Her monstrous hand twitched behind her back.

Marianne turned toward Edelgard and her worry shifted in an instant. The Emperor’s face was deathly pale, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, and body trembling like a leaf. It was such an odd sight to see of the woman normally so unflinching.

“Edelgard?” Marianne asked softly, “Are you ok?”

“I...” She thought about lying. But her confident “yes” had been caught in her throat. She might have been able to sound convincing but she knew she didn’t look it.

Marianne noticed how the Emperor held one hand tightly behind her back, and her frown deepened. “Are you hurt? I can take a look at it if you want, or I can go and get the Professor-”

“No!” That word fell out of her mouth before she could stop it, and it came tumbling out as if she fumbled something easily breakable. When she met Marianne’s confused and startled gaze, she sighed, “No. D...don’t get Byleth. Not...not yet.”

Marianne tilted her head in response. “But...” she began slowly. Something was wrong. Edelgard shared everything with her fiancée. Even Marianne knew that.

Edelgard swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, resulting in a few wayward tears falling down her cheeks. “Promise me you won’t tell a soul about this,” she choked out, attempting to maintain authority despite feeling more and more like a helpless child chained up in a cell.

“I promise,” Marianne breathed. Concern filled her voice, but there was a gentle earnestness to her that gave Edelgard the confidence to reveal what was hidden behind her back.

Marianne gasped when she saw the monstrous appendage, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock. Though her eyes, wide with horror, showed a slightly different emotion.

Edelgard looked away from her, glancing back down to inspect her hand with morbid curiosity. “I...don’t know what happened,” she explained, trying desperately to hide the tremble in her voice, “I...was angry. Frustrated. And when I went to slam my hand on the table it just...”

She sighed heavily, clenching the hand of the Hegemon into a tight fist. “I suppose I will have to be more careful, now. Ever since becoming the...that thing...to win the battle a few weeks ago, my emotions have been...strange. More potent, and more volatile. This is proof, now, that it’s...dangerous...”

Marianne still gazed upon her with those big, brown eyes. Yet despite the lingering shock on her face, she took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, she approached until she stood right in front of the Emperor.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, took that horrid hand in hers.

Edelgard couldn’t hide the terror on her face. She wanted to rip her hand away, but restrained herself only because she feared what those claws might do to Marianne’s delicate skin. As she floundered, struggling to find words that would gently tell this sensitive woman to get away from her for her own safety, Marianne did something she rarely ever did to anyone.

She smiled at her. Reassuringly.

“You are not dangerous, Edelgard,” she said softly, carefully running her thumb over the rough, charred skin.

“Yes I am,” Edelgard breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from her hand.

“Tell me, Edelgard: Am I dangerous?”

It was with those words that the Emperor found the strength to beat her fear. “Of course not,” she answered, confident, as she met those warm brown eyes.

“Then you are not, either,” Marianne told her simply.

Edelgard’s eyes widened. Of course: her Crest...Maurice...

“But you never... I have...”

“Perhaps I haven’t,” Marianne said with a small sigh, “But as long as the Crest of the Beast dwells in my blood, there is a chance. Do you still think me safe to be around?”

Edelgard nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. “I would never consider you dangerous, Marianne. You’ve proven yourself to me countless times over.”

Marianne gave her hand a small squeeze. “And I watched a great, magnificent creature place herself between myself and a monster, all to protect me and my companions,” she said softly, “You could turn into the Hegemon right now and I wouldn’t be afraid. No one would.”

Edelgard stared into that gentle gaze, focusing only on the comforting touch of a fragile hand against her demonic one.

She had been so caught up in her emotions she didn’t even feel her hand change back.

“There, see?” Marianne said with a delicate laugh, “All that worry for nothing!”

Edelgard regarded her bare hand in total shock. Never had she been happier to see her scarred skin - at least it wasn’t that sinuous hide anymore. She looked back to her companion and offered a grateful smile. “I really must thank you, Marianne,” she said earnestly.

“No need to thank me,” Marianne replied, “I would not be here if you hadn’t helped me overcome my own fears. I simply returned the favour.”

———

Finding Shambala turned out to be the easy part, much to everyone’s dismay. Edelgard had been forced to dial it back, but her initial attack had scared Thales enough for him to fire a second warning shot, much like Arianrhod. Though that still meant undue soldier and civilian casualties, Those Who Slither had chosen to obliterate a small fort town rather than target anything big.

The mistake they made in doing so, however, was that it allowed Hubert and Linhardt to track the magic signature, something they had been working on since Arianrhod had been destroyed by a Javelin of Light.

Now they knew where Shambala was, and it was time to raze the snake nest.

It turned out the technology of Those Who Slither in the Dark - or the Agarthans, as they had learned - was far more superior than any of them realized. Edelgard even found herself cursing Thales and his ilk for utilizing such medieval and antiquated procedures on her and her siblings when it was obvious the Agarthans were well beyond that.

Still, she had to put it all behind her for the moment. The Agarthans had learned of the army sent to destroy them, and like fire ants out to defend their hill, were swarming them with wave upon wave of mages, monsters, and golems.

She and Byleth worked to keep the Eagles together, moving as one powerful unit rather than splitting up. But that eventually proved to be impossible in the onslaught of chaos, and eventually, Edelgard found herself alone.

She took down another mage with a Crest-enhanced swing of her sword, breathing heavy and sweat dripping on her brow. The brief lull between enemies allowed her to survey the battle taking part around her, and a fear she was becoming too familiar with struck her heart once again.

“Truly a shame, isn’t it? To lose so much…potential.”

Her blood went cold. Her grip tightened around Aymr’s handle. She spun around, rage boiling in her soul. “You,” she spat.

Thales seemed bored at best by her fury. “You once told me that your little human friends were strong, capable warriors,” he drawled, “Seeing them here now, I’m almost inclined to believe you. We could have made them better of course…” He paused when someone - Annette, it sounded like - screamed in fear and pain. A wicked smirk stretched across his face. “But alas… Nothing will remain after today.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Edelgard growled, readying her axe, “Nothing will be left, but of this wicked place! Of you and your miserable people!”

“Put that thing down, girl,” Thales warned, “Don’t forget who made it for you.”

“And now I’m going to prove how great a mistake that was!” She surged forward, letting out a fierce war cry as she swung Aymr back.

Thales merely raised one hand, and she collided with a solid forcefield of energy before she could so much as touch him. The resulting blast sent her flying, Aymr landing further away with a clatter.

“Do you realize what you could have been had you stayed with us?” Thales demanded as he stalked toward her. Before she could pick herself up, he struck her with another shockwave, sending her careening away.

“You could have been the greatest Emperor Fodlan has ever seen!” Thales declared. Another wave of his hand, and she felt some unseen energy pluck her up into the air, only to hurl her into a nearby pillar.

“You could have been a legend!” Another wave, and this time she was thrown into the far wall with a sickening crunch.  

“You could have been a god!” He pitched her high this time, slamming her up onto a platform elevated above most of the fight. Her body crumpled to the floor of the platform. She struggled to get her breath back, struggled to shake the spots from her eyes.

Thales appeared beside her out of thin air, and grabbed her by the throat. He hoisted her up so she could see below them, at all of her forces currently being just as trounced as herself. “But you can still be something,” he hissed into her ear, his slimy voice sending shivers down her spine, “Once this is all over, we’ll rebuild you. Fix the flaws we missed the first time. Yes… Perhaps grant you a third Crest… Mend that meddlesome mind of yours so that you’ll obey… You might have to be replaced, of course, but your contributions to the Empire will still be highly valued.”

Edelgard struggled against his hold, but no matter how hard she kicked and thrashed she couldn’t escape. Memories began to flood her mind, and suddenly she was twelve again, fighting against this same hold to no avail while her family died around her.

But then Thales let out a pained shout, and released his hold on her as if he had just been burned. Or shot.

“Y…you leave her alone!”

She looked up from where she was on the floor, only for her heart to seize in panic. Bernadetta, bless her, was standing a few feet away, aiming a nocked arrow at the Agarthan’s head. She was trembling from head to toe and was pale as a ghost but she still stood, staring down the most dangerous man on the continent.

Thales reached behind his back and tugged the arrow from his shoulder blade with only a small wince. “And what are you going to do?” he sneered as he stalked toward the terrified archer.

“What are you going to do?” Uncle Volkhard - no, he wasn’t her uncle anymore - let go of her neck and allowed her to fall to the floor, his attention now turned entirely to one of her older sisters.

Before her sister could respond, he struck her, hard, with such a force it knocked her to the ground, her bold, defensive stance rendered utterly useless.

“Take that one next,” her not-Uncle growled at one of the mages, and they hauled her beloved sister away before she could do or say anything about it.

They threw the corpse back into the cell a few hours later.

“No…” she breathed. She pushed herself up as far as she could, only sitting, really. A violent cough sputtered up from her lungs, bring a good portion of blood with it. And the pain that shot through her side told her she likely had a couple broken ribs. And even if she could stand, Aymr was down on the lower level and all she had left on her was a dagger.

She was once more that helpless little girl in a dungeon, unable to so much as protect her siblings the way they tried to protect her. Thales was going to kill Bernadetta, and all she could do was watch.

But then a low growl escaped her throat. One that wasn’t human.

Amidst the panic seizing her heart, she felt a fire growing. One that quickly became a raging inferno, boiling her blood and searing her skin from the inside out. This time she didn’t fight it, didn’t try to stop it, and it came naturally. Her bones split and stretched into something that almost felt normal, her skin ripped apart and hardened into charred leather and scales and for the first time since they got to Shambala she felt safe. She flexed wings she didn’t have seconds ago, swished a tail that hadn’t existed.

She was nothing but claws and fangs and dark magic and righteous, protective fury.

Thales prepared to crush this trembling little human like the bug she was, but suddenly a massive hand grabbed him, claws narrowly missing anything important.

Bernadetta watched as the Hegemon yanked Thales away from her, and her paralyzed eyes met those sinister red ones of the monster before her. The creature offered only one word, one that would ensure the archer’s survival: “Run.”

And so Bernie did.

Thales chuckled from her hand. “So the rumours were true,” he laughed, “You did produce the anomaly. Oh…my wondrous weapon!”

Edelgard slammed him against the wall, squeezing until she could hear his bones breaking. “I’m going to enjoy this.” Her voice came out rumbling, distorted, every bit as menacing as she felt. But he was squirming, and for once she did not care how much blood she was about to have on her hands.

“Yes…yes…” Thales gasped, “Such power… Never…never forget…who gave it to you!”

Something inside her stirred. Her head swam in emotion, all her tightly bottled anger and resentment being released and feeding her actions. She couldn’t contain the twisted grin that spread across her face. Finally. Finally. She’ll have her revenge for what he did to her. For what he did to her family. And what better irony - to be killed by the very monster he helped design?

But then another scream pierced through the vindictive clouds in her head. Suddenly the roaring thoughts of crushing Thales, of tearing him apart and bathing in his blood, were overcome by the sounds of the battle around them. Shaken by the shift in her mind, she dropped Thales, turning to observe below them.

The Eagles - her friends - were losing. Mercedes was administering a healing spell to Annette as Ingrid and Marianne fought off a monster trying to reach them. Hubert and Dorothea were doing what they could against the mages, but were clearly outmatched. Ferdinand, Petra, and Caspar had been pinned between two massive Titanus. Lysithea and Linhardt were both taking cover, trying desperately to heal each other. Ashe had found Bernadetta and the pair were attempting to provide cover but there were too many enemies. And Byleth…

She watched as Byleth charged at a particularly large Beast, managing to sink her sword deep into its throat only to have the blade be stuck there. The Beast went unfazed by the weapon and batted her away. It then ran at her, teeth bared and waiting for blood.

“You’re still…going to lose,” Thales taunted as he struggled to his feet, “Kill me now, girl, and you’ll still lose.”

Her jaw set, her mind made up. With a swish of her tail, she swatted Thales away like the insect that he was. She then leapt over the ledge and entered the fray.

Byleth braced herself for the Beast to bear down on her, waiting for its teeth to pierce her armour. But then there was a loud crash, the ground shook underneath her, and the Beast charging her was slammed away by another, more familiar Beast.

“El!” Byleth shouted in alarm, suddenly more worried about how and why Edelgard had once again transformed into the Hegemon Husk.  

Edelgard killed the enemy Beast with one swing of her claws. “It’s alright, my Teacher,” she said in a voice that did little to comfort Byleth at that moment, “I am in control this time.”  

Her red eyes then locked onto the golem about to crush Caspar under its foot. “Call the others back into one group. We must take our enemies as a unit.” She then surged forward, throwing the golem away as if it were a mere toy.

Byleth shook her head, snapping out of her stupor, and raised her sword to rally allies near her together.

Ashe and Bernadetta ran up to meet her, both helping Lysithea and Linhardt limp forward. “Is that…Edelgard?” Ashe asked, his face pale as he watched the mutated Emperor fight against the golem.

“She did it again?” Lysithea demanded, “Is she crazy?”

“She…she did it to save me,” Bernie stammered, shrinking in on herself as she spoke, “Oh gosh… I…I hope she doesn’t get stuck like that b…because of me.”

“It’s ok,” Byleth assured them, “I think El’s got this under control.” There was a loud bang and a flash of blue-green light as the Titanus exploded under Edelgard’s dark magic.  

“I certainly like our odds,” Ferdinand said as he and the others joined them.

“I’ll say! Did you see how she just smacked that thing away!” Caspar exclaimed, “Saved my ass for sure! I owe her one!"

“What’s the plan now?” Dorothea asked as mages and soldiers began to flank them.

“We fight, and win,” Hubert declared, reading magic in his palms, “For her Majesty!”

There was a low rumble, and cracks of dark magic surged through the ground under the enemy’s feet. Spikes erupted from the openings, decimating the group. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hubert,” a demonic voice said behind them, though the smirk was unmistakable even with the distortion.

As the Eagles regrouped, so did the Agarthans, surrounding them with groups of soldiers and mages. More Demonic Beasts burst from the shadows and charged. Archers lined up from the ramparts high above. A final Titanus exploded through the wall behind Thales’ throne, sword glowing and ready for blood.

“Ashe, Bernadetta: take the archers!” Byleth commanded, “Ingrid, cover Ferdinand, Petra, and Caspar as they take the soldiers. Mercedes, stay with them in case they’ll need healing.”

“Hubert, Dorothea, and Lysithea: mages. Marianne, you, Byleth, and Annette take on the Beasts. Linhardt, stay with them.” The Titanus slammed its sword into the ground, resulting in a wave of molten rock and fire to surge out toward them. Edelgard held out one hand, and a shield of purple energy stopped the wave before it could reach them. “The big one is mine.”

With everyone good with their tasks, the Black Eagle Strike Force moved out in one formidable unit. When one hit, another was there to hit again. If someone had their back turned, someone else was there with a shield. Magic and arrows flew true and swords and axes hit with strength and accuracy. United, they were unstoppable.

The Titanus fell to Edelgard’s claws and she turned to find the battle over. Those Agarthans left alive were fleeing, and all the major threats were dead. She couldn’t stop the small smile that broke through the scales on her face.

As the Black Eagles gathered together to celebrate, wicked laughter echoed through the city remains. Edelgard whipped around and let out an involuntary snarl when she spotted Thales, clearly too injured to fight, kneeling on what was left of the dais.

“You…will never enjoy your victory,” he declared through heavy breaths. His cold eyes met Edelgard’s one final time as the floor underneath him lit up in archaic runes. “For all Agarthans.”

The entire city began to vibrate. Dust and rocks were shaken loose from the ceiling. Linhardt, who recognized the runes, gasped in alarm. “No, it can’t be!”

Suddenly the entire ceiling was ripped open with a massive bang, rocks and debris raining down around them. Now that they could see the darkening sky, it became clear what Thales had done. A bright light appeared in the sky, almost like a star. But then it grew brighter, and brighter. Purple circles appeared as a giant column leading the light down to the ground. More lights appeared in the sky.

“That idiot isn’t that crazy, right?” Lysithea demanded in a panic.

“Head for the exit!” Byleth shouted, “Now!” She turned to El, who was still staring at the sky. She didn’t like how the Hegemon’s wings twitched in anticipation. “El, let’s go!”

Edelgard turned, just a little, so she could see Byleth. Magic began to form around the skeletal wings on her back, filling them in to resemble something more like an eagle’s. Something that could actually fly. “I’m sorry, Byleth,” she said softly, nodding to her family, “I won’t let him do it again.”

And with that, and a mighty flap of her wings, she was off and into the sky.

“No! El!” Byleth screamed as she watched her love go. She wasn’t the only one, as the others from the team all had similar sentiments.

Edelgard stared down the first Javelin, magic and fire dancing down her long arms and collecting in her hands. Once enough energy had charged, she released the powerful blast. The moment it connected with the tip of the Javelin, the entire thing exploded in a massive, brilliant fireball.

Another column of circles formed nearby, and she quickly swooped into that path to take out the next one.

And the next.

Her position was too awkward to catch the one after, and she was forced to watch it strike the opening of Shambala and hope she had bought everyone some time to escape. Another column formed, and she snapped out of her worry and intercepted that Javelin.

Byleth could only watch in horror. Edelgard seemed to be doing fine, but the few Javelins that slipped past her were really starting to bring the city down. Thales had been lost in the chaos, laughing like a maniac as the boulders from the ceiling caved in around him. It had been made abundantly clear just how destructive one Javelin was, and El was up there swooping directly into their paths to take them out, narrowly avoiding the infernos.

El managed to destroy one more Javelin, and what seemed like the last one. And for a brief second, there was a moment of respite where it felt like she could breathe. Like Byleth could breath. Edelgard spotted her down below in the rubble, and the universe stopped. Just for them. It was over, they both survived. Things could finally…

Byleth saw it first. That flash of light, the circles… She shouted for El, hoping she’d see it in time. Edelgard whipped around, only having enough time to see the gold tip of the Javelin before it struck her directly.

The explosion rocked the city now exposed to the elements. A chorus of screams and gasps was overpowered by the loud boom. Rocks and dust blocked out the sky, fire rained down upon them, forcing them to take cover.

As the dust settled, Byleth shot to her feet, shoving aside rocks and debris as she began a frantic search. “El!” she called out, hoping - praying. Yes, she just watched the woman she loved more than anything take a direct hit from a Javelin of Light but the Hegemon was virtually indestructible and Edelgard was even stronger than that. She had to have survived. She just…she had to.

She pushed a large boulder out of the way, revealing what was left of Thales’ corpse, half-buried under the rubble of the civilization he was once so proud of. A maniacal grin still smeared across his face. Byleth clenched her fists tight, so tight her fingernails dug into her palms. After all that, after every life he destroyed, he goes out like that? Crushed by some rocks moved by his own hand?

She spun away, feeling her anger beginning to reach a boiling point, and that’s when she spotted her. That red cape, so easily seen through the dust.

Byleth raced to her side, falling to her knees and carefully scooping the Emperor up into her arms. She felt so…fragile, now. And cold, despite the burns on her body. But, despite her injuries, her chest still rose and fell.

“El…” Byleth uttered, resting her forehead against her beloved. “It’s over.”

Slowly, lilac eyes fluttered open. A faint smile danced across Edelgard’s lips. “My Love,” she whispered, “We won.”

“We did, El,” Byleth replied, feeling tears on her cheek and not caring in the slightest. She heard the other Eagles shouting. She spotted Dorothea all but dragging Linhardt toward them. “Just hang on, a little longer. And I swear to you will have that day where we do nothing at all - just lounging around and eating as many sweets as we can.”

A breathy chuckle escaped Edelgard’s chest, a violent cough following not long after. “I’ll…hold you to that…” she said weakly. Her eyes began to droop shut.

“Just hang on, El. Hang on…”

…

“The path we walk isn’t at its end yet.”

———

Enbarr in was at its best in the Garland Moon. It was warm, but it wasn’t yet so unbearably hot it almost made one wish for a Faerghus winter. All the trees had fully grown all their leaves, the first of the summer blooms were in full swing, and birds sang without a care in the world as they flew about the gardens. The sun sparkled off the water in the Palace fountains, warming the stone balconies and filling the rooms with soft yellow light. The air was fresh, with a touch of salt from the nearby sea.

Edelgard drew a deep breath in from where she stood on her balcony, wincing only slightly. Her ribcage was still fairly sore, but the fresh air was more than worth it after spending so much time trapped in her bed.

“El?” Byleth’s concerned tone came from inside, causing her to sigh lovingly at her wonderful fiancée.

“I’m out here!” she called, and Byleth was there in moments, not trying to hide her relief.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” Byleth scolded, though her playful smirk and tone gave her away.

Edelgard pouted, just a little. “I’d argue that the healing benefits of a pleasant, summer day were too good to pass up,” she countered, “Besides. I made it out here on my own, didn’t I? That should mean something.”

Byleth frowned a little, looking around the balcony for something. “That’s…right,” she said slowly, “How? You can’t really walk yet and we had to steal you cane after you kept sneaking down into the…” That’s when her eyes landed on the small hand axe El kept near the bed should an assassin ever try anything. The handle on it was just long enough. “…study.” She levelled the woman she loved a tired glance. “An axe, El?”

“I am nothing if not resourceful,” Edelgard stated in defence.

“Well, you won’t need it for this,” Byleth said as she pulled out on of the chairs at the little table on the balcony, holding a hand out to assist El over to it. Once she was seated, Byleth  returned to the room for a moment, and Edelgard could hear the sounds of tea being prepared. Sure enough, Byleth came back with a tray of tea and an assortment of various pastries and cakes.

“It’s not a mountain of sweets, not yet. Manuela says you still have to watch what you eat until your injuries are fully healed,” Byleth said, “But I just thought that… Well, this could be the first of many leisure days to come.”

“The first, huh?” Edelgard said with a small laugh, “Funny. I feel as though I’ve had nothing but leisure days since our return from Shambala.”

Byleth smiled as she poured their tea. “I’d like to point out that a coma isn’t exactly relaxing,” she teased, “Nor is lying in bed worrying about your Empire.”

“I wasn’t…always worrying…”

“I walked in on you at one point trying to will yourself into good health, El. You never stopped worrying.” She chuckled slightly at the thought. “But today felt like a good one for taking a break.”

Edelgard took a sip from her cup, breathing in the warm scent of bergamot and feeling it sooth the lingering rawness of her throat. “I suppose it is,” she said softly. She gently reached out and took Byleth’s hand in hers, brushing one finger over the gold and ruby ring she had given her beloved. Byleth did the same, admiring how her father’s ring looked on Edelgard’s slender hand.

“I really must thank you,” Edelgard said after a pause, eyes never leaving their intertwined hands, “I…don’t think I would be where I am now were it not for you.”

“El, I…”

“I’m not even talking about the war,” Edelgard admitted, “I… There was an incident, not long after the village where I became the Hegemon. In a moment of anger and frustration, I began to turn into it again. And I was so afraid to tell you because…” She drew a deep, long breath, clenching her free fist. “I’ve known I was a monster for a long time. I might not look it. Or sound like it. But what they did to me… It changed so many things. I couldn’t…I couldn’t let you see just how truly lost I was.

“But then in Shambala, when we fought together when I was… It felt just as natural as ever. Like I hadn’t changed who I was at all, despite being a giant, hideous creature.”

“The Hegemon isn’t hideous,” Byleth said quickly.

Edelgard laughed. “It’s alright, Byleth. I know what I looked like.” She frowned a little then, almost mournfully. “It’s still…disconcerting that such a creature dwells under my skin. But that was the second time it fully came out and all I wanted to do was keep you all safe… I don’t know if such a thing would have happened had it not been for you.”

Byleth offered her a comforting smile, squeezing her hand a little for added emphasis. “I’m always going to be here for you, El. We all will be,” she said, “And I wouldn’t be here without you, either.”

Edelgard returned the smile with a warm grin of her own. Her heart fluttered in her chest, overflowing with emotions she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. Watching Byleth now before her, trying and failing to daintily eat a pastry, only renewed the fire in her heart. Her friends were all safe. Her Empire and all of Fodlan was safe. Her family was safe.

And she knew what it truly meant to love again.

“Thank you again for this, Byleth.”

“You deserved something special. Happy Birthday, El.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded: Bonus

Just a little excerpt that belongs between parts 3 and 4.  It was originally supposed to be part 4, but it kinda ground to a halt and dried up so I scrapped it.  But it’s still a decent chunk of writing that explains a bit of what happened immediately after Scott passed out so while it’s not in the actual fic, I figured some people might be interested in it.  Not proof read or anything.

Grounded

Virgil could count the number of times he’d felt sheer, unadulterated terror on the fingers of one hand.  The avalanche that stole Mom, Gordon’s hydrofoil accident, Gordon again after the Calypso.

Scott’s unseeing eyes slowly closing as he stopped fighting the spider venom.

For a heartstopping moment he thought that was it.  Scott lay deathly still, so pale he was translucent, on the stretcher.  In the distance he could hear Thunderbird One, roaring to intercept them with the antivenom on board.  Alan had pushed their brother’s ‘bird to her limits to get it from a Chinese laboratory in time.

And he’d made it.  Scott was deathly still and translucent but crucially he was still breathing.  Virgil didn’t dare touch him in case he stopped.  He also didn’t dare look away for the same reason, not even when their comms crackled with John co-ordinating Kayo and Alan for the rendezvous.

“Thunderbird One is slaved to my control,” Kayo said.  “Come aboard, Alan.”

“F.A.B.”  Alan sounded nervous, not that Virgil couldn’t relate. Jumping out of a craft while it was still moving and affected by gravity was a terrifying experience he was quite content to leave to Scott.  The fact that Alan was going to do it carrying a syringe their brother’s life depended upon just added another factor to be conscious of.

The dorsal access hatch opened, sliding smoothly to the side.  If Virgil could bring himself to look away from Scott, he knew he’d be looking up at the underbelly of the silver Thunderbird.  Behind him there was a thunk of a grapple cable connecting with the floor. A few seconds later, there was a louder thud as boots landed.

“Here!”  Alan appeared by his elbow, syringe held out in offering. Snapping into action, Virgil grabbed it and in a smooth, practiced movement stuck it straight into Scott’s arm, just above the angry red welts that showed where he’d been bitten, standing out starkly against the too-pale skin.  Unlike Dr. Furnier, Scott didn’t immediately regain consciousness, but the medical scanner immediately reported that the venom levels in his blood were receding, and a moment later his blood pressure started to climb.

“Did it work?” Kayo asked from the co-pilot seat, where she was still racing both Thunderbirds towards Tracy Island.  They were still half an hour out, but the sense of urgency had lessened now.

“It worked,” Virgil assured her, watching Scott’s chest rise and fall.  Alan shuffled from foot to foot next to him and he put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against his side.  “The venom’s receding and his blood pressure’s recovering.”  She let out a relieved sigh.  “I still want to get him home as soon as possible,” he added. Scott had gained enough colour to look more alive and dead, but he was still far too pale, and until he regained conscious there was no way of telling if he’d regained sensation in his arm.

“F.A.B.,” Kayo agreed.  “Let me know if he wakes up.”  Virgil made an affirmative noise and turned to the hovering form of his older brother, watching them in silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled, John,” he apologised.  The ginger gave him a small smile.

“You panicked,” he shrugged. “It happens to the best of us, don’t worry about it.  I’m just glad we got the antivenom in time.  That was some good flying, Alan.”  Tucked under Virgil’s arm, Alan gave an embarrassed squirm.

“I couldn’t let Scott down,” he mumbled.

“And you didn’t,” Virgil assured him.  “You saved him, kiddo.”  He squeezed his shoulders before stepping the half-step forwards to the stretcher and his unconscious brother.  Carefully he shifted him back to lay on his back again, adjusting the loosened straps to fit more snugly around his brother but mindful of his ribs.

Barely an hour ago, those ribs had been his greatest concern after Scott had re-damaged them on the rescue. Now, they were almost an afterthought.

Beside him, Alan was fussing with the rebreather, making sure that it was still firmly attached and feeding Scott the oxygen he needed.  Virgil let him, instead looking at the drip still embedded in Scott’s arm.  It hadn’t quite been yanked out during the terrifying convulsions, but Scott still needed the contents of it so Virgil replaced the needle.  Scott had passed out for the first time when he’d inserted it, and there was no sign of stirring now.

“Shouldn’t he be waking up?” Alan asked quietly.  Virgil shook his head.

“His body needs time,” he explained.  “He’s been barely conscious since he was bitten.”  Virgil blamed the low blood pressure for that one, and wondered if the painkillers he’d taken shortly before, on the mission, had had something to do with it.

He should never have invited Scott along on the mission.  Grandma had agreed that despite him being grounded it would do them all some good if he got to sit in a Thunderbird for an easy mission; his inability to accept the Mechanic’s presence was grating on all of them.  None of them were entirely at ease around the man, and John had outright stated that he wasn’t stepping foot on the island for as long as he was present.  Considering John was the only one of them that hadn’t almost been killed at least once by the man, that spoke volumes.  Scott was the only one who had found himself trapped, however, and he and Grandma had made the decision to get him off the island, if only as passenger on a rescue.

Looking at Scott now, unconscious and set back at least three weeks – if not the full five – on his healing, Virgil regretted that decision.  He’d take the full force of an infuriating big brother on the last fraying strands of his temper rather than find himself in this situation ever again.

Scott remained unconscious for the entire journey home, and Virgil never left his side.  Not when Alan begged John to remote pilot One home so he could stay on Two with Scott, and not when Tracy Island loomed ahead of them and Kayo brought his ‘bird to land.  Detaching the stretcher from the wall so that it could hover was a manoeuvre he’d done many times, but whenever it was a brother he always wished he didn’t have to.

The last time Scott had travelled home injured in Thunderbird Two, he’d limped out under his own steam, albeit leaning heavily on Virgil because his painkillers were long worn off. Virgil had been furious and guilty back then in equal measures.  Now he was just guilty, and Scott probably couldn’t walk even if he’d been awake.

Grandma and Gordon were standing in the hangar, waiting with pale faces as they left the ship.

“Oh, Scott,” Grandma breathed as soon as she could approach, pressing her hand to his cheek.  “So much for a simple rescue.”

[cannibal-wings]

👀

Send a 👀 and I’ll share a piece of a WIP! Content warning: Blood, body horror, transformation, mild gore. From the Outlast Wing AU I’m writing:

Miles tossed and turned that whole night. He couldn’t get comfortable, his whole body felt tight, hot, and itchy. Like it was too small and yet bursting at the seams. His back burned each time he rolled over on it and his chest muscles flared up in pain every time he tried to take a breath deeper than a shallow gasp.

He was dragged awake several times by the sensation of rolling muscles, of his back splitting down the middle, but each time his hand flew to it he felt nothing but sweaty skin. He moaned low and groaned as he shifted again in the uncomfortable bed.

Miles wasn’t stupid. They injected him with the same solution that mutated and twisted the other people in the cells around him. It wasn’t a question of if he would meet the same fate, but when and into what? Desperately he wished that it would just happen already, waiting was nearly as excruciating as the pain. He also wished he could take that previous wish back.

The night dragged on, and sometime near dawn a trigger point was reached. Miles shot straight up and gasped for air that hurt to take in. He curled forward; his forehead pressed against his legs. “Holy shit,” was all he said through clenched teeth. Then it happened, his body began to twist and contort like someone was pulling him in different directions.

He tried to get out of the bed but his limbs didn’t want to move in the ways his mind was telling them to. Instead, half tangled in a thin blanket, he fell onto the cold concrete floor. He curled up and gasped as it felt like his spine was unlocking, the muscles shifting under his skin. It wasn’t so bad, he thought, until the skin started to split. Then he screamed.

Through the haze of pain, he could hear one of the guards say, “Someone wake Annapurna up, we got another one.” A pause, then, “Yeah, the new guy, cell nine o’ four. Hurry up, and tell him to bring a bucket or two.” He heard footsteps moving away and then he couldn’t hear anything because someone was screaming.

Miles rolled onto his stomach and dry heaved. There was nothing in his guts to throw up and even they felt like they were twisted into knots. He reached to his back and his hand came away slick with blood. He placed it on the ground, palm down and attempted to push himself up, but the movement only triggered another round of spasms that left him flopping on the floor like a beached fish.

There was more movement from the hall, through the darkness he could see three people now standing by his cell door. They were blurry, his eyes weren’t able to focus on anything through the tears. One of them entered his cell after the door was opened. He dropped two buckets nearby and knelt down. He couldn’t feel the hand on his shoulder, he couldn’t even feel that he had a shoulder. He looked up at a face he couldn’t see, the figure was backlit from the light of the hall and his face was shrouded in darkness. “It’s only just started,” the figure said, the voice was masculine in sound. “It’ll be a while.”

Miles gasped out, “J-Just? What? Am I ok?” His words were slurred, he wasn’t sure if the other person even heard them.

Then there was a piece of fabric shoved roughly into his mouth. “Don’t try to talk, you’ll only bite your tongue off.” Miles could feel it be tied behind his head. “Buckle up kid, you’re in for a rough few hours.” The hand returned to his shoulder in what must have been meant to be a comforting gesture.

David Annapurna had seen many transformations during his time at Mount Massive. Some were while he worked for Murkoff first as an orderly and then as a nurse. Most were seen while he was a patient. One he got to witness in person. The hand he rested on the shoulder of the man beside him was rough and covered in scales. His other hand consisted of two fingers and a thumb, it was all he had left after the arm was mutated into a wing. He kept the feathers clipped to maximize use of what remaining digits he had.

That remaining, mangled, hand gripped a pair of scissors and cut the shirt off of the man’s back. He was told that his name was Miles Usphur, he wasn’t sure that mattered, but it could be comforting to hear your name during the process. “Miles,” he said, “stay with me.”

The man only cried in response. His back arched, his head hung below his shoulders, while his body rippled like water on a once calm pond. David kept his hand where it was as the whole shoulder blade shifted under his touch, moving downward while new muscle uncoiled and snaked over it, shoving it down. Bones snapped and cracked audibly as the man screamed in agony. Miles continued to scream as another round of body shaking spasms overcame him. Then David watched as his back split open, the flesh parting like Red Sea. Blood poured down onto the floor and the man shrieked so loud David thought he might tear out his vocal cords from the effort.

One of the guards outside turned on the room light. David was quick to bark a command, “Turn it off! Their eyes are oversensitive during the process. Keep it off and stay out of the way.” Even though it was only on for a second, it was enough for David to catch the sight of two bald appendages that pushed up from either side of the spine. They were nearly white, new pale flesh that sat just behind a thin layer of connective tissue.

“What’s he turning into?” The guard asked from outside. His voice was uneven, this was likely the first time he had ever witnessed a transformation.

“Too early to tell,” David replied curtly. “Could be anything at this point,” but that wasn’t entirely true. He had seen more than his fair share of transformations, and he had a pretty good idea that the man was growing two more forelimbs. And unless this was a backdated serum, the limbs wouldn’t be human, they wouldn’t be for walking either. They were probably wings.

Murkoff had been spending a lot of money and dumping ridiculous amounts of effort into the avian blends. He would know, he was one of the first lines. But there was a chance they were trying for mammalian wings, like a bat, something that might blend better with the human base. Like he said, it was a little too early to tell.

Miles was still screaming as his back jerked up then fell down. Like a pulse. With each one he could feel something give way, break free. Like he was giving birth through his back. He slammed a hand on the ground and squeezed his eyes shut tight. Something snapped, a thick wet sound, and his vision went white from the searing pain. The more his body contracted and expanded the more whatever it was was heaved from his back. He could feel his skin peel away like a banana. He tipped and fell to his side, the figure beside him moved out of the way slightly as something plopped onto the floor. Miles hoped it was his organs and that he would be granted the peace of death. The funny thing was, that through all the pain and terror, whatever it was that fell upon the floor felt the cold concrete.

David was now certain that the limbs he saw crawling out of Miles Upshur’s body were avian wings. They were bald, the pin feathers wouldn’t sprout for another hour, but he recognized the naked form anywhere. The first wing had already fully emerged, it sat limp on the floor in front of him. It was slick with blood and tissue. The second one was still inching its way out of Miles’ body. He continued to whimper and cry with each painful roll of muscle and snap of bone.

Very gently he pushed the man’s black hair out of his sweat coated face. “You’re doing fine,” he said, “you’ll survive this, you’re stronger than the others, I can tell.” Unfocused eyes tipped up to meet his. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ve got you.” David was never sure if his words ever really reached the others, but he hoped they did. He hoped they provided some comfort to them during this phase.

Blood continued to leak out of the gaping space between wings. The skin was torn and open muscle laid bare. The second wing was now mostly outside of the body. David used his good hand to give it a sharp tug. Something popped into place and Miles screamed and heaved.

The guard at the door yelled, “Hey! Are you supposed to do that?”

“The wing has to be outside the body before I can begin to stitch and clean him up. It was mostly out; I was just helping it along. Think of it like pulling a calf out during that final push.”

Miles had fallen deathly still and silent. “Is-Is he dead?”

“No,” David said and slapped a towel into one of the buckets. “Just exhausted. He probably passed out from the pain. I haven’t lost a patient yet, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Yeah, because Murkoff wouldn’t hesitate to put you down for losing-”

“They pay a lot of money for these trials. But there’s more invested in me,” David said calmly and began to apply pressure to the open fissure that was Miles’ back. “There’s a reason you’re instructed to call me and not the doctors.”

“I thought that was because you’re all animals. Beasts.”

“It’s because I’ve seen more completed transformation processes than everyone here combined and provided aftercare to eighty percent of them. They call for me because they know the trial will survive with me watching over it.” He produced a thick thread and needle from a bag by his side. “It also helps that I’m one of them, when they wake up and see me, its comforting.”

David made a cooing sound deep in his throat. “Lucky for him he’s Avian. My specialty.”

[reynesofcastamere]

Distorted Supernova

(A/N: For context, this is set about a year or so prior to the previous installments in this series. Also, the readmore is going directly under my notes this time. Just to be safe. Warnings for bad partner/BDSM etiquette, biting, blood, orgasm denial, and some autoerotic asphyxiation. Not Safe For Work. Mando’a translations are marked with [ ]. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka’s nails scrabble desperately against the headboard, seeking a better grip while Maul- “Ah!” Sharp pressure on the pulsing bud between her thighs. He’s never been shy about sinking his teeth into every possible inch of her body, or pushing the boundaries of her endurance to the point where pain and pleasure blur. Her moans rise and crest, trailing off into a hiss when he grinds the slippery nub between his incisors. He hasn’t broken the skin, but it’s still just a bit too much.  She’s trembling as he eases up gradually, the long swipes of his tongue soothing one ache and inflaming another. If he could just keep doing that...But no, he’s withdrawing again, licking the traces of her from his lips as he surveys his ‘handiwork’. The long expanse of skin between collarbone and lower thighs bears a liberal scattering of bruises and bites, flush with desire and exertion while her breath comes in ragged gasps. Ahsoka has no idea how long she’s been kept on the edge, completion just out of reach. And the Force...There is no separation here, no sharp divide between Dark and Light. Only energy, freezing and sparking all at once. Ahsoka can feel his hunger as if it is a monster from one of the stories that the younglings used to tell each other, something that could swallow her whole in one gulp. Maul certainly looks the part, white teeth stark against darkly-patterned skin, auric eyes glowing in the dim light. It is in a near-haze that she watches him shift and lower his mouth to hers, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders as if moving through water instead of air. She tastes herself on him while their tongues duel and twine, humming as he growls, her fingers raking down his back. Her hips cant slightly, seeking friction that he quickly denies her, and she tears herself viciously away from their kiss to scowl up at him.  “What kind of game are you playing?” And it is a game. She is in his room, his bed for the first time since this whole...affair started. On top of that, he’s deliberately drawing things out when his usual method is to have her coming hard, fast, and as many times as possible. As if, in some corner of his twisted mind, it is both a punishment for not remaining at his side and a reminder of what he does to her. Which right now consists of smirking and a decidedly-pleased gleam in his eyes. “I had wondered when your much-vaunted patience would finally reach its’ limit.” Maul chuckles, not even having the decency to be startled when she flips them over, glaring intensely. The smug bastard actually purrs when she pins his hands down. Of course he’d enjoy working her into a state of half-maddened arousal and refuse to let her climax until she gives him what he wants. These emotions give him power over her, after all. “I can still leave at any time.” Ahsoka warns sharply. It’s the most effective threat she can utilize against him right now. “You need this more than I do. Now finish what you started.” She gives his wrists a sharp squeeze before letting go, making him watch as she sits back, bracing herself with one hand; the other spreading her core open and slipping two fingers inside. “Or I will.” Groaning through clenched teeth, eyes fluttering shut. Her sex is drenched, sensitive, and aching. So much so that she gets caught up in the sensation of touching herself, of finally getting the relief so desperately sought-after. “You are learning.” Oh Maker, she hadn’t even noticed- His breath against her already-molten cunt was like adding illerium to a bonfire. Then his tongue slips inside and his thumb is giving just the right amount of pressure on her nub to-Ahsoka Tano screams, body twitching and thrashing beyond her means to control it. She careens from one sensation to the next, any small movement within herself seeming to trigger another wave of pleasure-pain-pleasure-more until, after a small eternity, it finally ebbs.  Her eyes open, breath shaking as she carefully withdraws her fingers and re-adjusts her position. This time, she does feel her sometimes-lover move underneath her, until she is once again straddling his hips. Maul looks...approving. As if her actions had brought her another step closer to the Dark, to being ‘his’. Never. He can keep trying to drag her very being into the deepest pits imaginable. Ahsoka will still fight her way out, every time.  The double-beep of her wrist-comm interrupts these thoughts, moving as quickly as she can to retrieve it from the nightstand and kneel on the edge of the bed. “Receiving.”

“This is Dash. See any sharks where you’re fishing?” Asks a female voice with a rounded Mid Rim accent.  “There’s a fin in the water, but it’s far off. Sea’s calm and the skies are clear. How about you?” Ahsoka verifies after performing the mandatory checks. She can’t afford to take her current location or whatever signal-scrambling tech the Shadow Collective might have in place for granted. Not when so much is on the line. “Weather’s fine where I am.” There’s a brief pause, but it’s enough for Maul to insinuate himself behind her. Before she can even think to ask what he’s doing, she’s being dragged backwards into his lap and-He’s filling her in one stroke, cold metal pressing against her rear and the back of her thighs. “There’s a situation on Corellia.” Maul’s right hand is already around her throat, his left arm keeping her arms bent and pinned to her chest. Of all the-! She mutes the comm still in her hands. “Stop.” Ahsoka instructs in a low hiss, suppressing a moan when she feels him start moving. The first penetration usually takes a bit of...adjustment for them both. Right now he barely has to put any strength into his thrusts to reach her deepest point. 

“No.” He snarls in response, cutting off her air for a few moments before relaxing his grip again.. “I have to take this!” “Then I suggest you do so quickly.” “I’m not going to let you-”  “Having signal problems? Please respond.” Oh, kark it all. She has seconds to make a decision and her options are limited. Either 1) she has Dash call back later, and risk the unknown situation getting worse. 2) Fight Maul to a standstill and then continue the call, which will not be easy or quick to accomplish, or. 3) Be extremely unprofessional, let him...take her, and hope that she can get all the pertinent details without the agent on the other end of the line figuring out what is going on. With a shaky exhale, Ahsoka turns off the mute function. “Just a brief patch of interference. What kind of situation?” How. Just. How in the name of the Mortis gods is she getting aroused? He’s only circling his hips right now, barely stirring up her insides, fingers applying enough intermittent pressure on the sides of her neck to slow the flow of blood to her brain. Her body should be rejecting every part of this, but instead her core is trying to pull him in deeper. “The kind that requires an extraction and some smash-and-grab.” Dash replies. “There’s a team assembling on Devaron. How soon can you be there?” Ahsoka has to bite down on her lower lip to silence a moan, running the calculations in her head. “Just under a week in hyperspace. Five days if I can swap for a better ship.” She might even be able to do it without selling a limb. Provided she doesn’t kill Maul after this.  Dash hums as she thinks it over. “Not great, but it’ll have to do. How’s your condition? Heard you got sent to deal with the Broker again.” Oh, Sithspawn. Ahsoka is going to have to speak very carefully if she doesn’t want the agent on the other end of the line to wind up dead. Or worse. Most of the people she works with most closely might not know exactly who ‘the Broker’ is, but they don’t have...a great opinion of Maul. For various and completely justified reasons. One of which is that Fulcrum comes back from their meetings generally looking like someone dragged her through a field of salt crystals on Crait. Bacta patches and the Force can only do so much.  Ahsoka doesn’t know for certain if the Rebellion has figured out the exact level of their...involvement by now. Of course, she could have avoided that particular complication by not sleeping with him in the first place, but it’s too late for that. “I’m-” He cuts off her air temporarily again, biting hard just underneath her jaw. She hisses, feeling the blood well up and be laved away just as quickly. “-fine.” The grip relaxes, though she can feel him starting to pick up the pace. “I need coordinates and details for the mission.” “Sure thing. Just, look, I know we need all the help we can get, but maybe you should take backup next time. Or assign someone else to him for a bit. Can’t outrun Imps if you’ve basically gone five rounds with a Wookiee.” Maul goes deathly still as the Dark Side surges. In a fit of desperation, she angles her head to kiss him, hoping that his need will outweigh any thoughts of murder and/or dismemberment. Ahsoka can only give half her attention to the numbers and facts being listed off, because he is utterly determined to possess her mouth like it’s the only thing keeping him alive right now. Eventually, she manages to pull back. “That’s everything. Any questions?” Dash asks, forcing her fellow intelligence operative to internally review what she’d heard and made certain it was correct. “No. Everything is affirmative. Fulcrum out.” The second she cuts the call, he pulls out, only to flip and turn her onto her back. Maul enters her ruthlessly this time, muffling her cry with his mouth. It’s this desperate clash of tongue and teeth interspersed with broken gasps as her limbs wind around his body, fingers clawing at his shoulderblades. Then suddenly her lips are skimming the side of his neck and biting down as he hammers into a spot that makes her arch in sheer, carnal rapture. He roars like a ravening beast as his blood fills her mouth. fisting his hands in the sheets near her hips. “Ner darasuum cuyan. [My eternal survivour]” He breathes. While she does not understand the words, Maul’s tone borders on...On worship, and his eyes- Climax overwhelms her, sudden and bordering on agony as he follows and they’re howling like Sriluurian dark wolves in the enclosed space... Ahsoka comes back to herself with Maul’s head resting in the valley between her breasts. Gripping some of his posterior horns, she forces him to meet her hard gaze. “Do not. Ever. Do that again.” She holds her grip and her stare long enough to make certain he understands that this is one of the boundaries that he cannot ignore or abuse at a whim. If he crosses the line again, she will leave or make him wish he’d never touched her in the first place. Possibly both. “As you command, Lady Tano.” Maul acquiesces as he pulls out of her, but otherwise continues to stay in the position of being a very odd blanket once she releases him. “I was not aware that your Alliance considers you so weak as to need protection from me.” He remarks in an offhanded fashion, nose scrunching in slight distaste.  She gives a long, exasperated sigh. “It’s not like that.” “Explain.” He counters, head slightly tilted and brow raised. “Very few people know that I’m meeting with you. Or what our actual history is.” This day is now officially bizarre, even by her standards. “They see me going off to bargain with a shady underworld contact and coming back-most of the time- limping or covered in minor injuries.” And this is where the explanation might get tricky. “So the general consensus is either that I’m letting you abuse me because I’m being ordered to...Or that you’re strong enough that I can’t stop it from happening.” Those who do know his identity think he’s been trying to murder her and failing at it for one reason or another, but that’s hardly an important detail. “Ridiculous. You would not have lived this long if these scratches-” His left thumb idly traces a mark on her ribcage.”-were enough to incapacitate you.” Which, coming from him, is...Almost sweet? In any case, she doesn’t have the time to ponder his mood. Ahsoka steals a brief kiss from him and carefully sits up. “Careful, that was almost an actual compliment. Think you can lend me a ride?” She teases, extracting herself out from under him to start the process of cleaning up and getting dressed. “I was mistaken. Clearly you are a terrified, delicate waif who wilts at the mere thought of my displeasure.” Maul deadpans, getting up to retrieve a disposable datapad and typing something into it, handing it to her before beginning to set himself to rights. “Give that to Kast. She should be in the hangar at this time.”  “Thank you.” They both finish up quickly, but before she can leave, he cups her jaw in one hand and presses their foreheads together. His eyes are hooded, but no less intense for it. “Oya, cuyan. Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni. [Stay alive, survivour. You’re no use to me dead] ”  “You know I don’t speak Mando’a.” “Then I shall keep my advantage until you learn, atin jetii [stubborn Jedi] .” He’s actually smiling for once as his hand drops and he lets her pass out of his private domain. Back into the light, where her duties wait.   (A/N: Good GRIEF this thing is a monster. X_X  Apologies for any butchering of Mando’a. Also, for context, ‘Oya’ is one of those words with multiple meanings, including ‘Let’s hunt!’, but is generally used as a cheer or encouragement. I simply went with the meaning that worked best for that particular line. And...ok, I probably DON’T need to clarify this, but I feel like I should? Since they’re using the Force to share some level of emotional and physical sensation, it doesn’t matter whether Maul has his original equipment, an attachable toy, or a prosthesis. So long as Ahsoka climaxes, he does too. Or at least, that’s how it works out in my writing. XD Anyway, hope you all enjoyed and cheers to everyone.)

[thepulta]

A/N: Written because I have nothing to do with my life except stare at the turtle tank that now inhabits my desk, play Sunless Sea, and write fanfic. Probably a sub-canon piece too because idk about Fitzroy willing his shit to the rest of the crew; I just made that up on the spot. Maybe we can assume it wasn’t a whole lot.

If anyone is reading the Westlie-Series who isn’t on the Pyrrhus already, this is about three weeks? after they left Port Prosper together. There was an Incident of Self Sacrifice on behalf of the captain because @nicktosaurus​ likes murdering beloved NPCs in dramatic and horrible ways. We had the chance to save him while running away from the Glorious even though they started shooting up the whole island while Fitzroy was getting surgery, Selmer fucked up his roll and Capt’n died. Cue horrified drama onboard the ship as we picked up Selmer and got the fuck out of there without even our dead Captain’s body. We also had like three days of fuel left. Aaand scene:

-=-

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Marion slammed the door to the engine room. Selmer hurried after her. Lizzie had already vanished. Elijah stood next to the stove, possibly making tea, but his hands were shaking; he grabbed a cup, put it on the counter, grabbed the kettle, put it back down, picked up the cup and filled it with water; poured the water out and filled up the kettle. Owen had already left, vanished.

No.

Westlie stepped into the hallway, holding out a hand to steady herself against the wall as she made her way to the map room.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no.

She stumbled inside, locked the door, and slid down to the ground, her back to the rest of the Pyrrhus. Everything was numb. Westlie opened her mouth, out of air. Was this what fainting felt like? She had to breathe. Breath, Westlie, breathe.

I can’t. She dug her fingers in her hair. I can’t breathe. I can’t feel anything.

Fitzroy is dead.

Her soul screamed in anguish.

No. No. This wasn’t real. This was a bad dream, a nightmare. She’d stared too long out the window. Selmer had stared too long out the window; he had to be wrong.

But there still wasn’t Fitzroy on the ship - sleeping or up and about. There was no careful, courteous gaze. No knock on the map room when she put a book away too loudly. The last time he’d been up and about - Westlie laughed bitterly through her tears - it was past midnight and he’d knocked briefly on the door, letting himself in to find her knee-deep in charts. Westlie remembered smiling when she looked over her shoulder, seeing it was him. She’d caught herself after in surprise; she’d never done that to anyone. Maybe Morgan. But he was welcome because he simply looked over her notes and pulled out another book. And that was bitter. Stars, it was bitter. She had so much to learn. She had so much to learn.

Westlie covered her mouth with her sleeve and screamed into it, shoulders shaking as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Fitzroy, what do I do? Tell me what to do. You’re the captain. What do I do?

Books. She always had books.

Westlie stumbled to her feet, drunkenly leaning on the bookshelf as she blinked her way through the tears. Charting, charting, charting, navigation; biology, maps, one of Fitzroy’s journals; she scrubbed her eyes. Some books on the Queen’s fleet, a small book on the Glorious - shame, they could have used that - charts, charts, charts, navigation, diagrams of engines, diagrams of boiler rooms. Bediveres, Altanis, Molochs, Parsivals, Miscllaneous Reclaimed engines. She pulled a few of the books off the shelf onto the ground. Please, please, please, please, please let there be something. Abnomalies, a study of gravity, propultion, engineering, boilers, repairs, navigation, navigation, navigation, Pellinores, Pellinores, Pellinores, engines, repairs. Westlie cried harder as she knelt in the chaos, scanning the last row of books. Repairs, repairs, the Glorious, a series of notes in Fitzroy’s handwriting titled “Cargo Purchase and Sale References”, Pellinores, shipyard references, exploration of the reach, dangerous encounters in the reach, history of the reach, old captains, old engines, dead engines, engine scavenge log. Nothing on crew and captains or reviving dead men.

She’d never felt so helpless.

There wasn’t a hole in her heart, she wasn’t lonely, it was a hole in her stomach that made her want to hurl until there was nothing left; an abomidable chimera of grief and fear. Westlie pounded the bookshelf, feeling the tears drop off her chin into her lap. She should have done something. Anything. Should have stayed behind with Selmer, should have fought the Glorious off. They could have found a better doctor. They should have saved him. Fitzroy deserved to be saved. He deserved to be alive. Westlie sobbed harder, sinking against the bookshelf. All of them had failed, and now Marion was without a father, Westlie was without a teacher, Owen was without a job, Selmer and Elijah were without a friend.

At some point her eyes ran out of tears and she still cried until they burned. She didn’t remember anything else except waking up in the pile of books, every bone in her body aching. There was only a soft fungal luminescence outside the window. The Pyrrhus was deathly quiet, the engine hushed like it too was mourning its Captain.

Oh they were almost out of fuel too.

Westlie hurt too much to feel anything. She stood, facing the desk, her body wanting to sit but immobile. Her eyes felt dead. Without thinking she turned around and unlocked the door, slipping into the open hallway. It was too open, she felt exposed, but too lethargic to care. She made her way to the cab room. All the readings were fine if a bit low. There was some comfort in checking the pressure gauge, something she could touch; something she had control over.

Westlie opened the door to the catwalk of the engine room and looked down. The engine itself hissed softly, the coal bin was almost empty. Marion was curled in her cot, Selmer and Lizzie nearby. Westlie watched them for a second, then shut the door again. She walked down the hall to the now-empty cargo hold. The beds where the tiny family slept were still up, otherwise it was empty. Down to the crew quarters. Her bed was empty in the corner. Owen and Elijah were on the opposite sides of the room. The first sleeping, Elijah awake and... doing something by candlelight. Westlie couldn’t quite see, nor did she care. She turned away without being seen, hesitating before Fitzroy’s cabin.

She hated herself for standing there, for just staring at the handle with her dead eyes and empty soul and finally, like a ghost was moving for her, opening the door and stepping in.

It looked like he left it. It looked like he would come back any moment. There was cold coffee on the desk from at least two days ago after their escape from New Winchester. Someone made the fucking bed. There were book out, his reading spectacles on the nightstand. Westlie felt the tears well up again her but it just made her eyes burn worse. There was blood on the floor by the bed. She should clean that. Later. Tomorrow. She stepped to the far side of the room, making a circle around the stain in respect for the dead, and picked up the book by his nightstand. “Captain’s Log: Nov 1903 - ____”

She couldn’t take it. Westlie bit her lip to keep from letting out a sob as she grabbed the book and fled, still carefully to keep her footsteps hushed and not let the door sound. She escaped back into the map room, locked the door again, and sank down like earlier. She hated herself for opening the book. She hated herself for skipping most of Fitzroy’s neat, precise scribbles and going all the way to the last few pages. They were shakey and succinct.

.

            Difficulty breathing from gunshot wound. Aid must be administered but our only chance is a homestead. Lustrum is too far; suggested course for Father Apollyon.

.

[Blood dotted the last entry from a coughing fit.]

              Set my will in order in case of surgery failure. Pyrrhus command will be passed to Westlie; I trust the crew to help her. Estate portions for the rest of them; Selmer might forgive me for my lack of trust when he can easily support his mother. Documents filed in letters for London. May I be remembered as a good man if I do not live.

.

Westlie set the book down and covered her face with her hands. Fitzroy you fool. Fitzroy you FOOL.

Why didn’t he pick Elijah? Elijah deserved it. Kind, loyal Elijah. She couldn’t see Selmer or Marion taking command, but Elijah would do alright. She could follow him. But her?

Westlie felt the overwhelming urge to cry for the fifth time that night; truly overwhelming because a few tears leaked down her cheeks despite her puffy eyes. She was new, quiet, incompetent, and hotheaded. The crew didn’t trust her- for fuck’s sake she’d lost the battle with Marion over that fucking smoke shell. And Marion ended up being right; if they’d fought the Glorious would they have come out in one piece? Westlie let out a bitter laugh. She might as well die with Fitzroy and pass it to someone else that way.

Why Fitzroy? You knew I wanted to be a navigator. You knew I was good at it. You must have figured I’d never be a good captain. My father is a monster. I’ve done horrible things. They’ll look to me for guidance and I have empty palms and a checkered past. You put me as First Mate because I was good at paperwork and good at numbers. I’m nobody’s friend. Not even Lizzie’s. Why would you let me lead?

Why did you let me come with you?

If Fitzroy was there in the room with her, Westlie would have punched him. Lost her temper, told him to fuck off and check his pipe for honey; she was incapable, she was absolutely not ready. He was her captain but he was wrong.

But he was her captain.

Westlie tossed the book onto the earlier pile by the bookshelf and curled against the wall. Damn him. Damn him for dying. Damn him for jumping in front of Selmer. Damn the Glorious. ... She had to listen didn’t she. That was his order. Not only his last order, but his dying wishes. Who could refuse that? She would just... have to be as much like Fitzroy as she could remember. Westlie laughed a little bitterly. Well she knew who not to be like; she could start there too.

It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. She was stupid. Stupid death, stupid timing, stupid her, stupid decision. The situation bared its full weight on her and she couldn’t even tell it to fuck off because she couldn’t muster the strength to be angry. She didn’t want to fight; she was tired of fighting. She’d gotten her hopes up and the world had put her in her place. She would always, always be alone. Westlie balled herself up tighter against the wall and cried herself to sleep a second time.