#how she almost cried telling her she had to leave the island. how badly she wanted to go home. how much she hated ben

[elizabeth-mitchells]

thinking about juliet burke again and feeling like this

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 15/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

CONTENT WARNING! This has the hunt which includes lost boys (kids) being killed and while it's brief, it's a dark scene. There's also some gore afterwards and violence (again against lost boys) referenced off-screen. If you're at all uncomfortable you can DM me and I can let you know which sections to avoid. I had a few people review it and tell me it's "dark but not too dark" but better safe than sorry. And hey, there’s also smut to make up for it. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘 and thank you @kmomof4 for being a fantastic beta for this chapter! 💕💕

*****

Part 15

She can still feel the burn of his kiss - her kiss - on her lips when the moon hangs high above the Jolly.  She’s been watching it, tracking its slow climb across the sky since she came out of the forest to find Will waiting on the shore - Wendy having taken the dinghy and leaving them stranded. Emma was almost relieved that she wasn’t there, that she didn’t have to explain why she was standing there alone, why Killian wasn’t with her. No matter how angry Wendy was at her Captain, she would have noticed. Will, on the other hand, was too fixated on the sea, on the ship rocking rhythmically against the waves to notice. But the way he watched it, as though it were miles away and not metres, betrayed what the longing in his eyes was really for. 

She’d suggested they swim, the ship not far and the water most likely clear of vindictive sirens. Mostly she’d just wanted to get that look off of his face, to stop feeling the guilt that accompanied it. They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. He didn’t put up an argument. Will only shrugged dismissively, looking back out to the ship and wading into the sea.

It’s been hours since then, hours of waiting and staring out at the dark water, searching for any movement in the dimly lit night. She can feel the cold breeze seeping through her thin shirt, chilling her skin and sending a tremor through her bones. But she can’t go below deck, can’t leave her spot by the railing. Not until she sees some sign, any sign that she didn’t just send him to his death to protect Henry. Henry, who's still out there, who’s waiting for her to come get him, who may already hear the Lost Boys’ cries. 

It’s late, the moon already growing dimmer against the lightening sky. Will had come up some time ago, only sparing her a passing look before finding a spot far enough away that they wouldn’t feel the need to speak. He’d gone straight below deck once they’d climbed out of the water, his small plea of ‘Wen, please’ carrying over to her in the silence. The nights are always so quiet here, the sea soundless against the ship, the wind not stirring in the trees. It’s wrong, and unnatural, this island not a place rooted in reality, the piercing wails of the children in the jungle starker against the silence, echoing over the sea. 

Emma casts a glance over at Will, leaning over the railing, looking out at the water rather than the beach, though she imagines he’s not really looking at anything at all, and wonders if he can hear them. He’s never said. Only that Wendy did. And now Killian is out there risking his life to make it up to her, to atone for the daughter he left behind by making sure she doesn’t lose the man who stayed by her side. Because of her. Because she begged Will to go, begged anyone to go and do what she couldn’t. 

Daylight begins its slow crawl over the night sky and still there’s no sign of Hook, no sign of Wendy since the forest. She doesn’t hear Will cross the deck until his arms fold over the railing beside hers, his shoulders tense as he leans heavily on them, his question leaving him in a heavy breath.

“He went, didn’t he?” 

Emma nods, fingers pressing into the soft wood beneath them. But he’s not looking at her so she lets out a small ‘yeah’ and watches his jaw clench, teeth pressed together as anger and relief war on his face. 

“Bastard.” 

“How far is the camp?” 

Will gives a small shrug. “It moves. But it can be found if you know what to look for.” When she doesn’t answer he finally turns his head, just a fraction and she feels his gaze from the corner of her eye as she goes back to watching the beach. “He’ll be back.” 

“How do you know?”

“The man’s bloody impossible to kill. Trust me,” he insists. “I’ve tried.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” 

He sighs when she doesn’t answer. “Pan doesn’t want him dead. He never has. He enjoys torturing him too much.”

“What if he changes his mind?” Especially if he catches him trying to meddle in whatever plan he has for Henry. 

“He could,” Will acknowledges. “But he expects Hook to try and stop him. It’s all part of the game.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“Everything is a game to him. Sometimes… I used to wonder if he even knew what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t. Not until…” The little girl he brought to Wendy. “He’s a child. Everything, this whole island, his hunts and his raids and his conquests, it’s all make believe, one big, never ending game.”  

Emma doesn't know which is scarier, the thought that Pan is a monster that murders and maims and torments without remorse, or that his acts of cruelty can be carried out without care, without any true understanding of consequence - for fun. How many times as a child did she play cops and robbers? How many times did she and the other children in homes sword fight with sticks and cardboard tubes, laughing while they ‘killed’ one another. Because it was all just make believe. 

Her thoughts are cut off by a slow roar of something in the trees, the dull, faraway sound carrying over the water. Will looks out at the sky, suddenly alert and she follows his gaze, the sun just breaking over the horizon. “It’s starting.” 

It’s shouting, she realizes, a low rumble of a battle cry making its way towards the beach. “The hunt?” 

“Aye.” The voice comes from behind them, Wendy having finally emerged from her cabin, staring out towards the shore. There’s a moment where she takes in Will standing beside her, frown pulling at her brow before relief softens it. But her gaze snaps back to the beach, eyes wide, brow marred again. “Where’s Killian?” The question is sharp, an order. But neither answer. She knows. Wendy rushes to the rail, looking frantically out over the water as though she could see him through the jungle. “Bastard.” 

It takes her a moment to school her features, to regain control of herself, hands still clenched into fists against the edge of the Jolly. But once she does, she slips back into the role of the fierce pirate captain Emma met that first night - the one that ended a deathmatch with a single word. “Ready the crew” she tells Will. “Be sure they’re prepared to take on the wounded. And no one,” she adds, tone commanding and almost frightening, “no one is to leave the ship. Is that understood?” The question is directed at her. 

“I-”

“If you go on that beach, you’re signing your death warrant. You’re to stay below deck,” she orders. “Understood?” 

“I’m not staying below deck if Henry comes out of that jungle,” Emma argues. 

“Killian is taking care of Henry. If Pan sees you you’ll be putting both of them at risk. You’ll stay below deck, Emma,” she repeats. “That’s an order.” 

“Let me help. I can -”

Before she can finish, she’s being lifted off her feet, a small nod from Wendy to Will, some unspoken command and suddenly she’s tossed over his shoulder and letting out a cry of protest as she’s carried below deck. 

“What the- Put me down!” she snaps, but Will and his stupid, freakish strength holds her steady, the arm across the back of her thighs vice-like. 

“I swear to god, you better not lick me again while you’re back there,” he warns. 

She gives a hard elbow to his ribs in retaliation, the small grunt he lets out immensely satisfying before she’s being dropped on her ass, the damp room one she doesn’t recognize, and a lock clicks into place. It takes her a second to register where she is. 

“You’re throwing me in the fucking brig?” she demands, fingers wrapping around the solid iron bars. “You can’t be serious.” 

“You're part of this crew. You don't follow orders, this is what happens,” Wendy tells her before heading back towards the deck. “You’ll be let out when it’s over.” 

“Maybe,” Will adds with a mirthful smirk that makes her wish he was close enough to hit again. But the door slams shut between them and she’s left alone with her outrage. 

The shouting is getting louder now, the sun climbing quickly - too quickly - into the sky. She can distinguish words now, cries of ‘get them’ breaking through the hollering and the cheering… and the screams. The first one she hears- sudden and sharp and cut off in an instant- sends her heart dropping into her stomach. She hardly has time to let the dread take over before another takes its place, this one worse, drawn out, fading into a whimper, small and heartbreaking and horrible. It’s followed by cries of victory. 

Reaching for the bars on the small window of her cell she hoists herself up onto the small bench, just able to look out if she holds her weight up, standing on barely touching tiptoes. She wishes she hadn’t. The beach is a bloodbath, bodies strewn out across the sand, dead, or soon to be. They’re too far for her to recognize any, but they’re all so small, narrow shoulders and lanky limbs. Any one of those bodies could be Henry. Every single one is a child. 

Emma nearly falls off the bench, barely managing to land on her feet as she doubles over, emptying her stomach on the floor of her cell. It doesn’t stop, the chaos on the beach echoing in the small room, screams, cheers of triumph, the slice of metal and the batter of arrows falling over one another until they all fade into the endless din of battle.

She can’t bring herself to look again, sitting with her back to the horror, hands over her ears as she tries to drown it all out, stuck and helpless to do anything about it. It’s not Henry. Henry’s not there. She needs to believe that Killian got to him in time, that he stopped him from being a part of it. Those aren’t his cries of pain she’s hearing. That’s not him celebrating. Henry’s not there. She repeats it, again and again, curled on the floor, trying to block out the horror. They were right. She wouldn't have been able to stay below deck- either above or below. She wouldn’t have been able to stay off the beach. 

It goes on for ages, growing in volume, the Lost Boys riled up more with every fallen victim. She could almost believe they were playing, were it not for the crying, the pleas for mercy. Then, almost as quickly as it started, the sounds begin to quiet. She hears a flurry of footsteps thundering onto the deck above her head, hears the muffled shout of Wendy ordering her crew to aid the survivors.

The mayhem on the beach finally settles, the slashing of swords and the cries dropping one by one until there’s silence. And then there are only hoots and hollers echoing across the shore - a celebration. Someone is congratulating them. She doesn’t have to guess who it is. She’ll recognize that twisted, childlike voice for the rest of her life. 

It’s over. It has to be. Please let it be over. There’s no more clash of swords, no more wails of pain and death and she can almost breathe again until she hears it. A single, sobbing whimper from the shore, a cry of “mama” that burrows itself deep, echoing through her. There’s another. And another. And it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse than the Lost Boys at night - children crying for their mothers.

She’s on her feet before she can think, yanking at the goddamn padlock on her door, clawing at it and shouting with rage when it doesn’t give. She doesn’t have anything to pick it with - no tools, no pins, not even a goddamn pen to break apart. Fucking pirates knowing better than to leave anything within reach that could help her break out. 

She pulls the heavy leather boot from her foot, the heel solid and adorned with metal. It’s flimsy and awkward but it’s all she’s got and she reaches, arm scrapped raw by the stripped bars as she tries to get any force behind the blow. Reaching for the padlock, the angle awkward, and hitting it again and again, she curses when she hits it hard enough to knock the boot out of her hand, fingers aching where they still connect with the iron.

But she doesn’t stop, not so long as she can hear the kids crying from the shore. She may not be their mother but she’s a mother and she’s getting to that fucking beach. She yanks off her other boot, trying again, hanging on so tightly this time that her knuckles go white. Emma’s not sure how long she tries, how many times she brings the heel down on the lock, her skin damp with sweat, her shirt bloodied where the bars scratched her. 

“Come on you stupid son of a bitch.” She’s tired, her arm aching, fingers bruised, but there’s a fury in her, a rage that builds until it feels like it will burst out of her. And then it does. She smashes the lock again, a spark of light flashing when it makes contact, bright enough that she has to shut her eyes. But when she opens them, the lock is on the ground, broken in two.

The cell swings open easily as she runs for the deck, yanking the door of the brig open only to crash into a figure on the other side. Fingers and metal wrap around her arms as she tries to push past him, shouting obscenities and shoving at him. But he doesn’t move, his grip tightening until she hisses, flinching, skin scratched raw beneath his hand and he lets go. 

“Swan.” The name is what snaps her out of her panic. Her name. The one only he calls her - the one he promised not to let her forget. She looks up at him, finally realizing that it’s him, that he’s there and alive. The blue of his eyes, sad and anxious, shines even in the dim light of the room. “It’s over.” 

She hears it then, the absence. There’s no more noise, no more screaming, no crying, the awfulness faded to nothing, the only sound the creaking of footsteps above them and her own ragged breathing. Her hands slide over his chest, pulling back enough to look for any sign he’s been hurt, that he didn’t come back in one piece. She searches his face, remembering the way she’d first found him, battered and bleeding, but those wounds are long healed, no new ones in their place and she sighs gratefully. 

“Henry?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t there. He’s safe.”

She nearly gives into the sobs that are trying to spill out of her, too full of anguish and fear and relief to keep them from overflowing. But her hands find the sides of his face, rising on her toes to capture his mouth with hers. She’s cried enough today - cried enough every day since she got to this stupid island, since she lost Henry to it. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Her tears serve no purpose. They won’t keep Henry safe - but Killian did. Killian kept him safe. 

He lets her kiss him, lets her slide her fingers into his hair, lets her seek his tongue with her own and keep him there with a death grip on his collar. But when she presses herself closer to him, seeking more of his heat to warm her frozen skin, more of him to fill the ache growing inside of her, he pulls back. He watches her carefully, searching for something, maybe remnants of the wine or that the events of the last hour haven’t completely destroyed her. 

But Emma sees it then, the same exhaustion she feels darkening his eyes, pulling at the lines of his brow. The mask of resilience and unflinching coolness in the face of everything that’s been thrown at them slips, and he lets her see the suffering she knows is reflected back at him. She doesn’t know how long he’s been on the ship, how much of the massacre he had to watch before he came to find her - how many times he’s had to watch it before, just as powerless as she’d been to stop it.

She opens her mouth to say something, to ask him those very questions, but his lips crash down over hers before she can get the words out. The force of it sends her stumbling back and he follows, kiss hard and demanding, the door slamming as he kicks it shut behind him, and he leads them both across the room until her back collides with the bars of the cell, knocking the wind out of her. He swallows the sound she makes, tongue sliding over her lip in apology before pushing its way into her mouth to taste whatever he can reach, whatever he can take. 

He kisses her with the same desperation she feels - for all of this to be finished, for the horrible feeling and memory that’s sunk its teeth in to be drowned out. She understands. She doesn’t want to talk either. This day - the last hour alone - all she wants is to forget it. Just for a little while she wants to forget every wretched thing about Neverland and lose herself in the one person who’s helped her survive it.

Emma shoves at the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor with a heavy sound. His lips find her neck as she reaches for his vest, fingers fumbling on the buttons when he works a mark into her collarbone and tugs her hair loose from its messy knot. Far more adept, even with only one hand, her borrowed vest is opened and tossed unceremoniously aside before she’s managed to undo all his fastenings, Killian pulling her shirt over her head almost frantically. 

She cries out when his mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet, tongue rolling over the hardened peak while his hand finds the other and he turns her into a panting, whimpering mess just like he’d promised to in the fae woods. When she hisses out a warning ‘Killian’, his lips start a path down the length of her stomach, dropping to his knees, shucking his vest and shirt. 

The look he tosses up at her, checking before his hook tugs at the laces of her stupid, inconvenient pants, sends heat burning in her stomach and wetness pooling between her thighs as he yanks the heavy fabric down her hips. Desperate, wrecked, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black, heavy-lidded and full of shameless want and dirty promises.

“Fuck.” Her hands find purchase in his hair, stumbling back, hardly stepped out of the leather before his mouth is on her, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing her against the bars once more. The rough iron scrapes at the bare skin of her back, but she doesn’t care, not with the way he’s sucking at her clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and growling into her skin when she bucks into his mouth. 

He presses his brace across her hips, holding her still as he eats into her, fucking her with his tongue and nothing about today matters anymore. Nothing feels real apart from his mouth between her thighs, the scrape of his jaw rough against sensitive skin. She whines at the push of his fingers inside of her, pleasure tightening in her stomach, the anticipation building in every muscle, the promise of release and fucking ecstasy just out of reach. 

“Please.” The word escapes on a whimper, wanton and desperate, and then he’s moaning against her, teeth scraping sharply against her clit, making her cry out and her hands fist harshly in his hair when he pulls it into his mouth, fingers curling in time with the pulse of his tongue against her, his lips around her, and then she’s shattering. 

She barely manages to catch her cry of release between her teeth as her whole body shudders and it escapes as a muffled sob in the dark room. But Killian doesn’t relent, egged on by her coming apart on his tongue, working her frantically, drawing out the aftershocks until they start to build to a new height altogether. She’s about to fall again, so close to the edge, but she pushes at his shoulders.

“Wait.” He only resists for a second, eyes dark with hunger when he looks up at her, but it’s the small hint of desperation, the unbridled abandon emanating from him that makes her remember that he needs this just as much as she does. That he’s been through as much as she has. And it’s not the first time for him. She can’t imagine living through today again and again for centuries. It’s no wonder he found solace wherever he could and with whoever he could in this horrible place. She’s been living a nightmare for a week. He’s been living it for lifetimes. 

Emma joins him on her knees, not caring about the dirt and the damp as she pulls him to her, mouth finding his easily. The way their lips move against each other is familiar now, but no less heated as his arms come around her waist, pressing heated skin to heated skin, hand snaking up the length of her back to tangle in her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck.

She explores the length of his arms with careful fingers, muscles hard under her hands from years at sea and endless fighting. She feels the rise and fall of scars across his skin before dragging her nails down his shoulders, leaving her own mark and feeling the bite of his teeth against her lip. Her fingers move to his chest, sliding through the coarse hair and finding the evidence of years spent in bloodshed. The gasp he lets out when she rakes them over the flat of his stomach to his hips is choked and she ducks her head, lips leaving his to trail the length of his jaw, tongue sliding over the spot below his ear he can’t seem to leave alone.

“Emma…” It’s a plea and a warning and a question all in one as she pulls at his laces. The feel of him straining hard and hot beneath her palm only urges her on as her mouth explores the taut line of his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone to match the one he gave her. 

He hisses out a word that isn’t in English but she’s almost positive is a curse when she slides into his leathers, fingers wrapping around his cock and running her hand over the hard length in rough, purposeful strokes. She touches him the way he’d touched her, urgent and desperate and aware that they’re on stolen time, revelling in every sound and unconscious thrust of his hips she draws from him. 

His grip on her hair becomes vice-like, tugging her head back enough that he can taste her neck again, mouth and tongue sloppy between the small growls and sharp breaths he lets out hot against her skin. The drag of cool metal over her nipple makes her falter in her rhythm. He does it again, circling the hardened peak with the sharp tip of his hook and she releases him altogether, desire burning impatient as she pushes him back to sit on his discarded coat.

Killian takes hold of her hips as she climbs into his lap, settling a knee on either side of him before taking his cock in hand again and sinking down over the length of him. His muttered ‘bloody hell’ reverberates through her as he holds still, straining as he gives her a moment to adjust to the size of him, the burn and the fullness that turn to heat and want, and she needs more. 

When she rocks her hips over his, they both let out a groan at the drag of his cock- so fucking perfect inside of her. Emma braces her hands on his shoulders so she can move over him, desperate to find that toe-curling pleasure he gave her again. 

His fingers dig into the curve of her ass, rolling and guiding them into a rhythm, hips rising to meet her every time she takes him in again, refusing to be a passive participant as she rides him towards their release. His hook and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting, finding the places that make her tremble, bearing down relentlessly when the curl of his tongue or the scrape of his hook causes her to cry out and soon she’s right on the edge again, lips pressed hard together against the moans of encouragement and of his name that want to fall from them.

His hand releases her, letting her keep their pace, change it how she wants, and his fingers trail over her hip, ghosting over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. His thumb slides between them, finding where they’re joined with practiced ease and circling with every roll of her hips until she can’t keep quiet anymore, hands gripping madly at his back, teeth biting into his shoulder as she tries to muffle her cries. 

He presses harder, circling faster, murmuring filth and praise into her ear and holy fuck she doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked so properly in her life - every inuendo and brazen conquest on the island entirely justified. There are no thoughts left apart from how badly she needs to come, all senses muted, drowned out by the overwhelming build, the delicious drive of his cock inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper.

His mouth nips at her ear, begging her to let him see her fall apart again, telling her how good she feels, how he wants to feel her shuddering around him, how he wants to come inside her. And then there’s nothing but ecstasy, nothing but fire and release as she comes apart at his hands. 

She’s still shaking when he rolls her onto her back, braced on his hooked arm as the other slides under her knee, spreads her wider for him, fucking into her wildly, harder, deeper, chasing his release as fervently as she had hers. The grind of his hips, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts sets off another wave of lust in her, begins another rapid climb as he takes her, using her however he wants, building on the high of her orgasm before it’s faded and sending her over the edge again. 

The sound he lets out when he feels her coming once more, feels the dig of her nails in his back, is almost feral. Her name is a curse and a plea as he pounds into her until he goes rigid under her hands, pulling out and spilling himself hot on her stomach with a moan muffled against the crook of her neck. 

There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, heavy in the stillness of the room, the chaos of the deck far away above them as they lay still tangled in one another for a moment, drawing out the feeling of relief as long as they can, hiding from reality for just a little longer. Here in the dark with the weight of his body still over hers and the gentle hum of her skin, the heaviness of her limbs, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It's too soon when she feels him shift, the press of his lips to the hollow of her throat before he lifts his head, reaching for something in one of the many pockets of his coat they’ve sprawled out on. How he knows where anything is in the (she suspects) dozens of secret compartments that may or may not be magically hidden is beyond her, but he pulls out a handkerchief - dark like everything else he wears, but fine like everything else as well. 

Tracing it gingerly over her stomach, he begins to clean the mess he made of her, erasing every trace of him from her skin. Emma takes it from him when he’s finished, sitting up to take care of the rest when she feels the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing lines down her back with a furrowed brow and leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“What?” she asks, voice raw and rough from exhaustion. 

His knuckles ghost feather-light along her back again, her skin burning slightly under his touch. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s a bit of guilt in his expression as she turns to try and look over her shoulder, to see what he sees, the marks probably left on her skin from the iron bars. “I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he’s tracing the cuts on her arm now, ones that are definitely not his doing. “Those are technically Will’s fault,” she tells him casually, still pissed at her friend for tossing her in here, and he raises a brow at her blasé shrug. “Just if you were looking for an excuse, is all. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to defend my honour or something.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. “I think you’re plenty capable of defending your own honour, love,” he tells her, brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. She watches him fight a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “There’s a bottle in my coat,” he says then. “If you don’t mind.” 

Emma looks down at the heavy leather she’s still sitting on, the Mary Poppins bag of coats, and raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding right?” 

Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh - the one she’s come to consider her own - he reaches over her, digging into one of the infinite pockets and she tries not to let him see the way her breath catches, heat burning low and slow everywhere he’s nearly touching her. 

She could lean forward, just a fraction, and press her lips to the spot behind his ear, see if he’d say her name again in that shaky, pleading way he had before. If she kissed him now would he press her into the floor again, drag his tongue over her skin and make her fall apart with mouth and hand and cock? Would he let her do the same to him, let her bring him over that edge with her mouth on him, while she rode him? 

Get a grip, she scolds herself when he finds what he’s looking for, pulling back to face her. She hopes he can’t read where her thoughts had strayed, can’t see the evidence she’s sure is written all over her, you literally just came three times. It’s just Neverland, just like it had been when she’d kissed him in his cabin and had been ready to let him fuck her on his desk where anyone could walk in (and had). It has to be - because if it’s not and it’s just him, then this could become a problem really quickly. 

If Killian does notice though, he doesn’t say anything and her own spiralling thoughts are halted when she sees the bottle in his hand, the water swirling of its own volition, a pattern that has no ties to the world around it. 

“Is that water from the spring?” she asks hesitantly as she watches him pour some onto another bit of cloth, one that looks like the same kind of bandage she’d made for him.

“Aye.”

“You’ve just been carrying that stuff around? Might have been helpful when you were stuck in that hospital bed.” 

Another exasperated look. “I filled a bottle when we arrived - It doesn’t work in your realm. Thought it might come in handy. And look, it has.” She has to fight a laugh at his snark; he’s been spending too much time with her. “Now are you going to let me help you?” he asks, what was obviously originally a kind gesture now spoken with a familiar sigh that makes her catch her amusement between her teeth even as she nods and turns her back to him.

“How did you find out about this stuff?” she asks when his hook brushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder - mostly to distract herself from the feel of the metal against the nape of her neck, remembering it other places. 

His tone is solemn when he answers though, cloth not touching her skin as he hesitates. “When I first came here… my brother was poisoned - dreamshade.” Brother? The water is cool against her back, his touch careful. “Pan showed me the spring.” 

“The water saved him?” 

The length of his pause makes her wish she hadn’t asked. “For a time.”

“He drank it.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t answer and her heart breaks for him. “And Pan let you leave.” How many people has he lost - how much pain has he suffered at the hands of the cruel people who took them from him? “Why did you come back?” 

“Because I was a fool, looking for revenge against the Crocodile. Sometimes I wonder if he knew - if he showed me the dreamshade because he knew I’d return for it one day. He has a way of seeing people, finding the parts they don’t want seen, and using them to get what he wants.” She wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that whoever he thinks Pan saw in him isn’t who he is. But she can’t find the words, all of them sounding like platitudes. He misunderstands her silence. “Henry’s far stronger than I was, love. He won’t give in so easily.”

Killian presses the cloth to her back again, meticulous in his task and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “What did you say to him?” 

She can feel the tension radiating off of him, matching it immediately. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“I couldn’t risk him seeing me and knowing you were here. For all he is, Henry’s still a child, and little boys can’t keep secrets.”

“So what did you do?” 

The way he clears his throat is almost indecipherable, his hand going over the same spot by her shoulder again and again, the scratch definitely gone by now. “Pan’s camp is always moving, but he also always sets it near a body of water, usually a stream.”

“Why?”

The cloth slides over her skin slowly, buying time, avoiding looking at her. “For the Lorelei.” 

Emma whirls on him. “What?”

“Calm down, love,” he says softly, trying to get her to turn back around. “The sirens are his messengers; they relay his desires and bring him news of any stirrings on the island.”

“Killian. Did you send fucking Ianeira to him?” The mermaid who’s apparently so fond of drowning and eating humans.

“No.” She breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “...Ianeira has a daughter.”

“What?!” That’s not any better.

“Swan.” He gives up his task for a moment, finally looking at her. “Do you really believe I’d have sought their help if they posed any threat to Henry? The Lost Boys are off limits to the Lorelei, and they’re on our side, bound by a bargain you made.” Her shoulders relax a little, still not happy about it. “The girl is hardly older than Henry in appearance. I thought she would have a better chance at getting through to him. The Lorelei can be…”

“Fucking terrifying?”

“Aye,” he nods. “She drew him from the camp and passed on our warning - that he can’t trust Pan, no matter what he says, that the hunt tomorrow is real and Pan would try and make him hurt the other boys, that if he did… he would never be able to leave Neverland.” 

“Is that true?” Emma tries to keep the tremor out of her voice as she turns away, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She'd rather be able to believe him if he lies. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, drawing the healing water over a mark by her spine. “But we won’t find out, aye?” 

She nods, halfheartedly. “And you’re sure he wasn’t there?”

“I watched the camp from the treeline all night and into the morning. Your boy resisted Pan’s manipulations. He’s stubborn, like his mother.” She shoots him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and he smirks. “It’ll serve him well here. I kept watch until it would have been too late for him to join. I told you, love, he was far away from all of it.”

“But you weren’t.”

She feels his sigh hot against her skin. “I took a shortcut back to the ship. I couldn’t risk Pan wondering where I was when they reached the beach…”

Emma nods. “Today was -” She doesn’t have words for it.

“I know.” She feels the backs of his fingers ghost over the nape of her neck, brushing away hair that hasn’t fallen, thumb tracing along her nape. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

She nods again - she wouldn’t believe him if he did - and tightens her arms around her knees, banishing the memories that try to creep in, wanting to stay here where they don’t exist for a little longer. 

“So Ianeira has a kid.” He doesn’t comment on her change of subject, only hums. “She doesn’t really seem the motherly type.” And then thought suddenly strikes her. “Is she…”

Killian laughs. “Mine?” It’s not that ridiculous. He might have accidentally boned all the mermaids in Neverland. He could have dozens of little merbabies swimming around. “No, Swan, sirens don’t reproduce. They’re born of chance and magic, and very rare.”

“What about all your ‘creative’ encounters?”

“Those are… recreational.” 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.” She doesn’t have to see his smirk to know it’s there, hook looping around her arm, tugging it gently free from its death grip around her legs so he can tend to the skin she marked up in her attempt to escape. The water stings slightly, the cuts deeper there, the cloth no longer as cold. “I can’t believe she let you use her daughter,” she admits. “She was so protective of her sisters.”

Killian hums in agreement, “It took some convincing.” 

“Did it?” She doesn’t think she’s ever failed so spectacularly at sounding indifferent. 

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder before he rests his chin on it. “Jealous?”

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wish.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, her teasing not returned and he takes a slow breath in, lifting his head to look at her, the weight of his gaze enough that she twists to meet it. His exhale is warm against the curve of her neck, the sincerity in his eyes stripped bare, holding her captive with their intensity. “Perhaps I do.” 

She swallows, heart racing at his confession. Because that’s what it is, a confession of intentions, of feelings she’s not sure she can face - his or her own. He’s watching her, waiting, that openness, the little bit of hope she can see breaking through absolutely terrifying. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other after a tragedy. But this, what he’s so clearly asking, isn’t something she thinks she can give. 

Her tongue runs over her lips, mouth suddenly dry, the motion drawing his attention and breaking whatever that was that just passed between them. Her voice is tinged with gravel when she tells him, “I think you’ve got enough jealous creatures on this island for one man to handle.” 

Emma sees the barest hint of disappointment he lets slip and makes herself ignore it. “You make me sound like quite the scoundrel,” he smirks, reaching for his discarded shirt and draping it over her shoulders. “I assure you I can only devote myself to one woman at a time.”

She raises a brow at him, pulling the shirt closed around herself, feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago and she thinks maybe he’d known. “There were three fairies throwing themselves at you yesterday - four,” she corrects, having forgotten the handsome gold-hued man. She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks beneath the cocky shrug. 

“That was Solstice. It doesn’t count.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing out for the second time, “How convenient.”

A thud from upstairs draws her attention, followed by a shout of pain, and she hears Will cursing. Stay bloody still, damnit. When she looks over at Killian, he’s watching the ceiling too, whatever lightness he may have held onto for a moment now gone. 

“We should get up there,” she says, not looking forward to whatever devastation awaits them on deck. There’s no lesser horror. Either many survived and there’ll be dozens of wounded and traumatised children awaiting them, forced to join a life of being hunted by Pan forever, or there won’t be - and the beach will be littered with bodies. 

“Aye,” he agrees, standing and finding his pants, tugging the leather over his hips as she does the same. She’s lacing them up when she notices his attention. 

“What?”

“You’ve got my shirt.” She looks down at the soft black fabric he’d wrapped her in, then at the bloodied white shirt in his hand. “Not that you don’t look quite fetching in it, love, but unless you want Wendy and Scarlet to know -” 

Emma snatches her shirt from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Turn around.” The look he gives her tells her what she already knows, that she’s being absolutely ridiculous, but he just gives her an amused little smirk before doing as she asked. It’s not that she thinks Will and Wendy don’t already know, or that she’s oblivious to the fact that he’s already seen everything, but preparing to walk into a tragedy after they’ve been hiding down here, selfishly pretending it wasn’t happening, sends guilt churning in her stomach. 

When she’s dressed, hat tugged low over her head to try and hide her face from the new boys, she lets him turn back around, tossing him his shirt and waiting until he pulls the heavy leather coat back over his shoulders. “Ready?”

No. She nods. 

The scene is worse than she imagined. She’d been prepared for the blood, for the pain and the chaos as the crew do their best to tend to whatever injuries they can. There’s buckets of bloodied spring water, discarded bandages stained red, former Lost Boys shouting and struggling against the holds the pirates have on them as they try and heal them. They’re still the enemy, she realizes. They may have just been nearly murdered by their comrades but until this morning, the Jolly was enemy territory, and now they’re being held captive. 

What she hadn’t been prepared for were the ones who weren’t injured, who weren’t fighting, the ones sitting along the side of the ship, knees curled tight to their chests and hands over their ears as they stare at nothing with eyes that aren’t seeing. 

Killian moves quickly, hurrying over to where Will is trying to hold down a boy who looks about twelve while Wendy attempts to reset his leg, broken with an arrow pierced through the bone. He takes the boy’s shoulder and arm so Will can do the same, both pressing down on his torso until he can’t move - Emma looks away but she hears the crunch of bone and the scream nonetheless. 

“Hand me some bandages.” It’s not until Wendy shouts her name that she realizes she’s talking to her, the boy still fighting, though he’s growing weaker now. She scrambles to grab some from one of the buckets, bringing them to her. The captain begins wrapping the injury with soaked bandages, the arrow that had pierced him used as a brace, and the kid’s eyes fade in and out of focus, finally shutting as he passes out. 

“A little help!” one of the pirates calls, struggling under the weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself. A stain of dark red blood is blooming on his stomach, soaking through his leather vest and Emma doesn’t freeze this time, running over and looping the kid’s other arm over her shoulders. They set him down against the mainsail, Emma watching as the pirate, barely more than a teenager, pulls open the boy’s shirt. 

“What happened?” 

“Looks like a rapier,” he answers, inspecting the gash, blood flowing freely from it. “Gimme a hand,” he tells her and grabs the kid’s shoulder so they can turn him over. “Dammit. It’s gone right through him.” Emma doesn’t know much about medicine but she does know that without treatment, a stomach wound is basically a death sentence. 

“Can you do anything?”

“Nothing good,” he sighs under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle like the one Killian carried and uncorking it. “Listen, mate, I can make this better okay?” The boy glares at him, face pale and clammy, distrusting. “If you drink this, you’ll live. If you don't, you're gonna die.” Emma’s thrown by his bluntness, by how calm he is despite being so young and she wonders how many hunts he’s already lived through. The boy continues to glare, looking away from him, rejecting the offer. “But if you do - hey,” he snaps, grabbing the kid’s chin and making him face him. “You’ll never get to leave, okay? You’ll be stuck here. Forever. And it fucking sucks here once you’re out. But you’ll be alive. And you’ll be one of us.” 

“Can’t you just give it to him?” Emma demands, a second away from snatching the bottle and forcing it down the dying teenager’s throat. 

The pirate shakes his head. “Captain’s rules.” She wonders which captain.

The boy still looks resistant, like he’d rather die than become a pirate than switch sides, regardless of what Pan’s just done to him. But then he starts to cough, a fit that takes over, the rough sound gurgling and wet as blood begins to drip from his lips and he turns panicked eyes on the pirate. The older boy nods, handing him the vial, but not letting go yet, waiting until the kid meets his gaze. “Never,” he reminds him. “You’ll never go home, okay?”

Emma watches him nod, bring the water to his bloodied mouth and drink, wincing and coughing as he tries to swallow, finally managing to get some down. They wait, a few long, drawn out moments, before the pirate looks at his wound again and Emma watches in amazement as it begins to close, blood flowing backwards along his torso in streams, pulled back into the tear in his skin. 

The older boy pats his shoulder. “Try and get some rest. That’ll still hurt like a bitch for a while.” And then he’s gone, moved on to the next injured Lost Boy, and the next. 

When everything is over, wounds bandaged, survivors counted, bodies laid carefully on the deck, a strange sort of silence settles over the ship. It’s not the silence of Neverland, that unending, eerie quiet, but the silence of dozens choosing not to speak, unable to speak in the wake of bloodshed. A crew member is cleaning the deck, the oldest here by far in his mid twenties, gaze somehow both unbothered and far away as he mops up the blood that ripples with the whim of the spring water spilled on the wood. Will is over by the side of the ship, talking to some of the boys who won’t speak, who don’t look at anything, voice falling low and gentle on deaf ears. 

Wendy and Killian are with the dead, placing coins over their eyes and wrapping their bodies in sails. She can count five, five who made it to safety only to die on the bow of the Jolly. Emma stares out at the beach. There are more than five out there. Almost a dozen Lost Boys left out under the hot sun. 

Sometime, this has been both the shortest and longest day of her life - the sun setting before it had managed to reach its highest point in the sky.

Killian had explained, as she’d helped to place a boy gently on a stretch of canvas and sew the fabric around him, that night always came quickly after a hunt. “There’s always a celebration for the victors.” Wendy had said the word with so much disgust it made Emma’s stomach turn. “They feast and fly and dance around the fire, bragging about their conquests.” 

“Did you ever-” she started, but stopped when the woman’s face darkened, regret and anger. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re children,” is all Wendy gave in answer, casting a look towards Will, still trying to reach a boy, shaking and huddled by the helm. “So were we.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy, the sound of footsteps above her making her jerk awake - boys who’d refused to take a bunk below deck, still not willing to accept their new fate, their new role on this island. Voices set her heart racing, forgetting every time that the hunt is over. The crying tonight is louder than it’s been since she arrived, and the sounds of celebration carry over on the water.

She wants to go up there, wants to help them in a way she couldn’t this morning. But she saw the way they looked at her on deck, anger and hatred and fear. She’d be no comfort to them, not as a pirate. She could as herself, as a mother like ones they keep calling out for even now. Little boys can’t keep secrets. Emma’s shared her secret enough on this island. She can’t risk it without knowing they’re allies. 

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less horrible, doesn’t make the guilt any lighter or stop each wail from piercing through her chest. And it doesn’t bring sleep either. She hears the door to the room beside her open quietly and shut with a click, hears the muffled voices, one hissed anger and the other gentle compassion, back and forth until they both go silent, finding comfort amidst the chaos. 

It makes her want to cry, to let her own tears join those she only hears because she’s always been alone, because she’s always been abandoned - time and again. That may be the worse part, the small, selfish part of her that couldn’t help but understand their sorrow. She’s never lived through anything like they just have, but she knows that betrayal, the heartbreak of having trusted someone so completely, only to be cast aside. Alone again. Always alone. 

“Emma?” He’s not asleep when she sneaks into his cabin, pads across the small space to his bed. He’s half sat up, hand reaching instinctively for his sword at the first creak of the door opening, but his brace and hook are on the small table beside him, blunted arm and chest bare, sheets pooled in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to answer, all of her explanations feeling weak, and her words get caught on a shaky inhale. She doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead she closes the rest of the distance between them, climbing carefully into the bed beside him and sliding beneath the covers. He tenses for a moment when she curls herself against his side, head resting tentatively on his shoulder, but then he softens, letting out a breath and sinking back against the pillows. 

His arm hovers, hesitating before wrapping around her. She brings her own hand to his chest, focusing on the feel of the dark hair beneath her fingers rather than the way her hands still shake, listening to the rise and fall of his breaths rather than the sobs upstairs she can’t escape, and the steady beat of his heart as she tries to forget all the ones that won’t beat again. 

His lips press to her crown, not quite a kiss as he speaks against her hair. “Sleep, love. Neverland can’t find you here.”

******

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[peterparkersnose]

Dad!Druig Headcanons

druig x reader

druig x mother!reader

Druig is absolutely in love with your daughter when she’s born

He didn’t think he could ever love anything as much as her, besides you

Druig wrapping her in a dark red blanket that is too long and trails behind him as he walks around the house with the baby

You two come to name her Gaia, after her almost immediate love for the earth and nature

He is always the first one up with her when she cries at night

You find your husband walking through your gardens at night showing your daughter all of the plants to try to soothe her

Phastos teaching Druig how to change a diaper

Family picnics in a field

Druig making and placing a grass crown on her small head

The giggles Gaia makes from the tickling sensation on her head from the grass

Gaia crawling around just to grab the grass with her small hands

Auntie Sersi

Druig reading Gaia’s mind whenever she cried so he could help take care of whatever she needed faster

Gaia’s face getting dirty with all types of berries after a snack, and discovering her father also had the matching mess on his face

“Why are you laughing at me? What is it?”

Gaia joining in laughing at Druig even though she has no clue what’s happening

Druig always protecting his girls

He always feels more comfortable when Gaia’s cradle is in your bedroom for the night

Druig falling asleep with Gaia on his chest

Gaia’s first words

“Come on! Say mama,”

“She’s gonna say dad first. I can feel it.”

Of course, she said dada first

You cooking with Gaia strapped to your chest

You sneaking Gaia extra small chopped up vegetables as you add them to the food

Druig coming up from behind you and wrapping his arms around you and Gaia on your chest, resting his head in the crook of your neck

Having a set of on call babysitters

Maybe minus Thena

But Thena is Gaia’s favorite Auntie (Don’t tell Sersi)

Sprite creating illusions for her and playing best with Gaia out of all of the eternals

When the Deviants return, Druig sends you two off to a secluded island

It hurts him so badly leaving you there, but his main motivation was to save you two

He was gone for three months

There was never a moment that Druig didn’t spend thinking about you two

He missed Gaia’s first steps

It broke your heart when she would keep asking for him

“Dada?”

You would just hold her tiny body against yours trying not to cry, just hoping Druig was safe

Gaia would struggle sleeping on this island

She usually needed a walking around the house and a song from her dad to fall asleep

Druig would never admit to you that he ever actually sang to her, but you would hear his slight hums from down the hallway

When he returned you and Gaia were playing on the beaches.

You scooped her up and ran to him, getting your feet wet in the water

You held Gaia as you kissed your husband, she grabbed a handful of Druig’s hair and started pulling.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow,”

You all sat together one last time on the island, feeling whole once again watching the sun set

You were holding Gaia’s tiny hands as she marched around the beach, attempting to walk far enough to her father

She almost made it, falling at Druig’s feet

He picked her up and showered her with small kisses all over her face

“Daddy missed you, baby.”

-

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[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 15

Dabi x Reader, Bakugo x Reader

Words : 3491

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

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

Dabi was unusually clingy the first couple of days he was back. True to his word, he didn’t let you out of his sight. You needed to take a shower? He was hopping in with you. You were cooking dinner? He was right behind you bugging you to let him taste. You were working out in the gym? He was working out right next to you.

You weren’t sure what happened to him while he was away, and he refused to talk about it. You would have to remember to ask Katsuki. Katsuki never kept anything from you, especially if it had to do with Dabi.

Right now, you were in the kitchen working on dinner while he sat on the kitchen floor with Bravo trying to teach him how to bark on command.

“Okay Bravo… Talk shit.” You rolled your eyes at his dumb command. “Come on dummy… Talk Shit!”

Bravo’s tale wagged as a low hum rumbled from him.

“Say it with your chest!”

Bravo started barking and growling at Dabi. For someone who didn’t like Bravo when he first got here, they were slowly becoming buddies. Dabi was surprisingly really good with training him. You wouldn’t have thought he was patient enough to teach a puppy anything, yet here he was, sitting on the floor, having the time of his life.

You giggled has you continued to stir your noodles, “Look at my boys, finally getting along.”

Dabi growled, “Boys? No, no, no. I am a man.” He stood up and made his way to stand behind you. Arms wrapping around your middle and his chin resting on your shoulder. “I know I was gone for a while, but there’s no way you forgot who the man of the house is?”

You sighed as you turned the stove off and moved a safe distance away from it. “You know your threats are almost as empty as Bravo’s sweet little head.” His grip tightened on you and his lips found the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“You want to elaborate there, baby?”

You sucked in a nervous breath, you missed teasing this man. He had been so soft lately, and you loved it, but you also missed his rough side. He hadn’t done anything sexual with you since he got back, and it was starting to drive you crazy. “You always say you’re going to bend me over your knee and spank me. You always say you’re going to punish me. You threaten to fuck me until I cry… You said you were going to put a baby in me…but you never follow through.” You bent your neck to give him more access. “Seems to me… you’re all bark and no bite.”

His chest rumbled as he bit into your shoulder. You cried out as his teeth sunk in and his hands slithered under your shirt. “Hmmm sounds to me like my good little girl wants to be a brat today.” His teeth nibbled on your earlobe and his fingers started to tweak your nipple. “If it’s bite you want baby, then I’ll make sure I taste every inch of you.” He roughly shoved you over the island and his hand connected with your ass cheek in a sharp slap. “I didn’t know my good girl wanted me to breed her so badly.” He slapped your other ass cheek and pulled your shorts down. “Desperate for me to own you in every single way possible.”

He bent over and bit your ass cheek. He slapped your thigh, “Open ‘em up for me baby.” Your thighs immediately parted for him. He grunted at the sight of your dripping cunt. “Mmm good giiiiirl. Already dripping for me.” Without any warning his hand found your hair and shoved himself inside of you. “You want it rough? Huh?” He thrust hard inside of you making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Use. Your. Words.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust.

You moaned, “Yes! Yes! I want it rough. Oh GOD!” His hand tightened in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

You groaned loudly and pushed yourself back onto him hard. “Oh shit you really are desperate tonight!”

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You haven’t fucked me in over a month. Of course I’m desperate!”

Dabi stilled inside of you, making you whine. “You better watch that fucking attitude.” He bit your shoulder, “Just for that… I want you to beg for it. Beg me to fuck you.”

You tried to move your hips to fuck yourself on him, but he leaned over and put his full body weight on top of you. Trapping you on the kitchen counter. “Oh you naughty girl. I will stay balls deep in you until you beg me to move. I’m fine with you being my pretty little cock sleeve.”

You huffed in frustration as tears started to leak out of your eyes. “Please DABI! Please fuck me. Please. I missed you…”

His pace was practically feral. His strokes were long and hard and he hit that spot inside you every fucking time. He picked up one of your legs and put it on the counter and this new angle had you screaming. His hand came down in a hard slab to your ass as he continued to pound into you.

Your legs began to shake and his pace slowed. You let out a frustrated whine. “You cum when I say you get to cum. Is that understood?”

You bit your lip and nodded your head.

“Words Princess!”

“YES! I understand.”

“What do you understand?”

You took a huge breath. “I won’t cum until you say I get to cum.”

His pace picked back up, “Atta girl. Listening so well tonight.”

He yanked you up, so your back was flush against his chest. His hot fingers burned through your shirt and tore it away from your body. Still unbearably hot, those same fingers came to play with your nipples making you bite your lip to keep from screaming out.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making you release it from your teeth. He held his thumb up in front of you so you could see the blood. “Hm does it feel that good? Don’t keep it in baby. You wanna scream, then fuckin scream.”

He picked you and walked over to the living room and plopped down in the recliner. He pulled you off his dick and turned you around to face him. “Now… I want you to ride me. I want to see every expression on that pretty little face, and I want to hear every single noise. I want to watch you fall apart.”

You braced yourself on his shoulders and tried to slowly lower yourself onto his dick, but he wasn’t having that. His hands found your hips and shoved you down. “Come on, don’t get shy on me now.”

He leaned forward and started leaving open mouth kisses on your neck and his hands squeezed your ass. You started to rock your hips and almost lost it at the sound of the low rumble that vibrated through his chest as you did. He was giving you control to fuck yourself at your pace. But it was such a mind fuck because you knew that even though you were on top, he would always be in control.

You rode him at a slow pace that was driving him crazy. You could feel his fingers twitch. Your legs began to shake from the exertion, and you could hear his low cocky chuckle in your ear. “Aww are you already tired?” You weren’t, but you also really wanted him to take back over. You weren’t lazy, but after a month of missing his touch, you just wanted to drown in it.

You leaned your forehead on his, “I need you to finish for me.”

He hugged you tight to him and thrust into you. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t believe for a second you’re tired. I know you’ve been in the gym every fucking day since I’ve been gone.” He spread your cheeks apart and railed into you. “But the way you said that was so fucking cute, I don’t even care.”

You could feel your orgasm building and you clutched his shoulders. “Dabi… DABI I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum!”

“Yeah, baby. Go ahead. Let go for me.”

You felt your climax crash over you, and you screamed into his neck. Your legs shook and you came all over his lap. It felt different this time though.

“Shiiiit. I think you just squirted. God that’s so hot. I can’t keep this up anymore. Fuck you’re so perfect.” His hips snapped in an erratic pace and you could tell he was close. “You wanted me to fuck a baby in you huh? Wanted me to knock you up and make you mine?”

His hips stilled and he pinned you to him as he painted your insides with his cum.

Your head spun with the intensity of how hard you just came. Both of you were sweaty and your chests were heaving. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you back to look at him. “Are you okay? I was rougher with you then usual?”

You nodded your head and leaned into his touch. He brushed your sweaty hair away from your forehead, “Hey I know you’re tired, but I need a verbal answer. Or at least one for yes, two for no.”

You gave him a soft smile and tapped his hand once. He slowly helped you off of him, but he just turned you around so you back was leaning on his chest. He grabbed a blanket and propped the feet of the recliner up. He used his thumb to push his cum back inside of you. “Let’s just lay here a while.”

You hummed and nuzzled into him. His arm wrapped around you and rubbed your back. “Can I ask you something?” His voice sounded so vulnerable.

“Yeah, of course.”

He was quiet for a second before he cleared his throat. “Were you serious? About wanting to have a baby?”

You stiffened, “Were you serious when you said you wanted to put a baby in me?”

His kissed the top of your head. “I know we’re not like… you know… conventional. And we haven’t known each other long. But the other day… I don’t know. I just never wanted a family before, so it surprised me that the thought of having one with you didn’t… it didn’t sound so bad.”

You blushed. “If we’re being honest. I don’t really know I how I feel about it.” You interlaced his fingers with yours. “I’m not saying I’m opposed to the idea forever. Right now just doesn’t seem like the best time.” He was oddly quiet, and you were nervous you upset him. “Like you said we haven’t known each other long. I have god knows how many people out to kill me. We live in a world where people think it’s okay to kidnap and torture people based on their quirk. We both suffered because our quirks didn’t fit into this fucked up system. Can you imagine if we had a kid and they had either or our quirks, or god, what if they got both? They’d have the biggest fucking target on their back.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, “Well that would have been nice to know before I came inside you a few minutes ago.”

You giggled, “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure I’m on birth control.”

“You’re pretty sure?”

Your eyes dimmed, “Yeah well… They liked to “play” with me back at the lab, and it wouldn’t be very fun if I got pregnant. So, I got shots every three months. Except I don’t remember when the last one was. To be safe I guess we could ware condoms from now on.”

He groaned, “I hate how casually you can talk about what those assholes did to you.” He sighed, “But I guess there’s lots of fucked up trauma I’m casual about. I get it. It makes it easier to deal with.”

You smiled at him, “We’re kind of fucked up huh?”

He kissed your nose, “No kinda about it doll. We are most definitely fucked up.”

You felt crazy laughing about how you both have just accepted your trauma. But you had to admit, it did make it feel lighter on your conscious.

“You know if we ever did do it… you know have a kid. They’d be the safest fucking brats on the planet. They’d have to go through us, as well as all of your dumb little hero friends. Only an idiot would even try.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well there’s a lot of steps between us now and us having a kid. You haven’t said you love me yet, and you want me to give you an heir?”

“An heir? Who the fuck are we? The Tudors?”

Your stomach growled really loud which reminded you of the dinner you had abandoned.

He gently maneuvered until he could get up and left you in the chair. “I’ll bring the food to you. I think you earned it.”

He was gone for a few minutes and came back with a plate of food and a big shirt for you.

“I have some business I need to take care of in the office. Some calls to make. So… I’m going to eat in there. Come get me before you go to bed.”

Your stomach sank. You felt like you had really upset him. You knew he would never show it though.

You had just been thinking about he was been so clingy since he got back. So, his sudden absence left you feeling cold. It made you want to follow him into his office and sit in his lap.

You knew that was a bad idea though. You needed to give him some space. If he had wanted you in there with him, he would have said so.

You could hear his muffled conversation and his voice sounded rough and angry. Even when you pushed his last button, he never sounded that angry when he spoke to you. At one point he changed into a different language. Was that Russian? He sounded even angrier in a different language. You could hear your name every so often, so you knew he was talking about you.

There was still a lot about Dabi you didn’t know. Like apparently, he was multilingual. He was a scary businessman. He recently had decided he wanted kids. What else did you not know?

You took your time eating and cleaning up the kitchen. When you couldn’t stall any longer you headed towards the office. Part of you felt guilty for interrupting his calls. But he was the one who told you to come get him before you went to bed.

You gently knocked on the door and opened it. He hadn’t heard you and his back was to the entrance. “For the hundredth time, the answer is no.” There was silence as someone on the other line yelled. “Dabi’s voice dropped to a scary volume. “First of all, you’re going to lower your damn voice when you talk to me. Secondly, if you ever say that shit again… I will burn down your fucking house.”

He sounded angry and you didn’t know if you interrupting him would make it better, or worse.

You tip toed over to him, but right before you could reach him, he slammed a hand on his desk. “SHE’S FUCKING OFF LIMITS!”

You yelped in surprise and took a step back. Dabi whirled around in his chair, his wild eyes connecting with yours and they were blood thirsty.

“I-I’m sorry. I knocked… but you didn’t hear me… a-and you said to come get you—”

You didn’t know why you were stuttering. This was Dabi, the same man who practically worshiped you.

“Get out… now…” The malice in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “But you said to—”

He pulled the phone away from him and stared through you, “I know what I said. Now I’m telling you to get out.”

You schooled your expression to keep him from seeing the hurt that was now clutching at your heart. You nodded, flipped him off, and stormed off to your old room.

He wanted to play that game? Fine. He can be the big, scary, asshole all he wants. But you don’t have to put up with it.

You locked your door behind you, which really didn’t do much considering there was still a hole in the door from the last time you locked it. You sighed as you stared at the door’s handle before reaching out to unlock it again. You were mad, but you weren’t going to break your own law. Hopefully the fact you were in here would be enough to let him know he fucked up.

You changed into some comfy clothes for bed. Choosing a Dynamight shirt as an extra fuck you. You didn’t waste any time staying up for him. You weren’t going to let his mood swings affect your sleep schedule.

You put in some headphones, played some soothing music to calm your nerves, and went to sleep. You’d deal with Dabi tomorrow.

Well tomorrow came all too soon when your door was slammed open a few hours later, causing you to sit straight up in a panic.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as a frantic hand yanked the headphones out of your ears.

“OW! What was that for?”

Dabi’s hands grabbed your shoulders. “I’ve been fucking yelling your name! I couldn’t find you. What the hell are you doing in here?”

You crossed your arms across your chest, and you saw his eyes darken when he saw the shirt you were wearing. “Why do you think? I’m giving you the space you obviously need to throw your stupid little temper tantrum.”

You could see so many emotions pass over his face in a matter of seconds. Anger, relief, panic, regret, but it seemed the one he decided to settle on was frustration.

“Temper tantrum? You think… I was throwing a temper tantrum. Hm. Interesting. Because the way I see it, when someone threatens to take you away from me… that’s a good enough reason to be pissed!” Your eyes widened but you he wasn’t done with his rant. “You want to know who I was on the phone with? My fucking father. You want to know why? Because he’s helping us fish out crooked heroes… Twice a week since you’ve gotten here, I’ve had to talk to that mother fucker on the phone about progress. Now all of the sudden he’s decided I’m too invested. I’m too close to you. HE THINKS IT CLOUDS MY JUDGEMENT!”

You could see him working himself back up, but the only thing you could do was let him get it all out.

“He thinks you could be more useful working for him. He thinks we’re wasting your talents by hiding you away. HE THINKS, he can snap his fingers and I’m just going to hand you over.” He shook his head and yelled, “And I didn’t tell you to get out because I was mad at you. I told you to get out because I didn’t want you to watch me lose my mind. I didn’t want you to see me when I’m that angry.”

He pointed at your face, “And that’s why. Right there, that fucking look you’re giving me. All the shit I’ve done and said you never look at me like I’m a monster, or like I’m someone to be pitied. I can take that look from anyone else… but not you.”

You saw him start to deflate. His fists unclenched at his sides as he took some deep breaths.

You reached for his hand and pulled him next to you. “Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care what anyone says, or who comes to fetch me. I’m staying wherever you are.” Your fingers ran through his white hair. “You can tell your dad I said he can go fuck himself. I’m never working for a hero again. Especially not a hero that emotionally traumatized not one, but two of my favorite people.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, he just leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

You hummed and kissed the top of his head, “It’s okay, I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s alright, I kinda deserved it… so can you please take it off now.” His hand tugged at the Dynamight shirt you were wearing. “It’s playing dirty and you fucking know it you brat.”

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

*The Laws* 1. No fucking shrugging 2. No drugs 3. No saying sorry for something that isn’t your fault 4.We work on communication every day 5. Wake up whenever the hell you want 6. No locked doors 7. We eat three full meals a day 8. No means no, no negotiations 9. We work on exercise every day 10. Ice cream must be kept in stock at all times 11. Accept help when it is offered 12. No lying 13. I will not initiate the sexy time without written or verbal consent.

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

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99 @squichymochi @sarahschance @starenemy

[justxright]

Zeke Yeager x Reader - “Traitor”

Chapter 2 - “You are Never Leaving My Grasp”

Warnings : Spoilers for season 3, physical violence and a bit of Stockholm syndrome. MINOR SMUT, involving stripping of clothing.

As the night began to creep in slowly, the more scared you became. Zeke kept staring at you as if you were a meal. As if any minute he would jump out at you and start tearing you apart like a predator would rip open its prey. The glow of the fire also didn’t help. He looked like a demon, despite you and your race technically being the “devils”.

You tried to break eye contact and just stared at the fire pit. It was beyond awkward and you peaked here and there to get a glimpse of him. You’d have to admit though he was oddly handsome, and not to mention this guy was ripped. Was he not cold?

He continued stirring around the substance in the pot before he spoke. “Hm? Like what you see?” You made the mistake of looking into his eyes again before he let out a cocky smile and pointed his finger at you.

“No-! I just, it’s cold... sorry. You’re not wearing a jacket or anything so...” you trailed off and turned away to face the dusky horizon, avoiding the rest of the conversation.

“Well I just came out of a titan, and I’ll have you know it gets quite warm in there. But I’d hate to be distracting, so if it helps...” he left for a moment to walk into one of the tents before coming out moments later with a jacket on.

You puffed up her cheeks and just looked away. So annoying and cocky ...

Zeke could only sit back and admire how cute and flustered you were. You’ve just been captured and now you’re flustered while trying desperately to survive. He’ll admit you’re holding up quite well.

“You know, out of everyone else you’re the only one that’s been cooperative.” He then shook his head and let out a sigh of exhaustion. “Poor guys, if only they had been as helpful as you I wouldn’t have pushed them off the wall.” Zeke then poured you a cup of what seemed to be tea. “But in order for you to tell me everything, I need you to stay alive.”

You took the cup into your hands as best as you could and nodded slowly. “Thank you. I’ll tell you as much as I know, and the theories us scouts currently have.” Then you slowly took a sip of the tea. It was delicious, perhaps black tea? You also tasted a hint of honey.

“Oh! And she’s polite!” Zeke applauded and let out the biggest smile on his face. “I guess not all Eldians on Paradis Island are devils.” He reached down into the box next to him and took out a small loaf of bread before placing it next to you. “What a shame some angels are born here in hell. Perhaps if you behave yourself I can take you back to my hometown across the sea where the Titans will never reach you again.”

Your eyes widened and you nearly dropped your cup of tea. So many questions ran through your mind at once. Wait take you? Hold on, did he just call you an Angel? There’s a world beyond the sea? If felt as if you lost all of your breath and the only thing you could mumble was “The sea?...”

Zeke poured himself another cup of tea and swished it around in the cup for a moment. “Yes the sea. Surely you’ve seen it. You’re a scout aren’t you?”

You shook your head in disagreement. “Well yes, but I’ve only ever seen the sea in history books. That’s if I can get my hands on one without getting arrested.”

Zeke took a sip of his now warmer tea. “Ah I see. What a shame that the world’s memories are not only stolen, but the physical copies that remain are hunted down to be destroyed.”

Memories? What memories? Taking a deep breath, you chose your next words carefully. “Yes I know. It’s a shame... I just want to know the truth.”

Zeke leaned his head onto his hand for support, his eyes never left your face. “Well, I am a man of my word. If you behave I’ll take you back to my hometown and from there you’ll know the whole truth. Plus, the Titans will never reach you again.”

Suddenly the air grew colder than it was before and chills began to dig up your spine. You took in a huge gulp of pride and swallowed it. “Yes, I’d like that very much, but please don’t hur-“ but before you could finish, Zeke interrupted. “What? Hurt you?” He scoffed and put his cup of tea down before walking over to you slowly.

He kneeled down in front of you, his dull grey eyes felt like they were staring daggers into yours, when suddenly he took both of his hands and began to pinch your cheeks, but not in a cute way. It was painful and you whimpered at the pain as your eyes began to tear up. “Then don’t give me a reason to...” he whispered coldly. “Don’t you think I know you’re saying all this bullshit just to sway me?” He growled and pinched harder. “And don’t you think I know that you’ll try and escape when you get the chance?”

It hurt so bad. It felt as if Zeke had taken two hot knifes and began digging into your cheeks.

“Please, please! Stop it hurts!” You mumbled and cried, squirming around to get away from his grasp. This only made Zeke pinch even harder. He knew for sure these would leave bruises and you knew it too. “Please what? What’s my name? Please what?” He brought you forehead right against his and looked you straight in the eyes, waiting for your response. “Please Zeke. Please stop, it hurts really bad...” you said a little more gently as your face began to litter itself with your tears.

Absolutely pathetic. You felt pathetic and ashamed. Humanity’s strongest soilders has a helpless pathetic little sister. The potential wasted away, all because she doesn’t have the guts to be brave.

“There we go... just like that.” Zeke smiled and let go of both of your cheeks, staring at your puffy face while he wipped away your tears. “Hush now, don’t cry.” He suddenly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at the edge of the wall that faced the wilderness. “You know, out of everyone I’ve captured, you’re the only one that’s been so polite. All these other girls just gave me a hard time, so I had no choice but to throw them over the wall. They wouldn’t be suitable anyways if I had taken them back home with me.”

Icy cold sweat ran down your back while your voice shivered. “I-I swear I won’t run off! Please don’t throw me off the wall!” But you wanted him to throw you off the wall and you wanted to die right then and there. You did not want to go back with him to his hometown as some sort of prize, no matter how far away you were from the Titans.

While you whimpered and cried, Zeke still admired your pretty face. The bruises on your cheeks almost immediately started showing up on your face while it also showed itself to be red and irritated. All you could wonder is why. Why you? And why had you made the stupid decision to go with him? The chances of getting to back Levi became very slim, and you began to lose hope. Sure, you were an Ackerman by name, but not by blood. You weren’t naturally skilled like Levi, you had to earn it through lots of training. And for crying out loud, you were with the beast titan. There was no way you would make it out alive without his help, not to mention you were stuck on top of the wall with this guy.

Zeke pulled your face back to him and had rested your head against his forehead. The intense eye contact was beyond horrific but it only got worse when he had leaned in and kissed your cheeks. “Don’t you worry now, I won’t throw you off these walls because I’ve made a decision.”

Paralyzed, you dared yourself to ask what that decision was with wide eyes. Zeke stared for a moment before caressing your face. “Darling, you are never leaving my grasp.”

And your heart nearly stopped as all the left over hope you had shattered into a million pieces. Everything after that became a blur and the next thing you knew is that you were in a tent right next to him. He had removed the rope around your wrist and forced you to change into a little brown sweater of his. You slipped off the belts and suspenders off of your waist and felt his eyes look you up and down. Especially after you had pulled off your uniform’s button down long sleeve. His eyes stared you up and down, and what he wanted so badly was to take you right there and claim you as his. Zeke had taken your scout cloak, brown jacket, and shirt before folding it into a corner of the tent. The only thing you had left was your white pants and brown boots.

Zeke then grabbed both of your hands and began to tie them up again, this time a little more gently. You could bet that this man was either bipolar or really harsh when it came to discipline and precautions. He held your hand in his for a moment before turning over and unzipped a sleeping bag. “Well now, I know today was harsh, but I promise you it will get better.” Zeke leaned into your legs and began to remove your boots.

You had to admit, it felt nice to have them removed. Your foot ached and so did your back. It felt like this day had gone on for years and all you wanted was to sleep. Zeke then gestured for you to crawl in the sleeping bag and you did as commanded. He then zipped you up and stared at you with the a soft smile. The first smile that you’d seen from him that wasn’t all at sinister, but genuinely kind. “Goodnight Y/n, get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Unknowingly, you smiled back and spoke softly with half of your face covered by the sleeping bag. “Goodnight Zeke...”

Zeke was beyond ecstatic that you seemed to finally obey him. The view of you comfortably relaxing in the sleeping bag seemed to make his heart race. Not only that, but the way you said his name made him want to curl up next to you and kiss you all over. But he knew it wouldn’t be a good idea after all the shock it had just put you through.

He brought out a sleeping bag next to you and crawled it. You laid on your side and faced away from him, your heart racing at a hundred miles per hour. You couldn’t even escape his scent. It was on you and he was right next to you. The smell of cigarettes and sweet honey tea filled your nose as you secretly took a whiff of the smell from his sweater. While sleepless for hours, you’ll have to admit that you were becoming accustomed to his scent.

Slowly but surely, he was getting there to make you his.

•

Meanwhile back at the inner walls, Levi panicked and furiously went through every group of soilders to find were you had gone. During the aftermath of everything the only thing he could assume was the worst. He swore to Miche that if anything were to ever happen to you, he’d rip him apart the same way he does with the Titans. Even after all of that, Levi wish he had begged you to stay instead of letting you go beyond the walls.

It wasn’t until he had snapped out of his thoughts when he had heard the man next him preaching some irrating shit he didn’t like to hear. Levi pointed a gun at the man beneath his coat and finally reminded himself of what was going on. Right, the titan in the walls Pastor Nick knew about. “There can be other ways to get information out of him...”

Hange assured him that threats and torture didn’t work on this man. Levi grew even more pissed and so badly wanted to shoot the man. Perhaps due to this inner anger that he didn’t know where you were and so badly wanted to take out his frustrations on the preacher. Eren threw a fit about how everything was backwards and so badly wanted to know how he knew about the Titans in the wall. Just like how Levi wanted to know so badly about why you hadn’t returned to him yet.

Honestly he was in no position to focus on what was going on since you had gone missing. Levi had once lost two of his closest friends and he was no where near ready to lose you. Never once had you ever came back to him late, and before Levi knew it you were gone that entire night. Until finally his worst fear came true, that the nights had suddenly become days. Days where reports of Titans were spotted within wall Rose, but there was no breach. Throughout those days of endless exploration he never found you, but he never gave you up for dead.

“Y/n... where did you go?”

Note : Thank you all so much! I’m surprised that this series had more of a demand, especially since it’s my first Attack on Titan fic. ~

[cellsshapedlikestars]

I feel terrible that I haven’t been participating in the last couple events, so I decided to write something for day 3 of the @jonsaseasonalbash​

Prompt: crow and little bird

posted on ao3 here

.

.

When Sansa steps into the tattoo parlor, she nearly loses her nerve and runs back out.

But no, she made this appointment and she will keep it (plus, if she runs away, Arya will never let her live it down and she cannot let that happen). She just wishes she'd waited until Arya was free instead of declaring, loudly, that she could do this by herself.

It's a Tuesday morning and so she isn't surprised when she notices the shop is practically empty and that there's only one other customer. As she goes to the front desk and then waits for the tattoo artist she booked with – a woman named Val – she tries not to look over at the other customer to see who they are and what kind of tattoo they're getting. That would be rude.

She can't help it, though, because the other customer is distractingly half dressed (and distractingly ripped) and no matter how hard she tries, her eyes keep flitting over to him. He's only in a sleeveless undershirt and she can't help taking in the corded muscles in his arms, eyes sweeping down his forearms and to his hands and-

“Sansa?”

“Yes!” she turns to face a woman who must be Val, trying to look as innocent as possible. It doesn't seem to work, because she's pretty sure Val gives a slight snort of laughter and looks over at the man with a smirk before leading Sansa to a chair that... has a perfect view of the only other customer.

She keeps her focus on Val as the woman applies the stencil to her skin and they both agree that they like the size and placement. While Val preps her needle, Sansa stares at the line of small birds in flight across her inner wrist.

Little bird.

She is free of the Lannisters now and that taunt will never hurt her again. She will never allow herself to be used like she had before and she is getting this tattoo to remind herself.

(Not that her new job is any better, she sighs internally. After leaving Lannister Publications, she'd gotten a position at The Mockingbird, but her creepy boss had relegated her to writing fluff life and style pieces. Not that Sansa has anything against life and style, but the pieces he gives her are incredibly stupid, to the point where it almost seems like he's doing it on purpose, and Sansa aches to write something better, something more. She wants to be a real journalist.)

The needle doesn't hurt as badly as she was expecting (though it's still not pleasant) and Sansa can't help when her eyes wander over to the other chair – or, more specifically, the man sitting in it. His dark hair is pulled up into a man bun that she should hate, but he somehow makes it work. In fact, she should hate his whole look – scruffy beard, battered boots and old jeans – but it just... well, it works for her, ok? Even the way his face has settled into a resting scowl works for her, against her will or better judgment.

But then she sees the tattoo.

He's already got a few of them, and the new one is being added to his upper arm and she almost rolls her eyes when she sees it – a black crow.

He must be a fanboy.

Ever since The Crow showed up in Winterfell almost a year ago, she's seen normal men go absolutely insane over the superhero. He's only been seen a couple times, a man in all black with a mask who leaves one black feather as his calling card.

He'd made quite the splash with his debut – dumping Ramsay Bolton on the front steps of the Metro Police, bound and gagged, with a trunk full of evidence so concrete there was no way that even his father, politician Roose Bolton, could get him out of it. And, stuck into the bindings around Ramsay's wrists, a single black feather.

Newspapers had dubbed him The Crow – even her own newspaper wrote about him nearly every single day, even when he wasn't active. The Crow wasn't like the other superheroes that had been popping up in other cities – he didn't fight petty crime, he didn't seem to prowl the streets at night looking for minor assaults and thefts. No, he went after the elite, the ones the police couldn't (or wouldn't) touch.

(There had been a time when Sansa had wished desperately that The Crow would come for the Lannisters and save her, but he never had. The Lannisters might be cruel, but they weren't criminal masterminds, and in the end, it had been Sansa that had saved herself.)

Sansa sighs and tears her eyes from the stranger and back to her own tattoo. He may be one of the most attractive men she's ever encountered in real life, but she doesn't think she wants anything to do with one of The Crow's fanboys. She has mixed feelings about The Crow himself – she has no issue with someone taking the law into their own hands when the law refuses to do it themselves, but superheroes come with consequences. Consequences that look exactly like the stranger sitting across the room from her – men who decide that they, too, will mete out their own justice. Those copycats usually turn out to be less heroics and more violence for the sake of violence.

Yes, Sansa has very mixed feelings about The Crow.

She looks up again (determined that this is the last time she will look) and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees the stranger staring straight back at her. Their eyes catch and Sansa feels a wave of something rush through her. He doesn't look away and she finds herself caught, breathless, until Val declares that she's all done.

(When Sansa's legs almost give out when she stands, she laughs it off to Val and pretends she has a low pain tolerance and also her blood sugar has dropped and it definitely has nothing at all to do with the stranger who's eyes she can still feel burning into her as she walks away.)

SIX MONTHS LATER

Sansa tries very hard not to cry.

If she cries, her nose will stuff up and then she'll have an even harder time trying to breathe around the gag in her mouth. She tries to take deep, calming breaths, fighting against the panic that is swirling through her chest. Her hands are bound tightly behind her, her legs likewise bound with industrial zip ties, the plastic cutting into her skin whenever she tries to move or struggle.

How did she get here?

She'd sworn, six months ago, that she would never allow herself to be at the mercy of a man again - she'd even gotten a tattoo to remind herself. But here she is.

From her vantage point, lying sideways on the bed, she watches Petyr Baelish fold and pack his clothing into a suitcase. To anyone else, he would probably look calm, but Sansa has been around him long enough to see how pale his face is, the tight line of his mouth, the slight flaring of his nostrils - he is terrified.

But why?

Four hours ago, she'd been working late in the office when Petyr had found her and told her to come with him. He wouldn't explain where or why and when she refused - when she tried to leave, tried to run - he'd had his right hand man bind and gag her and they'd shoved her into the back of a car and driven her to Petyr's penthouse.

It hadn't registered then, but Sansa knows something has happened to scare Petyr. Something has forced his hand. He has been making advances towards her for the past few months, making sweet promises of a promotion (she'd finally be able to write something real), trying to take her out to dinner and giving her little gifts that made her stomach turn sour. She'd given the gifts back, refused the dinners.

But something has changed and now he is kidnapping her.

She'd overheard him and Brune talking about a private plane – about an island where he would never find them. Sansa knows that she is going to be taken to this island, that Petyr will no longer accept her refusals.

She wants to vomit, but she tamps it down, afraid that she'll choke behind the gag. She may be bound and helpless, but she refuses to die. She'll find her way out of this, somehow.

The door bursts open and Brune comes in, face a hard mask, and Sansa watches Petyr's eyes get wide and somehow even more fearful. Then something dark fills the doorway and Brune's hand comes up, gun at the ready, and Sansa closes her eyes tight when the first shot goes off. There's a second and a third in rapid succession and then more noises, but Sansa's heart is pounding so loudly in her own ears, she can barely hear.

Eventually there's silence, though it takes her a while to notice it.

No, not silence.

Someone is moving about the penthouse, and when Sansa finally opens her eyes, she nearly lets out a sob when she sees a dark figure dressed in all black standing over the bodies of Petyr and Brune.

The Crow.

There's a rip in The Crow's sleeve and she can see blood seeping out from where a bullet must have grazed him. Her eyes won't leave the blood on his arm as he bends down and begins to tie up first Brune and then Petyr. There's a lot of blood, but underneath she thinks she can see something, almost like a tattoo-

“Are you ok?”

She tears her eyes from his arm and looks up at the masked face that's now turned towards her. His voice is low and rough and even though she can't see his eyes behind the mask, she can feel them on her.

He stands up and walks over to her and carefully unties the gag, finally pulling it away and she coughs and nearly chokes when it's gone. Her mouth is so dry, but she manages to croak out, “water?”

She should be asking him to untie her, but she feels like she still can't breathe with how dry her mouth and throat are and The Crow leaves the room and comes back with a cup of water. He helps her sit up and holds the cup to her mouth, with his other hand on the back of her head, holding her steady, as she gulps down the water.

“Police will be here soon,” he tells her, setting the cup down on the side table.

Then he goes back to the bodies (she sees they're still breathing, which doesn't surprise her – The Crow has never killed anyone, as far as she knows) and he pulls out a single black feather from somewhere and tucks it into the bindings at Petyr's wrists.

“Aren't you going to untie me?” she asks when he starts moving towards the door again.

He turns to face her and says, “no.”

“What?” she gasps, twisting to try and face him better.

“You're evidence,” he shrugs.

“You're just going to leave me here?” her voice raises an octave in disbelief. “You're supposed to be a superhero!”

“I'm not a hero,” he says, the words biting. “Just because the news-”

“You help people!” she cuts in. “I read about what Ramsay Bolton did,” she swallows hard, remembering the horrific things that had come out in the wake of his arrest, the things he'd done to countless women and gotten away with because of his father's position. “You stopped him.”

The Crow stares at her for a while – or, she thinks he stares at her, she can't see his eyes. But she feels it, feels his gaze burning into her and something like a shiver rolls down her spine.

“You're evidence,” The Crow says again. “I'm not going to untie you.”

She knows, deep down, that she will be ok. The police will get here and untie her and she will be fine, but she can't seem to focus on that because there's a primal fear coursing through her at being tied up and helpless. She breathes deep and tries to calm herself.

“Then let me interview you,” she blurts out. He jerks back in surprise and she can't blame him, the words surprise even herself – she hadn't meant to say them. But she has, so she continues on. “Let me write an article on you.”

“No.”

“You owe me!”

“I just saved you,” he says and she thinks if he weren't wearing a mask, she would have seen him roll his eyes. “If anything, you owe me.”

She ignores the strange feeling that flits through her stomach and struggles to sit further upright. “I can help you,” she tries. “Isn't there some message you want to get out?” He's silent and she tries again. “Something you want to tell your fans?” She watches his mouth twist in disgust and she thinks yes! There it is.

“I don't want fans,” he grits out through clenched teeth. This is it, this is her chance.

“You could tell them to stop. Let me interview you and you can tell them whatever you want.”

She waits, heart in her throat, pulse pounding in her wrists, against the zip ties that bind her and the ink of her tattoo. She is not a little bird.

For a long while he watches her, eyes hidden behind his mask, mouth set into a grim line. The silence stretches out between them, crackles with a sort of energy Sansa has never felt before, except maybe once, six months ago in a tattoo parlor when-

Sirens wail in the distance, startling both of them. Time's up, she thinks as he begins to back away towards the door.

“Let me interview you,” she says one final time, and she's surprised at how low and breathless her voice is.

The sirens get closer, red and blue lights flickering on the ceiling through the penthouse windows. He's a shadow in the doorway, almost gone.

“Maybe,” he rasps and she feels a thrill go through her.

“When?”

“I'll let you know. If I decide I want to.”

She doesn't get the chance to say anything else because he's gone – no flash, no notice, just gone. Seconds later, there's the pounding of feet in the hallway and the door bursts open and police pour into the room. She's subjected to questions and she's photographed while still bound, but the indignity of it doesn't touch her.

She's going to get her story, she can feel it. As the police cut the ties and help her up, she knows it's true. She's going to get her story and something else bubbles up in her chest, a new determination. She'll get her story and-

And she's going to unmask The Crow.

[lovelysugawara]

**grammatical errors ahead, sorry guys**

plot: you and Kuroo are married, but your husband turns cold over you, because of an incident a year ago. Will he once again love you back???

Part 1-12 

https://lovelysugawara.tumblr.com/post/640042466973761536/love-me-again

Cont…

Part 13

*Kuroo’s POV*

I wake up the next morning with a bit of a headache.

But i don’t mind.

The most important thing in my life now is sleeping beside me. 

-My wife.

Hinari is peacefully sleeping and even snoring a little bit. It’s been awhile since I saw her like this.

She felt warm and familiar, I wanted to bury my face in the curve of her neck and never let go. 

I miss her touch, I miss her skin, her lips, her hands on me, I miss her everything. 

Her voice, saying I love you’s, and how much she loves me.

I can’t help but kiss her while she’s sleeping.

I really missed her.

I remember last night after I kissed her, I swear I can taste the next hundred years of my life.

I have to thank the boys for making me drunk.

And of course Kenma, I didn’t know he can pull punches like that.

I also need a serious talk with him too.

But for now, I have to focus my eyes on the precious queen besides me.

I put both my hands and hugged her tight, causing her to wake up.

“Good morning.” I said while smiling at her.

Her eyes slightly adjust to the sunlight from the window.

When the whole night registered to her, she suddenly blushed, and looked away.

“G-good morning, Tetsu,” she said. How cute.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked, and I touched her face with my left hand.

She also touched my hand and closed her eyes to feel my touch.

“Like a log. I didn’t even dream,”

“That’s good. Coz me too.” I said, she smiled at me.

I opened my arms and she knew what it meant, she curled up against me. I held her close and kissed her hair. 

“I want to kiss you, Hina.”

She touched my face, “You don’t have to ask permission. I’m yours.”

And I didn’t waste time, I once again claimed her as mine.

***

We decided to get up at 9 am.

We cooked breakfast, together. We do things together for the whole morning. I don’t know but I always make sure to hold or touch her whenever I have the chance. We ate breakfast, while we held hands.

“Are you sure you’re not going to work?” she asked worriedly.

“That’s the 4th time you asked me that, do you want me to go to work?” I asked her as we cozily lay on the couch. 

She blushed and looked away. “No, I don’t want to.”

She once again put both her hands at my neck and buried her face at the crook of my neck.

***

I know we're happy, but I also know we need to talk things out.

Kenma’s right. I have to tell her the truth.

“Hina, we need to talk.” 

We are now sitting and facing each other.

“I wanted to say sorry. For everything.” I said looking straight to her eyes.

I saw her flinched, and I know I’m digging deep into her wounds. The wounds I already inflict to her. And I’m well aware of that.

“Tetsu, I-”

“No, let me finish, Hina.” I stopped her by saying I don’t have to do this, that she already forgives me, because I know how much I hurt her.

“First of all, I’m sorry for invalidating your feelings about our angel. Our baby.” After I said those words, her tears fell. I fight back myself from not hugging her right away. 

I hate seeing her crying face, but this is the price I have to pay for my wrong doings. 

“I ignored you, taking you for granted. I even purposely try to forget loving you. I was wrong, I thought it’s only me who is hurting when we had a miscarriage. When the most hurt one is you, and I failed as a husband to protect and support you in times that you needed me.”

I don’t mind crying in front of her, I don’t mind showing how weak I am, and I don’t mind if I have to bow my head to ask for her forgiveness. 

“I wanted to apologize and beg you for any little chance you can give me. I hurt you big time, and I don’t know if you still love me or the marriage paper is the only thing holding you down. But I can’t imagine my life without you.”

She’s sobbing already, crying her heart out.

And I can’t help myself anymore, I throw myself to her, and hug her. Cry like a baby and we both sobs.

We both cry like our tears are unlimited, I felt her punching me, probably she wanted to release how badly hurt she is.

“I-I a-always question myself if it is still worth it to stay beside you, even if you always push me away. I cried myself to sleep after our baby was gone. And I expected you to hug me tight and remind me that it will be fine soon and I got to hold on. How many times I have to cry because all I can see at night is your cold back and it’s like I’m alone fighting.” she said in a shaky voice, she almost can’t finish those sentences without breaking a sob. she ‘s pushing me away, but I won’t let go.

I kept saying I'm sorry, I kept on saying please forgive me, until she calmed down and went limp on my arms. 

“You messed up so much Tetsu. You messed up big time.” she said in between sobs.

“I’m sorry,” I kissed her head, and I felt her hands hugging me.

I want her back, I want to start over.

But there’s this thing about Mayuri, and Hina needs to know it.

“Hina,” I cup her face, and look into those sapphire eyes the most beautiful color I have ever seen.

“What is it, Tetsu?” she said as she also holds my hands. 

“About Mayuri,” I saw her flinched after mentioning her name.

I know something happened the day Mayuri brought me here months ago, thus the result of her keeping a distance with me. 

“What about her?” she then looked away, and i felt her tremble more.

But I have to see her eyes, I have to see her face.

“No, please baby, look at me.”

I draw her face so that she can see me.

Her tears are already falling as she looks at me.

“Listen, Hina, I’m not having an affair with her. I didn’t like her.”

I said firmly.

And it’s like the time stops, she blankly stares at me without saying a word.

“Hina, did you hear me? I’m not having an affair with her, she’s-!”

I didn’t have the chance to finish what I’m saying after she suddenly kissed me. A kiss of relief, for the both of us.

“Please, love me again, Hinari.” I can’t help it, but my voice trembles.

She smiles gently at me, “I love you, Tetsuro. I love you. I never stop loving you.” she keeps on saying, that makes my heart melt. 

And I know I am the luckiest guy knowing this woman is all mine, forever.

“And I love you too, Hinari. And I promise, your love is forever safe with me. You have all my words, my love.”

I can’t think of any greater happiness knowing she loves me and that she’s mine forever.

***

“We have to talk.” I said it after I suddenly showed up at Kenma's flat. 

He swiveled his chair to face me, “Gladly, I wanted to settle the score Kuro.” he said as he stood up and went straight to the door. 

And I can’t believe how fearless he is right now. 

And I followed him.

“Look, Kenma I’m not here to fight you know?!”

When he suddenly gave me a glass and poured an expensive red wine.

“Our favorite, Château Lafite 1787. We need to celebrate right?” he smiled at me.

This guy, really.

“You had me there, yeah, we need to celebrate.”

And we both laugh as our antiques already subsided. 

***

“So you finally make up?” Kenma said as we sat at the bench of his balcony.

“Yeah, I also told her that I’m not having an affair.” I sip a little of the wine that tastes like the old days.

“You have to get rid of her, transfer her somewhere far. I can help you with that.”

“I might take your offer. And yes, I’ll definitely need to transfer her.” I said agreeing to his idea. 

“An obsess woman is the most dangerous one. It’s scary. I can’t believe it’s her. She followed you even at your work.” Kenma’s voice is a bit irritated.

“At first I didn’t recognize her, she changed her name and even her appearance. But It’s definitely her. I guess I’m wrong that I followed her every whims, I’m just afraid she’ll hurt Hinari. I’m such a coward.”

I won’t ever forget how Mayuri threats me to hurt my wife if I don't follow what she wants. 

“We should ask a mental institution for that. Leave it to me. I’ll deal with her.” Kenma said as he started typing on his phone. 

“Thank you, Kenma.”

Few seconds later he puts down his phone, “Done, you don’t have to worry about her.”

“That was fast!” I can’t believe how scary his connections are. But I’m amazed at the same time.

“All for Hinari, of course I’ll do anything to keep her safe.” 

There it is, the gentle and fondness he had for her.

Ahhh, I should have been mad at him, but I also love this guy. He’s the best man ever!

“So are you going to confess to her?”

“Will you let me?”

“I don’t mind.”

“You only say that, because you are so confident she won’t run away with me. Ah! So rude of you Kuro!”

“Hey, as if I will let that happen!”

“I need to think of ways to convince Hina that I’m the better guy for her.”

“Kenma stop, you still have the bruises on your face, I feel sorry if I have to add more.”

“Try me,” Kenma confidently said to me with a sharp eye.

And then, we burst out laughing.

This is so hilarious! I miss laughing with my best friend.

This is the first time in a while that we laugh carelessly, sincerely.

“Ah! I know the two of you are here!” 

We both looked at the door way, and saw Hinari walking towards us.

“Seriously, when can I have my own privacy? I can’t believe I gave my password to the two of you?!” Kenma complained but laughed at his own remarks.

“Too bad, we both have it, right Tetsu?” Hina smiling at me, as she put her hands on both of our shoulders.

“She’s right. Who will also remind you to eat or something if we didn’t know your password?” I added and saw him make face.

Hina just laugh at him and we are all laughing right now.

Kenma suddenly smiled gently, “Don’t ever break up, you two. Or I might be forced to kidnap you two and throw you to an isolated island somewhere. You two are my most precious friends, and I wanted you two to be happy. Always.” 

And that’s the sweetest message he ever said to us, and the best compared to his message at our wedding.

And me and Hina already crying, “K-KYAAAAANMAAAAAAAA~!!!” We both said

“HUH?! WHAAAT- NO-! ASHAJDHFJHASKFK!” -Kenma

We both hugged him tightly.

He’s really the best man ever.

***

**A/N updates every FRIDAY..**

Heyya guys, I would like to announce that the series will end until part 15. Thank you for supporting this fanfiction, I really enjoyed writing this. And I had the chance meeting you all. 

Stay tuned for last few chapters. Have a great day ahead!

~

Taglist:

@dekuspet​ @mkkhaikyuu​ @captain-eagle-art​ @rozesarered @kurooloves @elianetsantana @saamsstuff @seijohsangel

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 4: THE DAY I LOST EVERYTHING

We have to loose them Loose who? He'll take them. Who? We can't save them now. But I want to save them. "Y/N! Focus on running!" My dad yelled who was right behind us. I stopped in the middle of my tracks everyone turned to me. D/N was barking loudly, as if telling me to move. Everyone was telling me to move "I will save you don't worry." I said looking at my parents. "What---" As on cue lightning struck them. They aren't gone They aren't gone We will save them someday We will save them Now run My heart felt empty. I knew I was supposed to be sad, but I wasn't. It was like someone was directing me what I should do. Finally getting in on the car they all looked at me worried D/N nuzzled to my lap, Percy and Grover looked at me emphatically. Mrs Jackson was driving but occasionally glancing at the mirror. We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Percy sitting next to me and I wondered why I chose to be with him and not feel the weight of loosing my parents. I pulled D/N closer and hugged him. I didn't know what to do. Percy then broke the silence, "So, you and my mom... know each other?" Graver's eyes flitted to the rear view mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you." "Watching me?" "Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend." "Urn ... what are you, exactly?" "That doesn't matter right now." "It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—" Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!" and cried, "Goat!" "What?" "I'm a goat from the waist down." "You just said it didn't matter." "Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!" "Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?" "Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?" "So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!" "Of course." "Then why—" "The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are. And not to mention there turns out to be two of you which is worse than what I thought!" "Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?" The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail. "Percy," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety. You and Y/N." "Safety from what? Who's after me?" "Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions." "Grover!" "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?" Don't worry. They won't hurt us. Have you thought of who you want to be your parent? We have plenty of options, I'd prefer if it was either Zeus or Hades but I wouldn't mind to be Ares's or Hephaestus's. I guess Athena isn't so bad as well. Who was your Father and mother's favorite? I want my mom and dad... to remain the same... Don't change them. As you wish. We have to leave soon. The moment you go get in the borders, we will loose connection. Who are we? I lied, we're not you. We're only messengers. We don't know when you'll contact yourself. But it's not anytime soon for sure. Only half of the prophecy has been fulfilled after all. But... you came and... told me to stay with Percy. Maybe you did try to make a connection. I only came to ask who you want parent to be. "Y/N!" "Huh?" "Do you know who your parent is? Do you know what's going on?" "What?" "You were talking about Greek gods..." Percy said. "I-I... was?" I asked looking at D/N as if he'd know the answer. "Where are we going?" Percy asked. "The summer camp I told you about." Percy mother's voice was tight. "The place your father wanted to send you." "The place you didn't want me to go." "Please, dear," his mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger." "Because some old ladies cut yarn." "Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die." "Whoa. You said 'you.'" "No I didn't. I said 'someone.'" "You meant 'you.' As in me." "I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you." "Boys!" Mrs Jackson said. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm. "What was that?" I asked. "We're almost there," Percy's mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please." I didn't know where there was, but I found myself anxious to arrive. I gripped Percy's hand as he leaned forward. Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded. I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time. I don't know how but I wasn't hurt... or didn't know until I saw D/N had grown... bigger. Big enough to hide someone. He had cushioned my fall. "I'm okay boy, thanks." He shrunk and barked. He had a confused look as well as I did. "Percy!" I heard someone shouted. "I'm okay..." I tried to check on Percy. "You sure?" "Yeah..." He replied. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to Percy in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!" He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Percy shook his furry hip. Then he groaned "Food," and Percy sighed in relief. "Percy," his mother called, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered. I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns. I swallowed hard. "Who is—" "Percy, Y/N," his mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car." Mrs Jackson threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking. D/N must've read the situation and jumped out through the roof. "D/N!" He started digging on the mud occasionally barking. "There! Climb out the passenger's side!" Percy's mother told us. "Y/.N, Percy—you two have to run. Do you see that big tree?" "What?" Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill. "That's the property line," Percy's mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door." "Mom, you're coming too." Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. "No!" Percy shouted. "You are coming with me and Y/N. Help me carry Grover." "Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder. The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns ... "He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line." "But..." "We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please." Percy helped me climbed across Grover and I pushed the door open into the rain. "We're all going together. Come on, Mrs Jackson." "I told you—" "Mom! We are not leaving you. Help me with Grover." He didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, Percy was dragging Grover from the car. Together, with Mrs Jackson they draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. I followed carrying D/N in my arms. Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders. His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener. I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories my parents talked about. But he couldn't be real. I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—" "Pasiphae's son," Percy's mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you." "But he's the Min—" "Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power." The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least. I glanced behind me again. The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away. "Food?" Grover moaned. "Shhh," Percy told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?" "His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough." As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded. "Percy, Y/N," his mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?" "How do you know all this?" "I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me. I'm not like (Father's Name) or (Mother's Name), I can't hide you for good." "Keeping me near you? Hide me? But—" Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill. He'd smelled us. The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker. I could tell the Jackson's were having a hard time with Grover. The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us. Mrs Jackson must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Y/N! Separate! Remember what I said." I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, Percy went the other way, we turned, and saw the creature bearing down on Percy. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat. He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at his chest. The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, and help Percy but I knew that wouldn't work. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, he jumped to the side. The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward Percy this time, toward Mrs Jackson, who was setting Grover down in the grass. Thankfully its like they never saw me. We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as Percy's mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it. The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing Mrs Jackson, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover. "Run, Percy! Y/N" she told me. "I can't go any farther. Run!" But Percy just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air. "Mom!" I ran towards Percy to try and hold him back. She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!" Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around Mrs Jackson's neck, D/N ran to bite the Minotaur's arm but they both dissolved before our eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if they were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and they was simply ... gone. Both Mrs Jackson and D/N... "No!" The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling him, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too. Percy stripped off his red rain jacket. "Hey!" I screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!" "Percy what are you doing?!" He shot a glance at me, "Trust me?" "Yes?" "Bad choice." "Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward us, shaking his meaty fists. "I hagve an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all." He pushed my back to the big pine tree and waved his red jacket in front of the bull-man, "I'm thinking we jump out of the way at the last moment." But it didn't happen like that. The bull-man charged too fast, his arms out to grab me whichever way we tried to dodge. Time slowed down. My legs tensed. I couldn't jump sideways, only thought running in my mind was Percy's safety. Taking his hand which seemed to surprise him, I leaped straight up carrying his weight lighter than I had thought, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck with Percy in front of me. How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out. The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake us. I locked my arms around Percy while he went for the horn, to keep us from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils. The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward. Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off. "Food!" Grover moaned. The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. Percy had hit my shoulder with his head and pulled at the horn. Easing up to a more comfortable position to hold on, I got both hands around one horn and we pulled backward with all our might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap! The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry. Percy was on the other side, with the horn in his hand. The monster charged. Percy rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, he drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage. The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart. The monster was gone. The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just lost everyone. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover and Percy, needing my help. "Percy..." He looked at me weakly and took my hand. "Let's get out of here..." His voice was hoarse. This is where I say goodbye... Don't leave. I need you most now. I am always with you. And you have successfully brought yourself to another world. We will talk once you leave camp. I'm scared. You have Percy Jackson. Hold onto him. And you shall meet another hero. Save Percy. Save Luke. Save all of them. And you won't ever be scared again. Looking down at our linked hand I nodded. Stay with him. Save them all. You've hidden well, but its time for you to show who you are. I will declare who your parent is. I hope they claim us. Okay. We managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying and so was Percy, calling for his mother, so I held on to him—I wasn't going to let him go. "I'll be here... I won't leave you..." Successfully reaching the top, I could see eyes on us. Percy had lost his consciousness. I was tasked to carry the weight of these two. Seeing two people approach us, I didn't have time to process who, I cried, "Help them. Please." Before collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, "It's one of them. They must be." "Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "The girl's still conscious. Bring them inside." "Percy..."

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[mickeymouse-moshpit]

For Auld Lang Syne, My Dear

A/N: This is my first time writing outside of the Star Wars universe and I’m both excited and terrified! Thank you @zeldasayer for letting me work with Chef!Tovar and write a little something. I really want to do more with him in the future, and want to flesh out this relationship I'm writing about, but writing about him and pastry chef!reader (AFAB) was something I really wanted to do for NYE. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Side note I wrote this while drinking champagne and listening to fun music so there were regular dance breaks; if the editing is a little haphazard I apologize and will fix it in the morning. 

p.s. there is a borderline cringe use of the term ‘yes, chef’ and I'm so sorry but it, it just... I don’t know it worked sort of and refused to leave no matter how much I tried to edit the line. 

Summary: Chef!Pero Tovar and pastry chef!reader spend New Year’s Eve together. It does get spicy. 

Rating: E

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (reader has a Nexplanon), cockwarming

“Good morning, Chef.” You felt warm arms slide around your waist and morning stubble rest on your shoulder.

“Good morning, Chef.” You turned your head to give him a peck on the cheek. “I’m almost done here and then you can have the kitchen again.” You liberated the last gold chocolate sphere from its mold.

“No, hermosa, I don’t need your kitchen.” The Spaniard untangled himself from you as you went for the cake that was coming back to room temperature on the island. You ran the white fondant through the roller one more time before covering the small tier.

“Do you want to help me decorate?”

“No, cariño, you know what happened last time.”

You stifled a laugh at the memory of him looking dejected and covered in frosting that had managed to explode out of the piping bag. You weren’t sure you wanted a repeat in your almost clean kitchen. He was a master at his craft, but he did not quite have the delicate touch needed for the intricate designs and perfectly fragile pastry you were known for. You started arranging the gold and silver spheres of different sizes, gluing them on with a small smear of simple syrup and doing your best to mimic the way champagne bubbles would scatter. Pero watched you with his half-smile for a moment in silence. This was his favorite thing- seeing his other half at work in her element.

“Why are you baking for someone else again? Aren’t tonight and tomorrow supposed to be about setting the tone for your own rest of the year? I would like to see you doing that, not…this.” He gestured with his hand at all the things you had made, none of which were going to be consumed by the two of you tonight.

“I have to make peace, you know that. This is how I do it. We can’t spend tomorrow with them like they want so badly but at least I can offer an olive branch.” He wrapped his arms around your back again and rested his chin on your head.

“I know, hermosa. I know. But please tell me you’re at least going to make something for us for tonight.”

“Hmm, I was thinking a baked brie? And maybe some of this.” You unwrapped yourself and went over to the cart you kept in the kitchen, uncovering some of the things you had already made, bread and champagne cupcakes.

“Yes, chef.” He nodded at you and sat down on the counter to watch you finish the cake.

***

You weaved yours fingers with his as you walked up the steps to your townhome. He had been stoic, eyes hard as he stood just behind you while you offered the cake and pastries to them. You were all wearing masks, staying a good distance away from each other. He didn’t like what you were doing, didn’t want you anywhere near these people that had caused you so much pain. But he went. He respected you, wanted you to be happy, but was still not sure why you insisted on trying to make peace.

“Thank you, Tovar.” You squeezed his hand once, twice. “Want some help with the tapas for tonight?”

“No, mi amor. I want you to go rest now. I’ll have everything ready; you just go now.”

You nodded and hung up your coat. You made your way toward the bedroom, knowing he meant for you to bathe and put on something more comfortable than the crisp shirt and dress pants you wore. You pushed open the door and started getting out of your clothes, distracted by thoughts of Tovar and how you could have sworn he growled when your parents had taken your offering, voiced their thanks, and gone back inside. You dropped the clothes in the hamper and kept walking, clicking the light on in your bathroom, the sight that met you made your breath hitch. Sitting on the tub was your tray, laid with some of your favorite snacks and the book you had been working through for the last week. It wasn’t a lot, but you knew Tovar had been thinking of you when he did it.

You ran the water, adding some Epsom salts and letting them dissolve before climbing in. You let the water cover you up to your nipples, keeping warm while you chewed on one of the snacks and read another chapter in the book. You let yourself be absorbed, let yourself float on the words and be whisked away to another universe. You sat and read and snacked until the water chilled; when a chill ran up your spine you knew it was time to climb out and get dressed again. You pulled the plug on the drain and started to dry off while you wandered into the closet, trying to decide what to wear. You thumbed through a drawer, finally settling on something you thought Tovar might like. You slipped on your robe and went out into the living area.

You walked to the couch, but instead of stopping, went into the kitchen so you could watch him at work. He was chopping something while the scent of frying garlic and peppers floated to your nose in spite of the industrial downdraft. You could see the pan of rice waiting for plating and your mouth watered. You watched him in awe, the way he handled the knife bordering on lethal. You didn’t dare interrupt his flow. He would never yell at you, but he was in his element, his zone. That was a place that was sacred.

Instead, since you had an idea of what you were eating, you quietly grabbed some silverware and took them to the table, setting places and going to wait in the living room. He would call you when dinner was ready.

***

“God, baby I never want to cook again.” You never quite understood how he managed to make the flavors sing like this. He would say the same thing about your pastries, but you didn’t quite believe him.

“You don’t have to. I would cook for you every single day if I could.”

“Could I interest you in some dessert?” You were halfway out of your chair when he tugged at you, changing your momentum so you ended up in his lap instead.

“I can think of something far sweeter.” His eyes got impossibly darker as you maintained your eye contact. You thought you would catch on fire if you didn’t get closer to him. And closer you got.

You joined your lips together, wrapping your arms around his neck. You could taste the wine he had just drank lingering on his tongue. The notes popped as you squirmed in his lap, trying to find a way to get impossibly closer. He guided you up and backed you all the way through the house to your bedroom. He pushed you down onto the edge of the bed and untied your robe.

“If I had known this is what you were hiding, that this was all you were wearing, we wouldn’t have made it through dinner.” He ran a finger down the delicate gold chain running between your breasts and looping around your back. He left the robe on your shoulders as he slipped his shirt off. A man of few words, he gave you another one of his half smiles before grabbing your legs and hooking them on his shoulders so there would be no getting away from him. Not one for wasting time, he laid his tongue against your vestibule and licked a flat stripe up to your clit. He sucked against it, with just enough pressure to get you to thread your fingers through his hair, but not enough to give you any real relief. He brought a finger up to your entrance, coaxing out enough of your wetness to coat his finger and ease the slide into you.

You gasped as he teased you, only using one finger, barely applying the pressure you wanted on your clit, rubbing his stubble against you every once in a while. You tugged a little on his hair, silently begging him to give you what you needed, but he just laughed against you. The vibration made you whimper, and he pulled away, leaving his index finger buried in you but not moving.

“What is it, hermosa?”

“Please, Tovar!” He wrinkled his brow.

“Please what?”

“Please don’t tease me,” you begged.

“Oh, she wants to come, does she?”

“Yes, baby, please!”

He went back to your clit, lapping at it and adding a second finger. He added more pressure with his tongue, started curling his fingers inside you, seeking out that one spot that could make you see stars. You grabbed his hair with both hands now, trying to get him closer to you, a whine building in your throat. You squirmed against him as you felt your orgasm starting to build, but he pressed his free hand into your hip.

“You wanted to come, hermosa? Then come you will, but you will hold still and take it.”

His words came dangerously close to causing you unravel right then. He started humming against your pussy, adding the small vibrations to the combination of sensations already dragging you to the edge, and pushing you over the edge as you tugged at his hair and cried out. He lapped at you, taking everything you gave him, bringing you to the edge of it being too much before he lowered your legs and helped you move to lay against the pillows.

You watched as he pulled his pants off, cock finally free, the head of it red and oozing precum. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, but he was covering your body with yours before you could move to take what you wanted. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on him, a heedy combination that made your head spin. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he reached down to rub the head of his cock against your clit, eliciting a small moan as you squirmed again, wanting him inside of you.

“Do you know why I have so many pillows under you?”

“No, why?” You were breathless already, making the question short and to the point.

“Because I want you to see what I see every time I fuck you, how you stretch around me and take me so beautifully.”

You keened as you looked down at where the head of his cock was resting at your entrance, not pushing just let. He was waiting for you. You nodded, wanting him inside of you more than air. Satisfied, he pushed in slowly, so slow you could feel every ridge and vein as it rubbed your walls opening you up for him. He was right. You weren’t sure how you did it, but your pussy took him like it was made for him. The sight took your breath away, watching him bury himself into you until you couldn’t quite tell where you ended, and he began. He paused a moment.

“M—Move please, baby, I’m ready.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, setting a slow but borderline brutal pace. While he pulled out slow enough that you could savor it, could whimper at the gradual loss of him, he also slammed back into you. The way you were positioned, it made it feel that much tighter. You threaded the fingers of one hand through his chest hair while the other made its way to your clit. You wanted to rub small circles, but he redirected them to just above your pubic bone, making you feel the way it bulged slightly as he fully seated himself inside of you. You left them there, letting him do the work and rub at your clit, gently guiding you back to the edge of another orgasm.

“Are you going to come again for me?”

“Yes, chef.” You couldn’t keep the epithet from falling from your lips, not when he was guiding you through what he wanted from you. He kept up the same movements at the heat of your release started to build again, spreading in from your toes and fingers until it coiled and burst, making a mess of your thighs, and pulling a swear from Tovar and he slammed into you faster you now. You clamped around him again as you felt his release coat your walls.

He rested his arms on either side of your head and leaned down to capture your lips again. He went to slip out of you, but you held him in place.

“What’s this?”

“I—I want to stay like this. Want to keep you inside me until midnight.” You did your best to keep eye contact, but the heat making its way across your face and reality of asking for this when you thought he wanted to leave you, clean up made you look away; you would have buried your face in the crook of his neck if the positioning had allowed for it. He took your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look at him.

“Then stay like this we will.” He carefully helped you roll over so that he was still inside you, but you could rest on his chest. “I planned ahead to be in here at midnight while you were in the bath, so we don’t have to move at all until you are ready to.” He gestured at the two glasses and bucket of ice containing a bottle of cava, as well as a bowl of grapes.

You laid your head on his chest, still holding his gaze.

“Happy almost new year, Tovar.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Feliz año, cariño.”

[wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey]

Kdrama recs Part 1

Hullo and welcome to the kdrama life @camsthisky​! The following list is not in any particular order, other than the fact that I start with a more rom/com vibe and head toward more romantic/action or action. All the following kdramas are set in the modern day, and part 2 of my recs for you will be either darker kdramas set in present day or historical dramas.

Let the list begin!

1. Strong Woman Do Bong Soon: 

Do Bong Soon is a v smol woman who has super strength and who wants 1. To create her own video game 2. Get her police officer crush to return her affections. Which like, police officer is kinda cute but he ain’t that special. Bong Soon winds up becoming a bodyguard to Ahn Min Hyuk, the extremely rich, kinda spoiled, ridiculously extra CEO of a gaming company who does not like the police for secret reasons, and sadly does not have a good relationship with his family. (He a lonely boy underneath everything.) Min Hyuk finds out about Bong Soon’s powers, is in TOTAL awe of her, offers to train her in fighting, and literally falls head over heels for her.

The caveat with this show is there is a subplot or two that annoy me, BUT I just use the 10 second skip button and it is totally worth it because the romance is super cute—SUPER CUTE (also I have a list of favorite actors and Park Hyung Sik is def on it—one minute he is an adorkable, blushing bby the next he can be intense and sad)

He cute

2. Her Private Life: 

Hello fake-dating!! Ryan Gold (an adoptee who didn’t live in Korea for a while) is a former artist who stopped painting because he couldn’t deal with his Stendhol (?) syndrome (among other traumas). Deok Mi is the classy art curator of a famous museum who definitely does not have any secrets she wants to keep from the world—well, other than the fact that she is the number one fangirl of kpop idol, Cha Shi-an (who also appreciates art) and has a major crush on him. Ryan becomes director of the art museum and there is a whole thing with getting Shi-an involved in an art show.

Following this and a series of unfortunate events a false rumor starts that Deok Mi and and Shi-an ARE dating. It’s a little complicated to summarize, but basically what you need to know is that Ryan and Deok Mi become a fake couple so there won’t be a scandal for Shi-an or violence done to Deok Mi by rabid fangirls. I enjoy the fake-dating trope a lot, and how it becomes real for both of them! The leads are played by Kim Jae Wook and Park Min Young, who both have incredible range. Lots of soft moments in this one! Good kisses, a scene where the faves bake together, and also Ryan wears a lot of deep v-neck shirts and jackets which is an attack on me personally.

The show also contains a bit of angst, which I LOVE. Hand-holding becomes an important theme 😊

RYAN NO

3. Crash Landing on You: Rich South Korean heiress/fashion designer Se-ri accidentally winds up in a North Korean village, and really REALLY wants to go home. Mostly because there are no scented candles or spa-like bathtubs in the vicinity, but also because she could easily disappear into a NK jail and never return. A North Korean captain named Ri Jeong Hyeok finds her and decides not to turn her because, one, he’s a good guy who doesn’t want to turn an innocent person over to what might be her death, and two, turning her over might get his four underlings in trouble for reasons. Said underlings are his family, basically, and they are a deLIGHT. One is an argumentative proud sort who likes to drink and to feel important and who tries to provoke (and gets provoked by) Se-ri at every opportunity, one is a lover of banned South Korean dramas, one is a 17 year old bby who misses his mom, and one is the silent but most loyal follower of the captain. 

Besides all these people, there are two other characters (including a surprisingly wise conman) who become faves and major players in the plot.

There is a great mix of humor, romance, found family, and angst, and I love it very much. A few things don’t go the way I want them to near the end, but a bit of imagination and fanfic can fix anything 

ALSO I FORGOT THE CAPTAIN GETS SUPER SULKY FROM TIME TO TIME AND IT IS HILARIOUS

Show of hands, who thinks they will meet again

4. Are You Human Too: A FAVORITE SHOW OF ALL! TIME!

What do you do when your husband dies and your evil mega-rich father-in-law takes your son away from you and keeps you from seeing him ever? Well, if you are scientist with more genius than positive coping methods, you build yourself a robot son who looks exactly like your real son. Great solution, am I right?

Nam Shin III is the name of my favorite robot son, played by the inestimable Seo Kang Joon. He is the purest bby you will ever meet, being designed so that he never lies and so that he will immediately go to hug anyone who cries. He seems quite a contrast to the bitter human Nam Shin, who hates his gilded prison life, hates his Grandpa, and tries to sneak away from his right hand man, Secretary Ji Young Hoon, his only friend in the world. The girl in the show is Kang So Bong, an ex-UFC fighter who was so badly injured she had to quit. She is at first a bit jaded and mercenary because of her past, but she has a golden heart that just needs to be reminded of its existence.

Not going into details to avoid spoilers, but everything upends when the robot Nam Shin has to take the place of the human Nam Shin. The show is a soft, funny, angsty exploration of what it means to be human, with some good found family throughout. The character development is phenomenal, and the connection between So Bong and Nam Shin III is *chef’s kiss*. I just want to give a shout out to Seo Kang Joon who plays a duel role like you wouldn’t believe, to SKJ’s smile, to the soundtrack, and to the character of Young Hoon, a loyal, steady, and self-sacrificing secretary that we do not deserve  (gosh tho he looks good in blue!)

Look at my robot son getting a long-looked for affirmation! (his lil smile!!!

5. W: Two Worlds: 

This show unique because it  meta as HELL! Oh Yeon Joo is a junior doctor and the daughter of a webtoon artist whose big hit, W, is coming to a close. Much to her surprise, she gets pulled into the world of the comic where she encounters and saves the main character, Kang Chul, a former Olympic shooting champion who was blamed for the murder of his entire family, and whose sole desire is to find the real killer. It’s a good romance between them, and I also love Kang Chul’s relationship with his hyung, which, tho it is not always a main focus, is present and wonderful. Kang Chul himself is both intelligent and adorably bratty, charismatic and angsty, soft and fierce, and he is one of my favorite kdrama characters for sure.

As for the meta, the show does a fantastic job exploring the rules of the comic world, of how one can enter and leave, the importance and power of main characters and supporting characters, and the purpose of an author. There is always another twist coming, and it is just so much fun!

UM SIR PLS POINT THAT ELSEWHERE

6. Healer: 

I watched half this show and never realized that the female lead is played by Park Min Young, same actress as in Her Private Life. Someone had to tell me lol! She’s just so good at playing different people. In this show, she is Chae Young Shin, a reporter for a celebrity tabloid who has big dreams of becoming a famous reporter who investigates stories that actually mean something. She is a bit quirky, very cute, very brave, and probably one of my favorite female leads. She lives with her dad above his coffee/teashop bakery and is friends with all the ex-cons he has defended while doing his other job of lawyering.

Anyway this show is more of a romantic/action drama. To get an idea of the titular Healer, picture what you would get if you took some of Batman and Nightwing’s aesthetics (wearing black, hanging out on rooftops, punching people, flipping around, etc) and put them into a night courier who likes to watch National Geographic and dream about one day going off to an island where he can live all by himself for the rest of his days because oh yeah he is a loner whose only friend is an older woman who sets up his jobs and whom he has never actually met.

There is also an older reporter that Young Shin looks up to, the fun tabloid office where she works, a heck lot of mystery surrounding some tragedy involving a group of reporter best friends/found family back in the 80’s/90’s, and of course both members of the OTP have childhood trauma that has made them who they are today. One of my favorite things that happens in the show is that Healer has to go undercover for a while, Clark Kenting it up in Young Shin’s tabloid office, which overnight becomes a real news agency for reasons.

The action is LOTS of fun, and the romance is really soft and cute, and better still, when there is a misunderstanding or something that gets in their way, they almost immediately talk about it and resolve issues. They TRUST each other and give the benefit of the doubt where many tv couples would break up or get in big fights. I find it (plus the character development) very refreshing.

I couldn’t find a gif of my favorite fight sadly. This will have to do

7. Lawless Lawyer: This has Lee Joon Gi. Watch it.

Just kidding, there are many other reasons to watch the show, but it is true that Lee Joon Gi is one of my favorite actors. The man has phoenix eyes, a jawline that could cut silk, diamonds, you name it, and such a deep well of emotional acting that it literally kills me when his characters rage/weep/love/etc.

Anyway, in this legal thriller/romance/action drama, LJG’s character Bong Sang Pil is a beautiful, very extra ex-gangster/now lawyer who opens his own office, ready to fight villainy and avenge his mom with the law or with his fists, whichever is more useful at the time. He has a right hand man named Manager Tae and recruits a bunch of thugs as his minions, and they all become a weird sort of family as the show goes on.

Ha Jae Yi is a quiet badass lawyer who has no time for sexist idiots and gets her license suspended for smacking one of said fools. She gets recruited to assist Sang Pil, and they find their goals align as both their mothers were destroyed by the villains.

Speaking of the villains? EXCELLENT acting by them all, like they need to go down obviously, but you can’t help but be in awe of a few of them or even get attached to one or two in a weird way. Props to the show for having one of the best female villains I have ever seen

What an icon

Here you get two gifs of him

Sorry I needed to make it a magical three lol

~~

Tune in next time for historical dramas and modern dramas that are a bit darker!

[llendrinall]

Imagine. 1/2 The war has ended & the Wizengamot are currently holding court & reviewing Dumbledore's memories that he saved. In the span of months they find many containing Death Eater spy Severus Snape, & Ministry spy Percy Weasley. With one dead & the other Missing the British wizarding world is thrown upside down as they review the Memories & realise just how much Percy Weasley was a Mastermind Schemer in saving the lives of many Muggle Borns, Goblins, Half-Blood's and Blood Traitors.

2/2 The Wizarding world are looking for where war hero Percy Weasley is. Especially his family (In this story Percy saves Fred's life & then vanishes). They see that Percy Weasley had worked as an informant during his entire Ministry career, also being the one who thought out Dumbledore's death (Shocking the courthouse) "You're already dying Albus, why not have Severus strengthen his position with the Death Eaters by being your killer?" 'He used every situation to his advantage to end the war'

Ah, the reveal of the wronged hero, what a simple and satisfying trope. It gives us angst, the bitter taste of not being appreciated mixed with the sweet sauce of late recognition and regret.  

But Percy doesn’t care about that or any other tropes because he is exhausted. Winning a war is a tiring job and he was being doing more than winning. So as soon as Voldemort keels over and dies, Percy checks that his family is alive (they all are, good job there, Percival) and he makes himself a portkey and goes away.

One wizard can’t make a portkey, you say? It takes at least four? Barty Crouch Jr had to imperius three other wizards to enchant the Goblet of Fire? And portkeys don’t work in Hogwarts under normal circumstances? Well, these are not normal circumstances, there was a battle and Percy has a lot of practice making portkeys, all right? A lot.

(There are less than twenty goblins in Britain right now and it is all Percy’s doing).

He goes to East Asia because Percy is vaguely aware that a single white man in need of enlightenment and self-discovery should go climb a mountain on Asia. Percy doesn’t climb any mountains, though, because he can never do things as he is supposed to. There must always be a twist. In this case, he gets food poisoning twice and spends over a month trying to learn how to play a plucked string instrument. He is harassed by a flock of geese and meets a talking dragon. He fails to realize that there are no accounts of talking dragons in history (at least the history badly learned and repeated in wizarding Britain). Dragons do not talk nor do they speak. Your brother works in a freaking dragon reserve, for Merlin’s sake, Percy. You should know this.

After that Percy goes to the Caribbean, because he feels that his stress-relief and self-discovery journey should also involve a stay in a tropical beach. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the experience because he is a red-head. Also, sand is annoying. He freckles all over, eats a lot of pork, learns to play the maracas, to the locals’ amusement, and leaves.

By the time Dumbledore’s memories are uncovered Percy has made his way to a Greek island. He dresses almost exclusively with a t-shirt tied around his waist like a loincloth and a pair of trainers. He also carries with him a bag made from a t-shirt like some sort of wild instagrammer. He carries all kind of knick-knacks in his bag that he uses to create himself a house at night, as if transfiguring a nutshell into a bed were a normal thing, Percy, you utter maniac.

From time to time he goes to a wizarding community and offers to do some chores or magic in exchange of goods. If a goblin woman sees him, she will give Percy a loaf of bread. He has no idea why they do that but it’s very good bread, so Percy is happy to take it. One time Percy met a male goblin and he gave Percy some salt, that he still carries with him. It is possible that for the last seven months Percy had been eating goblin bread and whatever fresh produce the Greek witches offer him in exchange of doing chores.

It is at this time that the Puddlemere United goes to Greece to do some pre-season training.

(This is something that football teams around Europe do. Go somewhere outside the country to train for a month or two in different conditions. The Manchester United often goes to Malaga, in Spain, for a warm-weather training. I don’t even like football, I don’t know why I know this.)

When Oliver Wood sees Percy Weasley standing around in little more than a loincloth he naturally assumes that he is having a hallucination, a combination of the relentless training under the hot and punishing sun, the hours spent fighting the wind (they don’t know what it is with the wind there, but it will try to kick you off the broom. They are all coming out of this with iron abs) and the constant stories in The Prophet about yet another plot Percival Weasley had conducted, saving a dozen lives.

“Percy?” Oliver asks, sweaty and thirsty and half mad from training.

“Oh, hi, Oliver!” Percy answers, and then, because Percy is simultaneously the cleverest and dumbest wizard alive, “oh shit”.

*

Percy has not been reading the news. He refuses to. He is on vacation, he is still tired and he has a white hair on his temple. Just the one hair, but Percy is twenty-two and far too young for white hair.

Oliver nods. He gets it. He is still telling the Weasley family that he has seen Percy and that he is not dead at all, only slightly insane. But he will wait until he is back in England. Oliver doesn’t know if all the things in the paper are true, but even if Percy has only rescued one thousand five hundred goblins instead of the fifteen thousand the papers claim, he is still entitled to a nice quiet vacation in which clothes are optional.

Did Percy Weasley stop a goblin genocide in his free time? Does he not realize it? How dumb is this boy?

Come September the owls start to arrive. Letters from the Ministry, from the papers, from his family. Percy watches the owl fly around and doesn’t allow himself to be found. He does read Oliver’s letters and even answers explaining that no, his family is not heart-broken. They were heart-broken five years ago when Percy very publicly acted like an asshole. They got used to it, so there is no need for this new sentimentality now that Percy is on vacation.

Percy might be acting a bit like an asshole now, but he has very complicated and ugly feelings over his family and he would rather not think about them. Mostly, he is irked by the fact that they were so quick to follow Dumbledore’s lead. Perhaps because Percy never worked for Dumbledore, he worked with Dumbledore and had the distinct pleasure of pointing to his face, on multiple occasions, what a sly bastard he was. He has little respect for people who never confronted Dumbledore.

(So basically Percy only respects Aberforth Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall).

Also, Percy always did what he was supposed to: he washed his hands, minded his siblings, got good grades and he yet he was not the favourite son. This is all subconscious, of course, but he resents it.

Oliver keeps writing so Percy keeps writing back.

 “Did you actually side-apparate a family with twelve members?” writes Oliver.

“I have no idea.” Percy writes back. “Wait, do you mean the Johnsons? How are they?”

 “They are going to give you an Order of Merlin, 1st Class”.

“Surely they realise I don’t want one.”

“I think it is evident they realise nothing, Percy.”

 By October it’s getting cold and Percy finds that he doesn’t particularly care about wearing clothes, so he is getting ready to portkey himself to Argentina when Ginny arrives. She has such a driven and purposeful look around her that Percy assumes that she must be in the middle of a very important quest, so he hangs back and follows her as she treks all over the island and vanishes a thousand year old monster. It doesn’t occur to Percy that her quest is finding him and that the monster was merely an unfortunate bystander.

Eventually he reveals himself to Ginny because she is screaming incoherently at the sky and Percy thinks that she might be suffering hypoxia and dehydration. Ginny throws the water bottler at his head.

“I’m not the jerk here.” Percy says. “I needed a vacation and if you hadn’t seen those stupid memories you would have been fine with me being out of the country indefinitely.”

Ginny hexes him seven times, but afterwards she lies on the beach next to Percy and they look at the clouds. They spend a week together, nicely quiet and wild. They go for walks, play on the beach, make a house at night out of random transfigured things (Percy doesn’t notice Ginny’s look of utter bafflement and awe) and eat goblin bread (this time Percy does notice the look but assumes it’s because Ginny loves the taste).

Percy refuses to go back with her but he promises Ginny that he will be there for Christmas. Two days later he does go back to England, the bastard. His correspondence with Oliver has become… heated, to put it some way, and waiting a week for the owl to arrive is intolerable.  

Percy thinks this might be some sort of penance. It’s nippy in England and he can’t be dressed in a t-shirt/loincloth anymore. There is a flock of owls permanently following him, trying to deliver their messages from the Ministry and the papers and maybe, even now, from his family. Worst of all, Oliver writes him all kind of randy letters but refuses to shag Percy, even though he is right there, because of sports. Something about turning frustration into spectacular athletic performance, Percy doesn’t know. He is so frustrated that he goes and stops a plan to assassinate Potter all by himself.

On Christmas Eve Percy goes home and he is yelled at, cursed at, cried at and loved, very loved, it’s embarrassing. He is rescued from the madness by Potter who easily admits he has been fuelling the newspapers infatuation with Percy because that way they left him slightly in peace.

(And on Boxing Day he moves in with Oliver).

[shadow-assassin-blix]

BeeStings & SunBurns

PART 2

Santi X Estranged Wife!Reader 

Alright. This is part 2 to Bees and Sunbeams. It’s shorter. I might make another part to this, but I wanted to get this written.

It’s angsty. They talk briefly about a miscarriage. There is a smidge of smut/alludes to smut. 

Forgive my Spanish line if it is not proper. Its meant to say, “Hello my sweet girl”

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

Oscar tag: @m-1234 @artsymaddie​

That had been about a month ago. Things since then have been tense. Santi was beating himself up over leaving her. He felt wrong laying next to her. Like… Like he didn’t belong there anymore.

He would often lay next to her while they slept, but about 3am he would wake and be overwhelmed with guilt and move to sleep on the couch instead.

This caused tension that he didn’t intend; Bee was understanding at first, but he could see. He could see as time passed that her heart was breaking each time she woke alone. Santi… he didn’t know how to tell her that… he felt he didn’t deserve her.

That night they argued over… something unimportant; he couldn’t remember what. He didn’t even bother trying to sleep in their bed.

He found out later on that night, that his Bee was not going to accept that.

It was about midnight when he heard her feet trot down the hallway. She looked at him, laying uncomfortably on the couch.

She sighed heavily, switching her weight between her feet, staring down at the floor.

She appeared to be deciding something. Whatever it was, she came to a conclusion as she stood still.

She moved over to him, lifting the blanket up, before lying on top of him.

“If you refuse to lay in our bed, then I will just have to follow you wherever you lay,” She mumbled into his chest.

He didn’t know how to react to that. So, he just quietly held her to him. The two of them slowly fell asleep together.

She did that every night for a week; followed him into the living room and laid on top of him.

Saturday rolled around; Bee had gone out to get sandwiches. When she returned, she dropped the bag on to the coffee table before moving to stand in front of him. She made him look at her, as she slowly straddled his hips to sit in his lap.

He allowed it, his hands hovering over her hips waiting for her next move. She ran her hands through his curls softly.

“I’m not sure why… you have felt the need to sleep on this awful couch for the past month. But tonight, it stops. You are going to sleep in our bed, all night. No exceptions. No excuses. You are my husband and I miss you. And… it feels like you aren’t really here,” She addressed firmly.

He swallowed thickly as he broke eye contact.

“I don’t deserve you. You deserve… you deserve someone who isnt broken,” Santi whispered hoarsely.

“I don’t want someone else. I married you. Shitty knees and all,” She teased lightly.

He chuckled softly at her joke.

“I’m not doing a good job of making things up to you am I?” He asked looking back up at her.

“You can start… by sleeping in our bed. This couch is not good for you, old man,” She furthered teased, but there was a seriousness in tone that he could hear.

“Okay. I can… I can do that,” Santi promised.

“Now. Kiss me like you still love me,” She softly commanded him.

He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her closer. One hand drifted up her side, resting along her jaw. He moved her forward his lips landing firmly upon hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss. He leaned the two of them back, his hand on her hip slipping under her shirt.

She shivered at the contact; his hands were calloused but that just added to the sensation. It slid under her bra and brushed over one of her nipples. She moaned lowly into his mouth, which allowed him to sneak his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues battled for a moment before he pulled away to kiss down her neck.

He moved toward the spot on her neck that used to make her sigh sweetly; wanting to see if he still knew her body like he once did. He paid extreme detail to the spot where her shoulder and neck met, loving the sighs and breathy moans that escaped her.

A loud knocking on the door caused them to pull away from one another, disappointed.

She quietly got up and answered the door.

“Hi guys, what brings you by?” She asked as she took in Will, Benny, and Frankie.

All three of them had brought their significant others, and Isobel slept quietly in Sophia’s arms.

“Figured you were exhausted dealing with the grump. Thought we should come by and make sure you were still sane, and he was alive,” Will teased as he stepped inside.

Bee chuckled quietly, everyone had brought over drinks and food.

The boys took over the living room, turning on a football game. Bee grabbed her sandwich from the bag and smiled at Santi who was shaking his head at his friend’s antics.

She joined the girls in the kitchen, sitting around the island.

“How have things been?” Sophia asked curiously.

“It’s… it’s been going. It was going quite well a moment ago but then we were interrupted,” She said with a smirk.

Sophia snickered, and apologized.

The 4 of them chatted and ate, while the guys watched the game.

Santi eventually made his way over to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, before grabbing some more beers out of the fridge.

“You ladies doing well?” Santi checked as he popped the caps off the bottles.

The others all told him they were doing well. Isobel apparently recognized his voice and woke up looking around tiredly. Her bottom lip began to wobble as tears built up, looking for him. When her eyes landed on him, she made grabby hands to him, leaning toward him.

“Hola mi dulce niña, did you have a nice nap? Come here sweetie,” He cooed to her, setting the bottles down to take her from Sophia.

He held Isobel to her, bouncing her slightly, moving to the living room. Bee grabbed the beers and followed him over, setting them down on the table for the guys. Santi sat down with Isobel, cooing to her in Spanish. Frankie shook his head at them.

“When ya’ll decide to have kids, you are going to be whipped,” Frankie commented, grabbing a beer and taking a drink.

Her smile fell slightly at that, and she returned to the kitchen quickly. She tried to keep her happy mood up, but she could feel it wane.

When they all finally left, Santi slowly walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Are you okay?” He softly asked her.

“They… they don’t know still do they?” She hesitantly asked.

He shook his head, “I haven’t had the heart to tell them.”

“We… we should tell them, eventually. They should know,” She quietly noted, staring down at his arms. “We should…also talk about it, too.”

He nodded, they made their way to their bedroom, and after quickly changing, they sat on the bed facing each other. Neither of them knew how to start this conversation. Santi knew one thing was certain: they had to be open.

“Bee. We… we… we lost our baby,” Santi whispered looking at his hands.

“We did. I… I know it’s normal. I know it can happen for any number of reasons. None of which was our fault. But… but I wanted our baby so badly,” She whimpered, as tears began to quickly pour down her face.

“I know. I know. I wanted our baby too,” He murmured, pulling her into his arms.

She cried into his chest, staining his shirt with her tears.

They sat there for a long while, the both of them letting out their emotions. When all the tears were dried, they had moved to lay under the covers.

They fell asleep eventually, and true to his word, Santi stayed there the whole night.

The next morning, Santi woke up before Bee, staring at her softly. He brushed away the locks of hair that fell into her face and pressed a kiss here and there to it.

She slowly woke up, rubbing her eyes harshly to clear away the sleep.

She whispered a small ‘hi’ to him as once she was done.

“Hey… Bee?” He called for her attention as she sat up.

When she looked back at him, he continued, “Do… do you think one day… we could try again? Try to have another baby?”

She bit her lip as she thought about it, “Do… do you still want to have kids?”

“Only if you do,” He replied sitting up with her.

She looked down, and shyly said, “Yeah. I’d like to try again at some point.”

His smile was small as he lifted her chin up and kissed her soundly.

They made out briefly, before getting up to go shower. They took it together, and Bee, after washing up, spent a great deal of time admiring him and exploring his skin with her hands. She would find new scars and run a finger over them delicately, giving each one a kiss.

“Baby. You gotta stop that. I’m not as young as I once was, I can’t exactly pin you to the shower walls as well I used to,” Santi softly groaned as he felt himself becoming aroused with each kiss.

She smirked up at him, her hand reaching down to run up and down his length.

“Then hurry up and rinse off, so we can move this to the bed old man,” She said impatiently as she stepped out, grabbing a towel.

“Old man, eh?” He grunted as he rinsed off, grabbing his towel swiftly, once the shower was off.

He chased after her to their room, pinning her to the bed. She moaned as he attacked her neck, grinding against her.

They took a moment to situate themselves on the bed, before spending the next couple hours making love to one another. The first couple rounds, were short, and ended almost too quickly for both of them; it had been too long.

They would rest and talk to one another about anything and everything. It was always during the conversation that one of them would say something suggestive and start up the next round.

When they were both satiated it was close to 1pm, they had lunch together, and cuddled on the couch, watching movies.

It was the first time in a long time, that everything felt normal. This was what Santi missed the most. Just relaxing and watching a movie with his wife. No one needed saving. No war. No criminal to catch. It was just the two of them, in their own little bubble.

This was all he needed.

[secretadventuresociety]

Episode 29 Recap

Hi, hey, hello SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and your best friend. Welcome to Episode 29: Mother, She Wrote.

Treehouse of Horror

We catch back up with the Nobodies as Kess exits her greenhouse, letting Detective Brienne collect her thoughts after the trio’s separate testimonies. The first thing she sees is Pearce anxiously pacing with Kü trailing behind, mimicking his every step. Cutting off their questioning glances, Kess tells them to grab their coats and leads them to a treehouse in the backyard of the manor. Now, if you’re picturing something simple, made out of wood, maybe even for children-- you must be a new listener! Hi, and welcome to Mardosta’s Thieving Veterans’ (or, more simply, MTV) Cribs: Kess Edition. This ‘treehouse’ is an extravagant (albeit rundown) tower, secluded from the rest of the house. Kü immediately takes off to scramble to the highest point, and his companions climb after him-- winding up in a circular level with a small fireplace; because lest we forget-- Mardosta is fucking COLD.

Kü casts a magical bonfire into the fireplace, fixing his gaze on the blaze (come for the recaps, stay for the mad rhymes, amirite?) as Kess makes a perimeter check to ensure they were not followed, nor being listened to. Once she is satisfied, she turns her attention to the group, curious about how their interviews went. Pearce tells her he had been relatively candid-- only leaving out the part where her parents are criminals, which Kess is thankful for. Kü remains silent, and Kess worriedly attempts to get his attention. Kü answers her while still staring at the flames-- asking if someone will throw a log in so that he can stop ‘concentrating’ on the spell. As soon as the requested wood catches, Kü drops his spell, and relaxes just enough to tell Kess that it must have gone well because Mother told him Brienne didn’t suspect a thing. 

Even Pearce’s outraged cries regarding the fact that Kü outed the gunslinger as the most violent man he’s ever met (come on, Pearce, the boy has met all of THREE men in his short life) go quiet in this aftermath. The group can’t fathom why she would say such a thing if they hadn’t done anything to Xarus. Kess asks if they can talk to Mother-- but responding to Kü’s panicked face, she recorrects and implores him to try to talk to her. Kü worries she may not answer, but calls out a tentative “Mom?” regardless. Moments pass before Kü’s mind echoes with a full-bodied voice asking what he wants. The transition from Mother’s whispered tones to this powerful resonance does not escape our kobold, and it shakes him just as badly as if he had stepped into the emerald-drenched quarters of a mighty wizard, but Kü presses on.

“You’re Better Than I Am.”

With difficulty, Kü manages to inquire if Mother had anything to do with the death of Xarus. When she goes momentarily silent, Kü continues nervously on, reassuring her he won’t be mad, no matter her answer. Mother’s response drips with disbelief. She thought he had been with her that night, but he only remembers sleeping off his ass-kicking. Mother mutters a pleased ‘Interesting.” and talks down to Kü; telling him that since she is growing in strength she needs time to stretch her legs-- and as such-- she did indeed murder the loathesome dickbag. With an air of gloating, Mother croons that as Kü gains power, so does she. Now. You know I love for you all to read my recaps. However, I need you to go to the SAS Youtube (link at the end of my ramblings) and scrub to 45:30. You can literally watch Kü’s mind backfiring as pieces of this puzzle refuse to line up. He can’t understand why Mother killed something (BARELY someone) that they didn’t even eat, and you know, he’s not wrong. It’s wasteful.

Mother can only say that the slaughter sustained her in ways he couldn’t even imagine, and her enthusiastic lilt grows angry and gritty as she scolds Kü. She tells him he hadn’t complained when she used her talents to protect him in the fighting pit. The kobold physically recoils-- immediately ducking his head and begging her forgiveness for being ungrateful. He thanks her for taking care of him, and she spits a venom-laced acknowledgement before taking her leave from the conversation. Kü looks up at his friends, afraid to divulge what he’s learned. Pearce pinkie promises him he won’t be angry-- and once Kü reveals Mother DID in fact murder Xarus (possibly to consume his power?)-- the gunslinger points his weapon into the air and fires it, dust and rubble raining down on him while he screams in irritation, “I’m so happy you were honest with me!” and subsequently mumbles about their imminent doom. 

I need to give a trigger/content/hard-hitting roleplay warning before this paragraph. If mental and physical abuse is something you’re uncomfortable reading about, please feel free to skip to the next heading. Cool? All right. Pearce and Kess begin to question Kü about Mother, and he gets increasingly more uncomfortable after each question. Has Mother ever fought with him? Hurt him? How does he feel when Mother gets upset? Kü goes mostly silent, replying with no’s where appropriate and ending on his view that his feelings don’t matter-- and that he’s never considered himself his own person. Kess reminds him of things that separate him from Mother; his love of shiny things, his fashion choices, and his friendship with them. As the kobold reaches up to wipe a tear away, Mother’s skull shifts ever so slightly to display a sizable, healed scar on his nose. Kess gets down on his level and tells him she believes him to be Good (™, ™, ™), and Mother has nothing to do with that. Pearce even brings the kobold into a hug and whispers the same sentiment into his ear. Kü’s confidence is bolstered, but tampered down by the fear of Mother overhearing and punishing him.

Kü, Interrupted

Pearce, having calmed down, admits to Kü that he’s not angry about what Mother did, but instead HOW she went about it. Her carelessness (I mean, what did we expect from a disembodied voice wreaking havoc in our terrible little angel’s mind) has put them in a precarious position. The gunslinger does, however, chime in with Kess to console Kü that none of it is his fault. Dear Reader, once Kü started in with, “If I had just stayed on the island none of this would have happened.”, I was absolutely hyperventilating from sobbing so hard. I could barely hear between my wheezing cries, but the new SAS captions made sure I knew that mention of the island caused Kü to realize Mother’s body is still there-- and he shuddered to think what might happen if it was destroyed. At this point, my eyes were swollen and my nose was running, yet I made out the abject fear rolling off of Kü when Kess suggested maybe it wasn’t his actual mom he’s been talking to, and offered to help him take off the skull to be sure.

I held my breath (or was my throat just closing up from emotion?) as I waited for Kü to answer. He ducked his head and shook it in refusal, having been pushed too far. So, the group did the only thing they could think of. Redirected the thoughts of the kobold to temptation of-- you guessed it-- meat. They had all slept past breakfast, and in all the commotion, had not realized the grinding emptiness of their guts. Kess promises the party fish, so they climb down from the ‘treehouse’ and make their way inside. As they enter, however, they are waylaid by an unfamiliar figure on the ground floor of the house. Well, unfamiliar to all but Kess. She brightens and calls out to him. It’s Vendreth, resplendent in his enchanted wheelchair. They catch up for a moment, Kess makes introductions, then the baron confesses he’s making a house call to talk to her mother.

Kess jumps at the chance to escort him to her parents’ floor-- he glides along in his chair as Kü chatters about fish while ascending the stairs, but before they can take Vendreth any further, Norse comes from around the corner on the second floor and intercepts them. Norse steals him away as he calls for some tea, and maybe a light snack of fish. Seems Kü rubbed off on him. Our heroes slink away; Kess wishing to be in the room where… well, whatever is happening. I tried, Lin. I tried. Anyway, Pearce encourages her to ‘go be a Shadowmore’ and he and Kü will try their hand at waitstaffing. So, Kess races to catch up with the pair of Adulty Adults (™, ™, ™), only to be turned away. Her mother tells her she needn’t worry herself with the discussion, and tells her to rejoin her friends.

Li’l Butler

Surprisingly, Pearce leads Kü without incident around the maze of a mansion to the kitchen, wherein the gunslinger immediately begins rifling through the cabinets. He finds two crystal chalices, and prides himself on his excellent glassware taste. Kü, feeling left out, climbs his way to one of the top shelves and tosses a claw out to grip a similar cup-- almost falling and bringing fragile glass down on top of him. However, he smoothly recovers, climbing down just in time to see Kess leading Pearce in making a pot of tea. Our gruff friend throws a tea towel over his arm and places the chalices and teapot on a tray; hellbent on playing butler for their important visitor. The trio walks carefully back up to the room Norse and Vendreth have claimed. Pearce hands the baron one of the fancy glasses and begins to pour the boiling water into it. Everything is going well, Pearce is making a stunning impression-- and then the chalice shatters from the unyielding temperature of the tea. The room goes silent as Pearce screams an expletive, apologizes, and bows himself out of the room. 

Kess is unfazed; using this opportunity as an excuse to escape the house. She once again orders the boys to grab their overcoats and proudly announces they’re going to the library of Mardosta. On the way there, the party stops by a food stand and procures buckets of fish sticks. Yes, you read that right. Fish sticks, the way Mother used to bake. Kü goes somewhat silent, enjoying his long-awaited meal, and Kess uses his distraction to divulge to Pearce what it is they’re going to be looking for. She hopes that there will be some sort of clue to not only Mother’s identity, but also that of Ashe. The changeling notices as they walk that people seem to be recognizing Kü from his epic showdown in the Underfrost. She smiles and keeps it to herself as she is pulled from her reverie by Pearce voicing a need for ammo. She agrees to take him to the Night Market once they finish researching. Kü, coming up for air from his bucket of grease, feels that good good food coma coming on. Pearce tells the kobold they are basically going to ‘The Napping Place’.

Entering the gargantuan (FIVE floors, guys. Who has that many books?!) marble building, Kü seeks out a warm cubby near a fireplace to curl up and sleep off those yummy processed seafood spears. Pearce and Kess split off, one headed to search for fallen gods and the other to hone in on beings that are known for their close relation to shadows. The gunslinger finds three novels of note; skimming them and cramming them under his arm to have Kess read into further. However, our Druid has much more luck. A book dedicated to ‘ancient evils’ catches her eye, and as she flips through it, her gaze lands on an illustration of snaking shadows squeezing a humanoid as they appear to howl in pain. Reading the section, she learns about ‘The Shadowmother’, also known as Skugamor-- a being of unknown origin who has the power to contort and control shadows. Her focus dims after this section, brain buzzing with terror, and so her search into Ashe is less satisfying. However, she does hit on an interesting piece as she focuses on fire itself-- learning that there are beings (Titans and Quasigods) who are made of the remnants of slain victims of gods or dead gods themselves. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!

Pearce’s Parable

Pearce and Kess find each other and share their pertinent findings. Kess decides to check out the three books Pearce brought to her, but steals a second pass at the tome with the information on Mother. She soundlessly rips the informational page from its binding and slips it into her bag. I mean-- I knew her family was made up of criminals but…. DEFACING A BOOK, KESS? What kind of MONSTER are you?! So, Book-Ruiner Shadowmore heads to the librarian to get at least SOME knowledge legally, and at the same time, Pearce comes across Kü still sleeping soundly. The gunslinger attempts to scoop up the kobold without waking him, but as soon as Kü is in Pearce’s arms-- he startles. Pearce assures him everything is okay, they found what they needed and are about to leave. Kü, without missing a beat, brings a small hand up to Pearce’s cheek and asks the gunslinger to tell him a story. Remember how I told you to WATCH that sad moment? Well here’s a palate cleanser! Go to 2:39:39 and hear the entirety of ‘The Hungry, Hungry Kobold’. 

The fairytale is good enough that it lulls Kü back into sleep, and Daddy Pearce carries him outside and waits for Kess. When she leaves the library, they fall into step together and make their way to the Night Market. It is an impressive, overpowering bazaar-- stalls snuggled up to each other with a glass roof overhead, the calls of merchants hyping up their wares ringing out, and the faint smell of animal feed permeating the air. Despite its sprawling floor plan, it doesn’t take long for Pearce to sniff out the gun show. The proprietors he finds do not have anything that will work for Iris, and so the gunslinger requests the components to make the ammo himself. As the shopkeeper mills around to fulfill his request, Pearce notices that all of the guns being sold in this part of the market are branded with the curlique GG insignia of his father’s weaponry business. He pays the shopkeep extra to give him the name of the supplier of her guns-- and she warily imparts that a contact in Nevyra keeps them stocked. This is, apparently, where Pearce’s deadbeat dad hails from. Can we REALLY tackle mommy AND daddy issues in one episode?!

As the group leaves the market, Kess wakes Kü up to have a midnight snack of… more fish sticks. Between bites, all three discuss their wild dreams at sea, and how they mostly revolved around people they care about dying, aside from Pearce-- who was completely alone. As Kü admits that he dreamed of killing both of his companions while Mother cheered him on, Kess has a brain blast. She turns and makes a beeline straight back to the Night Market-- seeking out Greg’s Wonderful Magic. There, a charming southern gentleman asks how he can help, and Kess requests a Speak With Dead spell scroll. The scroll is there, however after some debate, the Druid realizes she is unable to cast it. Thus her plan of speaking with Mother’s skull is momentarily foiled, and so the three of them return to the manor to close out the longest day of their collective lives.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

TL;DR

Listen, I’m curious to see what would happen if they tried to talk to Kü’s helmet-- but I can only handle so much trauma in one episode! Please let me BREATHE!

Apparently you shouldn’t pour boiling water into glass. Thank you for this lesson, DM.

If you are a victim of abuse, know that it is not your fault and you are not alone. And thank you to the SAS crew for telling this important story. https://www.crisistextline.org/

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pearce be with you and catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on August 25th at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

Secret Adventure Society | Session 29: Mother, She Wrote | CW: familial trauma and mental abuse

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

[flightfoot]

Dragon Falls Ch. 2

AO3

Light filtered through her eyelids.

 Kagami groaned.

 Sadly, groaning didn’t actually cause the sun to reverse and go into hiding.

 Against her wishes, she woke up the rest of the way.

 And very much wished she hadn’t.

 Every part of her body ached. She felt like she’d just been hit with a sledgehammer between her eyes, and her wings…

 She tried to shift them.

 Big mistake.

 Searing pain ripped through her, forcing her to let out a yelp. Craning her neck around, she got a good look at them.

 They appeared intact, but the joint of one of her wings was severely swollen.

 She winced.

 Dragons healed quickly, but an injury like that was likely to take a week or more to recover from. In the meantime, she was grounded.

 What even HAPPENED?

 Casting her mind back, she tried to recall.

 The memories were fuzzy, as they always were after a raid. The queen’s compulsions dulled higher order thinking, replacing it with her own will - mostly “get food”. Sheep were her favorite.

 While she’d been off hunting for the Queen numerous times, this was her first time going up against humans. These were by far the most dangerous hunting grounds.

 And now here she was, alone, in a valley, badly injured, unable to fly away, and-

A face swam across her vision, blond hair and a smirk, and then-

 The structure collapsed on her.

 She shuddered. Well, that explained the injuries. But what happened after that?

 Branches brushed against her, uneven ground occasionally causing her to stumble. 

 She didn’t pause, just getting up and running some more.

 All she knew was she needed to get far away from there, to somewhere safe.

 A short fall, trying to spread her wings and finding one wouldn’t move properly-

 And then she was on the ground.

 She faintly heard leaves rustling, but couldn’t bring herself to move.

 PAIN.

 Something CRACKED, going back into place.

 Flailing a little, she opened her eyes.

 THE BOY.

 Tried to get to her feet-

 And fell.

 He ran.

 She passed out.

 That crack… did that boy relocate her wing joint?

 And he hadn’t come back with backup, even though she was unconscious and helpless…

 Though that part might be due to it being night at the time. She had decent night vision, but from what she’d heard about humans, theirs was atrocious.

 Hauling herself up (and grimacing a bit at the soreness) she set about investigating her surroundings.

---------

 This area she’d fallen into was pretty nice at least. Only one entrance in or out (unless you could fly or felt like falling fifteen feet), with a small freshwater pond and some nice spots for sunbathing. 

 The single entrance made things tricky. On the one hand, it meant she couldn’t be surrounded by vikings. On the other hand, it meant that she had no escape route.

 Probably best to avoid it except for getting drinks of water. 

 Her stomach made her other needs known, giving out a rumble.

 She sighed. Hopefully prey was plentiful.

------------

An hour later she’d caught and eaten three rabbits and a squirrel. 

 Turns out they weren’t used to being sprayed with water or electrocuted. 

 No fire blasts. While that would certainly have done the trick as well, setting the forest on fire while she was in it didn’t seem like the best idea.

 Her ears pricked.

 Voices floated up from somewhere close by.

 She hid behind a bush as well as she could. Even injured, she’d probably be able to fight off a couple vikings, but best to gather intel first.

 “...you think it’s still there?”

 “Probably. It was hurt pretty badly.”

 A flash of yellow caught her eyes.

 A boy and a girl traipsed into view. 

 The boy… that hair looked a lot like what she remembered from before, with the attack.

 The brown-haired girl was new though.

 She darted out of the bush. The brunette raised her axe instinctively.

 Keeping an eye on her (the axe probably wouldn’t do MUCH damage, but it partially depended on where she was hit…) she faced the blonde. “Why didn’t you kill me before?”

 Both the humans’ mouths dropped open as their eyes bugged out of their heads.

 She tilted her head to the side. 

 What were they doing? Was this some human signal?

 She had a difficult enough time reading DRAGON body language, did she have to master human nonverbal communication as well?

 “YOU CAN TALK?!”

 They didn’t know that? “Of course I can-”

 Wait.

 They only ever raided the humans when under the Queen’s influence.

 And while being controlled by her, they were little more intelligent than the prey they hunted.

 “You’ve never heard us talk before.”

 The boy stared off into the distance. “Those sounds I heard you making before, the screams… I… I thought they sounded too human. I- I guess… I guess now I know why.”

 The girl put her hand on her chin. “I’ve been through a lot of dragon raids. One of the first things I learned was how indistinguishable dragon cries were from human cries and I just… no one ever thought, even CONSIDERED why that might be.”

 Blinking, the boy snapped out of his daze. “Well there was Alix’s brother’s theory.”

 “Jalil’s… oh right!”

 She turned to face Kagami. “Uh… you’re not secretly a banished viking, cursed to wander the skies in the shape of a beast, right?”

 Humans were weird. “I am fairly certain I am not.”

 “So why can you talk? Why haven’t any dragons talked to us before? Oooh can only SOME dragons talk? Why have you guys been raiding our town? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.”

A squeal emanated from somewhere close by. It took her a moment to realize it came from the girl.

 “Do- do you know what happened to my mom?” a voice asked quietly.

 His voice quavering with hope, the boy looked up at her, almost seeming to plead for her to say ‘yes’.

 She hated to disappoint him.

 But lying would hurt more. “This was my first raid. I know nothing about any specific humans.”

 He went quiet, looking down at his feet. The girl put an arm around his shoulder.

 “As for the other questions, it does depend on species. Most dragons can talk, but there are a few who do not have the intelligence required to do so, as well as a few others who communicate through other means. All of us who are sent to raid your village are able to talk, however.”

 The girl frowned. “Sent?”

 “By the Queen. She bends us to her will, forces us to hunt for her, to please her. Some have tried to escape-” She shuddered. “But few have succeeded. She- she can hypnotize us, make it so we have to follow her commands, even miles away. Anywhere her voice can reach, she can take control. And it can last for awhile - up to a day. Your village is just outside the edge of her sphere of influence.”

 She looked down. “While under her power, we cannot speak, can barely think. If we could keep our wits, keep our sense of self-” she spat, “-then we might be able to oppose her, to throw off her control. Her call suppresses that part of us entirely.”

 The two humans looked at each other. “The dragons - every time we’ve captured one, my father’s ordered them killed almost immediately. They- they never got a chance for the Queen’s influence to wear off!”

 The color drained from the boy’s face. “They were killed… and they weren’t even in control of themselves at the time.”

 The girl nodded. She looked like she’d hurl if she opened her mouth.

 A low growl escaped Kagami’s throat. She’d heard stories of the dragons who’d never made it back, mourned the fallen. 

 While she’d saved some of her ire for the Queen for forcing her subjects into such a dangerous situation in the first place, she’d also harbored some fear and anger for the humans who actually killed the dragons involved.

 But they hadn’t known.

 To them, it was no different than her killing those rabbits.

 “We’ve got to tell everyone!”

 The girl turned, started to head back. The boy caught her arm. “Wait. I want to stop this as much as you do, but do you really think they’ll believe you?”

 She let out a frustrated noise. “Well if a dragon’s TALKING, they’ll have to, won’t they?!”

 He shook his head. “If they see a dragon in the village, do you really think they’ll all sit down and have a conversation with her? Or just attack immediately?”

 “I am not entering the village,” Kagami interjected. No way she was being kept out of this conversation. “My wing is still injured and I do not know if I can trust them to just talk. And while you two seem friendly, I have not forgotten how often you humans have hurt or killed us. I accept that you may have done so based on limited information, but they are still dead.”

 The girl looked away and sighed. “Yes, but… but what about next raid?! I- I don’t want to watch someone get killed if I could’ve prevented it!”

 They all stood looking at each other awkwardly.

 She turned around and started loping off.

 “Wait, where are you going?!”

 “It does not look like anything will be settled here and I must explore the rest of the island, try to find a better resting spot. I do not wish to risk being discovered and murdered by a random human.”

 The boy called out again. “But- but how will we find you again?”

 She stopped, closing her eyes. 

 These humans honestly seemed like they wanted to help. Like they didn’t mean any harm.

 But she also barely knew them.

 “I will find you. My hearing and sense of smell far outstrips what you are capable of. If I deem it safe, I will appear.”

 She didn’t completely trust them yet.

 But she wanted to.

 Turning around again, she got two dragon-lengths away-

 “WAIT!”

 Again?

 “What’s your name?” the boy pointed at himself and then at his companion. “I’m Adrien, and this is my friend Alya.”

 Adrien and Alya…

 She mouthed the words for a moment, getting used to the feel of them.

 It made this feel more… official somehow. 

 They weren’t just “those humans”.

 They were Alya and Adrien.

 And maybe, just maybe

 In the future she might call them ‘friends’.

 “I am Kagami.”

 She raced off, this time without interruption.

 They all had a lot to think about.

[fan-writer02]

Howdy folks. So, I watched Rogue One the other day and sorta fell in love (aight I’m going to be honest, I’m pretty sure it is now one of my favorite Star Wars films of all time) and honestly, Jyn and Cassian are my new otp. So, naturally, I had to do the one thing the Rogue One fandom knows how to do best. Make an alternate ending. c: Enjoy.     (Also if you wanna go check it out over on Ao3 I’d greatly appreciate it thx <3) (Oh, and let me know if you want more ;))

Find hope where hope is not found

               Jyn stumbled back, trying to ignore the pulsing in her leg so she could stand up straight. Her blaster was long gone, leaving her defenseless. But if she had to fight Krennic with her bare hands she would. So she pulled her shoulders back and leaned forward, even as her heart fought to break free from her chest. For she was staring down the barrel of a blaster.

               The shot came, but the pain did not. She glanced down in confusion, wondering if the shot had sent her into shock. She had been told that could happen, where you don’t feel the initial pain until the adrenaline wears off. But no, there was no blaster wound. No blood. Nothing.

               She looked back up again, watching in shock as Krennic crumpled, a smoking hole in his shoulder. Her gaze went past him, and her heart finally stopped pounding against her rib cage. Now, it sunk to her stomach.

               Cassian was leaning against a beam, back heaving and eyes focused on her, as if he didn’t even see the man he’d just shot. In those short moments that their gaze held, she took him all in. Although, due to his body being half hidden by the pole he leaned against, she couldn’t tell where he was injured. But clearly, he was. Wavering, he looked like he was barely hanging on to consciousness. He still had his arms extended, his hands tightly fisting his blaster.

               She stumbled forward and half crashed half leaned against the control panels. Much to her relief, the files had loaded. They’d been successfully transferred. The relief that filled her was exhausting. A sort of sad bubbly feeling. They’d done it. They’d succeeded.

               She only prayed someone had been listening.

               She looked up at Cassian and flashed a smile. His blaster was still aimed at the unconscious Krennic, but his eyes were on her. He matched her smile with his own, albeit weak and laced with pain. He wheezed and slowly began lowering his arms, just before the blaster clattered onto the grate floor. She stumbled towards him and ducked under his arm before he could completely collapse.

               His breathing was ragged, she could feel it on her cheek. Still, she couldn’t find her voice, and it seemed he couldn’t either, for all he did was wrap an arm around her waist while his other grappled for her arm, which he gripped tightly. She looked towards Krennic, and moved to pick up Cassian’s blaster, fully prepared to finish the job. But Cassian stopped her, using his body weight to keep her from moving.

               “Leave it, Jyn, leave it.” He mumbled, his accent thick. She fell back, allowing Cassian to press his face against her hair, letting his choppy breathing calm her. He was right. There were other things to worry about.

               Like getting off this planet.

               She took one last look at Krennic, before turning and pulling Cassian’s arm over her shoulder. Together, they made their way towards the elevator, shuffling as an awkward three legged creature. With every step Cassian became more and more dead weight.. Both his legs were uncooperative, dragging them both down, and he had his left arm wrapped tightly around his chest. But the only signs of his discomfort was his breathing.

               “Do you think-“ He wheezed, and she craned her neck to look into his face. She was surprised to see he was already looking at her, a small smile teasing his lips. “Do… do you think anyone was listening?”

               She focused on placing one foot in front of the other, but she didn’t have to think twice before answering. She broke eye contact to look up at the cloudy sky above them, littered with a few scattered Imperial aircraft, but mostly smoke. “Yes. I do.” She had little energy to say any more, so she only shifted him, her heart skipping a beat at his shaky inhale. She pulled them into the elevator and helped Cassian to lean against the wall so she could focus on punching at the keypad, placing their destination for ground level.

               “Jyn.” Cassian muttered. At this point his accent was so thick, she could hardly make out what he was saying. She finished typing, and the door slammed shut. She turned and went to his side to grab his arm, supporting him. He murmured her name again incoherently, his eyes barely open.

               “Cassian, stay with me.” She said, too desperate to care that her voice quivered. She was done with being strong. Done with being careful and guarded. Her shield was down, but she did not care. Because for all she knew, Cassian could be dying.

               She moved closer, until their chest’s were almost touching. Cassian’s head was resting against the glowing wall of the elevator, his tired gaze resting on her, and she couldn’t help but lean forward. She lifted a hand and set it on his shoulder, trying to tell him what she wanted to say. She opened her mouth to actually voice her thoughts, to tell him “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m sorry about K2 I’m sorry we’re going to die I’m sorry-” but nothing came out. She shut her mouth again, feeling absolutely and utterly helpless.

               He surprised her by lifting his hand and grabbing the edge of her shirt, just above her collar bone. His look deepened, and for a moment, Jyn felt the world around them disappear. Like they weren’t in a shaking elevator, in a building on an island threatening to explode. Like their friend hadn’t just died. And for a minute, everything was okay.

               But the spell was broken when the elevator shook, nearly spilling them both onto the floor. She pushed away from the wall towards the panel, huffing a sigh of relief when the screen glared back at her “Ground 0”.

               She spun around and grabbed Cassian, trying to be somewhat gentle by pulling him against her. His side bumped against hers, and for the first time he let out a pained moan. She murmured a small, “Sorry.” but there wasn’t time to be careful. The doors opened, and the world outside only confirmed what she feared.

               The entire island was falling to hell.

               Ships were raining from the sky, along with bits of debris, and consequently, balls of flame comprised of broken parts from both the building towering above them, and the crashing ships. She pulled Cassian out of the elevator and across the sand, while he tried his best to help her. But he couldn’t seem to get his legs beneath him, which worried her more than she could say. But still, he didn’t complain, only pushed on in desperate attempts to match her sloppy steps.

               The wind picked up, grabbing at her shirt and hair. Sand began to swirl about them, getting into her clothes and her eyes making it almost impossible to see. She squinted, and swiveled, trying to find a means of escape. But when she turned, she stumbled, and for a moment forgot to breathe..

               On the horizon rose a plume of flame and smoke. A giant mushroom cloud, like the storms she’d seen back home, on the farm with her father and mother. One’s that flashed lightning and thunder. But this… this was clearly not a rain cloud.

               There’s something about staring death in the face that makes you lose all hope. Jyn fought back a cry as her knees went out, and both her and Cassian fell into the sand. He leaned against his hand, his other still holding his stomach, but he was looking up at the smoke.

               At their death.

               He fell back, twisting his body so he could see her better. She refused to meet his gaze, for she knew what she’d find there. It wasn’t like him to just… just sit there and do nothing. Unless he was giving up. And she wasn’t quite ready for that. Not yet.

               She wanted to live. So badly. More than that, she wanted him to live, too. She wanted them to live.

               She looked behind them, trying desperately to find anything that might look like a means of escape. A ship, a fleeing aircraft… anything. But all she could see through the flying sand was smoke and devastation.

               A hand grabbed hers, and she jerked her head to look at him. Cassian smiled wearily, and started to say something before turning away and coughing into his shirt sleeve. When he lifted his head, she was horrified to see the blood stain he left behind.

               “Your… your father…” he paused and swallowed. His hand squeezed hers, and he smiled again. “Your father would be proud of you, Jyn.”

               In that moment, Jyn had never felt such a strong desire to cry. And she never cried. She could count on one hand the amount of times she’d cried in the past five years of her life. But now, here, with death looming just a few miles away, and Cassian dying, she wanted to cry and scream at the world for being so cruelly unfair.

               She met his smile with one of her own, although it was tear filled. Because heck it all, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Death, at this point, was inevitable. So she let the tears fall.

               Cassian leaned forward, and his head met her shoulder. She moved closer to him, finding the strength to kneel up and pull him into her arms. His hands rose to press weakly against her back, another on her neck, and his nose tucked just under her ear.

               She could hear him breathing, and she tried to focus on that. The wind was picking up now, hot and dry. She knew it wouldn’t be long. Who knew this would be how she would die? On the beach of an imploding planet?

               She clung to him tighter, and honed in on his breathing. In and out, in and out. It was choppy, but steady. She let it drown out the noise around them. The sound of death.

               The wind picked up suddenly, and she knew. This was it. The sand was clawing at her face now, and she screwed her eyes shut. She prayed death would be quick about it. Not just for her sake, but for Cassian’s. He was shaking in her arms, his grip growing weaker. He was in pain, and if death was going to come, then she wished it would do it quickly.

               She gave up, and prepared to let the sand swallow her.

               But a hand suddenly gripped her jacket, none too kindly, and jerked her to her feet. She spiraled and sprawled on what she thought would be sand, but to her amazement, was actually metal. Metal that hummed beneath her with life and the promise of a roaring engine.

               She opened her eyes to see a figure dragging Cassian up the piece of metal which she realized was, in fact, a gangplank to a ship. She scrambled to her feet and crawled up inside the ship, not caring if it was Imperial or Rebel.

               We’re going to live. She thought fanatically. The idea was enough to make her giddy.

               The door slammed closed, and only then did she gather her wits. The man holding Cassian let him drop to the ground before rushing towards a door, not pausing to say anything before practically leaping into the cockpit, the sound of switches clicking and gears whirring the only things she could make out. After a quick assessment, she saw that she and Cassian were alone, with only the pilot as their companion.

               Cassian.

               She turned and crawled over to his side before helping him to sit up more comfortably. She thought about leaning him against the wall of the ship, but it was bent at an awkward level, and with how his ribs and who knew what else being messed up, she figured something softer would be better.

               So she positioned herself behind him, and slowly laid him to rest in her lap, with his back and head propped against her chest and shoulder. His head flopped, and his nose tickled her neck. Although having him unconscious worried her, she also counted it as a small mercy. At least he was blissfully unaware of any pain.

               She looked up when a curse was muttered from the cockpit. The ship shook, and she braced a hand against the wall.

               “Hello!?” She called, her voice a mere rasp. She swallowed and wet her lips before trying again. “What’s happening?”

               “Jyn! Hang tight, we’re breaking atmospheric pressure.”                

               Jyn fell back with relief, a small laugh choking her. Bodhi. It was Bodhi, he’d found them.

               “You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice.” She called, not sure if he could hear her or not. When she didn’t get a reply, she remained silent, figuring he could concentrate better without her distracting him.

               Instead, she looked down at Cassian, and brought her hand away from the ship’s wall to push back his hair. It was filled with sand, but worse than that, his forehead was layered with sweat. She let her hand rest there, worrying when she realized how warm he was. The blood on his sleeve caught her eye, and she wondered what interior damage he’d sustained to cause him to cough blood. She struggled to remember her basic lessons as a child. Gerrera hadn’t cared much for her schooling, so whatever knowledge she had was from experience or what her mother had told her.

               Coughing up blood. The lungs. A punctured lung? What do you do for a punctured lung? She looked down again, focusing on Cassian’s chest. Each breath was irregular and wheezy, his chest shaking with each rise and fall. His chest was definitely messed up.

               The ship careened, forcing Jyn and Cassian against the wall. Cassian’s weight pressed her already injured leg against the ship, and she bit on her lip to keep from screaming. The adrenaline was slowing wearing off, and with it came pain.

               The ship jerked and visibly dropped, leaving her stomach behind. “Bodhi?” She cried.

               “We’re out! We’re out!” He whooped, accompanied by more clicking and beeps from the ship's controls. She heard his quick steps, then he appeared in the cockpit’s doorway. “We’re safe, guys.” He breathed, a wide grin splitting his face. “Well, for now anyhow.” He moved towards them, pausing to search through some supplies in an overhead bin.

               She noticed he favored his right leg, but other than a few minor cuts and bruises, he looked to have escaped mostly unscathed. For the utmost time that day, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. At least one of them had escaped without any fatal injuries.

               Speaking of which.

               She pulled Cassian a little bit closer. “Is there a med kit on board?” The thought only then occurred to her that they were on a strange ship, not the one they’d come to the island on. An Imperial ship? If she was more aware, she might be able to figure it out. But her mind was so muddled, she couldn’t find it in herself to care. It was a ship, and it had gotten them off of Scarif, and that was enough for her.

               Bodhi pulled out a metal box from the bin, not bothering to shut it before making his way to the spot where Jyn and Cassian lay. He crouched beside them and opened the box, pulling out different medical equipment and passing them to Jyn, who only stared at them. She had no clue what she was doing. She’d been hurt in the past, but she’d merely slapped a bacta patch on it and called it good. There was only so much a small bacta patch could do for internal damage, especially something so bad it caused Cassian to cough blood.

               “What do I do?” She asked, picking up a cylinder. She pulled off the plastic covering, and realized it was a needle.

               Bodhi was busy peeling off bacta patches, but gestured towards his arm. “Just stick it in his arm. It’s an injection and should help wake him up and ward off some of the pain.”

               She didn’t hesitate to jab it into Cassian’s skin, right through the cloth of his shirt. Once all the clear liquid inside the needle was gone, she pulled it out and tossed it aside, before looking back up at Bodhi for further instructions.

               “Where’s he the most hurt?” Bodhi asked, a quiver finding its way into his voice. He looked up, and she realized he was just as nervous as she was, although there was a hardness behind his eyes. She trusted him.

               “I-I’m not sure. He fell in the tower, hit his back and chest. He couldn’t walk and he was coughing up blood-” She looked down at his sleeve.

               “Oh.” Bodhi whispered, following her gaze. His hands were shaking. “Oh.”

               “What do we do? I think he has a punctured lung.”

               “T-take his shirt off.”

               Jyn hastily unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away, revealing his chest. She swallowed thickly at the sight of multiple bruises and deep discolouration along his entire rib cage. And that wasn’t the most concerning part. Because she could see the bumps beneath the skin, no doubt hiding broken ribs.

               Bodhi began pressing bacta patches on the worst of the bruising, before leaning back on his heels and pressing his palms against his knees. He exhaled deeply. “Anything else?”

               Jyn carefully leaned Cassian forward, wincing when his head flopped forward. But she wanted to check his back, because she had no doubt that falling on a metal beam had to have some effect on his spine. At that thought, it dawned on her that that could be the reason why he’d been unable to walk. Perhaps his spine had sustained some damage…

               She pulled up his shirt, and sucked in a sharp inhale. His lower back was nothing but one massive bruise, and along his spine was red and swollen. Bodhi leaned forward and hissed at the sight, his tongue clicking anxiously.

               “Oh no. Oh no oh no, that’s…” Bodhi paused and caught himself before he could say any more.

               “Bacta. Quick.” Jyn barked, and both she and Bodhi wasted no time in pressing the patches against the worst of Cassian’s spine. Once done, she peeled off her jacket with some difficulty, seeing as how Cassian was still half laying in her arms. Once done she spread it on the ground, and Bodhi went to get a blanket to spread over top of it. Between the two of them, they managed to lay Cassian on the makeshift bed. It wasn’t great, and she had a feeling that with the state of his back, he should not be lying on a hard surface, but it was the best they could do.

               Bodhi stuttered that he was going back to check on their stats, before disappearing into the cockpit, leaving her alone. She adjusted herself until she was leaning against the wall, next to Cassian's head. She studied him, trying to calm down and finding it very difficult to do so. Her mind kept drifting to the fact that they had almost died. They’d been so close to death. She practically touched it.

               Her mind drifted to Kay. She hadn’t been half as close to the droid as Cassian had been, but still, he’d been a friend. One of the few she’d ever had. And he’d sacrificed himself for them- for her father’s cause.

               And what had happened to Chirrut and Baze, Jyn had no idea. If they’d survived the battle, there was a slim chance they’d made it off the island before it exploded. And she’d been so absorbed in Cassian she hadn’t thought to ask Bodhi. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. For now, she’d rather have the small sliver of hope in the fact that they might be alive.

               She looked back down at Cassian and dwelled on that for a minute. Hope. Something Cassian practically lived for. She closed her eyes and smiled, regardless of their current situation. To some it might seem pretty hopeless, with Cassian practically lying on his deathbed and Bodhi trying to find a way to get an Imperial ship to a Rebel base. But the plans had made it out, they were alive (albeit barely) and as long as they had that, Jyn figured there was still plenty of hope.