#i just want my heart back. ive been fighting so hard. i cannot stomach another second of this

[nerice]

i wrote more in january of 2018 than in 2022 (thesis hell), 2023 (rsi onset hell) and 2024 (full rsi hell) by themselves. jsyk, this is why i will kill myself

[kookingtae]

falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.

[wines-n-kisses]

SIREN'S SONG (ii)

Part (i) , Part (ii) , Part (iii) , Part (iv)

Type: au!Suguro Geto x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of sex (just once) anything else lemme know

Enjoy!!

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You were right there. Sitting by the window, sipping on coffee and calmly listening to music. Memories came rushing back to Geto. Everything that happened two years ago came back and hit him hard. "Oi, what do you want to eat?" Gojo asked snapping Geto out of it. "Uh... anything's fine, a sandwich would do. Take it back home ill be there in a while." "Geez, why are you suddenly acting weird?" "I'm not, just take the food and go home!" Gojo looked around to see what was causing him to be on edge. "Geto, are you seriously acting weird because of that woman sitting over there?" He asked geto raising an eyebrow "You know what, don't answer that. I'll wait for you at home." Gojo says grabbing the food and walking out. Geto walked up to you "Is this seat taken?" You looked at him "Sure, go ahead." Geto sat across you hesitantly. He looked at you, the way you changed your appearance. Your long hair that went down to your waist was now at your shoulder, you had more piercings and your outfit was completely opposite to your personality. You weren't wearing all black clothes that hugged your skin, you were wearing a loose top and a pair of jeans. "Are you just gonna stare at me like the pervert you are or make conversation?" You broke the silence and took off your earbuds. "I-I'm so-" "I already told you to save it." "I'm sorry. I have to say it! You cannot tell me not to apologize! My hearts been broken ever since I did that to you! Y/n, please give me another chance I love y-" "No you don't." Your voice was calm and low. Geto on the other hand was getting stares from a few people because he was talking a bit too loud "I do. H-How did you survive?" "Why do you want to know? You didn't have the balls to help me." "Just tell me, Y/n!"

~FLASHBACK~

You were lying on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood mixed with your sweat and tears. You felt heartbroken for the first time. Sadness was all you could feel as your body started to give up. You suddenly felt someone wrap something around your wound and lift you, you had no energy to fight them you were practically half dead. The only thing you hoped was that it wasn't Geto who saved you. A few hours later, you woke up and looked around. You felt pain in your stomach return as you moved and started to recall everything. "You're up?" You faced the door as you saw a girl walk in. She was almost 5'5", probably in her early twenties, had short brown hair and wore a hoodie that was down to her knees. "You were pretty bad." She said bringing the soup in "Crappy ex or an intruder? Didn't look much like an intruder so I'm going to go with crappy ex." You looked at her as she took a spoon of soup and brought it to your mouth "I'm not great at making soup so I got the ready-made ones..." you quietly drank the soup "What's your name little one?" You asked her "I'm not little! I'm twenty-one! And my name is Miya, just Miya" she said as she kept the empty bowl to the side "And you Miss?" She asked. You both spoke for a while and you realized Miya didn't have a job and lived to pickpocket. You took her in and helped her and showed her your gratitude for saving your life.

~END OF FLASHBACK~

"After I became more conscious I bandaged my wound up and got it treated." You lied. You didn't want anyone to know you took in Miya. Especially the guy who left you to bleed, to die. He did not deserve to know what happened to you after he ran away. You got up from the seat implying the conversation you had was over. "Y/n, please..." Geto held your hand which you immediately pulled away "Don't touch me." You said looking at him with eyes that could pierce his heart. "I love you, Y/n. I always have! Ever since I met you and I've fallen harder!" "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You? In love with me? Have you lost your fucking brain cells?" "Please, Y/n. Give me another chance!" You looked at him disappointed and walked out of the cafe. He followed you "Please! If not another chance at least let me explain myself!" "Explain yourself or lie to me more?" You stopped and turned to look at him, tears falling uncontrollably off his face. He looked pathetic. He looked like you when you were dying two years back. "Y-Y/n..." "Fine. Just give me your address." You say giving him a pocket notebook. He wasted no time and wrote the address "I'll be there." You said and walked off. That evening you stood in front of his house and knocked on the door. "You made it!" He said with a warm smile as he let you in. "Please sit..." "Sure. Start explaining." You said not wasting any time. "I-I was fascinated by your stories, they said you were unstoppable. Many people who tried to kill you died by you. I wanted to be the first one to kill you." "You got close." "But I couldn't. I fell in love with you, Y/n. You made me happy. You showed me happiness that I couldn't find anywhere else." "But you still tried." "I-I wanted to kill you before you left for good. I'm sorry but my life is meaningless without you!" "You said you loved me, I made you happy, there's no one like me but yet you STABBED ME and left me to DIE! You ran away like a coward! You were scared! You made me FALL for you, Sug- Geto!" Geto held your waist and pulled you closer and cupped your face with his free hand, oh how you missed his touch, the way he caresses your cheek to calm you down. "Please don't hurt more. I'm sorry!" He said under his breath. He lifted your chin and locked eyes with you, your lips were not even an inch away from his. "Give me another chance, Y/n." He said and he kissed you, you kissed back giving him your approval. You pulled back and looked at him, his unreadable eyes were now filled with mixed emotions. "Do you know what a Siren is?" You said pulling him to the bed on top of you. "A siren is a beautiful creature who lures sailors to their death." Geto said as he kissed your neck "When a Siren lets a Sailor go, do you know what that means?" You said holding his head "It means the Siren fell in love?" Geto asked moving the kisses to your lips. "No, it means she's saving her meal for later..." "What do you me-" Geto's eyes widened as he felt something sharp sink into his abdomen. "It means, A Siren will never let you go the next time." It all came to Geto, he finally got it. He messed with the wrong woman. "Now... you said your heart is broken into pieces right?" You said pulling out the knife from him making him scream from pain. "Let's see if it's true but remember Geto, I loved you but you took my love for granted." You caressed his cheek as he winced in pain "Never forget, a Siren's Song never ends" And with that, you pierced the knife into his heart as you kissed him one last time and felt the life from his body leave. You got up and grabbed your phone and called Miya "Please clean up the mess." "Roger that" with that, you hung up and walked out of the room "Suguro, I got us Kikufuku! Let's ea-" you both stood there staring at each other as the bag from Gojo's hand drop. "You-You're the Siren?"

For part (iii) and part (iv)

Check out @biancablack2474

(It will be linked here once it's up!)

That's all!

Hope you liked it!

[collapse-and-comfort]

Sudden Movements

I wrote this a while ago but I can’t find it anywhere on here, so I’m reposting it! I love the “character wakes up in a mental institution trope.” Please enjoy my self-indulgence! 

Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E

(CW: Forced Sedation, Mental Institutions, Restraints)

        It was late morning when Illya resurfaced, thirsty and aching.

        His tongue felt too thick in his mouth. Light played off the beige walls.They were far removed from the dank, concrete walls of the other place.

        Where, then? And why?

        His sluggish mind supplied no answers. The inability to immediately translate stimuli into meaning grated on him, and made his heart rate pick up. Sweat spiked on his brow, and when he tried to raise a hand to brush it away he found that his wrists were bound to the bed. His ankles, too. He tried to lift his upper body to afford himself a better view, but the heavy leather strap across his chest prevented that. His breathing escalated as he began to struggle. The binds had limited slack, though the cuffs were padded. He was not meant to do damage to himself, then. He supposed he should have been grateful they weren’t steel manacles, but this was a different sort of captivity.

        The more he moved his hand, the more he felt the vein in his left hand burning. There was a needle there. He didn’t have to see it to know it. His eyes traced up the IV line, though he couldn’t see where it terminated. That explained why his mind and body were so slow, but he didn’t know what chemical was being fed directly into his veins. The thought made him tug harder, but without any real coordination.

        “It’s alright,” someone said. The unfamiliar voice coupled with the hand that was placed on his thigh was the final straw.

        “Nyet! ” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and the fear in his voice jumbled with the effects of whatever drug he was on created a foreign sound, utterly devoid of self or sense. He struggled even harder.

        “You’re safe, Mr. Kuryakin. Please try to calm yourself.”

        The pressure of the hand became more assertive, and the voice attached to it had raised in volume, but remained calm and entirely reasonable. For a moment, the man at his side had been someone else. Someone he didn’t think he’d ever escape.

        He’s dead, Illya reminded himself.

        With his energy flagging, Illya’s breath hitched and he turned his head on his pillow to see the voice’s owner. His eyes were gray, and downturned at the corners. They appeared kind. He had white hair and a white beard. He sported a paunch. His mouth was a thin line, but that fact did nothing to detract from the friendliness of the smile that greeted Illya.

        “ Gde? ” He rasped.

        He gave a final, pitiful tug at the restraint on his left wrist as his unhealed wounds dogged him as well. He drew in a juddering breath, and translated himself on his exhalation.

        “Where?”

        He searched the stranger’s face. The man nodded, and with a pat on Illya’s leg, he leaned back in his chair.

        “You’re safe,” he said with an understanding smile. “You’re-”

        “Where?!” Illya’s entire body tensed and pulled at the leather restraints before panting with the exertion and hating how scared he sounded. “Who are you?!”

        The man’s eyes narrowed, not in anger. Rather, they seemed to focus even more intently on Illya. Another figure stood -How long had he been there? -with his arms crossed. He cut an imposing figure, and he looked down at Illya with disapproval. Illya’s muscles tensed even more, and his eyes flashed a warning despite the fact these people could do anything to him, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The thought made him want to both fight and scuttle away, but neither was a viable option.

        “Everything okay?

        “Everything’s fine, Paul.”

        “I’ll be outside,” Paul said before casting another dubious look at Illya and disappearing out the door. Illya glared after him until the doctor spoke.

        “My name is Doctor Vaughn,” he said. He kept his tone slow, and careful as though he worried Illya would misunderstand. “This is a private facility in upstate New York. You suffered a mental breakdown after your rescue, after which Alexander Waverly had you brought here for your own safety.”

        Illya’s head swam.

        He’d spent over a month denying he’d ever heard the name Alexander Waverly. Now here it was, casually stated. A fact. One of the people responsible for saving him. The person who put him here.

        “You’re…” Illya trailed off. Vaughn was what? Lying? Playing a horrible joke? Crazy?

        Illya swallowed and really regarded Vaughn, who looked down at him with what appeared to be earnest sympathy. Perhaps he was waiting for Illya to continue with that tack. Illya laid his head back on the pillow. Waverly wouldn’t betray him like this. No, there had to be a good reason.

        “Why?” he whispered.

        Vaughn nodded and scratched his chin as though he were pondering the parameters of Illya’s question. Illya opened his mouth to ask again -why was any of this happening? -but Vaughn laced his fingers in his lap and began to answer.

        “What you went through on your last mission -your imprisonment, torture, the loss of a younger agent -”

        Morgan, he thought.

        Illya closed his eyes and shook his head. The darkness did nothing to curb the disorientation. Or the guilt. He was surprised by his binds again when he tried to cover his ears. He groaned. He couldn’t prevent Vaughn from saying those things anymore than he could prevent himself from hearing them.

        “-these things have left you compromised. Hurting.”

        Illya opened his eyes to meet Vaughn’s. There hadn’t been any condemnation or ire in Vaughn’s voice, but Illya flinched just the same. He was a broken thing to be fixed. A lump formed in Illya’s throat and he choked back the words ‘I’m fine.’ The ridiculousness of the thought didn’t escape him, even in his drugged state. A dark chuckle dredged its way out of him. It was a sludgy sound that in no way qualified as laughter.

        “We want to help you process. To heal. We’ve been trying to stabilize you this past week...”

        Illya opened his mouth to insist he needed no such help, but fell silent when Vaughn’s words sunk in. A week?! That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be, could it? He’d been rescued, and returned to U.N.C.L.E.’s headquarters, and then…

        “You were, understandably, having difficulty adjusting after your rescue. A few weeks afterward, you suffered a collapse of sorts. Do you remember?”

        Illya’s body went hot and he was certain he was going to be ill. There were patches of memory, but what led here? Illya swallowed his dread and remained silent.

        “It seems you had an episode, during which you broke a fellow agent's arm, and the nose of another,” Vaughn continued.

        A tiny noise escaped Illya’s throat. He could remember that old, familiar loss of control; everything going red. But there had been something else, too. There hadn’t been just rage. There had also been fear, and the need to escape. That same hideous desperation was clawing at the edges of his consciousness now. The memory of crunching bone made his stomach roil. It was less the recollection of the sound than it was the memory of the force and unmitigated fear that had propelled his actions; the lack of control.

        “I understand spells like these, these dissociations, are not necessarily a new affliction for you.”

        There was no accusation in Vaughn’s voice, but Illya didn’t respond.Those spells rendered him dangerous. He knew that, but never against his fellow agents.

         Illya wanted to weep. He could have pulled in great, gasping breaths, but he clenched his jaws as though to keep his agony behind them. He dragged air in and out through his nose. He was aware of the pitiable sound it made. Tears stung his eyes. He swallowed hard and finally gasped for breath.

         “I cannot be here,” Illya said as his eyes searched Vaughn’s. He began to pull at the restraints again, though he knew full well they wouldn't give. He couldn’t help it. He dug his feet into the mattress to compensate for his upper body's lack of mobility. He strained against the strap across his chest.

         “It’s okay, Mr. Kuryakin,” Vaughn said as he stood. He did so with the fluidity of a man many years his junior. He disappeared from the room for a moment, but returned shortly thereafter with Paul in tow. “I appreciate that this is difficult, but I promise we are here to help you. We’re not going to hurt you.”

          Illya caught sight of the syringe Paul had, and redoubled his efforts. He panted and cursed, not caring how crazed he might look; how dazed, and stupid, and ineffectual. Or how afraid. The restraints dug into his skin as he pulled. Vaughn advanced on him reciting calm, practiced assurances, the bulk of which were lost on Illya.

         “NO!”

          “Ssshhh, it's okay, Illya. It’s alright,” Vaughn said as he placed one hand on Illya’s left shoulder, and another on his left forearm. “You need the IV in for now. Paul is just giving you something to help you calm down. It’ll help. It”ll help.”

           Paul loomed somewhere out of Illya’s line of sight, and Illya could hear similar, less sincere assuagements from him. Vaughn patted Illya’s shoulder. It was difficult to say if there was any condescension in the gesture, but the audacity of the gentleness made Illya wild with mistrust and the need to be free. The muscles and blood vessels in Illya’s neck and throat stood out in alarming relief as he continued to lunge, pull, and twist to try to see Paul.

           “Do not touch me!” he snapped as his attention shifted between the two men. “No! No!”

            It was too late.

Paul walked back into his field of vision. A cold burn crept through his veins, the source of which was stealing what remained of his senses. He willed himself to keep fighting, but thought did not translate to action. The forcefulness of his resistance ebbed, and the sound of his own erratic breathing filled his ears.

             This isn't fair, he wanted to say as he felt his muscles go lax. The frown on Vaughn’s face told Illya that he would sympathize. Paul and Vaughn gently moved Illya’s limbs so that they were not bent uncomfortably.

            “Nuh…” Illya mumbled. The shapelessness of the word ignited something in Illya, but it was snuffed out as quickly as it sparked. His world tilted and blurred.

            “Rest,” Vaughn said. “This will pass.”

[ayatosmlktea]

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Hiraeth (n)  A Welsh word used to describe the feeling of homesickness for a home you cannot return to.

Warnings: Angst, lots of it

A/N: This is my first long fic...honestly I’m proud of it. I never thought I'd ever reach the 5k word threshold but here we are!

@thesilencebeforeastorm​ wrote a second part here, it’s very sweet!

“God it’s like you never listen to me!” Y/N’s complaint grated against Levi’s ears like cutlery scraping across glass plates, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the passenger side door.

“I always listen! It’s you who never wants to hear what I have to say! You know I’m right”! Levi countered through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as they sped along the dimly light road.

“Are you being serious right now?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend feeling her heart begin to beat harder in her chest. She hated fighting with him, but his arrogant attitude was becoming intolerable.

“Yes! How many times have we had this fucking conversation already?” Levi groaned, his head was throbbing. All he wanted was one night of peace, one night where they could connect without being interrupted. But as usual something just had to go wrong. It seemed that lately all they knew how to do was fight. They weren’t even significant arguments, the smallest inconvenience could send them into a fit, more often than not Levi found himself going to bed long after Y/N had. Not even wanting to sleep in the same bed some nights. He knew from the beginning of her pregnancy that she was going to be emotional, but God there was only so much he could take.

“We wouldn’t need to be having this conversation if you would just fucking chill out for once!” Y/N snapped back the air inside the car suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot, her palms were sweaty and her nails were digging into her skin to prevent angry tears from falling.

“I need to chill out? Okay, fine. When we get home I’ll grab my shit and go chill out.” Levi’s jaw was beginning to cramp from how hard he was clenching it, his foot unconsciously pressing down harder on the gas pedal. The pent up frustrations over the past few weeks were finally coming out all at once.

“Fine! I don’t want to be around you anyway!” Y/N yelled, ignoring the tiny kick against her stomach.

“Great! Then maybe we shouldn’t be together! Since I’m so fucking uptight maybe you should be with someone who doesn’t give a shit!” Despite the harsh words they were throwing at each other, Y/N flinched at this. Things had been bad, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She knew she was being unreasonable but sometimes Levi knew how to push her buttons to the point where she didn’t care how snappy she was.

Levi probably should have stopped venting, the words coming out of his mouth did not at all reflect his feelings. His temper was out of control and his pride was only fueled by her lack of comebacks.

“What the hell is wrong with you! I never said I wanted to be with anyone else! You’re being really irrational right now Levi” Both of them were so caught up in tearing each other apart that the bright white headlights rapidly approaching went unnoticed as they continued to rip into each other.

“Oh I’m being irrational? That’s rich coming from you, miss I need ice cream and pickles right now or else I’m going to cry for the next three hours.” Levi mocked, swerving lights inching closer and closer.

“Well if it bothers you so much then I won’t ask you for anything anymore! If we’re so fucking inconvenient to you then don’t bother! Take your shit and go!”

“Sometimes I wish I’d never met you!” The blaring horn pierced their ears, eyes widening in horrific realization that there was no time to react. The sound of glass shattering and tires screeching drowning out panicked screams.

“Hey babe!” Levi called out as he removed his shoes, the house was oddly quiet. Most of the lights were turned off, usually by the time he got home Y/N was cooking dinner with the tv on in the background. She never liked being home alone without having background noise to keep her company. Levi flicked the living room light on, nothing seemed to be out of place, an occurrence that was rare. Y/N would typically lounge out in front of the tv with a snack or two before he got home. Walking down the hallway to their bedroom he was surprised to find her in bed, not one to take naps regularly Levi began to worry that she was sick. Sitting down on the edge of the bed his fingers gently caress her cheeks, pulling back once they were met with something wet. Y/N was...crying? But why?

“Baby what’s wrong?” He asked in a soothing whisper, brushing strands of damp hair away from her face. Levi was on edge, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was making her upset, their relationship had been going so well.

“I’m sorry” she cried, bringing her hands up to her face turning her body farther away from him.

“What do you mean you’re sorry? What happened?” Levi’s palms were becoming clammy with panic, he tried keeping his voice steady knowing that it was only going to make her freakout even more.

“It’s my fault!”

“What’s your fault? Tell me what’s going on?” Levi pulls against her shoulders rolling her onto her back. Bile creeps up his throat as he stares at her bloody face, shards of glass jutting out from her skin, tears stream down her cheeks mingling with the crimson liquid. Levi wants to say something but his tongue feels like lead.

“Wake up! You’re dying!” Y/N’s body is suddenly towering over him, drops of blood falling onto his face.

“You have to wake up!”

Gasping in short breaths of air Levi’s eyes hazily open, white lights too bright for him to stare into make his head throb. He was moving, but where.

“He’s conscious!” Someone shouts too loud for Levi’s liking.  Masked faces hover above him, they’re moving too. Levi’s throat feels like sandpaper as he groans, Levi tried to turn his head to the side but found himself unable to.

“Don’t try to move sir” One of the masked figures said reassuringly, but Levi felt anything but reassured.

“Y/N...where is she” he rasped out, every breath felt like his lungs were being set on fire.

“She’s right behind you, you’re going to be okay” They replied, Levi tried his best to look for her but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Blinking slowly the lights grew faint, he barely registered a mask being placed over his mouth. Words exchanged between the nurses mingling together to become one incoherent string of nonsense as his vision becomes engulfed in a blackened silence.

“Are you excited?” Y/N asked with her head resting in Levi’s lap. Neither of them were really all that invested in the movie they were watching.

“Excited for what?” He inquired, raising an eyebrow at her. Her unamused expression had Levi fighting the urge to smirk.

“Are you serious? You’re going to be a dad soon!”

“Am I?” Levi asked again, a more prominent look of confusion on his face now. Y/N rolled her eyes while slapping his chest half heartedly.

“You’re so annoying sometimes” she sighed, turning her attention back to the movie.

“I am” Levi admitted after a few minutes.

“You are what? Annoying? I know”  

“I’m excited...to have a family with you. Our little brat is lucky to have your for a mom” Y/N huffed in amusement.

“Stop calling our baby a brat”

“She is a little brat, always giving your mom a hard time huh?” Levi scolded affectionately.

“Don’t you think it’s time to wake up?” Y/N’s suddenly serious expression and tone was off putting, the blank far off look in her eyes made him feel like prey backed into a corner. It was nauseating.

“What?”

“It’s time to wake up, Levi. She needs you”

A soft beeping greets Levi as his brain tries to grab onto consciousness. For a moment he can’t remember where he is or why he’s lying in a bed that is definitely not his own with sheets that don’t feel right on his skin. Something was obviously wrong, but he couldn’t remember anything. Glancing around the room he could tell he was in a hospital bed, his side ached every time he tried to reposition himself. Where was Y/N? Why was he here?

Sometimes I wish I’d never met you!

Levi felt his stomach drop, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat as he remembered the last thing he’d said to Y/N. The events of the previous night came back in flashes, the smell of burnt rubber, Y/N’s scream echoed around in his mind. Levi pulled himself up ignoring the sharp jabs of pain coming from every part of his body. He had to find her, he needed to know she was okay, that their baby was okay. 

Pulling the IV out of his arm, he attempted to swing his legs over the side of the bed. His left leg was stitched up from just his knee to the top of his thigh and God did it fucking hurt trying to move. Setting his foot down on the cold tiles he hissed, nearly collapsing onto the ground as he tried to distribute his weight to take enough pressure off of his injured leg. It was a bitch to try and walk around but he had made it to the door of his room, albeit sweating heavily and panting. His body was too hot, everything was too bright and too loud.

“Sir what are you doing? You shouldn’t get out of bed” A gentle looking nurse says calmly while trying to direct him back into his room.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Levi demands and he can see a brief look of pity flash across her face but it’s gone in seconds.

“You can see her when you’re properly healed from your surgery! You’re in no condition to be walking!” She says in a more authoritative voice, yet still fairly calm. Levi attempts to shove past her but stumbles when his ankle gives out, hissing in pain and annoyance. With quick reflexes she manages to catch him easily, calling for another nurse to help her transport him back to bed. Levi was relentless in struggling against them, soon two nurses became three and Levi realized with disdain that he was getting nowhere.

“Please...I need to know she’s okay” the throbbing in his side was getting worse and his entire leg felt like it was on fire.

“His stitches ripped,” one of the nurses stated while they maneuvered him back to the bed. His eyes pleading with the first nurse he’d ran into.

“We aren’t allowed to disclose information on her condition to anyone who isn’t family but I can tell you that Miss L/N is resting and her condition is stable” Levi felt momentary relief but he wouldn’t get his hopes up until he could see her with his own eyes.

Grunting when they placed him back in bed the pain that had briefly subsided in his panicked episode was coming back all at once. He needed to apologize for saying something so horrible to her. He obviously didn’t mean it, he had been so lost in his own pettiness that he had said something for the sole purpose of hurting her feelings. It was stupid, childish. The moment he saw her, he was going to beg for her forgiveness. From that day on he would do whatever it took to make it up to her for putting them through this mess.

Levi’s stomach churned as he thought of their baby...only seven months along, he hoped they would survive. He’d never be able to live with himself if something happened.

His thoughts kept him distracted, replaying their fight in his head over and over wishing that he had paid more attention to the road, drove slower, used his fucking head and calmed down.

“Mr.Ackerman?” Levi’s eyes shot open, his bubble instantly popped by the sudden intrusion beside him. He didn’t know how many hours had passed since the nurses had fixed his stitches or when he had fallen asleep.

“I’m Dr. Jaeger, I’m here to answer any questions you might have regarding your surgery.” Levi could give a rats ass about himself.

“Y/N. I want to see her.” That familiar look of pity flashed across the doctors face and Levi was growing sick of it. There was obviously something they weren’t telling him. Sighing softly Dr.Jaeger nodded.

“I’ll take you to see her but there are a few things you need to know first.” Levi didn’t like where this was going, a foreshadowing sense of  dread settling itself in the pit of his stomach.

“We’ve checked her medical records, it seems that she has no immediate family. You’re her emergency contact.” Levi nodded, it was something they had discussed after a year of being together. Y/N didn’t have any immediate relatives and the only remaining family she did have lived across the globe. It wasn’t a hard decision to make at the time, he hadn’t been thinking of worst case scenarios when he agreed to become her emergency contact.

“Meaning that you’re going to be making this decision for her.” Dr. Jaeger continued cautiously, waiting for an outburst.

“What decision?” A nurse entered the room with a wheelchair, Levi’s lips were set in a thin line. He wanted to see her more than anything but now he wasn’t sure what he was going to be met with.

“I’ll explain when we get there” Levi didn’t like that answer but complied, figuring it was better to go along with them rather than demanding answers. He begrudgingly allowed Dr. Jaeger and the nurse to help him into the wheelchair. He hated being dependent on others but after ripping his stitches open he didn’t want to go through the trouble again. It would only delay him seeing Y/N.

The trip to her room felt impossibly long, Levi’s hands were balled into fists in his lap. When they finally stopped outside her room, Dr. Jaeger gingerly placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder. Unreadable grey eyes locked onto green ones. It almost felt like he was being prepared for what was awaiting him on the other side of the door.

Levi felt nothing but guilt as his eyes drank in Y/N’s unconscious form, there were bruises and cuts littering her face and arms. A tube was inserted down her throat meaning she was unable to breathe on her own.

“She can hear you but we aren’t sure when she’ll wake up.” The silence was heavy, Levi’s mind was reeling with possibilities he didn’t want to consider.

“You don’t know when she’ll wake up or if she’ll wake up?” An inevitable sense of hopelessness gripped him by the throat, slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“There were a few...complications with her surgery. Due to the force of the impact her brain suffered swelling and hemorrhaging, internal bleeding in the brain. We’ve done all we can to try and reduce the swelling, the rest is up to her.” 

Levi hated the way he sounded so...bland about it. Like this kind of thing happened everyday, and yeah, it probably did but Levi couldn’t help but feel angry as his entire world was being ripped from his hands so cruelly. Levi had learned early on that this was the way the world worked. It moved on, life didn’t stop while he struggled to pick up the pieces that had shattered.

“What about the baby?” He asked tightly, keeping his eyes focused on the blank face of his lover. His mind was clouded over with too many emotions to process at once. Everything just felt like white hot rage, burning its way through his body with no regard for what it destroyed.

“The baby is doing well, it was a miracle they survived. We’re still monitoring them closely, if anything happens we’ll have no choice but to perform an emergency c-section.” Levi’s shoulders slumped forward with relief, his baby girl was okay. He picked up Y/N’s hand locking their fingers together before pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. However, the relief he felt was short lived.

“What decision am I supposed to be making for her?” He asked, turning his head too sharply to glare at the doctor.

“In the event that miss L/N’s coma progresses to a vegetative state, it is your decision on whether to keep her on life support or let her go” Levi’s jaw clenched, she was going to wake up! She had to.

“What’s going to happen to the baby?” Forcing himself to breathe Levi was seconds away from losing his control, his eyes were burning, the lump in his throat pressing uncomfortably against his Adam’s apple. He wouldn’t cry, he needed to be strong for her.

“As long as her brain is able to carry out regular functioning the baby is in no danger. Providing there are no further complications the baby can safely be delivered via c-section.” Taking in a shuddering breath all Levi could do was nod his understanding. He didn’t want this, they were supposed to go through this together but now he was alone.

“I’ll give you some time alone with her, try talking to her. It might help.” Levi watched the peaks rise and fall on the EKG monitor, she was so close to him and yet he had never felt farther from her than in that moment. Levi placed a hand on her stomach, something he had done many times before while Y/N slept except now it felt weird. Like he shouldn’t be touching her, didn’t deserve to be touching her. Black locks covered his face as he hung his head unable to fight back the bitter tears that had been building up since he’d regained consciousness.

“What do you think we should name her?” Y/N asked her fingers absentmindedly carding through his hair while he rested his head in her lap. The more her belly grew the more often Levi found himself wanting to spend as much time talking to their baby as possible. After Y/N had told him that she could hear them, he wanted her to get used to the sound of his voice.

“I’m not sure, what’s a fitting name for my little princess?” Y/N couldn’t fight the grin that spread over her face, watching her boyfriend address their baby like they were having a conversation was one of her favourite things.

“Hm, how about London?”

“No, I’m not naming my daughter after a city” Y/N scrolled through the list of baby names she’d pulled up on her phone, their new nightly routine consisted of trying to find a name for the baby. Despite it being only five months along they were both impatient to meet their baby, Levi referred to her solely as his little princess while Y/N had taken up calling her pumpkin. They butted heads with every name, either Levi said it sounded too tacky or Y/N complained that it wasn’t unique enough.

“How about Alabama?” Levi’s head craned up to meet her eyes, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Please tell me you’re joking”

“This is impossible” she sighed defeatedly.

“Let me see” Levi reached out to grab her phone, eyes scrolling down the list until one name caught his attention.

“How about this one?” Y/N raises an eyebrow in interest, her eyes lock with Levi’s.

“Not bad shorty, not bad”

♡    ♡    ♡

The following weeks were torturous, Levi was still unable to walk on his own. After calming down Dr. Jaeger has explained that his femur had been fractured and would take a while to heal. His torso still ached but it was nothing in comparison to the pain he felt during physical therapy. During the times he wasn’t learning how to walk, something he hated with his entire being, he was in Y/N’s room. The nurses didn’t have the heart to move him, eventually they had given up trying to coax Levi back into his own room allowing them to be together. It made Levi easier to deal with and he was less grumpy when it came time to bring him to therapy. Y/N’s condition hadn’t gotten worse but it showed no signs of getting better and while Levi was grateful for it he was struggling to hold on the longer she was unconscious.

“I miss you...I hope you can hear me. I know I don’t deserve you, not after what happened. Princess is doing okay but she’s gonna need you babe, I need you! I can’t do this by myself. Please, wake up” Levi didn’t have much time to talk to her during the day, but at night he poured his heart out in ways he never had and every night it made him feel guilty.

 Things he should have told her while she was in his arms, moments he took for granted that he might not ever get to experience again. With crushing realization Levi couldn’t even remember the last time he had kissed her, worse he couldn’t remember the last time he had told her he loved her. Pressing his face into the mattress he cried silently, the grip on her hand tightening as he bit back sobs.

He knew it was stupid, giving himself false hope that maybe one day she’d wake up. It had already been over a month and soon enough they would be delivering their baby. Levi was not confident in his ability to be a parent, let alone a single parent. He didn’t even want to think about it, he needed Y/N. But even if she woke up, what would happen, would she be the same person he remembered?

Levi hated being late, if it wasn’t for the fifteen minutes he’d spent trying to shovel his car out of the snow he wouldn’t be sweating his ass off just before going on a date. Not that he really wanted to be going on one in the first place but Hange and Erwin had both decided to meddle into his pathetic love life and set him up with someone they knew. Levi could care less about dating, he didn’t have time to emotionally support someone else, not while he was so invested in trying to earn his masters.

 However, he was fed up with Hange giving out his number to random girls and she promised that if he went on this date she’d stop meddling. Levi would suffer through two hours of his life if it meant he didn’t have to receive anymore texts from clingy girls with shitty pick up lines. Besides his closed off personality was usually enough for them to get uncomfortable, calling off the date early. Levi waited inside his car for a few minutes, not wanting to rush in drenched with sweat.

Actually, maybe that was a good idea. The sooner he scared her off the better. Levi walked into the restaurant, the waiter glanced at him weirdly but said nothing as Levi was led to his table. The sight of his date had him doing a double take, none of the girls Hange set him up with had ever looked as beautiful as her.

“Oh, good you’re here! I was about to order without you. Levi right?” Her eyes never left the menu in front of her and Levi was a little taken back by her brash attitude. Not only did she completely disregard his presence but she was going to start eating without him. When her eyes finally met his Levi felt the wind being knocked out of him, her eyes were mesmerizing.

“Huh...well I guess you’re not bad. Although, Hange really talked you up. I will admit you’re, by far, the most decent looking guy she’s set me up with” She laughed and Levi willed himself to ignore the way he craved to hear more of it. He hated to admit it but he was used to being completely fawned over by his dates, this was...new.

As the night went on Levi found himself enjoying her presence. Y/N was entertaining, she was sarcastic and witty and not afraid of his sharp comebacks. He had completely lost track of time, he needed to see more of her. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with one date.

“You know, you’re pretty good company” Y/N smirked, and for the first time in his life Levi felt butterflies in his stomach. Levi usually drove his dates home and if he felt like it had even given a few of them a goodnight kiss. But nothing had ever made him feel the way Y/N did, her lips fit against his like they were made for him. Her hands molded perfectly with his; and as they pulled apart out of breath, his heart pounding against his ribcage, Levi knew he was in trouble.

“Levi?” Levi’s daydreaming was interrupted by Hange’s cautious voice. Hange and Erwin were staring at him like he was fragile, like if they said the wrong thing he’d break. He hated the way their gazes drifted towards his leg, the ugly stitches immediately caught everyone’s attention. It was a constant reminder of his stupidity. 

 Hange’s eyes were wet with tears as she enveloped Levi in a firm hug. It hurt but at the same time he almost craved it, they were his closest friends. The only ones who could understand the pain he felt. Levi had been waiting outside of the delivery room for what felt like hours. They had asked him to wait in his room but Levi wanted to be there the second their baby was delivered. He couldn’t tell if things were going well, but there was a feeling he couldn’t shake. His gut was telling him that the dread he’d been feeling since they had rushed her into an emergency c-section wasn’t paranoia.

“Have you heard anything?” Erwin asked, taking a seat next to Levi.

“Not yet” Erwin was used to Levi’s short worded responses, but this was something different. Levi’s body was tense, glancing down Erwin took in how white his knuckles were. His eyes were trained on the doors in front of them, he looked so different from the person they’d seen months ago. Hange grabbed one of his clenched fists in her hands and Levi made no attempts to shove her off of him. The sound of the door being pushed open almost made him vomit with nerves, if he could he would’ve been on his feet already.

“Mr. Ackerman, we’re ready for you.” They weren’t giving anything away but Levi felt like he already knew what was coming.

“We’ll be here” Hange said, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze.

The room was divided by a curtain, Levi felt his body go numb as he listened to Dr. Jaeger give him the news he’d been dreading.

“We’re very sorry, we did everything we could but there was too much bleeding.” He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. He struggled to take in shuddering breaths, nails digging crescents into the cold palm of his hands. Angry tears pricked at his tired eyes. It wasn’t fair! She was too young, their lives were only beginning. Levi thought of every dream they had ever talked about, finishing their degrees, travelling the world together, getting married.

“Would you like to hold her?” The question distracts him, for a second Levi felt himself hesitate. Did he really want this? He was by no means parental material and the thought of having to raise their daughter without Y/N was terrifying. Levi nodded, unsure of what to expect. He hadn’t expected to cry at the sight of their baby but she was without a doubt the most beautiful child he had ever seen. During the last two months Y/N’s body had fought to keep their baby alive, he didn’t care that people were watching him. He would never be able to go back and change the past, but he would take the precious gift she had given him to create a better future.

“Do you have a name picked out?” Levi’s eyes were focused on the miracle in front of him. Their baby, the last piece of Y/N he would have to remember for the rest of his life. They had agreed on a name months ago but Levi felt like it wasn’t enough to express the meaning that the tiny human in his arms had abruptly brought into his life.

“Yeah, I do”

♡    ♡    ♡

The crisp air nipped at his cheeks, tinting them with a youthful rosy pink. It was a beautiful day, the kind of fall weather Y/N loved. The sun was warm despite the chilly autumn wind, she loved sweater weather. It was only fitting that she be laid to rest on a day as beautiful as she was. Levi’s emotions were anything but cheerful, his heart was heavy. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. He could only hope that she had heard him the countless nights he had spent lying next to her apologizing for what he’d done.

Levi’s gaze lingered on the cloudless sky, hoping that wherever Y/N was, she knew how much he loved her, and would always love her. The swaddled bundle in his arms begins to stir, drawing his attention back to Lily.

‘She looks just like you’ he thought, a bittersweet smile on his lips. Her eyes opened slowly, e/c orbs trying to focus on his face. Levi’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes burned with tears once more. No matter how many times he looked at her, he was breathless. Lily looked so much like Y/N it almost physically hurt sometimes. Levi wished he could turn back time, do it all over again. If he hadn’t been so reckless then he wouldn’t have to be standing over his girlfriend’s grave holding their motherless baby. The guilt never went away, it still felt like just yesterday that Y/N had been in his arms.

Some nights his chest ached so bad he felt like he was going to die, sleep completely evading him. Other mornings he woke up searching out her body in his drowsy state. Only to remember that she was gone. The bed was too big, it was cold and empty without her. Sometimes Levi swore he could still hear the sound of her voice calling him to wake up. But every time he opened his eyes she was never there. The only reason Levi still got out of bed in the morning was because of Lily.

“It’s just you and me princess” he said softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. Levi’s life would have ended the moment Y/N’s had if it wasn’t for Lily. A flower that had bloomed in the darkest time of his life. His second chance for a life after Y/N.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part V

Author’s Notes: Hey all you cool cats and kittens (she did it), here is Part V of my Jordelia (and friends) fanfiction based off of the lovely characters from Cassandra Clare’s novel Chain of Gold. The song sung in the dream sequence is a Persian Children’s song called You Are The Sky's Great Moon. I’m not sure of the author, unfortunately, but it was not me. I just thought it fit so perfectly for how Cordelia feels about her friends and how they feel about her. I am terribly sorry about the wait on this one, but it’s quite possibly my favorite piece yet. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, if this did tickle your fancy, please hit the <3, reblog, or pop in with a comment. Comments grow my heart and fill me with motivation. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay sane. We’re almost out of the woods.

P.S- This one might require some reading of the previous parts. So, here they are in order if you want to catch up:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

                                                           .Part V.

Cordelia stood in the center of the ballroom of the London institute. It was larger than she remembered it: empty now of the elaborately dressed guests, the waiting staff, the noise of the quartet, and tables of food. The curtains were all drawn away from the arched cathedral windows illuminated the space in the warm light of the auspicious London sun burning away the last hours it had in the sky. The distant London skyline was bathed in blue with not a cloud to be seen for miles. No smoke billowed into the sky from factories or chimneys; no boats crowded the harbors as if she were looking at a picture of London. It felt so warm to be in the light, she wanted nothing more than to bath it in and never leave. 

A light pressure wrapped around her elbow. She turned around to and found herself facing her mother, with her dark hair loose in curls to her waist, standing in front of her.

“Mâmân?” Relief filled her as she wrapped her arms around Sona’s waist and buried her face in her shoulder.

“Layla.” Her mother’s hand slid down the back of Cordelia’s head, fingers sliding through the tendrils. “Do you remember that song we used to sing together when you were a child?"

Sona grabbed Cordelia’s hand; the other pressed against her shoulder blade and suddenly they were dancing across the room. An odd thing, to be dancing with one’s mother, but Cordelia didn’t mind. A smile spread across her face as she matched her mother’s footwork as they spun around the room. 

“It’s been such a long time since we sang it,” said Sona. “I cannot seem to remember how it begins.”

Sona released Cordelia in a spin, the delicate soutache embroidered golden mesh of her dress billowed out around her ankles, and when she turned back around Lucie was standing in her mother’s place. Her tawny hair was twisted back in an intricate braid and her eyes, the same intense blue as the Tenerife sea, glistened as she grabbed Cordelia’s hand. Cordelia had never realized how lacking in height Lucie was— but then Lucie had never invited her to dance. 

“If you are the sky’s great moon.” Lucie’s clear voice filled the empty ballroom as she began reciting the childhood lullaby as they floated in a semi-circle around the room. “I’ll become a star and go around you.”

Lucie paused and stepped away from Cordelia, their hands outstretched, but still clasped together like when they were children swinging around in a circle until they both collapsed from dizziness.

Lucie let go and looked over Cordelia’s shoulder. She turned around just as Matthew strolled across the room in a pinstripe suit and picked her up under the arms and lifted her off of the floor. “If you become a star and go around me, I’ll become a cloud and cover your face.” 

Just as he set her back on her feet, a hand clasped her own and spun her around. “Thomas?”

He turned and shuffled down the room with her beside him. “If you become a cloud and cover my face.”

“I’ll become the rain and will rain down.” She turned to her right to find Christopher.

They raised her arms and both bent at the waist in a bow before disappearing like the rest. Anna came from behind her and walked in a small perimeter around her. Cordelia’s eyes trailed her every step. “If you become the rain and rain down.” 

Alastair walked in the opposite direction of Anna. “I’ll become grass and spring.” The crossed each other and disappeared to opposite sides of the room, leaving Cordelia in the center, right underneath the three tiered crystal chandelier.

A hand slide around her waist. She felt the feather light tickle of fingers sliding down the bare skin of her arm until fingers slide into the spaces between her own. A body pressed firmly against hers from behind. The hand tightened around her middle and she felt someone’s breath on the exposed skin of her neck. “Daisy, my Daisy.”

There was only one boy who called her that.

She spun around to face him. She was so close to him she could see the faint random freckles across his nose and cheekbones. His hair was disorderly, as it always was: a piece fell across his brows, and his warm gold eyes moved across her face as if she were a painting, studying each individual line and stroke and shape that made up the whole picture. 

“James.”

A sharp pain lanced through her ribcage, stealing her breath, as she fell limp against him. It was only then that she noticed a great shadow had stretched across the ballroom stealing away the warmth and the light.

James head bent until his forehead pressed against her own. “When you become grass and spring, I’ll become a flower and sit next to you.”

The shadow inched closer to them until they were a pinpoint in the center of the room. Her hands clung to the fabric of his shirt until her knuckles became white as she drew herself up so their noses were aligned. They recited the last line together. “When you become a flower and sit next to me, I’ll become a nightingale and sing for you.”

A feeling like the floor dropping out from her feet pulled Cordelia away as she was ripped from James once more. 

***

It was dark, that much Cordelia could tell, and it was cold. So cold the tips of her fingers ached. She was flat on her stomach, laying on something hard- stone possibly— that chilled her to her core. A dull, but intensifying pain, ached on the right side of her ribcage with every breath that she took. It was also the only part of her that felt enflamed with heat. Her lungs felt too full, the air scratched against the back of her throat as though she’d inhaled a mouth full of soot. She tried to cough, but nearly cried out from the pain in her ribcage. 

Moving didn’t seem like a viable option, but neither did lying still. She tried to walk carefully through her memories to figure out where she might be. The last thing she remembered was James. He held her so tight; he was so warm and then everything was so cold again. She had said goodbye to James. Then Alastair— she’d been in a carriage with Alastair. The memory of him lying, bleeding in the street made her cringe. She had to find him—to get her stele and get to him.

Her arms shook as she pushed herself to her feet; her teeth clenched so tightly they might crack from the pressure. The pain was agonizing, spotting her vision with white dots; it was only then that she noticed the ground beneath her hands turned to fine powder and disappeared in a gust of wind.

She had been here before, that much she was sure of. The smell of acidic rot and decaying flesh was difficult to forget. Everything around her was orange and hazy like being surrounded by a blazing fire, but without the heat. 

“Welcome back,” said a clear, deep voice that rang through her like the bass of thunder. 

Cordelia stilled, bent awkwardly on her hands and knees. She looked up in the direction the voice had come from. 

He was dressed much the same as the last time she’d seen him, in an all white tailored suit complete with black buttons that glistened like eyes- perhaps they were eyes. His pale gray hair swept across his face; in much the same way as James’, but she would not allow herself to think about that. 

“Didn’t I stab you?” asked Cordelia. 

Belial moved towards her, the tails of his coat flapping in the desert-like wind. “I faintly remember something about that, yes.”

“If at once one doesn’t succeed, one must try again.” Cordelia reached for Cortana with the arm on her uninjured side, but found that her hand closed around empty air where the hilt should be. 

Belial smiled mockingly.

“Where is Cortana?”

“Where it fell,” said Belial. “You see I don’t often make mistakes, but on the rare occasion that I do, I am sure not to make the same one again.”

Cordelia’s head dropped and she looked at her hands. The knuckles on her right hand were bleeding; the pinky on her left hand was angry, swollen, and bend out of place at the joint. Dried blood encased her arms from her elbows to her wrists. There was pain everywhere, enough to swallow anyone whole, but still she tucked her legs underneath herself and sat up with her hands resting on her thighs, as if she were presenting him with an offering. 

The last time she’d been in the shadow realm, she had been with James. They had held each other, defended one another, and barely managed to escape with their lives. Self-preservation hadn’t been a thought in her mind, as if James and herself were one entity, there was none without the other. Now, alone, self-preservation rang through her blood- Shadowhunter blood- every sense awakened and alert; desperate for a fight or an escape.

“What is it that you want from me?” asked Cordelia, the words shook on her lips.

Belial chucked, it echoed around them. “Nothing from you.”

“James.” Cordelia caught her breath and gripped her ribcage. When she looked down at her hand again it was covered in blood. There was a hole in her dress, just underneath her breast, the whole front of her was covered in a dark stain. “He won’t come. He thinks I’m in Idris with my—Alastair. What have you done with Alastair?”

“Consider him a calling card,” he said. “He was wounded quite gravely, but left with enough breath to relay a message as soon as your friends find him. It’s been extremely difficult to capture the attention of either of my grandchildren especially while I… healed, but after some careful observations, I believe I have exactly what will capture their attention.”

Cordelia’s hands clenched around the fabric of her dress, still damp from the rain. “He won’t come.”

“You don’t think so?” Belial raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’re right, but no matter, he is not the one that I require.”

Cordelia looked up again. Belial’s face hadn’t changed. It remained expressionless with the stoic passivity of a graveyard statue. “Who— who else would you—“ The thought dawned on her like a punch to the stomach. “Lucie.”

“Very good. I was afraid you were only bronze and no brain,” said Belial. He waved a hand in the air, and for a moment, Cordelia caught the faint outline of an automobile speeding down a London street. The two passengers in the front seemed to be squabbling with one another, a much larger figure sat in-between them with his neck bent awkwardly so his head wouldn’t burst through the top of the cab. Three more figures sat side-by-side in the back, one of them was Lucie. The picture focused on her face, gazing out the window, her body present but her mind lost in thought. “My granddaughter. It’s true, I overlooked her at first, believing James to be the true vessel because of his connection with the shadow realm, but that is until it came to my attention that my granddaughter holds the power to summon the dead. While I did prefer a male form, James is merely an adolescent traveler, jumping from realm to realm as if on holiday.”

The burning intensified in Cordelia’s chest. She could feel sweat drip down her spine despite the chill. 

“Lucie?” Cordelia nearly laughed. Sweet, unassuming Lucie— with ink stains on her fingers and her mind constantly in the pages of her stories— with the ability to summon the dead. “You must be mistaken. If Lucie had the ability to summon the dead, I’m sure that I would know about it. I am her— best friend.”

“Didn’t you just abandon her to go home to Idris?” His lips curled. 

Cordelia shook her head. “No, I—“ She caught her breath and nearly bent over from the pain. “No, I wanted to spare her the humiliation of being seen with me after I—“ She raised herself up again. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, I’d much prefer it if you didn’t actually,” said Belial, examining his shoes as if they held more interest to him than the entirety of the conversation. 

“If what you’re saying is true,” said Cordelia, a shudder went through her whole body as the pieces started to come together in her mind. Her mouth became impossibly dry. “Then Lucie would—“

“Be able to summon an army of the undead,” said Belial, as if it were a completely normal thing to do like walking. “A truly wonderful thing about dead people is that you can’t kill them… again. They’ll be unstoppable in destroying your realm: killing, pillaging, destroying, so that I can come and claim it as my own.”

Cordelia let out a deep breath. “Just once I would like for a villain to come up with a less egregious plan than world domination. However, considering who you are— thief of realms and all— this is rather right on character.”

Belial spread his arms out to his sides and bowed at the waist.

“Lucie won’t do it,” said Cordelia, oddly calm. It was one thing she was absolutely sure of. 

“Do you not think so?” Belial squatted down in front of her, still feet away as though she were a wild animal that might attack him at any moment. He was smart— she would. “I didn’t think so either. Not willingly, not unless I had something of great importance to her.” His eyes narrowed. “I tried to capture James but he had more wards around him due to my last attempt. I thought my dear daughter, Tessa, but Tessa seems like the explosive type. Unreasonable, like she might throw herself onto a blade before being used. Then there was her father, William, well I’ll just admit I feared I’d be decapitated before Lucie had a chance to join us.” He cleared his throat. “Her other friends, while they hold great importance to her and would have done the trick, there was the little dilemma of you and that blade. It seemed you were the most logical choice.

“You did make it quite difficult for me,” said Belial. “Always following James around like a loyal dog. I had to think of some way to separate the two of you. That’s where the Blackthorn girl came into play.”

“Grace,” said Cordelia. “Are you controlling, Grace?”

“Not directly,” purred Belial, “but I am not without my connections. You see, I promised the Blackthorn’s to raise their beloved Jesse if they served me. After that, they were like clay in my hands.

“When I found out the Blackthorn girl already had James under a binding spell, it all became rather easy.” Belial laughed. “He went to her like a drunk goes to ale.”

Cordelia swayed slightly and fell to her hip, her arm outstretched to catch her. Tears burned her eyes with rage. How could she know nothing of Lucie’s power; nothing of Grace’s spell on James. It seemed perhaps Belial was right about one thing. Perhaps she didn’t know her dear friends at all.

Belial’s eyes danced and flickered over her, taking in her expression, her resolve, her bleeding waist. 

“Don’t die yet Miss Carstairs.” Belial turned his back to her and crossed his arms. His eyes took to the darkened sky as if waiting for something to fall from it. “There is still a need for you.”

[backandimbamon]

part III

a/n: ive been sitting on this chapter for weeks. being a perfectionist...will do things to you. enjoy and please leave a reply!

Perhaps something happened on the other side between Damon and Bonnie.

Perhaps something happened between them that shattered the defenses, the bickering, the banter, the tension... maybe it was all too much to handle and one day they decided to resolve it in a new way that was less stressful and more natural.

What if they finally focused their vision on the situation and realized it was demented, downright unfair, to trap a handsome sex pot of a vampire and a stunning little witch with magically delicious blood together forever, the last two on earth, and swear them to a platonic relationship?

A kiss? Or sex? Caroline is full Sherlock Holmes, investigator style because there is no possible way that the dynamic between Bonnie and Damon remained the same after such a...dynamic...event occurred to both of them simultaneously. She has a hunch.

But a kiss? Sex? She knows she’s jumping the gun. As much as she can project, the denial between them both would prevent such forward actions. But-

It makes sense, she thinks, perfect sense. If they decided to break that forbidden rule, are they truly to blame? She’s sure she isn’t the only one who could physically see the sexual tension brewing between the vampire and the witch since their first formal introduction. Throughout the years, it’s only increased in intensity and anyone with decent deductive reasoning skills could predict that maybe, just maybe, there was a hiccup in those roles they played so dutifully. They “hated” each other. Sure.

Being the last two on a repeating day, desperation settling, solitude dancing, they’re under the radar... anything could happen. As if on queue, her mind begins to sift through the possibilities again. She always had a knack for probability.

A bite... now that is highly likely.

Caroline can imagine Bonnie being her normal selfless, sacrificial self, asking Damon if he’s okay- it seems like he’s tired or beat since he’s been slack on their banter, his comebacks lackluster and falling flat. He lies because lying is as effortless as breathing to Damon and he politely but solidly asks Bonnie not to worry about him, that he just misses home so his mood is sour.

He tries to maintain his normal devil-may-care, overly nonchalant, effortlessly sexy character with the huge ego but it’s not quite the same. He’s not as clever and though he’s close, he’s not close enough.

She observes this.

Bonnie picks at him, rapid question-asking all while being inquisitive and selfless and caring and healing, she tells him she knows him better than he knows himself. She says she can feel when he lies.

Damon probably experiences a foreign emotion at this point, wondering why his undead heart seems as though it’s hammering, beatboxing against his bones, threatening to reveal what he wants to hide so bad.

He’s hungry.

And he’s never felt a hunger quite like this. He’s emptied every single blood bag in the freezer, still there’s this nagging sensation that no matter how much blood he consumes, even if he decides to bathe in it, if it’s not what he really wants to devour, he will never be satisfied. It’s like eating fast food when craving gourmet, that craving never ceases, it’s just mitigated for a moment with a bottom-of-the-barrel substitute. The next time the hunger returns, it leaves its victim in gut-splitting agony so much so that it’s exhausting. The hunger is kicking his ass to force him to get what he’s denying himself. Damon is the victim. For once, he is the victim here.

Bonnie being intelligent and knowing Damon, she can guess what his struggles consist of. It takes her a week to consider it. He never says it explicitly, that he wants to bite her, but the shadow of veins under his eyes says enough. Damon Salvatore is a predator. It is unnatural for him not to hunt prey for an indefinite amount of time. She is all he has.

She thinks hard on this, questioning if her empathy has reached a new level of desperation. She asks herself what is her infatuation with being needed. She asks herself why she would rip herself apart to heal others. Why she feels this undying, naked, indelible need to do for others without doing for herself. She asks herself if the roles were reversed would Damon do the same?

For a week, she watches him get weaker with want, endures his shitty moods and back talk. Not once does he ask or even hint that he’s starving.

It makes Bonnie want to offer herself up on a platter even more, there’s something wrong with her.

So she does it, in the kitchen, cuts a sliver of red at the wrist “by accident” and Damon- he looks bad. He looks blue.

She turns to grab a napkin to dab at the blood but when she turns back around he’s gone. Upstairs, his door slams hard enough that she can hear the wood split.

“Damon!” She calls after him but he doesn’t reply and she doesn’t see him again until the next night because he refuses to step out of his room.

“Stop. We need to talk,” he’s fixing Italian trying to pretend like nothing ever happened twenty-six hours before; apron on, back turned, humming. He’s not okay.

“Then talk, Bon Bon.” he adds some herbs to the white wine sauce, grated cheese beside him, back still turned.

There’s something that’s frightening her about this and it could be herself. He hasn’t even asked yet she wants this for him so bad.

“Damon. I know you’re hungry.”

“Ding, ding. I’m making dinner right now, Bon.” His voice is rough like it’s warning her not to push this any further. The pots and pans clatter a little louder in his palms. Red tomatoes a stark contrast against the pale noodles.

“I cut myself on purpose last night.”

This grabs his attention. Swiftly, he drops everything, turns around and walks into Bonnie, forcing her to walk backwards until the cabinets halt her with a soft thud. His hands are at her shoulders with a dizzying shake as he says “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Damon Salvatore, always so invasive, too animated, with a face that’s intimidatingly perfect.

It’s unsettling and downright unfair for him to possess such appeal; even angry and a threat to her life span, any woman would want him. Hell, Any man would want him. She wishes she could steal whatever that quality is. She wants that for herself.

It’s almost comical that after all these years of his presence, he can still startle her with his beauty. With his mouth shut, he’s so unassuming and pretty. In all seriousness, he looks like an angel. The slanted smirk and jaded attitude is the only hint that maybe this book doesn’t match the cover.

He gives her another shake as if the answer will tumble out of her, it makes her think of the time they hated each other. Way back when.

But now, this is too close for comfort. His eyes are an angry blue and she’s swimming laps, her words get caught in her throat before she can reply.

Weakly she says, “Just stop fighting it, okay? I’ve made up my mind and I trust you.”

“You trust me? You trust me, Bon? I don’t even trust me! What’s the matter with you?”

Honesty is not suitable. She can’t say that it’s lips anywhere on her body that she needs even if it’s at her wrist. That her withdrawal has her fingers exhausted and her body aching because she needs some sort of physical connection outside of herself. Bonnie wants Damon to drink her like wine so she can remember what it feels like to be desired and she can see it, the desire she needs, veiled and trapped behind the denial she knows too well. She wants to open that door to see if he needs her just as bad as she thinks he does. She wants to set it on fire.

“Damon, please.”

When she tilts her head and locks her green eyes with his, he sees the deprivation. Like she’s starving too. Like it pains her to not have his teeth in her neck. The look on her face reveals everything she cannot say. Damon shudders.

He doesn’t mean to trail his nose up the slope of her neck but he does and his stomach growls so violently that he’s surprised he doesn’t shake. There’s a new scent in the air and it’s Bonnie’s arousal.

He clenches his jaw with a painful force, half expecting it to shatter.

The words are no louder than a whisper when she says, “I’m your friend. Let me do this for you.”

People who are actually friends seldom use the word “friend.” But Damon and Bonnie ware the word out trying to convince one another that it’s all they are, nothing more. They haven’t said the word more than they have in this hell because it’s a reminder when sanity starts to slip. It’s a reminder when they start to wonder what would happen if they weren’t just “friends.”

Best friends.

Bonnie makes it hard for him. She makes everything hard for him and this hell where she’s the only one to exist makes the things he could easily ignore blatantly obvious. The feminine curve of her breast, the spread of her hips, the lovely enigmatic green of her eyes, he’s always thinking of Bonnie. Even asleep, she haunts his dreams with golden brown skin and a crooked smile. The ghost of her fragrance creates a tornado around him in this tiny cramped space called hell, it’s comforting and devastating.

Everytime he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of the fact that everything he wants he takes. Even if he doesn’t want it, he takes it. But with Bonnie, it doesn’t quite work out that way. There’s rules with Bonnie. His charisma is useless to her because that’s his best friend. She’s immune to him and maybe he’s not okay with that.

Poor Damon, he could weep now because Bonnie was never supposed to be the one to snap first. He was supposed to be the unhinged vampire with bountiful problems, the rebel and she was supposed to be the very stable, very perfect witch but she’s breaking. He’s her lesser and she’s the one who’s breaking. This has to be a cruel dream where if he hits himself hard enough, he’ll wake up.

His fangs slip out by accident, they feel the presence of Bonnie’s blood just humming with delicacy and complexity under her skin. She’s waiting to be tasted, she takes her hand and guides his mouth to her neck so his tooth pricks her skin. A bead of red shoots up but his tongue is quick to swipe that first drop almost sampling to make sure Bonnie is serious. She says something under her breath but the bloodlust has the rest of his senses useless. He doesn’t hear her.

Damon gnashes his teeth into her delicate skin, his expertise never allowing one ribbon of blood to trail away because he laps it up so greedily, so manically that he almost chokes. It feels like heaven busted and started showering its essence into his open mouth. He can’t take the time to breath or else he’ll rob himself of perfection for a few seconds too long. The life surges back into his body.

A montage of honey, patchouli, iron, lilac, roses, metal, bergamot, smoke, magic, fire, fear all on his tastebuds at once. In the distance, desire begins to bloom.

Then there’s a click and he starts to feel it.

Bonnie’s arousal is creeping up on him slowly like a distant claw of nails down his spine, the ghost of a sopping mouth around the head of his cock. He emits a wet groan then takes another tactless slurp and can practically feel Bonnie’s walls gripping against his shaft- it frightens him how bad he wants it. It scares him how he can feel the phantom of her nipples through his apron and t-shirt. He’s sweating when his pants start to bunch at the center. She’s breathing erratically, wraps her legs around his waist so she feels that lovely poke between her legs and it terrifies him.

Never has he untangled the web of feelings he associated with the complicatedly simple Bonnie Shealia Bennett. However, that web has been slowly unraveling since their first day here. Those feelings he never was honest with himself to admit are dousing him right now, of his own volition. He’s frightened out of his mind with the realization that he’s always wanted to take his best friend, little Judgey, Bon Bon, Elena’s BFF, and sex her into a stupor until the only word in her vocabulary is his name.

Damon Salvatore wants to fuck Bonnie Bennett so deeply that they must excavate his dick from her slot to retrieve it.

Oh God.

He can see himself, inside of her, inside of his best friend as she begs him to go faster and harder but he won’t listen. He never listens and it’s driving her up the fucking wall as her pleas to let her cum all over him fumbles his rhythm. Damon has never been more afraid of himself. Damon has never been more oblivious of a desire that waited for a moment like this since their first encounter. He feels baited.

Fear of this discovery, this dormant longing, brings him back to earth and violently disconnects him from the bloodlust, he removes his fangs too quickly, his head spinning with filthy thoughts of his best friend. The moan that tumbles past his lips is dire, it rips through his throat and says she has to fuck him or he will simply die.

Somewhere an invisible candle burns in the air labeled “Bonnie’s Lust.” It’s so strong Damon can taste it.

They look at each other differently. They are strangers. She’s painted in red, his mouth is a mess, the erection in his pants is hard enough to unearth his grave and bury himself alive. He offers his bleeding wrist up to her and tries not to cum when her mouth latches on.

When she’s done, he decides he won’t distract himself with the gorgeous sight of a panting Bonnie, looking as if she’s been thoroughly fornicated with her eyes all glossy like that.

Damon is dizzy, tipsy from blood, pleasure and a bombardment of epiphanies.

He turns around too sharply on his heel and passes out, just like that. A lifeless heap of beauty on the kitchen floor.

Bonnie’s definitely scared of whatever took over them as she crouches next to him and fans his face. Her mind is still far from her after such a disastrous high. Her heartbeat sounds like the pounding of an incessant guest.

Knock, knock.

In that moment, Deja-vu gives her a kiss. Bonnie’s mind floats back to Elena’s lapis prom dress with the silver clasps in the back and how she always thought Damon was perfect for Elena like that tailored dress. The way it hugged her and snapped in place. The way it clicked.

Bonnie remembers trying that dress on first and falling in love. She loved that feeling, how it felt like it was made for her and only her but Elena insisted. Not even Caroline knew. She gave the dress up for her, anything for her best friend. It was just a pretentious mélange of fabric and thread. A lifeless heap of beauty on the fitting room floor.

When he awakens, they pretend as if nothing happened and Damon wonders if he dreamt that but the little wounds on her neck mock his question. Desire still sleeps between them, dependent on that next slip up to pounce. But it never gets the chance.

Damon relives that moment when he meets himself in the mirror and the hint of teeth marks is on his neck from Bonnie’s “tipsy” courage.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” he says to himself and ironically being a century-old vampire he never understood the saying. He lets the little phrase stagnate the air because he doesn’t want to concern himself with figuring out why Bonnie’s teeth marks aren’t disappearing with his rapid healing ability.

Anyways, it’s kind of cute.

He sends her a picture message with a text to follow:

Twice bitten, once dead.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon IV

Jason is a CEO: Part IV

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff 

new beginnings

look fragile

like glass

but when grabbed

sparkle

like diamonds

-badpoetry

“Good morning Mr Grace,” Grover Underwood smiled from his usual spot behind the coffee machine.

“Morning, how are you?”

“Much happier for seeing you less like someone kicked your puppy,” He gave Jason a knowing look.

“How?”

“There are some things the brain cannot hide, matters of the heart are often one of them.”

He didn’t really have any reply to that, so he gave the man an awkward smile and shrugged.

“Your usual then?”

“Yes please, and an iced coffee for Hazel.”

“Ah where is the darling this morning?”

“She’s coming into the office later, something about needing to go home first? She must have stayed at a friend’s place.”

Grover raised a dark brow, “Mhmm and where is your driver this morning? I noticed you drove yourself in today.”

“Uh I think Frank took the day off,” He frowned trying to piece the conversation he’d had with his friend in his sleep-deprived brain.

“Oh interesting,” Grover’s chocolate brown eyes twinkled in amusement, but before Jason could question him a warm cup was being shoved into his hand and he was being ushered away to wait for the iced coffee.

Collapsing into a chair, he pushed his glasses up his nose and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. Winter was beautiful but gods it was cold. He glanced around the café taking in the familiar forest green walls and dark wood floors. There was no sun streaming through the windows today so the gold accents on the tables were dulled and dark, like hidden bronze. He traced his fingers around the edge of his cup, losing himself in the motion, in the feeling of heat on his cold fingers, in the small gusts of wind against his cheeks as the door opened and closed, in the noise of a bustling store, in the–

“Hello Jason,”

“Luke,” He took a deep breath, “Fuck off.”

“Aw don’t be like that,” He sniggered.

“Please Luke, I don’t have the energy for this right now,” Exhaustion was a thousand-ton weight on his bones.

“That’s your problem Jason you never wanted to take things head on. It was always let’s wait for this, let’s get their opinion first, let’s just give it a couple weeks. You could have had the world begging at your fingertips if you just went for what you wanted.”

“Are you done?”

Luke’s responding laugh was malicious, “You are so-“

“Leave.” His voice was stone.

His ex-boyfriend scoffed, “Pathetic.”

Jason watched as the face he had been so in love with sneered at him, the scar running down a pale cheek twisting into malice. His soul ached for what could have been, it burned for what now was. It always surprised him how drained he felt after every interaction with Luke- like crashing down from a potent high. Being with Luke was a high, was euphoria and hope and sin. What the fuck went wrong? 

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Talk to me,”

“Why do you insist on answering the phone like you’re some sort of mafia boss?” His sister grumbled.

“Hello to you too Thalia,”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve set you up on a date tonight. Six-thirty at Sun and Songs.”

He groaned, “No. I am not in the mood.”

“Jason Grace,” She started; he could feel a rant coming on, “You cannot stop living your life because you have a wanker of an ex-boyfriend. You have been in a slump since Luke and it is affecting you in ways you’re too scared to admit.”

“It is not affecting me,” He was tired of having this fight, “I literally dated Piper for like three months.”

“Mhm and were you happy? Did you put all you could into the relationship?” She didn’t wait for his response, “No, you may have been a little happier, but you weren’t you. So you will go on this date tonight and in five years when we’re planning your wedding you better be thanking me in your speech.”

“Gods Thals,” He snorted, “We haven’t even gone on the date yet and you’re already planning a wedding?”

“Wait does that mean you agree to it?” She squealed through the phone.

“Yes loser,” He held in a laugh, “I’ll go on the date. But if it doesn’t work out you drop all of this. No more setting me up, no more interfering.”

“Yes sir. Now, how work’s going?”

“Besides the fact that Project Hestia is on hold because of this stupid contract everything is good.”

“Isn’t your fancy lawyer lady sorting it out?” She muttered.

“Reyna is a great lawyer and you know it.”

“Yea but she’s also my ex-girlfriend so I get to be a little resentful.”

He snorted at that, “Of course, and how are you?”

“I’m good. The Conservatory is still standing so I can’t be doing too many things wrong.”

“Didn’t you guys get cheetah cubs this weekend?”

“Oh Jase!” His sister cried, “They are just the absolute cutest things. Did you know cheetahs are so shy that some conservationists and wild-life biologists recommend giving them emotional support puppies?”

“So what you guys got puppies and cubs?”

“We haven’t got the puppies yet; they’re only arriving this week.”

“Well send me pictures when they’re together, maybe I’ll have them framed and hung around the office as a morale booster.”

She laughed, the sound crackly through the speaker, “Will do little bro. Listen I have to go but call me tomorrow to tell me about the date.”

“Wait!” He yelled, ignoring the weird looks from the café patrons as he walked out, “What’s her name?”

“Zoe.”

***

Jason was nervous. That was the only explanation for his shaky hands and the zoo of creatures in his stomach. He had gotten to Suns and Songs fifteen minutes early with a lavender and daisy bouquet in hand. The restaurant his sister had reserved was nothing short of incredible. Dark maroon draped over each table, and opulent candelabras sat in the center, lit only if the table was occupied. Glass and crystal chandeliers swung slowly from the high wooden beams, catching on the light and making a kaleidoscope of the room. Even the way the air smelt was decadent here. Like wood smoke and perfume, some hint of chocolate, maybe. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he wanted to bottle the scent and bathe himself in it. Trying not to be suspicious he took another deep breath in; it calmed his nerves if nothing else.

“Mr Grace?” someone put a soft hand on his shoulder, “Your guest,”

He thanked the waitress, getting up to greet his date and pull out her chair. He tried to muffle his gasp when he finally turned to her. She was stunning. Midnight skin contrasting elegantly with the pastel yellow dress she wore. Braids intertwined with glittering strands; it cast a pale silver halo around her head. Small hoop earrings glinted as she moved, and the bracelets at her wrist clinked gently when they shook hands.

“Hi, Jason Grace,” He smiled.

“Zoe Nightshade.” She flashed beautiful white teeth.

He handed her the flowers, “You look unbelievable.” He truly was in awe of her.

“Thank you,” Her smile was soft, but her voice was crisp and direct, “And these are gorgeous.”

“Would you like to order drinks?”

They scanned the menu quickly; Zoe ordered a cocktail he hadn’t heard of and he ordered the first thing he saw that didn’t have tequila in it.

“So,” He asked, and then cringed at himself internally. Starting any conversation with so was bound to make it awkward.

He cleared his throat, “How do you know Thalia?”

“We work together at the Conservatory. I moved here a couple months ago because I got transferred from the wildlife center in Germany.”

Jason didn’t know what but something about her voice made his insides melt. She said everything so undiplomatically– like if it wasn’t a fact it wasn’t worth uttering.

“Oh that’s cool. What do you do?”

“I’m a veterinarian. You?”

“Well I was a structural engineer but somehow over the years I got roped into being a town and regional planner.”

She frowned, tilting her head assessingly, “You did not finish your engineering degree?”

“Oh no I finished and got my masters in structural but then I started my company and I realised I needed other qualifications to run it the way I wanted to so I had to go back and get a degree in urban and regional planning. By the end I felt like I had been studying since the dawn of time.”

She laughed at that, and a look of surprise crossed her face, as if it was as unexpected to her as it was to him. “I know how you feel. I love animals and I’m passionate about my work but when I was done studying, I vowed never to go back. Studying for seven years after school and then trying to do it all over again feels like a one-way ticket to the end of the road.”

He mirrored her smile, “How did you get into veterinary sciences anyway?”

“My father was always busy, and my sisters were… interested in anything that could make them more beautiful, or richer. So I was pretty alone for most of my childhood. At some stage I convinced my father to get me a dog, Ladon. We were inseparable. But he got hurt when this man,“ She said it with such disgust he almost flinched. “This man hurt him. Kicked Little Ladon out the way when he was just trying to say hello. We had to take him to the vet, and I remember them being so sweet and kind to my dog and I knew I wanted to be exactly like that when I grew up.”

“Any chance you know where this man is so we can kick his ass?”

She laughed, raspy and bursting, “Don’t worry little eleven-year-old me kicked Mr Alcides as hard as I could in the shins.”

“Good,” he nodded with conviction, “He deserved more but you found your passion so there is some balance.”

She hid her grin behind a sip from her drink.

“Sir, ma’am,” Their waitress stepped to their table, “Would you like to order?”

Hours later, cheeks flushed from the liquor, laughing over Thalia’s antics and their shared need for structure, they finally decided to call the dinner to an end.

“The focaccia was to die for,” Zoe groaned, patting her stomach.

“Honestly, I may have to marry the pasta.” He sighed contentedly.

She giggled, and he knew it was a rare thing for her because her face caught that surprised look again.

“Want to grab dessert?”

“Oh gods no,” She shook her head in alarm, and then frowned as the realisation of what that meant washed through her.

“I had a really great time tonight,” He started softly.

“Do you want to walk to the park? We can stop and have gelato?” Her dark eyes were full of nervous hope.

He blinked at her, a little shocked she wanted to continue the date, “I thought you didn’t want dessert?” He teased.

“Maybe the walk will burn off some of these calories and i’ll have space for a little ice-cream.” She scunched her nose.

He knew the gelato was just an excuse, so with a grin that lit up his whole face he grabbed her hand and nodded, “Let’s do it Miss Nightshade.”

Her face glowed with relief and enthusiasm as they tucked their chairs in and exited the restaurant.

“Tell me about your family. How come you weren’t interested in the rich side of life like your sisters?”

“I guess being the youngest kind of made it all seem pointless. I had seen what happened when their vanity became malicious and I didn’t ever want to turn into something I couldn’t recognise. I went to stay with my Aunt Diana through high school. She owned a bird sanctuary. That’s where I interned in my college years.”

“Wow,” He looked down to her, awe evident in his face, “And it didn’t bother you to be so far away from your father and sisters?”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure they noticed when I left.” She shrugged, “It was a long time ago. I really only see them for family functions now.”

“And your aunt?”

“She still has the bird sanctuary, but she mostly works in the background now. My cousins, Bianca and Phoebe, run it full time.”

“Do you miss it? Were you guys close?”

“Much closer than my sisters and I. I do miss them, but I definitely can’t say I miss the sanctuary. Some of those birds were evil.”

Just then a loud squawk came from above them. She scowled at the sky, “I’m talking about you Auretta.”

He tried to hold in a laugh but Zoe stuck out her tongue childishly and they both bent over in laughter.

“Maybe we shouldn’t hurl insults while we’re out in the open.” He managed to gasp.

“Good thing the gelato shop is right there.” She grinned, grabbing his hand and sprinting towards the small, illuminated store at the end of the cobbled street. Her dress shimmered, moved like rays of light. She looked like a star.

“Come on,” She yelled, tugging at his hand harder.

‘Alright, alright,” He snapped out of his admiration and let her lead him into the shop.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

“Want to share?”

“Sure, you choose,” He waved a hand towards the abundance of flavours behind the glass.

“Please can we have one scoop of chocolate, one scoop of vanilla and,” Her brow furrowed as she scanned the tags, “And one scoop of cookie crumble.”

“Why did I think you were a sorbet girl?”

“Sorbet in the summer, anything else for the rest of the year.” She said matter of factly.

He nodded solemnly, “Yes makes sense.”

She swatted his arm, grabbing the cone from the lady with a thank you, “Gods I feel like a teenager again,”

“I know what you mean,” Her excitement was infectious.

“I have to ask,” She swallowed a chunk of cookie crumble, “What on earth were you thinking when you decided to eat a stapler?”

Jason groaned, “Why did Thalia tell you that? She swore she wouldn’t tell anyone and if asked I would say I fell off my bike or something.”

Zoe giggled, “Come on, spill.”

“Okay, first of all I was two,” He sighed, embarrassment heating his cheeks, “And it was shiny, and it made a cool clicking noise, and I wanted to know what it tasted like.”

“I can just picture a little Jason crawling onto the kitchen counter and trying to bite down on a stapler.” She teased.

“Yes well now I have this scar,” He pointed to his upper lip, rolling his eyes.

“Battle scars. Very worthy.”

He shoved at her shoulder lightly and they dissolved into laughter once more.

It was almost midnight by the time he had dropped her off at home and stepped into his apartment. He looked at his phone to see a couple work messages, and something from Hazel– things he could reply to in the morning he decided, tugging off his tie and discarding his clothes as he walked to his room. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, his phone still glaringly bright and open on the chat with his sister.

You were right. We’re going on a second date.

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

Grover is like some other worldy deity that spews life lessons every time they meet and i am so here for it! Anyway what y’all saying??? How are we feeling?

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts

@leydiangelo

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@msdrpreist

@sparkythunderstorm

@nishlicious-01

@lucyisblue​

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RACHEL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CAPHRIEL.

Admin Cas: This decision felt practically impossible to me. We received two applications for Caphriel, and each application offered a completely different perspective of her, tapped into two totally opposite aspects of her character, but what drew me back to your application, Rachel, was your eagerness to tackle the — ah, less savoury aspects of Caphriel, shall we say? You said it yourself, it would be easy to look at Caphriel through rose-tinted glasses, given all she’s sacrificed and all she insists on doing for mortal-kind, but the matter of the fact is that she’s still an Angel. Yes, she’s kind, she’s selfless, she’s sombre; but she’s also haughty, she’s also resolute, she’s also violent. I think it was this line that sold me: “Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?” I can’t wait to see what other terrible things Caphriel is willing to do in the name of love in your capable hands! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 22

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Inspiration comes in waves, but I try my best to keep a net one or two posts per day. It might mean I spam the dash with all my replies on one day and then am lurking the rest of the week, it might actually mean one reply a day, it all depends on work and life and such. I am around every day to chat about things, though! You can count on me lurking on discord an alarming amount of the day.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey was like Hey. I think you’ll enjoy this. and she was right!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caphriel

What drew you to this character? | It took me a long while to settle myself on Caphriel. I was torn between a number of characters as they were posted, but I kept circling back to her – her radiant kindness, the exquisite pain of loving wholeheartedly, despite the weight of sorrows that she carries for others. She is a breath of light that is so deeply compelling to me. It could be easy to see her through rose tinted glasses, but I think there’s an edge to her that I really want to try to draw out.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

I. TAKE UP THY BLADE

Love has brought Caphriel to violence, and it shall do so again. She committed unspeakable acts against God and her fellow angels in their great coup all for the sake of humanity, acts she would repeat tenfold if it meant they remain as they are: stumbling towards a light of their own making, figuring out their place as they define it. Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?

If and when the divine beings start to chafe at their self-imposed equality with the human race, if and when they seek to be once again revered without question, Caphriel will once again take up her sword against her brethren. It is an inevitability, one she feels in her bones. 

Caphriel may not go to bat for every human that she encounters, but there are individuals whom she found fight tooth and nail to spare the horrors of the world. She would put herself on the line for humanity as a whole in a heartbeat, if it came to it, though she would prefer to teach her brethren the things she’s learned from the humans first, instill in them the same deference that she holds. Break from them the desire to be worshipped, for that era seems firmly in the past. I think it would be very interesting to have her interfacing with her fellow angels, attempting to teach this point – in all likelihood, it would go poorly, especially among those that still crave power over anything. She cannot force love when it is absent, but she would bleed herself dry if it would make them understand.

Perhaps the angels get restless. Perhaps her shared animosity with Nerissa comes to a head. Perhaps someone dares to harm those that are beloved to her. I feel there are many paths that can lead to her digging back into that measure of destruction she holds within herself, all varying degrees of boundary-testing. This would be a longer-term arc for her as the plot develops, as there are a lot of dominoes that would have to fall first in order to get her to turn to violence – all other avenues must be closed, or she must really, truly feel like it is the right thing.

II. I WOULD DROWN IN THE FAVOR OF YOUR EYES

As an immortal being, Caphriel has lost a great many things. She watches the decay of mortals with a bittersweet resignation, but there are always a special few mortals whose loss she feels keenly, who she weeps for ages down the line. Luca Riche is one of these, though she has not lost him yet – and she is determined to keep him, greedy and indulgent, for as long as she can. 

History repeats itself, it seems – she loved Abel then as she loves Luca now, but this time she is at his side, an equal rather than a distant observer. He is not hers to protect, but she aches to do so, would likely turn at an instant on one who did him harm. The thing is: did she love Cain less, for his sin? Did she resent him for his violence against his brother? She had wept for him as he bore the mark even as she turned her back on the darkness he harbored within himself. Her draw towards Luca unwittingly brings Jasper into her sphere, and she can sense a similar darkness about him. The brothers have her transfixed once again, but can the violence between them remain unfulfilled?

I would love to explore the established connection with Luca and how that affects her connections to Jasper. Does she see the animosity harbored by Jasper? Is she blinded to the issues by Luca’s own love for his brother, and her love for him in turn? She is a bit of a meddler, albeit a well-meaning one, so there’s a distinct possibility that she would try to facilitate some form of reconciliation, especially if the strain between the brothers begins to reflect negatively onto Luca. It might just blow up in her face.

Whether she eventually learns they are Cain and Abel does not, I think, truly matter – either way there is still the push and pull of her benevolent love vs. the specific instances of Jasper’s darker leanings, the sickly sweet danger of her love for Luca. She was not a direct actor in their story initially, but she could be now – I think she will cling to this, and it may eat at her. This possessive love could so easily turn to rot – she hovers on a precipice which, really, either brother could knock her over the edge of.

III. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE WALLS OF YOUR HOME

Caphriel’s position within the hierarchy of angels feels, despite her mantle as virtue of Charity, quite tenuous. She shuns Caelum in favor of Sanctus Terra, adores humanity more than she ever has her brethren. She took up the sword with the rest of them, followed Michael into the fray not because she believed in him, but because she believed that God had turned against His people. All that she has done has been for humanity – how plain is that for other angels to see? It is etched into the very marrow of her bones – it seems impossible that the other angels would not be wary of this, unsettled by this almost lack of loyalty. 

Michael made her the virtue of Charity – but does he trust her? She had walked away while he was building his empire – does this not smart? Do the other angels view her has naïve for placing her lot so heavily with humanity? Her ferocity still lingers in their memory, but the goodness that she radiates now may turn the stomach of those angels lingering in the darker corners of Caelum. 

She spends most of her time in Sanctus Terra, and I would like to really dig into her feelings about coming ‘home’ to Caelum. Whether she is drawn in some official capacity or simply visiting as part of her travels, there are a lot of mixed feelings about the place and the people. She harbors no ill will for her brethren, but their pride chafes on her after too long a stay. 

It would be interesting to push this divide to the brink, test the limits of Caphriel’s love and loyalty. When given an ultimatum, which side would she choose? She was made to love and protect humanity, but can she really turn aside from her own divinity so easily?

IV. A HEART IS A MUSCLE LIKE ANY OTHER

This is building off something Minnie had in her sample app! I think it’s really compelling that Arianne and Caphriel occupy the same niche in a strange way. They both can assuage the suffering of another being, though Caphriel’s empathy is a bit less immediate of a fix than Arianne’s manipulation of the heart. There is an element of violence to both of their pathways – for Caphriel to take a memory permanently rather than just see it, she must wield her sword; for Arianne, it is easy to simply stop a heart entirely. Caphriel aims to soothe from a place of love; it seems that Arianne seeks the power that comes from dependance. 

They are strange parallels, and I would love to have a possible confrontation between the two. Caphriel tries so hard to love all humanity, but I think that Arianne would push at her limits. She has made herself into humanity’s protector, though the threats she works against are myriad and deeply, deeply unexpected. Arianne’s ability poses a particularly strange threat, one that I believe Caphriel would keep an eye on, especially if she got wind that people were really hooked on Arianne. Her interest is equally a strange sort of covetousness for the position of humanity’s aid and wanting to mitigate what could be a real threat to people.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If she were to go, it would not be without a fight. In short, yes, but only if it’s really compelling for the narrative/serves a strong purpose.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

Love. A deep, abiding love for humanity in all their glorious failures and corruptions, their triumphs and joys. Caphriel cannot rid the world of all its woes but she can ease the pain of them, and the desire to do so has driven her to the ends of the earth and back again. Her love is a ferocious thing, not the gauzy lightness of poetry but rich and radiant, forged in blood and tears.

Before God’s defeat, Caphriel ached to understand the woes of humanity on a more intimate level, to feel them herself rather than observe their effects from afar. Her empathic power allows her to do that, and she gladly takes humanity’s pain onto herself. She is a hardier being, at the end of it – they will not weigh her down as they do the frailer humans. She will not let them.

Her love is not always good. This is, I think, the crux of her character, and what keeps her from becoming something flimsy. She has spilled blood for this love. Overthrown her creator. Likely even committed violence against the humans she so loves for the sake of sparing the masses further pain. Though her love comes from a place of righteousness, it is, ultimately, her own, and there are those that would see it as a curse or as the delusions of one individual. Her love can blind her to elements of reality and she can lose herself in the memories of others. 

She exists in a strange middle ground – not quite angel, not quite human. It is her divine nature that allows her to act as she does, yet she has always hungered to know the depths of humanity. This counterbalance propels her, though she may not even understand the true extent of it.

Character Traits |

+ STEADFAST

Caphriel’s love for humanity has not wavered for eons. She remains committed to them, driven by the desire to help, to ease their suffering, to feel as one with them. Her unwavering devotion to humanity has shaped her life and all her most important actions: her turn away from God, her participation in the coup, her retreat to Sanctus Terra once it became habitable. Though this devotion is overall a net positive, it can, in certain cases, take on a negative aspect.

- OBSESSIVE

There are certain things that she cannot let go of. Her love can turn to obsession, to covetousness, blinding her to the dangers of her actions. Her hunger for connection to humanity has gnawed at her for eons, driving her forward at times against her better nature. She can lose sight of the forest for the trees if she is not careful in moderating herself.

+ COMPASSIONATE

Her powers of empathy heighten her already compassionate nature. She wants to help, to listen to others when they talk of pain, of suffering, to work with them to ease their burdens.

- MEDDLESOME

Her acts of charity are not always welcomed by those she bestows them upon. Her ministrations and particularly her empathic ability often pry deep into a person’s psyche, which she doesn’t realize may alienate those that have not sought her presence.

+ GENTLE

Angels can be fearsome things. The sword worn across her back and the brilliant white sweep of her wings may be unsettling, but Caphriel’s calm and kind demeanor puts that to rest. She radiates a sense of contentment, in harmony with the hum of her blade, the sweep of her wings through the air.

- VIOLENT

She does not often give into her baser natures, but when Caphriel is incited to a fight, she is vicious. She made a name for herself among the angels during the war with God, her greatsword forged by Michael himself whetted on the bones of her kin. Her mild demeanor may belie her fighting prowess, but the truth is: every angel is terrible. Even one built for love such as she.

In-Character Para Sample |

When she descends to the earth at the end of it all, after the bones of her Lord God have stripped themselves bare, after the Blood Plague has ravaged the new, fledgling land, she weeps. The first touch of her foot to the land of Sanctus Terra breaks her chest open, pain and joy and love, uncompromising love, spilling from the very core of her, mirrored in the souls around her. She walks, heart open, into the fold, sword a comforting weight upon her back, wings a blinding mass behind her. She learns to fold them away, over time; saves the revelation of her erstwhile divinity for more intimate things. She tucks the gleaming herald of her wings out of sight, but still she glows, lit from within by the undying flame of her love.

She walks the length of the land, leaving no corner unexplored. Her footsteps are those of Moses, of John. Of all those that wandered the earth, driven by love for their people, for their Lord. She trails a path through the indelible marks of history, the eons crumbled to ash in the reformation of the world. She carries these pilgrims with her, their memory mingling with new stories, their pain and grief and love cradled between her ribs.   

It is her sword that announces her presence now, its gentle hum blown by the breeze into the small town she has wandered to. Her cloak is heavy and warm in the noonday sun, her body one large and familiar ache that comes from hours on foot. A small child stops in their tracks at the sight of her – she offers them a warm smile. That seems to spook them more than anything, and they run to hide behind the legs of a woman who bustles around the yard of a nearby home. People peer from windows as she passes, pause in their ministrations to watch her go by. They listen to the radiant hum of the sword that glints on her back and they wonder.

She takes a deep breath, lets the energy of the town seep under her skin. They are all so tired, these people – they all seem to be, the further she moves from the center of the Holy Land. Settlers bending the will of the natural world to their own, terraforming the same soil their ancestors had once turned, eons ago. She has drawn up a crowd by the time she arrives in what seems to be the main square, a rough dirt clearing amidst the houses. The people keep their distance, intrigued but wary – she cannot begrudge them this, though she aches to close the space between them, to take them up in her arms and sooth the furrows from their brows. To nurture them as they nurture the land.

There are people in the square – older, she thinks, though she’s never been good at gauging these things, so used to faces that do not line with age. Humans pass so quickly, their meagre collected years a blip in her existence, yet she yearns to understand the scope of their lives, the honors of reaching fifty years, sixty, when all she knows are millennia. She sees the child from before in the corner of her eye, trailing behind her with their mother, so small. A man and a woman speak in hushed tones as she approaches - snippets blow to her, but she captures none but their names - Gideon, the woman says, Sarah, he responds. Old names, familiar ones, and Caphriel is overcome with her desperate adoration of a people too stubborn to die out, rooted deep into lives eons ago whose stories no longer grace people’s lips but in their most basic form: the name of it all.

“My name is Caphriel,” she intones, as the man named Gideon steps forward to meet her. “I come seeking shelter and to bring aid where it is needed.”

“Why do you hide your wings, Angel?” The man before her says. She sees the glint of mistrust in his eyes, the tension in his stance. She had hoped, once, that she might someday no longer be recognizable at first glance – her brothers had laughed at her when she’d said it, so she buried that seed deep within herself. Her cloak was a small concession to herself, though it seems in this case it had been a misstep. It is no hardship to her to assuage his fears, so she bows her head briefly and removes her cloak, unfurling her wings behind her, a blaze of white stark against the dirt road, the richness of her dark skin. She sees the spark of wonder in the man’s eyes and she smiles, a small but radiant thing. 

“I do not mean to hide what I am, or to dissemble and take your hospitality under false pretenses.” The low murmur of the crowd quiets as she speaks. “I take solace in walking where my brethren would fly, and have found it convenient to cover them when they are not in use to shield them from the wind and dirt.” She cocks her head, coy, lets her smile bloom wider, drops her voice like she is telling a secret. “They are a true pain to clean when they get dirty.”

She hears a ripple of laughter from behind her, bright feminine voices, and she knows she has settled into the hearts of these people. Even Gideon, frame still stoic, returns her smile. “Come,” he says, gesturing her into a home along the central square. She folds her cloak in her arms as she walks beside him, eyes adjusting to the change in light as they duck indoors. It is sparse but comfortable, and Caphriel feels at peace. “We don’t get many visitors here, let alone the start of a host of angels.”

“No host,” she says, unlacing her scabbard from her back, laying it alongside her folded cloak. “Just me.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” he replies, “Seeing as I’ve only got one spare bed.”

Her laugh is melodic, filling up the space between them, bright and bubbling with happiness. “Gideon,” she smiles, tasting the prophet’s name on her tongue, rich with history and repetition. “I want to help you. If you tell me what you and your people need, I swear I will do everything in my power to aid you. All I ask in return is a roof over my head for as long as it takes.” She holds out her hand, palm up, a minute act of supplication. “Let me help you.”

“Well,” the man before her says, “Caphriel.” He clasps her hand to shake. She feels the warmth radiate up her arm, into her heart. “Let’s get started, then.”

[beerecordings]

"Start with the youngest", with Anti n JBM? :D

Yesss I saw this list n I was like oh I KNOW somebody gonna send that one in and then the two of you had me covered hahaha. Love you both and hope you enjoy! REALLY loved writing this one, got pretty swept up in it.

Warnings for hospitalization, intubation, and mentions of torture and blood.

Edit: okay @a-single-green-eyeball made an amazing piece that takes some inspo from this little fic! you should totally check it out here, it’s wicked

He sits with his knees drawn to his chest, his fingers digging into his calves.

Tick, tick, tick, counts the clock on the wall.

Gritted teeth grind against each other in his mouth.

Tick, tick, tick, counts the clock on the –

“Fuck, shut the hell up!” Jackie turns to snarl at it, reaching up to tear at his hair. “He’s trying to sleep, you stupid hunk of plastic!”

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Alright, that’s fucking it. Jumping to his feet, Jackie shoves his shitty plastic hospital chair away, leaps across the shitty plastic hospital floor, and snatches the shitty plastic hospital clock off the wall. Distress and sensation crash so heavily across his mind that he feels like he is not thinking at all, and then, before he can summon the energy to care, he is smashing the face of the clock into the shadowed midnight windowsill, striking again and again and again, until what was once a clock is now shards clutched too tightly between his fingers.

For a moment, silence.

Beep, sighs Jameson’s heart monitor. Beep. Beep.

Cars rush by stories below. The lights buzz out a pretend hive mind, harsh and groaning in the ceiling. Heels click on the linoleum floors. Faraway is the swish of a train, distant and dissipating, foam on an unreachable ocean. Two rooms away someone is crying.

“Jackie,” comes a voice, a low warmth in the midst of so much cold noise.

He turns and moves, rounding Jameson’s bed once more. His eyes are wild, he knows. His hair is a mess and there is blood at the nape of his neck and his panic and rage are tangible, olfactory, gustatory, he knows. He shouldn’t be here. He knows.

Chase stands in the doorway, watching him. His eyes are red too. He’s been crying already. Probably since the second he heard about the attack, he’s been crying. He is smaller than Jackie and easier to tears. Jackie cannot bear to see him in pain.

His little brother.

“Jackie,” says Chase again.

Jackie slumps back into his chair and pulls his knees to his chest, chewing on his nails, rocking, waiting, watching his baby brother sleep.

Chase sighs in the doorway.

“They told me they couldn’t get you to leave,” he says, with a step forward. Jackie turns to glare at his feet, gnawing at the end of his thumb. “Apparently you nearly punched the nurse who tried to drag you away. And now you’re not letting anyone get close to him.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jackie snaps, before Chase can work himself into a full-blown lecture.

There’s a long moment of noise, absent Chase’s voice.

“Can I come in?” he asks finally.

Jackie growls low in his throat, his eyes on Jamie.

Sleeping so, so soundly. He’s so white under the mean little fluorescent lights. He’s so small with that strip of plastic inside his mouth, breathing too heavily at the air that it gives him.

“It’s me, man,” Chase soothes, taking another step in.

“Prove it,” Jackie hisses, whirling on him. “I don’t know that. I don’t know it’s you.”

Chase sighs again. Jackie grinds his teeth and shakes out his hands, chock-full of pent-up rage with nowhere to go.

And Chase steps forward, gentle, and takes Jackie in his arms before he can protest, wrapping him up and squeezing him tight, tight, tight, rubbing his shoulders and setting his chin firmly on top of Jackie’s head, until, at last –

Jackie bursts into tears, rocking against Chase’s chest.

“It’s my fault!” he howls. “This is is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chase answers. He spares a hand to reach out and clutch Jamie’s, but their little brother does not answer, does not wake, does not stir, not for a moment, for a second, for a single sliver of broken time.

“Let’s start with the eldest,” Anti purred.

He trailed his knife down Jackie’s throat. Blood bloomed obediently at the surface of the white flesh.

“Fuck you,” said Jackie, grinning wicked.

Cement walls buried deep in the earth made Anti’s hide-out silent as a corpse, dark as legs torn off of crickets. “Always so proud,” chirruped Anti, straightening his blade against Jackie’s collarbone. “I enjoy that.”

“Yeah? Enjoy this.”

Jackie rammed his knee towards Anti’s stomach, but the glitch disappeared in a wash of shadow, reappearing, a black haze, at Jackie’s side. For just a second, his darkness blocked out Jameson, chained up at Jackie’s side, but then Anti moved again and Jackie could see his little brother, and all was well.

He tried to smile at Jamie. Jamie stared back, eyes large.

Eyes angry.

“Nice try,” Anti sang, flipping the knife around in his hands. Jackie doesn’t even bother to watch it. He was tired of silver in the darkness, and met Anti’s eyes instead. He was proud, yes, proud to suffer for Jameson’s sake. Proud to do anything, anything, whatever it took to spare his littlest brother a single second of hurt.

Anti dragged the knife across his cheek.

Jackie gasped and swore and laughed, loud, at the warm blood sliding down his face. “Best you can do, Anti? You’ll have to try a little harder, you corrupted excuse for a functioning program. We both know that I – ”

Jackie cut off, startled by a stunning sensation in his face. Anti drew back, equally surprised.

Jackie’s face healed.

And Anti turned his gaze to Jameson, who stared right back, his eyes glowing a vibrant silver in the shadows. Silent with his hands chained. Watching with hatred in his fierce youth’s eyes.

“Oh, darling,” Anti murmured.

Moving away from Jackie. Moving towards Jameson.

“No,” Jackie snapped, trying, not for the first or second or hundredth time, to pull his chains out of the wall.

“So you don’t need your clock,” mused Anti, tilting his head. His eyes shimmered and changed colors, venom green to meet the fine silver of Jameson’s gaze. “Interesting.”

For a moment more he stared at Jameson, considering, but then, oh, relief, relief, he returned to Jackie, lifting up his knife again.

“I want to talk about where your precious Sean is.” Anti began to carve, painting blood down Jackie’s torso, and Jackie bit back on a cry, fire burning across his body. “Maybe if you talk like a nice boy I’ll even leave your little dead-tongue alone, and then – ”

But there was no ‘and then.’ Time turned back across Jackie’s flesh, and, in an instant, slices of skin mended themselves back together, blood retreating to untouched veins, scars unscarring on the white curve of his stomach.

Anti watched it happen.

Fascinated.

“Well,” he whispered, tucking his little blade away. There is a larger one on the table across the room. “Now you’re just being annoying.”

He turned to Jameson and glitched forward, and then he was grabbing him by the throat, slamming him back against the wall, and Jackie screamed aloud.

“No!” he cried. Not for the first time, or the second, or the thousandth, he yanks, hard, against the chains that bind him, bruising blue his wrists. “Anti, leave him alone! He’ll stop! Jameson, stop!”

“No, you know, I don’t think he will,” Anti drawled, squeezing until Jameson gagged. “Besides, now I’m intrigued. I haven’t spent much time with the little one, you know. Family, right? They never call, they never come over to be tortured…”

“Anti, leave him alone!”

“I wonder, Jameson – that is the name, isn’t it, or do you just go by Dapper? – I wonder, Dapper, if you’re so very talented at healing your brother, are you equally skilled at saving yourself?”

“Anti,” Jackie cried again. “Leave him alone. I’m the one you want. I’m the one you’ve always wanted.”

“Quiet, pest,” Anti snarled, and shadow coated Jackie’s mouth before he could speak again, drawing away with a gag in place. “Always is over. There’s a new member of the family. And I’ve changed my mind.”

He released Jameson’s throat. Jamie slumped down in his chains – and yet, in his eyes, Jackie saw defiance.

He is the youngest. Jackie was reminded, in that moment, that he was also a hurricane.

Anti picked up the knife and turned back to him. Two forces of nature met eye-to-eye, and Jackie, between them, was only mortal.

“Let’s start with the youngest,” said Anti, and put a blade in Jameson’s chest.

Stalking down the hall, Henrik is not unlike a hurricane either.

“Where the fuck do you get off?” he shouts, and then he grabs Doctor Jonathan Farraday by the shirt collar, and yanks him away from a pleasant conversation with a nearby nurse.

“Damn it, Henrik!” Farraday cries, nearly tripping over the IV someone is dragging along as Henrik yanks him at full-speed toward the room at the end of the hall. “What the hell?”

“You know Marvin and Jameson are my patients – ”

“You’re not supposed to operate on family, Schneeplestein!”

“I’m the best doctor in this OR and not a goddamn screw-up like you – ”

“Henrik, you don’t work here anymore!” squeals Farraday.

“In the words of a close friend,” snarls Henrik. “Fuck that noise.”

He shoves the other doctor against the wall as he yanks open the door to Jameson’s room, fuming like a green-leaf fire.

The sobs Jackie is releasing into Chase’s shirt stop immediately, and Henrik’s big brother looks up with a fight in his eyes, but before he can do anything stupid Henrik is shoving him aside, rounding Jameson’s bed and flipping open the patient report he stole out of Farraday’s desk.

“There you are, Schneep,” sighs Chase, squeezing Jackie’s shoulders again. “Is Marv doing okay?”

“Fine,” replies Schneep tersely, flipping through Jameson’s charts. “Just his usual over-exertion symptoms and one bad cut. Give him two days and he’s fine. Farraday, why the hell is he intubated?”

“He needs the oxygen,” Farraday defends himself frailly. He comes to stand at Jameson’s side, and then backs away at the look in Jackie’s wild eyes. “He took at least four knife wounds to the ribs, Henrik.”

“At least? What the fuck kind of doctor are you, ‘at least?’ Was it four or not? His oxygen levels are fine!”

Farraday shuffles awkwardly past Jackie’s glare and stops at Henrik’s side, and the two doctors stand staring together at Jameson’s vitals reading.

Chase squishes Jackie’s hand in his own and turns to look at JJ, reaching down to brush a limp curl from his closed eyes. Dark lashes touch his white cheeks, but Chase is glad to see that there is at least a little color there, a little sign of life in his soft face.

“Jackie, what happened?” asks Chase, low and desperate, as Schneeplestein and Farraday erupt into argument over the amount of painkillers Jameson requires.

Jackie turns to him with tears in his eyes. He tries to steady himself through a stammer, struggling even to get the words out, let alone to say anything that will make sense to Chase. “It took hours before he stopped healing,” he chokes. “Hours and hours, and by then he was so exhausted it was like he was dying anyway. There was all this blood from his nose, and then his ears, and then his mouth, but Anti just kept going and going and going – ”

He buries his face in Chase’s shirt, sobbing again.

“Let’s just be glad Marvin found you in time,” Chase soothes, rubbing his back.

“But what if he didn’t? They told me a couple hours ago they weren’t even sure he’d make it through the night and now – ”

“Why the hell you are speaking so much bullshit!” Henrik shouts, loud enough to regain their attention. “He’s fucking fine! Take the goddamn tube out! No, forget it, I’ll get it myself! Get out of mein sight – my sight – go! Go!”

Farraday nearly falls over himself in his haste to escape, but the others ignore him. Jackie rises from his chair, hope waking up in his chest. “Henrik, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know what that idiot had him on. He’s not so bad as they told you.”

“What?”

“Look, see, how his vitals are mostly okay, just a little weakness, a little trouble breathing. I put the oxygen in his nose instead of down his throat like this and he’ll still be okay. Poor little guy. He does look so small, doesn’t he? Shit, I’m sure Farraday botched this whole thing. I am looking at his chest.”

He draws back the blankets and begins unraveling the bandages coating Jameson’s chest with a warm and professional hand, drawing away layers that Jackie could have sworn were coated in blood just hours before. Reaching bare skin, Henrik stops and gently, gently, runs his hands across Jameson’s chest.

Together, they watch the wounds disappear as though they’d never existed.

“Mein Gott,” whispers Henrik.

“Whoa,” Chase breathes.

And Jackie looks up, and sees, and Jameson opens his eyes.

Smiling through the tube in his mouth.

“Little brother,” cries Jackie, and falls upon him, clutching him close, squeezing his unscarred body tight, tight, tight. “Little brother, little brother, little brother!”

On the wall, the shattered clock has remended itself.

[royalbirthchamber]

A Debt of Vengeance Part XIV

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII

**Well...I never thought this tale would go on as long as it did...but here we are! I want to thank everyone for all their support, love, feedback, and questions. I hope you have enjoyed this tale as much as I have enjoyed writing it. And thank you for being so patient in between chapters: would you believe it’s been a year and a half since Malchior and Sybil first met? Anyhow: I hope the ending is everything you all could want and more. Thank you - L. Wyvernic**

The now-empress reclined against the mountain of silken pillows and rubbed the grand swell of her stomach. There were so many questions swirling in Sybil's mind, so many things that didn't make sense. She watched at Malchior turned away from the door as the two other women left and silently walk back to the large pallet where she lay. Kneeling beside her he placed his hand on hers and for the moment they both felt the baby ready to be born, neither saying a word.

"Malchior," Sybil softly whispered. She intertwined her fingers with his and looked into the demigod's face. His eyes were glistening with a torrent of feelings: love, sorrow, guilt, joy...Sybil felt her throat tighten as her own tide of emotion began to rise.  Neither knew how to give voice to the weight in their hearts, the sins they carried beginning for redemption.

Malchior lowered his eyes, fighting to find the words. "All this time I've been nothing but...a monster."

" It's over now," she murmured, squeezing his hand, "It's all over."

He shook his head and looked into Sybil's eyes. "No, you don't understand: I always knew, the moment I first saw you waiting for me in your father's castle, I knew at that second. I just refused to believe it..."

" Knew what?" she asked, puzzled by his words.

The emperor shuddered with sorrow, regret. He forced himself to go on; she had to know.

"When I entered your father's castle, I was ready to destroy you," he whispered, "But then...seeing you seated there, it was as if every single moment of my life was compressed into this tiny point focused into one single second. My past and future all happening at once and in my heart, I felt my destiny calling to me. My prydia..."

"Malchior, I'm not your prydia," Sybil turned her face away as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please...stop saying foolish things!"

"They're not foolish things, Sybil!" he cried. "I speak the truth."

"Would anyone else treat their 'prydia' as you have treated me?" she asked, facing him again. "Yes, I have been cruel in the past but it was onl-ahhh!" Sybil gasped: her womb contracted, the pain rolling down over her stomach and spreading into her back and hips. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing instead. The pains were getting stronger and closer together now. She felt Malchior release her hand and massage the underside of her belly where the pressure seemed to focus.

"That was a strong one," the emperor said. Sybil nodded in agreement as the pain finally abated. He grabbed a damp, cool cloth from a near-by crystal bowl and placed it against her forehead. She softly moaned, welcoming the refreshing feel of the wet cloth against her skin.

"Before...I took the throne, I went to see an oracle," Malchior quietly began. "It's customary for the heir to see her visions and prophesy before they are crowned. I was young, then, and did not give her words much thought. But...now I cannot forget her words. Of all the things she saw there was one part, one... prophecy which still haunts me: 'And two empresses will thou have, But only one a prydia be. One will fall, thy soul departed, The Second, sealed, will return it to thee.'"

"But...it doesn't say which one," Sybil replied, "Only that you would have two empresses but only one would be your prydia. That doesn't prove anything."

"'The Second, sealed, will return it to thee'. My sigil...the one I placed to protect you and our child: it can only be sealed to a prydia," he replied. "I placed it upon Thyra as well, even though I feared that prophecy. I would defy Fate, I would prove the old crone oracle wrong, but..."

"You...knew she wasn't your prydia?" Sybil softly asked, "Even when you married her and made her empress?"

"I loved her so much, Sybil." Malchior shook his head. "I loved her and swore that she would be my Fated One, that I would control my own destiny. When I laid my seal upon her, I felt so...confident that I had won over Fate." He then held his head in his hands. "Obviously...we both know..."

Sybil sighed and stared at the vaulted ceiling high above her as her mind tried to process everything. Ever since her father ordered Thyra's death her life had been nothing but chaos. Had Thyra actually been Malchior's prydia his sigil would have protected her and her child from the dark magic poisoning her assassin's blade. Instead both Thyra and the baby perished and proved that Malchior's sigil was powerless. It had, however, protected her own baby...

"You...really hurt me, Malchior," she finally said. "You, my father, Dysarq: all men who have seen me as something to be used." She rolled onto her side, facing away from the emperor. The position eased the pressure from her lower back from the large baby slowly making its way into the world.  "If I'm your prydia...why would you treat me so...cruelly?"

"Oh, Sybil, forgive me," Malchior pled. He gently laid beside her on the pallet and pulled her body close to his own. Even now she felt warm and safe in his arms. Sybil guided his arm around her belly so he could cradle it as well and Malchior nuzzled her neck in response. "Please, beloved...forgive me."

"I just want to know why?" She asked.

"I refused to believe that Thyra wasn't my prydia, even after I failed to prevent her death...even though the oracle had spoken such. During the war, when your father's armies surrendered, I decided that I would make his daughter my consort: that it would prove the prophecy wrong. By marrying the daughter of my hated enemy, a princess I had never met and who would despise me, I would thwart the gods...but I was wrong, Sybil. Fate had outwitted me once more by making you my prydia. When I entered you chambers and realized it the moment I laid eyes on you...I was so terrified. I just wanted to make you...hate me."

"That way...there would be no love," Sybil mused.

"And if there is no love...then I wouldn't be hurt again."

"Only...I would be the one hurt instead."

Malchior gently rolled Sybil onto her back and cupped her face, his own a mask of sorrow and remorse. " I have proven myself unworthy to have the love of my prydia. I accept this. I have drawn up documents giving you reign over Roliam once more. You...and our daughter...can go and live there. When I am gone, she will inherit my throne. I will not interfere: you two can live in peace."

Sybil looked into his eyes and knew he was speaking the truth. He would give her everything: her freedom, her kingdom, even his own child just to atone for his sins. He had hurt her, there was no denying the fact. He had been heartless, cruel, cold...and in turn, she had given him the same but then there were times...he had been tender, loving even. He adored their child from the moment she became pregnant and the fact that it would be a girl did nothing to diminish his love, something her own father never done.

And Sybil, despite everything - everything!- knew in her heart he would be the only man she would ever love. Was theirs a perfect love? No: it was one born from loss, grief, and a desire for vengeance. Both had entered the union wounded and instead of helping each other to heal they lashed out in pain, desiring to make the other suffer just as much. She remembered when her mother lay dying her father refused to see his wife one last time. Sybil was furious and bitterly wept as she held the woman's hand and cursed the king. The queen, whose heart never turned bitter in spite of her sufferings, comforted her daughter with an old proverb:

"If all could be understood then all would be forgiven."

The baby kicked as if waiting for her to make a choice before it entered the world. She reached up and caressed Malchior's face. For the first time in her life, she was free to choose her destiny.

"I shall tell you what I want," she began, "I will stay in this chamber and give birth to our daughter. I will sit beside you on the throne as your empress and advisor, and I will bear you a family of strong sons and proud daughters. All I ask...is that we learn to understand and forgive each other."

"Sybil," Malchior's eyes brimmed with tears as her forgiveness washed over him and finally began to lift the oppressive weight of grief from his soul. He leaned down and kissed his empress, their lips touching for the first time. Sybil softly moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, her body beginning to yield to his as their tongues intertwined. Warmth flooded her body; not just the heat of lustful passions that she had known but a deeper warmth, more intense than when he had called her 'beloved'.  They would both heal.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another contraction. Her body slightly bucked as her hard stomach surged. A long, low moan escaped from her throat, her mouth pulling away from his as the pain grew along with her voice.

Malchior's hand slid under her gown and caressed her laboring belly, feeling the muscles of her womb tighten around their baby. Sybil arched her back, panting, as the pain peaked and then slowly faded once more. The pressure behind her cervix and in her hips was slowly building as each contraction gradually forced the large, Artemian child into the world. Sybil began to seriously fear that her body would not be able to accommodate such a large baby no matter what Malchior of the midwife said.

" How...far apart are my pains now?" Sybil murmured, "They feel stronger than when you brought me here."

"About fifteen minutes or so," Malchior replied. He pulled back her tight gown and began to kiss her stomach. "You're doing wonderful, Sybil." He rose from the bed and walked to the wooden table where various supplies awaited and grabbed a small glass vial. He returned and gently opened her thighs, allowing him to kneel between her bent knees. He opened the vial and carefully poured the sweet-scented oil onto his hands, rubbing them together as the smell reached Sybil's nose. It was similar to the same heady oil Mavis had poured into her bath. Sybil sighed and she inhaled the perfumed air while Malchior began to knead the sore flesh of her swollen midsection.

"Ahhh," she moaned, "That...feels wonderful, my lord."

Malchior did not spoke but relished watching his laboring empress sigh and moan in pleasure as his hands worked and caressed the tight, translucent skin. Her body was ripe, swollen with life, ready to erupt with his child and seeing her writhe upon the silken sheets was a delicious sight to behold. The baby's movements made ripples across the surface of her belly as it squirmed, impatient with the slow labor. He traced his fingers over the shifting mound as his other hand continued to firmly massage the underside of her stomach.

"Let me see if you've progressed, my empress." He carefully slid his oiled fingers into her sex. Sybil moaned, enjoying the feeling of him inside her despite her current ordeal. "About two, two-and-a-half fingers open." He slowly withdrew from her cunt and began to run his fingers over her sensitive clit. Her gentle signs became lustful moans of pleasure and her hands gripped the sheets as he teased her. After a moment of delicious torment, he rubbed more oil on his hands and began to rub her belly.

Sybil opened her eyes and saw the hungry look on the god-emperor. She slowly raised herself up into a sitting position and held out a hand.

"Please, I think I need to kneel while I labor. My back..."

Malchior helped her up until she knelt upon the bedding and supported her heavily pregnant figure from behind. Her belly hung between her bent knees, resting on the bedding, and the large baby pressed down against her gradually opening cervix. Malchior continued to cradle and rub her stomach. He pulled her in close, his erect cock pressing into her back through his trousers, and began to kiss the nape of her neck. Sybil released a series of moans and sighs as he continued to kiss her until another pain seized her once more, tightening around her like a fist. Her voice raised from a whimper into a painful cry, her hands pressing into the sides of her solid midriff. Malchior placed his hands atop her and whispered encouragements into her ear.

"Breathe, Sybil. Like this," and he led her through the pain, both breathing as the contraction gripped her body. As it passed she sagged against with a soft cry. The demi-god continued to caress her belly and kiss the side of her tired face. "You're so beautiful right now, my love. So strong and beautiful."

"You wanted to see me suffer, remember?" she replied with a wry smile. He softly groaned as he clutched her belly.

"I think you've suffered enough, my empress," he gently replied. "I could still delay this, let you rest for a day, and then make sure your labor is easy...painless..."

"No!" she fiercely shook her head. "I...I want my baby and I want...I want to suffer, Malchior.  I want you to watch me in agony as I birth this child. Just...promise me she'll be okay." Sybil ran a hand over her swell. "Promise me...if something goes wrong, you'll make sure she-"

"Sybil stop," Malchior interrupted her, "You will be able to bear this child. Those things Dysarq said were just horrible lies: I will never allow you or our children to perish in childbed."

The two remained kneeling on the pallet as Malchior hungrily kissed his prydia, cradling her belly through each contraction while Sybil moaned, cried, and panted through the cruel pain. It seemed her labor had stalled: after two hours the contractions were still about fifteen minutes apart. Sybil sat against the pillows once more, her knees bent, as the emperor gently checked to see her progress.

"Still the same," he calmly replied as he withdrew his fingers from her soaking sex. Sybil groaned in dismay. She had hoped for some progress after two hours of laboring in her beloved's arms. Her waters still remained intact and her womb no more open than before: two hours spent in vain! Malchior laid beside her and kissed her greedily, distracting her from the disappointment. She felt a familiar ache between her thighs as fire flushed through her body. She looked up into her husband's face as the lustful blaze burned in her eyes.

"Fuck me," she whispered, "I demand it, Malchior!"

Malchior's eyes widened, ignited with the same carnal flames that now burned in her. " You demand it, royal whore?" he teased. His hand moved from her cheek and slowly trailed down her body. Sybil shivered in delight and kissed him again.

"You promised to break my waters, to ravage me without mercy as I struggled to bear your child." she whispered, "Do it, Malchior! I need you!"

" I did promise, my little whore," he growled into her ear as he slowly slid his trousers off. "I did promise to fuck this child out of you."

"Please..." she whimpered, rolling onto her side to allow him better access. She felt him slide next to her on the pallet and lift her leg up, crying as her cunt ached to be impaled. "Oh Malchior, please..."

"Is this what you want, Sybil?" he teased her soaking folds with the tip of his massive rod. She nodded and moaned with each brush against her sex. Malchior buried his face into her neck, kissing her clavicle. " You do not know how long I've waited for this moment: fucking my whore prydia as she labors with my child, breaking her waters, and then finally watching as the royal baby mercilessly plows through her. Oh Sybil...thank you."

Sybil did not have time to reply as the emperor penetrated her hard. She screamed in a mix of surprise and pleasure as his cock stretched her open and began to thrust mercilessly into her.

"Oh gods, yes!" she screamed, "Harder!"

Malchior roughly gripped her belly, pulling Sybil into him and allowing him to plunge into her sex. Sybil felt him slam into her cervix repeatedly, his thick member filling her and hitting every pleasurable spot. She released a series of moans and screams in rhythm to his thrusts. The emperor groaned: the sounds of her cries only goaded him on and he had missed the feel of her cunt tightly enveloping his rod, missed feeling the baby kick inside his beloved as she begged for his cock.

"The Five Realms may think of you as their empress," he hissed, "but I'll always know you're my royal whore, Sybil. Wicked, wicked whore: begging to be fucked even in the throes on labor!"

"Yes!" she screamed. "And you're just as wicked, Malchior! So wicked! Oh gods!" She gripped his hand, the one holding her belly, as she felt another contraction begin to build. The pain and pleasure began to wrap around her, each building off the other into a mix of glorious torment. She moaned, her voice rich with agony, and her eyes began to flutter.

Malchior knew what was happening as he felt her stomach muscles begin to tighten. "Suffer for me, Sybil," he demanded. Sybil moaned in reply. The sensation of her stomach being seized by such pain only made him thrust faster and harder into his laboring beloved, his own orgasm building. He watched her face shift from ecstasy to a visage of torment. Her stomach surged, rock hard. Sybil bucked violently against his body: she began to shake as the combination of her orgasm and the contraction melted into one. She threw her head back as a raw scream tore from her throat: the pain and pleasure peaked at once and held her body prisoner. Malchior roared as he finally came with one last, deep thrust. His own body quaked with a forceful release, hot and thick. Sybil's cries continued as the tightening band of pain remained around her midsection. She gripped the sheets, gasping for air between her moans. The afterglow still cascaded through her even while she was tortured by the cruel contraction: it was both heaven and hell.

Something gave inside her, forcing a low groan from her lips. Malchior felt it as well and withdrew from her sore sex: a torrent of water burst from between her open, shivering thighs and spilled across the red, silken sheets. The contraction finally faded, leaving the empress trembling and drenched in sweat and birth fluid.

Malchior rose, quickly slipping back into his trousers, and grabbed some towels. He placed some on the soaked bed and used others to clean Sybil's legs and thighs. He gently kissed her stomach as he dried her with the soft towels. She weakly opened her eyes and gazed at her emperor. The chamber was now filled with the burning light of sunset, igniting his long hair into bursts of scarlet, crimson, and ruby. She watched as he placed his hand on her swell and felt the baby's position.

"Is she...okay?" an exhausted Sybil asked. "That wasn't too..."

"She is fine, my love," Malchior replied much to Sybil's relief. She gave a tired smile and stroked her belly. Malchior kissed her stomach once more. "Your labor should begin to hasten, now."

*****

Night fell and the birthing chamber was illuminated by the ethereal glow of candles and the small fire burning in the hearth. Sybil stood before the long wooden table, gripping its edge, moaning as another contraction held her. Behind her, Malchior rubbed her back as his empress groaned in pain. After her waters broke her labor did pick up again and the royal couple had spent the past hours pacing the chamber floors or kneeling on the pallet as Sybil panted and wailed with each fresh contraction. It was nearing midnight and now her pains were less than five minutes apart and lasting what seemed like an eternity. Her frame was soaked in sweat and every joint ached. As the contraction ended her body sagged against the table, her knees weak, and Malchior laced his arms through hers for support.

"I can't do this," she mewed, "I thought I was strong, but I'm too-"

"You are strong, Sybil!" Malchior lovingly whispered into her ear, "You are the strongest woman in all the Five Realms."

"I doubt that," she muttered. She looked over to the soft rug spread before the hearth. Malchior followed her gaze.

"Kneel?" he asked. Sybil nodded.

"...kneel, please."

He carefully led her over to the fireplace and helped her down until she was kneeling on all fours, her belly pressing into the red fibers of the rub. She closed her eyes and panted: the baby was so low now, the pressure almost unbearable. Malchior returned to her side and knelt. He placed a goblet of cold water to her lips, which she gulped down in seconds, and then resumed rubbing her sore back and stroking the side of her stomach.

"You're both going to be fine, " he softly reassured, "Do you think my magick will fail you now after all this time?"

"I'm just...scared," Sybil replied, "So scared..."

"But I'm here with you, beloved. Nothing and no one will hurt you or our daughter. Remember my sigil?"

Sybil slightly raised her head. Something had bothered her but only now did she remember what it was. "Malchior?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought...you said it had only been a dream when you sealed me. Remember?"

Malchior sighed. "I lied."

"But...you were gone. How did you return and then leave again? It doesn't...make sense."

The emperor caressed her face: it seemed the birthing chamber was a place where the truth would come to light as well as see their child born. " I did leave, with some men, that evening. We...that is, I, needed to see the oracle again. I needed to know if Dysarq would succeed and I needed to know...if you were my prydia after all. As we camped for the first night I heard you...calling for me. I knew you were in danger."

"The nightmare," Sybil answered. Malchior nodded.

"Yes. I had...to get to you, so I quickly set a portal back to the bedchamber and found you in bed, crying, but I could also feel his presence. I shouldn't...have left you alone: I knew then that unless I did something he would rob me of the both of you. So..."

Sybil closed her eyes. "You placed your seal-Aahhhh! Malchior!"

Her head pressed against the floor as her womb squeezed and hardened around the babe. Her voice filled the chambers; she felt her hips creak as the pressure behind the giant baby forced it into her pelvis. She gasped frantically for air as the pain overrode all other though.

"Breathe, Sybil! Breathe!" Malchior urged. He moved before her and lifted her panicked face up to meet his own. "You need to breathe!"

She slowly found control over her body and began to breathe deeply, exhaling each time with a long moan, tormented moan. Malchior pressed a cold cloth to her face as she worked through the contraction, knowing that the icy water would feel good against her hot face.

"Ahh...ahhh...ahh...too big," she cried, "The baby...too big."

"You can do this, my prydia," he replied, "All these months you've said you can handle anything this wicked emperor gives you."

"...I guess you're not...the only liar...here."

Malchior could not help but laugh. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. "I do not believe you were lying, Sybil."

" Tell me...what did the oracle say?"

"What do you expect? When I arrived she laughed, wanting to know why I was there if I already had my answer? There was no use in asking if you were my prydia: my seal lay upon you and our child. When I asked about Dysarq she said the seal would protect you from him...but not from me. The oracle warned me that I was on dangerously close to making myself unworthy of a prydia; it happens sometimes if one partner does not honor the other. 'the choice' she said, 'would lie in the Empress' hands'."

"...and I have made my choice, Malchior."

"I know."

*****

As the hours passed the pains became even more intense, almost on top of one another until Sybil felt as if she were suffering an endless contraction. She returned to the pallet, exhausted, and writhed upon the pillows as her body was tormented by wave after wave of excruciating pain. The contractions were frighteningly strong; Malchior barely could see the faint outline of their baby as the muscles of her womb mercilessly tightened into a clenched fist of pain. His hands tirelessly kneaded the sore flesh and his mouth sprinkled kisses on the taut surface of her surging belly, her heaving chest, her pale neck...

A new pain welled up inside Sybil's worn body: an urge she could not deny. She threw her head back against the pillows as her body followed its instinct and bore down. Her thighs opened as the baby finally made its first move towards the world, a journey that would not be quick. She wailed with effort as the felt the massive head sluggishly began to force its way through her hips - her bones creaked at the sheer girth and Sybil feared she would be split apart by the royal babe.

Malchior quickly slid his fingers inside and felt the top of the baby's head just begin to press against his fingertips.

My precious child...

"Let's get you to the birthing stool," he spoke with quiet urgency, not watching to scare his wife but also feeling a mix of excitement and anxiousness. Sybil said nothing, only moaned as he lifted her to her feet. Each step brought a whimper from her lips: the baby entering her canal made walking difficult and awkward. She gripped his arm and the other cradled her low-hanging belly. She could see the stool waiting for her by the fire, the sturdy rope hanging near-by: it seemed so far but somehow she found the strength to make it. She gripped the rope and slowly slid down until she was squatting on the stool. The position opened her hips more and gravity helped bring the baby's head down lower into her canal.

"Ahhh Malchior, she's so big!" Sybil moaned.

"Our beautiful, Artemian princess," he whispered as he sat behind her and supported her tired, heavy body. "She's coming, Sybil. You just need to stay strong."

She gripped the rope, just as she had done all those times before with Ansela except now her labor was real. Sybil felt the next contraction build and prepared herself to push again - she was strong! She would bear their child, and many more; she was the Empress of the Five Realms and would give her beloved many, many heirs.

Her knuckles went white with the sheer force of her grip upon the rope while she bore down on the baby. Her voice roared with determination and pain, echoing up into the rafters, and she opened her thighs as wide as possible.

"Yes, Sybil!" Malchior urged, "Push! Just like that!" He pulled her in close, his hands lovingly caressing her contracting belly, and began to kiss her face and neck. As she pushed he would murmur encouragements and then mention how her laboring cries were driving him insane with desire. She could feel him becoming hard and she could not help but enjoy knowing her agony was filling him with lust.

"I'm surprised you don't force her back inside and fuck me again!" she panted, "You're such a vile, horrible emperor. So wicked..."

"Do not tempt me, little empress!" he growled into her ear. "Your ordeal is still not over." The fantasies helped distract Sybil from the excruciating pressure as the large head continued to brutally force her open.

"Tell me...more, Malchior! What else will you do to me?"

The emperor spun tales of delicious torment: she would give birth before all his guards like a common whore, or perhaps he would force her to carry out her imperial duties while laboring before the court. There would be a special undergarment that would not allow her progress beyond the babe only partially crowning - she would spend the whole day as their baby's head bulged between her thighs, a damp mound behind the silk and leather of the garment. She moaned and begged through all the stories and felt his painfully hard cock throb as it pressed into her. Her fear was replaced by hungry desire: she almost wanted Malchior to force her on all fours and violently ravage her sore sex. Instead, it drove her as she continued to bear down and moan, feeling his heir painfully fill and stretch her. She must have pushed for a solid hour before she finally felt the enormous head barely press against her folds.

"Malchior! Oh god, she's coming!"

Malchior moved from his place behind Sybil and knelt before her so he could see her progress. He watched as she pushed, the lips of her cunt slightly bulged out and he saw the baby's head barely peek out from behind her folds before retreating back inside. Another push forced her sex to swell out a little more, fluid dribbling from her lips, and a second glimpse of the head from the almond-sized opening.

"I see her, Sybil!" his eyes sparkled with excitement and wonder. "She has your lovely, dark hair!"

Sybil reached down to the growing mound between her thighs and slipped a finger inside where she immediately felt the soft surface of her baby's head.

"...baby!" she gasped. "My baby!" Her emotions overwhelmed her and she began to weep with joy as she carefully caressed her child with the tip of her finger. Malchior took her face in his hands and begin to kiss his empress as his tears mingled with her own. She kept her palm placed against her labia and she bore down again, groaning and yelling with effort as her child slowly came. Her lips refused to part beyond a shy, modest opening forcing her sex to swell out with each push until it jutted out to painful proportions. Malchior gazed at the massive bulge and softly ran his fingers over the stubborn lips.

"You need to stop pushing, Sybil," he commanded, " and let your body stretch for the head."

"I can't" she cried, " Malchior I need to-"

"You need to stretch!" he firmly replied. "I'm taking you back over to the bed where you can rest and I can help your lips open."

Sybil didn't even have a moment to protest; Malchior picked her body up in one swoop and carried her across the chambers back to the bed once more. She leaned against the pillows and gripped the backs of her bent knees, pulling them as close to her body as possible. Malchior grabbed the bottle of oil and poured a few drops on her bulging labia before gently rubbing and massaging the tight, red tissues with his fingers. Sybil gently moaned as his fingertips would brush against her clit as he rubbed her glistening mound. He dripped a small cloth into a nearby bowl of hot water, enchanted no doubt to hold its temperature for hours, and then placed the hot compress into her swollen sex.

"Breathe," Malchior coached, "When the next pain comes, don't push: you need to stretch around the baby's head."

Sybil nodded as she felt a pain already on its way. Her moans started and the uncontrollable urge to push began to take hold. Before she was even aware of it Sybil was bearing down hard. Malchior's palm remained firmly pressed against the cloth-draped bulge, applying counter-pressure to his prydia's pushing.

"Sybil, you need to breathe! Don't push!"

"I can't!" she wailed, "I need to push!"

"Look at me!" Malchior leaned over and gently cupped her tired face. "You can do this Sybil! If not for me then for our daughter. If you keep pushing you will tire yourself and possibly tear which could...cause complications. I can't have anything happen to either of you. So breathe, pant - scream if you must!"

"I'm sorry, Malchior," she whispered. He sighed and kissed her face.

"There is nothing to forgive. You are so strong, my love, and the baby is almost here." He looked up at the lancet windows and noticed the first soft blushes of sunrise. "Look, Sybil: the sun is coming!"

She wearily followed his pointing finger and saw the soft pre-dawn light. "This labor will never end, Malchior."

"No, my empress: this will be the first morning out precious baby sees. Her first morning in all the Five Realms." He gently removed the hot compress and used his finger to gently stretch her stubborn lips once more. They had parted slightly, grudging giving the Artemian baby's head passage as it struggled to crown. As the next contraction came Sybil fought the urge to push and instead white-knuckled the sheets as her moans and cries filled the birthing chamber. She closed her eyes and wondered if she could honestly survive such an ordeal, but she had faith in her emperor's magick: he wouldn't let either perish.

The light outside slowly grew as Sybil fought her natural instinct to push. Malchrior continued to rub the burning, sore lips with oil and apply the hot compresses to the stretching swell between her thighs. With each contraction her lips slowly began to peel back around the enormous head, much larger than a mortal child's, until finally, the baby had nearly crowned. Sybil was exhausted, her throat raw from all her cries. She panted, her eyes half opened, as her stretched sex burned from the sheer girth of the child. Malchior placed another goblet of water to her lips and a cold cloth to her face, reviving her momentarily.

"Sybil, look."

Kneeling between her bent thighs he held a small mirror in which she finally caught the first glimpse of her baby. Malchior was right, the child had her dark curls which she reached down and gently caressed.

"Hello," she softly whispered, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, "Hello my little sweetheart."

"I need you to push now, okay?" Malchior gently spoke, overcome with his own emotions. "Small pushes, Sybil."

Seeing and feeling her daughter, after all the months of sorrow and heartbreak, filled Sybil with a renewed vigor and determination. She pulled her thighs back once more and pushed , groaning as she felt the burning become more intense. Malchior placed both his hands on either side of the crown, pushing the flesh and tissues back around the massive head. Dawn began to fill the room and the first rays spilled through the windows and touched the damp, crowning head of her baby. Malchior gasped; this was a fortunate omen. A new era for his empire dawned with the birth of his firstborn. He gently bent over and gently kissed the exposed head of his soon-to-be-born princess.

Sybil's heart swelled: this dawn marked not only the birth of her daughter but also the beginning of her life, her new life as empress and wife to the man she loved. The old Malchior and Sybil were gone and now, in this new day, they were reborn. They would heal, they would love, they would build a family.

"She's coming!" Malchior excitedly spoke. He grabbed more towels and placed them around Sybil as the head finally crowned. He was amazed at the size of the baby's head jutting out of his mortal wife's sex. He looked back at his wife, his eyes filled with love and admiration. "Oh my prydia, my beautiful, empress. You look absolutely sublime."

"This will not be the last time either, Malchior," Sybil vowed before bearing down, driven to give Malchior their long-desired daughter.

He continued to press her burning lips down around the baby's skull as the empress whimpered with each push. Slowly the head emerged, the brow popping out as he supported her thin perineum. The nose, ears, mouth...all the little features slowly appeared as the head finally erupted in a spray of fluids.

Sybil collapsed against the cushions with a tortured cry, gasping for breath. Malchior cradled the baby's head, checking the neck for a cord and smiling when he found none. He took his wife's hand and placed it on their child's face. Sybil's fingers ran over the damp, chubby cheeks of her newborn with love and tenderness.

"...Avalee," she whispered, "My little Avalee."

"That...is a beautiful name, my love," Malchior replied.

"Malchior," Sybil looked at her husband, a serious expression crossing her weary face, "I want to name her Avalee Thyra...I think...that is best."

The demigod was dumbstruck. For a second he said nothing and Sybil feared she had misspoken, reopening old wounds in the emperor's heart.

"Sybil...," he finally spoke, his voice choked, "...I am not worthy of you."

Before Sybil could reply she was gripped by another contraction and she realized she still had to birth the shoulders. The head gently turned until the babe faced her inner thigh, the shoulders nestled against her pelvis. The two now focused on delivering the child: the journey was almost through. She jerked her legs back as far as possible and pushed with all her strength as the shoulders pressed against her pelvic bone. Malchior held the baby's head and worked to maneuver the wide shoulders free.

"Push!" he urged, "As hard as you can, Sybil!"

Sybil screamed, all her energy focused on pushing out the large baby lodged in her hips. The child did not budge, remaining firmly stuck at the shoulders. She began to panic after the second push: this was taking too long and her daughter needed out!

"She's not coming!" Sybil wept, "Oh god, she's going to die!"

"She's not going to die, Sybil!" Malchior reassured his terrified empress, "but I need you to get on your hands and knees." He helped her carefully turn until she knelt on all fours. Seeing the head of his child, so large compared to the mortal frame of his beloved, left the demigod in awe. He gently took hold and commanded his wife to push. Sybil strained with every ounce of effort left in her body. She forced herself to focus as the massive child stretched her every so slightly, tried not thinking about her daughter remaining trapped in her canal...Even now, so close to birth, she could feel the final few kicks: the child was struggling just as hard as she.

"Yes! Good!" Malchior smiled. "Keep pushing just like that!" A shoulder began to stubbornly slip through her stretched and burning sex. Sybil roared in agony as she pushed once more. Malchior was finally able to get a grip on the emerging shoulder and coax it out. The second quickly followed, allowing the emperor to pulled the rest of his daughter free as the remaining waters gushed out onto the towels. Sybil collapsed face down on the pillows: her body shook and shivered from the shock of delivering such a large child. Her consciousness reeled somewhere between the light and the dark. Malchior cradled the slippery, red newborn princess in his hands. He rubbed and gently patted her back and chest until finally the silent baby jerked and gasped for air, releasing a strong, reedy wail. Malchior sobbed.

The sound of her baby pierced the darkness clouding Sybil's mind and slowly reawakened.

Her baby.

It was alive.

"Avalee..." she softly murmured. Malchior turned his empress over and placed the squalling babying in her arms, weeping with joy. Sybil looked down at the baby: the same dark hair as her own, curls and all, yet her father's nose and eyes. She was so large and heavy in Sybil arms and yet she still found everything about her tiny and perfect. Sybil began to cry as well and kissed her newborn daughter. The three were now together.

****

The Five Realms rejoiced.

Everyone who saw the princess could not help but fawn and coo over the newborn. Sybil recovered in her chambers, the child never out of her sight. She was besotted with the little girl, singing to her as she nursed the Artemian princess or nuzzling her precious face. The other noblewomen who came to see the princess also came to pay respect to their new empress. They were happy for Sybil, who had suffered so and who convinced Malchior To allow them to bear children of their own. A few of the ladies were now pregnant themselves and they kissed Sybil's hand in thanks.

To say that Malchior was a proud father was an understatement. Seeing the mighty and fearsome demigod cradle and hold his newborn, his eyes aglow with love and tenderness...Sybil could not help but smile.

"Look, Avalee," he whispered, cradling his daughter before the windows, "One day you will reign over all of this!"

"Oh Malchior," Sybil sighed, "She's only two days old. She'll worry about that soon enough!" Malchior gave his wife an apologetic smile.

"You're right, my love. I just...I can't believe she is real."

*****

Sybil was crowned empress the same day as Princess Avalee was christened. They royal family rode through the capital as the people cheered. Sybil realized that she had never really left the palace and had no idea that she was so well loved. Stories of her ordeal as consort and of her wise advice had won her over: not only was she Malchior's prydia she was also a worthy successor to Thyra as empress.

Malchior looked at his wife, garbed in her coronation robes and wearing the Imperial diadem, and his beloved daughter cradled in her arms. The christening gown, first sewn by the princesses namesake, glittered and sparkled in the glorious light as the baby calmly watched the scene from her mother's arms. Nothing in the realms or the mortal worlds would tear them from him. Sybil turned, looked into her husband's eyes. She was thinking the same: nothing and no one would come between them. Their love was strong now and grew stronger as each day passed and they learned to heal. Malchior leaned in and they kissed.

The kingdom rejoiced.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

The latest draft chapter for Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain

The infirmary wasn’t a fun place at the best of times. Keith’s instincts left his husband cranky and brooding, sitting in the corner of the room Lance was now occupying for the next few nights. Krolia was sitting in the visitors chair beside his bed, because unlike Keith, she could keep her temper. Poking had turned to prodding, prodding had turned to scans, scans had turned to an IV and a monitor strapped across his stomach. That led to Veronica interrupting their “family” moment, his sister now sitting on the end of his bed as she talked to their mother, angry that Kosmo had stolen the prime position. Kosmo listened to no one. He was his own wolf. He was his own wolf that was laying up along his side with his head on Lance’s shoulder. Veronica had tried scolding him, telling Lance to scold him, “ordering” Keith to evict him off the bed because it couldn’t possibly be good for him or the twins... She’d even tried sitting on the edge of the bed and forcing him off, nothing had worked. Lance was secretly glad it hadn’t. He’d missed his dopey wolf, and from the look of it, Kosmo had missed him too. “Lance, Mami wants to talk to you” Rising from her chair Krolia held her hand out for Veronica’s comms. Lance wasn’t able to move due to Kosmo, not that he wanted to move “Krolia, the call is for Lance” “I don’t see you moving to pass him your comms” It was as if two vipers were poised to attack each other. The look in their eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Veronica and Krolia were both strong willed women, that scared him in near equal parts. Narrowing her eyes at Kosmo, he cuddled his baby boy closer, knowing he was about to the object of her anger “How can I with that wolf there?” “Gracious. Here I thought both sides of the bed were accessible. Kosmo, you seemed to have grown larger than you appear” “I’m his brother” “Kosmo’s? I thought you were Lance’s older sister” As the invisible sparks flew, Lance kind of wished he was sulking in the corner with Keith. Veronica was scary enough without being provoked. Krolia had thoroughly burned his sister, cruelly if he was asked. Though, it was only cruel because he couldn’t laugh. His mother-in-law sounded as if she’d been part of the family for decades. “Veronica! Pass the comms to Krolia! I can’t see anything!” “You wanted to talk to Lance” “And I still do. Now pass the comm to Krolia. I know she’s grown up enough not be upset over a wolf” Ooooh. His mother was in fine form too. Veronica very nearly snapped her comms as she set her jaw and handed the device to Krolia with a cool glare. Ignoring her, Krolia smiled brightly as she settled back down. From where he was propped up, he could see his mother’s anxious face “Krolia! Dear, how is he?” “We’ve settled him in the infirmary for now. Minor hiccup with morning sickness. We’re going to run a series of allergy tests as he’s having trouble keeping things down. Simply precautionary. The twins are being monitored, but things are much as they were when we spoke. Only, he’s awake now” “Thank goodness. I’ve been wondering if I should come. But what can one dottering old lady do” “Now, now, Miriam. You look amazing. Five children and that figure...” His mother giggled. Honest to God, giggled. What the quiznak was going on here? “Krolia, we both know a few things are below the belt by now” “I refuse to believe it. I’ll pass you over to Lance now” “Thank you. I’m sorry about Veronica. Lord only knows where she gets her stubbornness from” From his Mami. Veronica’s stubbornness was one hundred per cent from their Mami “It’s perfectly fine, Miriam. Young pups have their moment” Veronica had no idea she’d just been called a baby. Lance sucking in his lips at the insult. Krolia knew he was struggling, so she threw in a wink. Laughter bubbled up as he took Veronica’s comms from Krolia. Personally, he didn’t think he needed all this fuss over morning sickness, but there was no stopping Krolia. Tilting the comms to his face, his mother set her face in “mum mode” “What did you do this time?” “Hi, Mami. I’m ok. Twins are great. Keith says hi” “Lance. You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be picking fights” Nope. She was pissed. Her expression didn’t change the slightest “Mami, I wasn’t picking a fight. I was defending myself” “I’ve read. I’ve had Marco calling daily for updates. Your team wanted to storm Daibazaal and take you away from there. I bet you haven’t called poor Daehra, have you? Do they know who’s responsible yet?” “No, Mami. It’s complicated. I’ve been sleeping off the pod, and now Krolia is channeling you. The cast’s off my leg, knee all healed up” “And what if you didn’t have access to the pod? What if you were stuck healing the normal way? Did our Keith have his foot looked at? Don’t tell me you’ve both been neglecting your health” Lance rolled his eyes, swapping to Spanish simply because Keith didn’t know Spanish “Mami, he’s fine. Daehra fixed it right up. I’m ok too. Krolia suggested that I might have developed an allergy. I didn’t know that was a thing. I’m good. I’ve been out to talk to my therapist. I’m safe with Keith and Kosmo. I know you’re going to tell me to go back home, but I’m fine. Had a scan about half an hour ago, both twins still intact” “You need to be careful. Your health has been so fragile. I really do wish you’d consider coming back home. I worry for you, and for Keith” “I can’t Mami. The coalition is sending us on a publicity tour... I may have upset them” “Did they do this? Did they hurt you and my grand-babies? Do I need to talk to them? How many people have you upset?” Lance let out a sigh “Mami, if I started listing everyone who wanted me dead... it’s better you don’t think about that. I have some new twin scans to send you, or Krolia can of you message her. And tell Marco to call me if he wants to talk to me. I didn’t have a chance to call Daehra. The second Keith saw I was awake, it’s been one thing after another. They’ve put me on an anti-nausea thing...” Against his wishes. Keith didn’t even try to back him up. He was too busy being mad and glaring at all the medical staff “... Besides, they want me to stay here because of the pods” “Why must you get into so much trouble?” “I wasn’t getting into trouble when I was at the outpost” “Don’t give me that, Lance. The only thing that’s changed is that you cannot get away with things” “Hey! I’ve been on my best behaviour” “Says the man who hid from his mother that he could fall pregnant” “Of course I hide things from you. I don’t want you to worry any more than you have to” “Do not take that tone with me, Mijo. I am well aware I would probably faint on the spot if I knew half of what you did” “I was attacked going to the bathroom” “Why were you going to the bathroom alone?” “Because after 23ish years of existence, I know how to pee alone” “Why wasn’t Keith with you?” “Because he doesn’t need to hold my hand” “Obviously he does” “He was supposed to be getting his humanitarian award. He was on stage with Krolia. Mami, I want you to be careful. If this is related to Kre’el, they could go after you” “Do you believe it’s related?” Lance paused. No. He honestly didn’t... not that he knew exactly who was “I can’t say and that worries me” “We’ll be safe, Mijo. You stay safe. My heart couldn’t take it if I lost you” “Mami, I’m being safe... I am. This is all Krolia overreacting” “Krolia doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d overreact. If you need me to come, I will” “No. No, Mami. It was a fight that got out of hand. And you know how I feel about the coalition” His mother sighed deeply. He may or may not have yelled at her more than once that he wanted nothing to do with them, and that they could shove their job offers where God’s light didn’t shine... “Mijo, if you’re not comfortable with this, then step back. You don’t have to turn yourself into a public spectacle” “I do, Mami. People need something to believe in. Allura gave her life for peace, and they’ve brought stability, even if I don’t agree with their methods. If they’re lost, then someone else is going to step up. I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing it for Keith and his dream of the Galra no longer being feared and hated. I’m doing this for our children. I’m so sick of it all, Mami. I didn’t go looking for this fight. I’m tired of my name being used to spread all these lies. I’m the useless and disgraced Paladin, and I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in it... we had a good run. 5 phoebs before it all went downhill” “Oh, Mijo. Is Keith there? Can I talk to him?” “If you’re going to dob me into him, I’d rather not. He’s been having a mental breakdown since everything happened. Everyone’s fussing way too much, and he’s not ok” “Someone has to fuss. Now put him on for me” Lance sighed to himself “Make the pregnant person do all the hard work...” “I am and I will. You brought this upon yourself” “Thanks, Mami. Nice to know you love me” “I do. We do. We all do” Lance raised an eyebrow “I would bet you GAC that Rachel isn’t rushing to tell me she loves me” His mother’s expression changed at his sister name. Rachel must now know he was pregnant and not pleased at all over the news “Rachel will when she’s calmed down. Now pass me over to Keith” “Keith, Mami wants to talk to you” Holding out the comms, Keith eyed it as if it was something toxic, mouthing at him “why me?”. At least, that’s what Lance thought he was mouthing. Waving the comms, his husband remained seated until Lance glared at him. Dragging himself up, Keith snatched the comms from him, stalking through the infirmary room then out the door “He does realise that’s my comms, doesn’t he?” Lance shrugged. Mami was a woman on a mission “It’s Mami. Do you want to tell her that she can’t talk to her favourite son?” “You’re the “prodigal son”. As long as you’re safe and well, it doesn’t matter how much you worry everyone around you” “And you’re acting like a bitch. I don’t know why we keep having this fight, V. I’m your brother. You know I didn’t pick this fight. You’re so much like Marco that it’s laughable. You both lash out when you’re worried, only making both of us feel shit. Yeah, I lied to you. I kept things from you. But that’s because I’m sick of being treated as anything other than normal. I get that I’m a freak, but you’re my big sister. I always knew you had my back. I’ve ruined and disappointed our family enough. I don’t even know why any of this happened. I don’t want to be in the news for all the wrong reasons. I wanted to live at my outpost and be left alone. Somewhere you screwed up little brother wouldn’t cause you any more embarrassment” Veronica pushes her glasses back up her nose “It’s not that! We were so close and you hid it from me. I thought you trusted me. I want you to come to me... I don’t want any of this for you either. But I don’t understand... I could have been there with you. I would have been there with you” “For which bit? There’s a lot that’s happened. I don’t want to always be calling when things have gone wrong. I can handle things when I’m alone, V. It’s when other people are involved that it becomes complicated” The machine behind him let out a series of beeps, both he and Veronica looking to Krolia for an explanation “Your blood pressure just rose. I think it’s best you both admit that you’ve each stuffed up, but that you each love each other and call it a day. Both of you should know better, you’re acting like a pair of pups” Lance ducked his head, Veronica was wearing an expression as if she’d been sucking on a lemon “Sorry, Mumma K. V, you should go. I’m ok. I’m hooked up to these machines, and all I’m gonna be doing is eating and drinking to see what I can keep down” He hadn’t kept down the ginger tea. The scent had made him more nauseous, the taste was like drinking battery acid, or how he imagined it would taste. Following up with food, the spread of bread, soup and fruit... He’d managed a little of the bread, the soup tasted wrong and the consistency of the fruit was hard and chewy. His gums started bleeding thanks to the fruit, Keith started panicking over the blood. Lance ended up choking on some space version of a pineapple chunk as Keith tried to fuss and baby him while he coughed painfully from the feeling of the fruit, Krolia saved him from his panicking husband and now they were here. There was some kind of condition that wasn’t simple morning sickness, Krolia was worried he had it, but Daehra hadn’t diagnosed him so he doubted that he did. Krolia trusted Daibazaal’s medics, Lance didn’t. Nonetheless, he was sure it was on the test list... A completely useless test list. He’d been in a pod. There wasn’t a whole lot that could possibly be wrong with him. A little nausea wasn’t going to kill him, all this was providing to be was a major stressor for Keith, which in turn was raising his own stress levels, because he feared for his husband “Krolia, can you tell Keith we need to talk. He might be hiding outside” “I expect he’s still talking to Miriam, but I will notify him. You get some rest. I’ll be back later and you better believe I’ll know if you haven’t” “I’m behaving. V, you can head off too. I’m fine. This is one huge overreaction” Veronica shot him a glare “Your health is nothing to be joked about. You need to be careful. And don’t think I’m not still upset over your seizures, let alone your pregnancy. You have far too many secrets and I’m going to get to the bottom of it all” “If keeping my secrets means having you hate me for the rest of my life, then I know what I’m choosing. I love you, V, but it’s better this way” “And you’re my brother. You’ve got to stop ending up here” “I know. Now go. Go make the most of your time with Acxa. We’re all about to get a whole lot busier” Veronica climbed off the end of the bed, she seemed as if she was going to hug him, but was disused by Kosmo’s hulking mass. Within a few ticks, both she and Krolia were gone and Lance finally had 5 ticks to himself to think. * Standing in the corridor beside Lance’s room, Keith had his back against the smooth grey stone as he stared down at Veronica’s comms. Miriam was worried about him. Mami was so worried about both of them that she’d asked Keith to bring Lance home to Cuba if he wasn’t coping, or if Keith felt he was no longer able to care for Lance. Anger bled into frustration, that bled into self annoyance. He was trying his best... but he was exhausted. His instincts were being stupid, and that apology he owed Lance seemed to be stuck in his throat. Lance suspected Krystaal of being behind everything that happened, leaving him quiznakking pissed that his husband could be so petty and jealous... the same feelings that Shiro and Lance’s new found closeness had spurred within him. He might be mad, but it was himself that he was mad at... and maybe a bit with Mami. Lance should have been safe to go to the bathroom alone. He should have been there to make sure he was. Not stuck on some stage he didn’t want to be on. They’d been spending so much time together, but... he didn’t know what he kept doing wrong. Lance was very clearly mad at him when they were back in their room... and Keith wasn’t sure why. His husband had finally woken after sleeping off the pod’s affects. He hadn’t said anything “wrong” that he could think of. The feelings in his heart were a kin to standing by the door to the principals office, only this time he had no idea what he’d done wrong. He hadn’t gotten into a fight. He hadn’t stolen anything, or acted out. He couldn’t help it that he didn’t understand... He was trying his best. Ignoring the slight grating noise that accompanied the door to Lance’s room sliding open, Keith could tell from the scents alone that it was Veronica and Krolia. Holding out Veronica’s comms, the device was taken from his hand. His sister-in-law not saying anything as she took it and left. Placing her hand on his hair, Krolia ruffled it lightly “You know he’s ok. He’s only here because of the allergy test, and the risk of that drug, impacting the twins. He said he wants to talk to you” About what? He didn’t want to talk if it only led to another fight... His instincts were exhausting. Keith wasn’t sure they wouldn’t flare. He’d screwed up royally by taking Lance from the infirmary in the first place... He wouldn’t be back in the infirmary only vargas after waking if he hadn’t been so hot headed “Maybe I should let him sleep?” “Get in there and talk to your husband already” Dragging his feet, Keith fought against his instincts as he headed back into the infirmary room. Lance was still cuddled into Kosmo, Kosmo’s tail thumping as he scratched under his chin “Mum said you wanted to talk?” Lance nodded, stopping his scratches as he did. Huffing as it was the end of the world, Kosmo slumped down like he knew that scratches had to come to end so his two humans could talk “Yeah. You going to hide in the corner again? It looks like a nice corner” Keith glanced to the corner he’d been “hiding” in, it was a pretty nice corner... “Babe, come on. I’m joking. Here, Kosmo’s claimed this side but I’ve got space up here and I thought we could talk” His instincts said “Yes!”, his feet however said “no”. The best he could manage was an awkward shuffling of his feet. Lance biting his lip before he shook his head, forcing a fake smile to his lips. Fuck... if that wasn’t a kick in the heart. He hated that smile with all the power of the burning sun... or suns... every single sun they’d ever passed “It’s ok. I thought we should talk, but if you want to go then that’s okay. I’m going to be here a few days, so whenever’s fine” “I fucked up. I couldn’t handle you being in here. I took you back to our room and now we’re back here, because I fucked up. I didn’t listen to you. I laughed in your face when you got that letter and I didn’t listen. You were seriously shaken, and I thought it was one of your nightmares. You were scared and I shot you down. Every time I shot you down. You said this was a possibility, and I should have listened. No wonder you went and talked to Shiro. It’s my fault that you ended up in here. Mami’s probably right. I told her I’d protect you, and instead you’re back here again because I thought I was doing the right thing taking you back to our room. I didn’t want you in here with other people. What if you’d lost the twins. That would have been my fault. You could have been killed, and I was up on that stage. Fuck, Lance, I don’t know what to do. Your health’s all over the place. Someone wants to hurt you. You’re pregnant and I keep losing my temper. I’ve got no idea what to do. We’ve got to go on this tour. You’re pregnant. We’ve got twins on the way. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You have no idea how much blood there was. I don’t even understand how you’re still pregnant. I don’t understand any of this pregnancy things. How do you suddenly have allergies? Have you always had allergies? Do the twins have allergies?” The more Keith spoke, the faster the words came out. He was deaf to most of it, speaking out of fear. Word vomiting out of fear. Word after word turning into a jumble as messy and tangled as his emotions. He had no idea what was up, or what was down. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he stumbled as if drunk, taking one step back and one to the side, he threw up, then promptly fainted on the spot. Scaring the absolute quiznak out of Lance as he did. * When Keith came too, he was seated in Lance’s lap. His face against his husband’s neck as Lance’s fingertips massaged his scalp. Wrinkling his face, his mouth tasted revolting. He didn’t remember how he’d ended up on the hard floor, but Lance was hushing him softly. Kissing his temple, Lance sighed softly against him “Hello, sleepy. Nice to have you back in the land of the conscious” “What happened?” “You pulled a “me”. Had a spectacular panic attack, then fainted. Krolia wasn’t too far away, Kosmo rounded her up. And we’ve been sitting here on the bed like this for the last varga or so” Keith groaned. He didn’t remember panicking... He didn’t really remember much after Lance smiled so horribly... they were on the bed? Then why was it so quiznakking hard? “Why does my mouth feel gross?” “You threw up. How do you feel? Are you tired? I didn’t want to move you until you woke up. Krolia left you to me, not that I mind” For his pregnant husband to have been sitting there for the last varga... it made him feel shitty... “You should have just sat me in the corner” “Nah. I wasn’t sure this would work, but it’s what you do for me, so I thought it’d help keep you grounded when you woke” Lance’s fingertips felt amazing against his head. Keith couldn’t deny his head didn’t feel weird... kind of empty, as if he was mentally drained and definitely disorientated “Thanks...” Nuzzling into his husband’s neck, Keith sighed softly. Kissing his temple again, Lance nuzzled him back “Pidge will be back soon, do you want to stay in my lap or lay beside me?” “Pidge?” “She came by while you were sleeping. Screamed and everything” “She screamed?” “She thought you were... straddling my lap for another reason” “Pidge thought you were...” “Yep” “Ugh. In the infirmary?” “Yep. Pretty much. She calmed down when she realised you weren’t actually moving and still had pants on. I told her you fell asleep. You’re probably exhausted from not just your attack, but looking after me too” “I’m fine” Lance laughed softly, though it wasn’t in humour “Babe, you’re not fine. I said we need to talk, and you panicked. It can wait though. It’s a crappy feeling when you’re coming out of an attack and you’re being made to think” “‘m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you” “It wasn’t your job to. Your job was to be on stage, not to worry about me. If anyone should be worrying, it’s me about you. Panic attacks are awful. I think it’d do you some good to talk to To’ral” “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to scare you” “You’re scared. I know you’re scared. You’re trapped in your head thinking things over and over. I do it too. Take a few deep breaths, and stay here. You saw the scans. The pod fixed the damage right up. Your pups are still safe and healthy, being monitored until the drug is out my system. You need to let yourself rest” “I’m still sorry” He was. He truly was sorry he’d ignored the signs out of a desperate need to believe that Kre’el was firmly behind them. He was truly sorry that Lance had been attacked. He was sorry that he’d taken his husband from the infirmary too soon, endangering Lance’s life, and that of their twins “It’s ok. It’s ok and I’m here. I’ve got you, Keith. I’ve got you” Keith remained curled into his husband until Pidge returned... with Hunk. Hunk seemed flustered, hanging in the background as Keith moved carefully from Lance’s lap to lay at his side. His arm wrapped around his husband with his head resting on his shoulder so he could see Pidge. Armed with her holopad, the previous green Paladin went to work tapping on the screen while Hunk moved to take the seat in the corner, his movies clumsy with nerves. The space felt awkward to him. Their friends felt like intruders. Lance’s stomach was wired up, evident from the wires snaked out from under his semi-risen gown. The blankets in his lap and his sweats giving him at least some level of modesty. “Keith, I can feel you glaring” Hugging him tighter, Lance snorted at Pidge’s comment. Keith felt stupid as quiznak as he hid behind his pregnant husband, but it wasn’t his fault he hardly felt like socialising “It’s kind of his thing, remember. Dark. Broody. Emo... You know, he hasn’t changed that much in the last decade. Did Krolia fill you in on my theory?” “For a dumbarse, you’re pretty smart. She sent me the data from the thermal cameras, and you were right. There was a second person at the scene. They cloaked themselves against the scanners, but they still left residual heat signatures on the door edge where they touched it. We weren’t looking for it, because of how your attacker moved, and the fact he was drugged before the attack. When he showed up shot in the head, that should have raised more red-flags, but I was busy worrying about your idiot arse. How did you end up back here?” “Allergies” Pidge wrinkled her nose “Thanks to a certain someone, I’ve been reading up on pregnancy. I didn’t even know you could develop allergies while pregnant. Have they told you what yet?” “What I’m allergic to? No. It’s a theory Krolia is forcing me to pursue in this stylish room. I have to say, I’m sick of hospitals” “I’m sick of you being in them. How are my minions? Still baking?” “Yep. Pod healed them right up. The minion carrier is also alright” “Excellent. I can’t have an army of minions without said minions. I still can’t believe you’re pregnant” “Surprise?” Pidge laughed as she continued to tap on her screen. Keith felt his instincts rile at Pidge’s teasing, nuzzling harder into Lance as he tried to squash them back down “I still have questions, but seeing you got your arse handed to you, I’ll play nice for now” “Nawww. Were you worried?” “Pffft. No. But if you do it again, you won’t have some secret gang after you” “Understood, Pigeon. What other news have you got for me? I’m so out of the loop that the loops falling asleep on me” Wrinkling her nose, Pidge shook her head “I don’t need to know whom does what bit to whom” “Coming from the woman who thought Keith and I were having sex here. Trust me...” Pidge covered her ears, Lance shutting up immediately “I said I’m sorry! You two already made babies so we know you can’t keep it in your pants” “You don’t have to take your pants off...” “I think I liked it better when you were in the pod!” Growling at Pidge, Lance jabbed him in the ribs. Keith didn’t appreciate the gesture. He knew Lance was no where near as comfortable with Pidge being there as he was acting. He knew that Hunk’s presence wasn’t welcomed either, and that his husband was simply playing the bigger man by not raising a fuss or making a scene. Technically he had no reason to be mad at the pair, especially when he hoped Lance would reconnect with them, but that didn’t mean they needed to do it while Lance was confined to the infirmary wing of the palace “Ignore him, Pidge. It’s a Galra thing. Are you coming on tour with us?” “Nope. New students are coming into the garrison for the start of the second semester. I’m not having one of them risk my experiments” “Gotta defend that lab of yours” “Yep. They forced me to take on a second assistant. They were useless. I mean, worse than you with the “techno-babble”. If it’s in my lab, that means you don’t touch it. Even if I let you touch it, it’s not alright. Let alone when they get it into their heads they have to clean my lab. Can’t a girl leave parts around without someone deciding that maybe “the floor should be cleared of all trip hazards”. Iverson suggested teaching, but how do you train monkeys who’s only enjoyment in life is ruining mine?” “Sucks to be you. You could branch out on your own” “Try telling my mother that. Hunk and Shay are going. Though from the sound of it, it’s mostly going to be Keith’s team, you guys, Krolia, Shiro and Curtis that actually visit wherever the coalitions decided. Sucks to be you” “Touché, gremlin. Think of all that tech we’re gonna see without you” “It hurts, but if it means not seeing you two being gross than I’ll survive” “You’re just jealous” Rolling her eyes, Pidge climbed out the of the visitors chair “No offence Keith, but Lance you’re the only person in the universe who’d marry him. You can keep him. And because I’m a great friend, I sent you the thermal recordings and related data. If you ever pull something like that again, I’m going to kick your arse myself” “Awwww, I knew you cared about me. Thanks for this, Pidge. It’d be nice to know who’s after me this time and why. At least space pirates have the decency to attack me for a reason” “Don’t think I won’t turn into one if you get hurt again” “That genuinely scares me” “I’ll come back and visit you again when Keith isn’t giving me death stares” “Ignore him. That’s what I do” Pidge laughed, behind him there was a scraping as Hunk climbed to his feet. Walking over to Pidge, he was nervously wringing his hands, his eyes flicking towards them before he opened his mouth and closed it, then following Pidge when she gave a wave and headed out. When the door closed behind them, Lance let out a sigh. The rigidity in his limbs loosening as he half rolled towards him. Tilting his head up, Keith stole a soft kiss from his husband, Lance closing his eyes as he tried to wrap his arms around him. Shifting to accomodate Lance’s stomach, they wound up nuzzling into each other’s cheeks, Lance’s voice a whisper “You ok, babe?” “I should be asking you that” “I’m getting there. I’m more worried about you right now” “I’m ok. Sorry about my instincts...” “I could smell your anger. I know you want to protect me, but we’re going to need to work this anger out” “I know... I’m sorry for making you so uncomfortable” “By knocking me up, or with your “cranky pants” scent?” “Either. Either. Both... I don’t know what I’m doing anymore” Choking softly on the emotions welling, Keith closed his eyes. This panic attack business really quiznakking sucked. He didn’t prefer Lance to be the one having the attack, but I felt out of his depths to handle his own. Kissing his cheek, Lance’s right hand found his left, interlacing their fingers together lightly “I don’t know what I’m doing either... I’m sorry for falling pregnant...” “Don’t... don’t apologise and don’t blame yourself. At the moment, these twins... they’re our future. I don’t want to keep fucking up” “We both fuck up semi-regularly. It’s kind of our thing. Technically we didn’t even know we were married” “But when I fuck up... you end up hurt. I’m so sick of you being hurt. I’m so sick of it. I’m sick of you crying. I’m sick of making you cry” “Shhh... You’re going to push yourself into another attack” Keith didn’t care if he did. He didn’t remember what he’d said to Lance, only that Lance was handling things too well which had to mean something else was on his mind so he was attempting to distract himself “Why can’t I get it right with you?” “That’s enough, babe” Lance’s voice was gentle yet firm, Keith wasn’t about to have him have the last word. He was too emotionally drained, speaking freely much like Lance did when he was tired “It’s... it’s all so complicated. When everyone’s around, they’re always there. I like it better when they aren’t” “It’s still hard to be around them... Hunk didn’t say a word. He’s probably revolted still... they’re supposed to be our friends. We have to try...” “I’m too tired to try” Keith was too tired to do much of anything. All he wanted was a world of their own. Where he could live up to his personal promise to protect his husband, no matter when or from whom... even the times he’d protected Lance from himself didn’t way on him the way this attack had “You don’t get to give up. It’s been a quiznakkingly awful return, but we’re ok. We’ll do this stupid tour. Then I want to go home. This exhaustion. I feel it all the time. The constant judging. The constant wondering if you’re doing the right thing. If you’ve said something stupid. Done the wrong thing. Wondering how messed up your head is. If they can see how scared and messed up you are about being around them” “Then why are you still here?” Lance’s sigh bordered on a groan “Because our marriage was falling apart. I was falling apart. I wanted to make it work with you, because for some unknown fucking reason I still love you. But if you ever, ever, treat me like you did, accusing me of cheating, making me feel like a whore, making me feel like a dirty disgusting vile thing for being too upset to tell you I needed to go see my therapist, I’m going to leave. I am going to leave and I won’t be coming back. I don’t blame you for taking me back to your room. The fact I’m here again isn’t your fault. I’m here because allergies are apparently a thing, like I told Pidge. I’m here because I’m a fucked up junkie and someone knows. They shot me up and it could still hurt our twins. That’s why I’m here. Now just shut up already and give me cuddles because you’re exhausted and I’m done with everyone that’s not you or Kosmo... or Krolia. Mumma K can stay. Shiro’s alright, so is Curtis. Everyone else, I’m done. The way people carry on, it’s like they’ve never met a pregnant person before. I’m so fucking done” Lance’s words were hardly comforting or soothing, something that didn’t match the intimacy of their position. His husband’s anger seemed to catch in his nose, and the way his voice didn’t waver was enough to tell Keith that Lance meant every word of it. It also told him it was better to “shut up” now, and let his husband’s anger fade rather than pushing or stepping on some unknown mine that would send them into another fight. The fact that Lance was threatening to leave tugged heavily on his heart. Maybe if he’d remained silent, his husband wouldn’t have snapped like this... although, he also supposed that Lance had reached the end of his emotional rope long before the incident and was finally putting his needs first instead of going along with everyone else’s plans and desires... but then again, Lance had asked about the planned coalition tour... so maybe that was what had set him off this time? Caused him to snap, because Pidge had laughed at the issue? His mind was no better than food goop in his head. Everything felt all blended together... too blended together for him to hope to part. Kissing his husband and telling him how much he loved him would simply be an insult if he was to do it now... but he didn’t know how to do any of this, or how things would proceed. Scrunching his eyes against the unwanted tears emotional exhaustion had caused, he clung to Lance for dear life, because, right now, what else could he do?

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

I haven't seen an ED hc on here yet and I need to project a bit so here's this: at the begging all the queen boys were skinny as hell but as time went on the only one who remained that way was brian. and everyone assumed that it was all natural. what they didn't know was that brian consciously started eating less when he got to the age where people's metabolism usually slows down. he was well aware that his skinniness was part of his trademark look and decided he needed to keep it that way (1/3)

he started cutting down the amount and frequency of his meals but the others never noticed - brian had always been peculiar with food (not eating meat or unhealthy things etc.) so they assumed he ate at home whenever he refused the takeout they had in the studio. in the mid 80s they slowly start noticing that brian’s no longer just skinny, but also sickly looking but still don’t say anything, assuming he might have a stomach bug going on (touring can bring that on quite easily after all) (2/3)

then, a couple of months later, brian passes out in the studio and the boys finally connect the dots. they feel incredibly guilty for not noticing the signs and are determined to help brian recover. (3/3) //if you could please write something where the boys realise all this had been going on without them noticing and then try to figure out how to help brian out of this mess while he refuses to believe that he needs help at all (can be gen or you can add a ship if you’d like)

TW explicit mentions of Eating Disorders, Disordered Eating, Anorexia, Orthorexia, Hospitalization and excessive vulgar language. 

All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand…

For my life still ahead, pity me…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Again.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

One more time. So you remember how you fucked up.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

24 ribs sticking out from grey ashen skin.

Brian’s bony finger traced over each one as he counted outloud, eyes focused on the full body mirror in front of him.

You remember how handsome you used to be? Remember when theyjutted out like a fucking Greek god? But you ruined it. You ate that chocolatecupcake like the pig you are and now you’re fat again. Fat and disgusting.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

It doesn’t matter if you cry about it. It won’t make you anyskinnier. Put on your running shoes, fat ass.

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

RUN!

Brian wiped his face free of the tears, eye’s falling downto his bare feet. Skeletal but most people’s standards but bloated looking tohim. He had blisters on his heels from running a mile every morning, but itdidn’t matter. Pain was beauty, right?

♚

Of all the numbers, zero is the most beautiful. Brianthought that to himself as he ran around his neighborhood, the sun dipping inthe sky, crickets already chirping.

His knees hurt so bad, his chest was on fire and he was surehis blisters had reopened, but he had done this to himself. If he only atethings that were good, he wouldn’t have to run this second mile. If he juststopped inhaling anything that came into sight, he could be home right now,settling into a night’s rest.

But he was out here. In the cold English sunset, wearinglayers of jogging clothes to try and keep warm. He deserved this. Briandeserved this.

The day he hit his goal weight, he’d never have to do thisagain. He’d be doing zero laps.

♚

It was nearly midnight before he tempted to step on thescale.

The bathroom was so dark. Only trickles of moonlight pouredin from the window. He refused to turn on the lights since he weighed himselfnaked. Having to see his bare body was revolting. There was so much wrong withit. His legs were too chubby. His stomach so round. His cheeks akin to a hamster.It was better in the dark.

The cold metal of the scale sent a shiver up his body as hestepped onto it. He had to squint to see the number, but he was sure it hadgone up since this morning. That fucking cupcake.

8 stone.

Tears pricked his eyes. The number had gone down. Why was hestill so big?

So big.

Who could like someone so grotesque as him? With so muchskin? With so much fat?

Brian hugged himself, elbows tucking into his concavestomach.

He was disgusting.

♚

“You’re drinking your coffee black, Bri?” Roger asked, nosescrunched up as he peered into Brian’s coffee mug. Brian pulled the mug closerto him defensively but smiled and lolled his head as if nothing was wrong.

“You know I don’t drink milk, mate,” Brian said, taking asip of the acrid brew, forcing his brow to stay unfurrowed.

“Since when? Thought you were vegetarian, not one of thoseweird animal hippies,” Roger said eyes narrowed.

“Well, I’ve decided through research that the milk industryexploits cows. Did you know that mother cows and their c-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You could at least put a sugar or twoin there, you mad man,” Roger said with the wave of his hand, Brian’s plan atboring him with animal ethics having worked.

Brian smiled to himself, taking another sip. Roger was outof his mind if he thought he’d ever put sugar in anything he ate. Might as welleat straight fat. At least his little plan worked.

♚

“Brian, sweetheart, you look absolutely pale! Have you caughta cold?” Freddie said, a hand pressing against Brian’s clammy forehead. Brianducked away from the touch, laughing nonchalantly as he did.

“Perhaps? I feel, uh, fine. Maybe I’m just low in something,”he said as convincingly as possible. His fingers started to twiddle with the sleevesof his shirt that was far too big.

Freddie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher but he nodded.

“Well, you better rest up. Can’t have our main guydeveloping an ailment before our show tomorrow, huh?” Freddie said, a handstraying onto Brian’s bony shoulder. The touch made him erupt into goosebumps.

Did he know?

Does it matter?

♚

“Brian, we need to talk,” John said, his grey eyes big andstormy.

His gut dropped to the floor, heart pounding so hard itechoed in his ears. Was the gig up?

Brian wouldn’t go without a fight.

“What about?” he said casually, crossing one leg over theother, leaning back on the couch backstage.

John sat down next to him, uncomfortably close. Brian didn’tlike people touching him. It made it all the harder to hide.

John looked around to see if anyone was around before heleaned and whispered, “The crowds really big tonight. I, um, I’m kinda nervous,”

Oh sweet jesus. Thank god. Thank god.

The anxiety melted from Brian, a small smile growing on hisface.

“John, how old are you? You silly man,” He said jokinglybefore pulling John in for a hug.

The bassist grew rigid, not reciprocating. It’d only been a second,but the atmosphere grew bleak and heavy. John pulled away, face tightened infear. He looked over Brian for a second before he left in a hurry without somuch as a word.

Did he feel how skinny fat Brian was?

Who cares?

♚

Just because you finished a successful tour does not meanyou get to pig out. Look at all this food. It’s disgusting. Unhealthy. Do youwant to be fat? Don’t you want to be the skinny boy everyone knows and loves?

But I’m so hungry…

Hunger is good. Hunger means you’re strong. Hunger means you’rebeautiful. Hunger means you’re worth something.

I don’t feel good.

You won’t feel good if you get fat. If you stay fat.

I really don’t feel good.

Put that carrot down. Do you know how much sugar carrotshave? Do you want to poison your body with junk?

I think I’m gonna…

The after party for The Game fell silent. They’d all beendrinking, laughing, eating and a few other illegal activities when they heard athud. Hundred of eyes searched the room for the source of the noise untilsomeone spotted a collapsed Brian by the single veggie plate in the corner ofthe room.

Flurries of bodies and voices, yells and whispers erupted,some rushing to the phone, some running over to Brian.

Roger, Freddie and John surrounded their guitarist, panicfueling their every move.

“He’s bloody cold! Has someone called 999?” Roger shouted,rolling Brian over so he was on his back. It was a frighteningly easy task todo, the guy being light as a feather.

“Brian, sweetie, wake up please. Help is on the way, love.Stay with us, please,” Freddie pleaded, eyes misty as he held Brian’s handbetween his own, hoping to warm it up some.

John just stood next to the three, mouth and tongue seized,body trembling uncontrollably.

This is good. This is really good. Maybe soon you’ll benothing. Zero. A beautiful number. A beautiful state to be in.

♚

“…He was in fucking heart failure…”

“…electrolytes too low…”

“…emaciated…”

“…bone’s of a 60 year old…”

“And if he had died?”

“…you never said anything!”

“…was I supposed to know what this was?”

“He’s alive no thanks to any of you…”

♚

Brian’s eyes opened sluggishly, theonly thing he could seeing being an intense white light.

Was this it? Was he in heaven? Was allof this finally over? The pain and the cold and the empty stomachs and the migraines?Was that all gone now?

“He’s awake,” a mousy voice said.

Brian’s vision cleared, revealing awhite ceiling.

So he wasn’t dead.

He looked in the direction the voicecame, shivering when he saw it was John. His face was so swollen and so redfrom crying. It looked like he’d done a week’s worth. When their eyes met, Johnlet out a heart shattering sob, burying his face into Brian’s bed sheets. Theywere soaked.

Why was John crying so hard? He justpassed out was all. Nothing to be bent over.

His eyes scanned the room for other faces.

He found Roger’s. His eye bags wereunprecedented. His hair mused like he’d been trying to pull it out. Rogershrunk back into his chair, looking down at his shoes instead.

He didn’t have to look for Freddie.

Freddie walked up to Brian’s bed, hisface untelling. He looked at Brian’s IV, which he just now noticed he hadbefore he opened his mouth to speak. He faltered for a moment but spoke.

“Brian, I am so, so sorry,” he said,voice cracking, throat dry. He reached for Brian’s hand, but Brian pulled away,shaking his head.

“For what, Fred? I just passed out! It’sno one’s fault,” he said incredulously. They all looked like train wrecks for asimple blackout?

Freddie recoiled at Brian’s wordsbefore he softened again. His eyes parted from Brian’s, licking his lips. Whydidn’t anyone want to look at him?

“Brian…you didn’t pass out. You wentinto heart failure. You were in the ICU for 3 weeks in a coma. It…they had touse the electric paddles on you on two separate occasions,” his voice grewthick, obviously trying to push away the urge to cry and scream.

“They thought you weren’t going to makeit,” Freddie mouthed, his shoulders caving in as a few tears escaped down hischeeks.

Brian blinked before finally look downat himself.

Various bruises on his arm fromdifferent IV’s and blood draws Burn marks on his chest. And a line running downhis chest, all stitched and taped up.

A number 1, almost.

Not a zero.

He looked up to Freddie, jaw hanging.

“You needed a bypass, Bri,” Freddiesaid, a nervous hand rubbing his neck.

“W-Why?” Brian choked out, his mindhaving gone blank.

Roger snorted from across the room. “Youknow why,” he said bitterly.

And it was true. Brian knew why.

The room was quiet except for Deacy’smuffled sobs.

“I…I…the…I..can’t bloody think withyour crying, John!” Brian snapped. He didn’t mean it, he really didn’t.This..illness made him do horrible things. Nasty things.

John responded by growing smalleralthough his crying didn’t. Freddie wanted to bark back, but this wasn’t right.None of it was. Instead, he grabbed John and left the room. Roger was the onlyone who could talk to Brian about serious stuff anyways.

Brian gulped when the door slammedbehind the two. Now it was just him and R-

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rogerasked, playing with the hem of his shirt. There was no malice in his voice.Just a simple question.

“I..didn’t think anything was wrong,”Brian said, which was the truth.

This, whatever it was, made the worldsplit in two. Reality and what went on his brain both felt real. He knew he wassick, but he wasn’t. He knew he was skinny but he wasn’t. He knew he was dyingbut he wasn’t. It was hard to know the truth sometimes. All the times. It washard to reach out when everything felt both okay and crumbling. Which was thetrue one?

Roger let out a puff of air from hisnose, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for sleep. In times of crisis, he seemedto be the only one capable of keeping their wits about, so he’d been on babysittingduty for nearly a month. He wanted his bed so bad.

He wanted his best friend too.

“That’s fair,” he said with a sigh.There was another silence between them before Roger got up and padded over toBrian’s bed side. He plopped himself onto the uncomfortably wet sheets but paidthem no mind, instead looking at the skeleton before him.

“We’re all really sorry, Brian. None ofus knew you were fighting a battle alone. We just thought…I don’t know what wewere thinking. But we thought you had a handle on whatever you were doing and thatwas wrong of us to just assume,”

“You needed us and we weren’t there.There’s only so much we can do about the past though, right? But we’re gonna behere for you from now on. When they send you to the psych w-“

“Psych ward?” Brian spat out, sittingup straighter in bed.

That’s where crazy people go. I’m notcrazy. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t belong there. They’ll make me eat. They’llmake me gain weight.

Roger just took in Brian’s anxiety, an uncharacteristicallygentle hand laying onto Brian’s bandaged chest.

With the sincerity and sweetness of amother, Roger said, “We almost lost you Brian. We almost had to bury you. We’renot going to let that happen again. You’re not going to leave us like that,”

Brian laid back against the bed, hisonly veiny and pale hand going over Roger’s.

Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense.Nothing was good. But he knew he could trust Roger. That infernal voice buzzingin his head might have been his constant companion, but Roger was his bestfriend. And best friends don’t lie.

Brian blinked away a few tears, hiswhole body tired, in pain and in a mental tug of war, but he said, “Okay,”Roger collapsed for the first time in weeks.

♚

John held onto Brian so tight, his faceburied into his neck. He would prefer to never let go, but he knew he had tosoon.

“Brian, I lo- you’re my best friend,okay? Get better?” he said before letting go. Brian smiled, patting his back.

Freddie came in for a hug next, meltinginto Brian’s embrace.

“I need my guitarist back. My soul brother,”Freddie said, kissing Brian’s cheek.

Lastly was Roger who just held out hishand for a shake. A firm one.

“See you soon, mate.”

Brian looked at all of them, taking intheir faces before he had to go. Wheeled out from the hospital and into the vanthat’d be taking him to the psychiatric ward.

The future ahead was scary and unknown,but he wanted to charge ahead. He wanted to live. For his friends, his family andmost importantly, himself. He wanted to play guitar and sing and eat and neverworry again.

All he wanted was to be four again.

Not zero.

Never zero.

Take heart my friend we love you

Though it seems like you’re alone

A million light’s above you

Smile down upon your home

[hermannsthumb]

I love your writing so much 💕 💗 ❤️ and you write so much I don’t know how you do it. You write newt and hermans characters perfectly. Could you write about Herman finding newt trying to test his drift theory, or perhaps finding the tape newt left after everything is over and they’re together. Love 😋

ohohohoho finding the tape is such a classic vintage newt/hermann fic trope that ive somehow never written before (also thank u for ur lovely kind words!!!)

Packing up the lab takes a lot less time than either Newt or Hermann expect; they’d spent five years of their lives in that lab, after all, five years of deep research (broken vials and useless equations scrawled on graph paper and slowly decaying specimens), five years of cohabitation (mugs and dirty sweatshirts and the odd decades-old family photograph), five years of accumulating random junk (posters and dusty books and weird little trinkets Newt found in the city and gifted to Hermann), and that’s to say nothing of the contents of their bunks just off of the lab. Newt thought it would take them weeks, months, even, but the whole process only takes a few days. He supposes it helps that a lot of it is PPDC property and, thus, highly confidential and nothing they can take with them, and the stuff that isn’t highly confidential is useless at this point anyway.

What isn’t repossessed in the dead of night by Higher-Ups (Newt never even got to bid his samples farewell) mostly goes in the trash--Newt’s stash of disposable gloves, his work apron, pencils he’d stolen from Hermann and chewed beyond recognition, orange peels and dried teabags that littered Hermann’s desk, tiny nubs of chalk that were physically impossible to write with but Hermann refused to let go of until now. What isn’t repossessed or thrown out goes in cardboard boxes marked with Geiszler + Gottlieb in thick black Sharpie (because Hermann not-too-subtly indicated he wouldn’t mind continuing this trend of co-habitation with Newt even beyond their working relationship, and by “wouldn’t mind” Newt means, of course, that he caught Hermann looking up vacant apartments within walking distance from universities in every major city they had even the smallest emotional connection to, and not even specifying more than one bedroom).

All that’s left to do is finish going through their desks, which is proving to be the most demanding task of all. They have a lot of crap.

“You should save that,” Newt remarks, as Hermann attempts to throw one of his old work journals into the industrial-sized trash bin they’ve moved near the lab’s entrance. Newt’s on his hands and knees doing his very busy to peel up the hazmat tape that divides the lab.

“It’s just old, useless coding,” Hermann says, waving the book. “And I really do mean useless. Random scribbling. Not even a rough draft of a draft.”

If Hermann’s willingly parting with some of his precious math, it really must be useless. Still: Newt sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows. “Could be worth a lot of money, dude,” he says. “You could sell it to the Smithsonian.”

Hermann snorts. “It’s garbage, Newton.”

Newt holds his hands up and mimes the shape of an imaginary plaque that would, hypothetically, adorn the museum exhibit for him and Hermann that will definitely exist one day. “‘Authentic jaeger coding by Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar, nerd savior of the world.’” Hermann laughs again, and Newt shrugs with a grin.

“Mm,” Hermann says, and tosses the notebook in the bin. “I’m sure. What about these?” He holds up more dried orange peels. (Where the hell was Hermann keeping all those? Why didn’t he just throw them out right away?) “Are these also worthy of a museum?”

“‘Authentic sustenance for Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar--’”

The orange peels go in too.

“Fine,” Newt tsks, scraping up another bit of tape, “but when I make a profit off my old tissues don’t expect me to spend any of it on our rent.”

“Our rent,” Hermann echoes, and Newt goes hot in the face and scrapes even harder. He spares a glance up once the clacking of Hermann’s cane fades to the opposite side of the lab: Hermann is smiling. Something flutters in Newt’s chest.

He can do this, Newt tells himself, heart pounding, scraping at the hazmat tape. He and Hermann can do this together, like they do everything. They can live together. They can navigate a relationship together. A relationship relationship, something clear and defined and real and more than just the confused jumble of emotions they’ve existed in a state of for years and years. They have time. They have all the time they could ever want, and they have each other. Another few inches of filthy, faded tape come up, and Newt turns it over thoughtfully in his hands. How poetic, really, that it’s one of the last things to go before he and Hermann--

“Is this yours?” Hermann calls over.

He’s holding up a very familiar tape recorder, and the bubbling warmth and hope in Newt’s chest deflates quickly. It must’ve gotten mixed up with Hermann’s things after Newt drifted with the kaiju brain. “Uh,” Newt says, scrambling to his feet and stumbling over to Hermann, because Hermann cannot listen to that tape, “that’s mine, I just--take notes on it, let me--” He swipes for it, but Hermann--giving him a rather bewildered look--tucks it to his chest and presses play.

“Kaiju-Human Drift Experiment Take One,” the Newt of four days ago says, and Newt shrinks back.

Hermann does not look away from the tape recorder the entire time, not when Newt explains what he’s going to do, not at Hermann, if you’re listening to this, not even when Newt’s monologuing devolves into half-shouts and gasps and a loud thud that means he’s fallen against Hermann’s desk and to the ground. The tape runs out just as Hermann enters and cries out his name, cuts off with an audible click in the middle of a long stream of no, no, nos that twist the knife of guilt deeper and deeper into Newt’s stomach. (He knew Hermann was the one who found him, the one who yanked Newt back to reality and cradled him in his arms and brought him water and tucked his glasses carefully into his pocket, but he didn’t think--well--he didn’t realize how it must’ve been for Hermann to find him.)

When Hermann does look up, his smile has vanished entirely. “I see,” he says, icily. He thrusts the tape recorder back at Newt.

“Okay,” Newt says, “okay, listen, I know you’re probably thinking what an asshole I am right now--”

“Oh?” Hermann says, in mock-surprise.

“--but in my defense,” Newt continues, weakly, “I didn’t really think I was gonna die?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Hermann throws the tape recorder aside to the lab floor and pushes himself to his feet. “Hermann,” Newt says, “Hermann--” Newt grabs his arm, and Hermann shakes him off.

“You very nearly did die,” Hermann snaps, “and the very last thing you ever said would’ve--”

Newt grabs for him again. “I didn’t really mean--”

“Newton,” Hermann says, furious and commanding, and Newt flinches but doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says quickly. Hermann scoffs, but Newt presses on. “I’m sorry, seriously, Hermann, I mean it. I was pissed at you for treating me like an idiot, and I thought--I don’t know. I wanted to piss you off too. I wanted to prove you wrong. It was...petty.”

“It was,” Hermann agrees. He doesn’t look like he’s going to storm out of the lab anymore, which is good, even if he’s still scowling. “It was petty, and it was cruel, Newton.”

It’s Newt’s turn to scowl. “And shooting down all my theories for six months like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and making me feel useless isn’t?”

Hermann does wrench his arm away this time. “I was worried your complete lack of self-preservation would get you killed, you imbecile, that’s the only reason I shot down your theories!” Newt snaps his mouth shut, but Hermann keeps shouting. “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you--!” His voice breaks.

Newt’s kissed Hermann before (clumsy and drunk at Shatterdome parties, hard and furious during their not-infrequent no-strings-attached fucks on the floor of the lab or against Hermann’s chalkboard, sweet and gentle the night they closed the Breach and Hermann swept him into his arms and laughed and smiled), kissing Hermann is nothing new, not even when Hermann’s pissed at him, but they don’t hug, they don’t touch each other much, so Newt surprises them both when he flings himself at Hermann--who stiffens quickly--and wraps him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Newt says, eyes prickling hot (Hermann saved him twice, Hermann found him seizing and bleeding and cradled him in his arms, Hermann drifted with him and for him, Hermann loves him and Newt was careless and cruel), “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

He hears Hermann sigh, feels him sag as the fight leaves him, then touch Newt’s back tentatively with his free hand. “Newton,” he murmurs. “Oh, darling--” Newt sniffles pathetically; Hermann slides his hand up to stroke gently at Newt’s hair instead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly, and Newt clings to him tighter.

They throw the tape recorder out together.

[dank-hp--memes]

Pulling at Heartstrings: Chapter 2

Tags: @shit-in-silk-stocking

---

A few hours pass before Ulana regains consciousness. A nurse is standing beside her bed, muttering to herself. She is a middle-aged woman, only a little older than Ulana. Ulana sighs and attempts to sit up a little, her body aches and she cannot shake her exhaustion. Ulana wondering if what happened was all just a horrible nightmare.

“Oh darling, don’t sit up” The nurse says, realizing Ulana is awake.

Ulana groans and lays back against her pillows, propped up against them a little. Her whole body feeling heavy, making it hard to move. Ulana looks around the room, her head throbbing. It is a bit of a challenge to lift her head, but Ulana manages. Slowly, she looks down at her body. Mustering her strength, Ulana manages to raise her arm. She pulls the neckline of her hospital gown away from her body. She bites her lip before looking down at her breasts. The sight brings tears to her eyes. There are deep red and scabbed over nail marks on both of her breasts. Ulana drops the gown back against her body, and her arm falls to her side. It was not a nightmare, it was real. Ulana feels tears roll down her cheeks as she bites her lip, trying to keep herself from sobbing. She allows her head to fall back against the pillow, her mouth feeling dry and her throat extremely closed. The nurse finishes up writing down something in Ulana's chart before helping Ulana to sit up a little.

“How are you feeling?” the nurse asks as she slowly begins removing the bandages on the side of Ulana’s head.

“I-I feel fine…” Ulana mumbles, staring at the foot of the bed.

The nurse shakes her head a little as she injects something into Ulana’s IV. Ulana sighs and gently rests her hand on the curve of her stomach. Her mind is racing, and she sniffles, doing her best not to cry. She cannot help but think of Valery, and if things were different, the life they could have together. Suddenly Ulana looks up at the nurse.

“What will happen to my baby?” she whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks.

The nurse looks over at her and pauses for a moment. She sits down on the edge of Ulana’s bed and takes her hand.

“We have performed so many abortions in the months since the accident… T-the doctor has decided that, since you would like to keep your child, we will not force you to abort it” The nurse whispers, her lips curling in a gentle smile.

Ulana sniffles, more tears streaming down her face as her lips curl into a radiant smile.

“Th-Thank you” Ulana whispers, squeezing the nurse’s hand.

The nurse smiles and nods in reply. She gently fixes Ulana's hair before standing up. Suddenly, the door opens makes Ulana jump. Another nurse walks in. She is a young woman with porcelain skin and a tiny figure.

“You have a visitor” She says in a smooth silky voice before motioning for someone to come inside.

Ulana’s heart jumps, hoping- no- believing it could be Valery. Her heart sinks as Dimitri enters the room. He silently approaches her and wraps his arms around her, cradling her head against him. Ulana’s disappointment quickly fades as she wraps her arms around Dimitri and presses her forehead against his sweater.

“I was so worried about you” Dimitri mumbles as he sits on the edge of her bed.

“How long was I out?” Ulana says softly, looking up at Dimitri.

“You’ve been very out of it for a few days” Dimitri says.

Ulana nods and licks her lips. “When will I be able to go home?” Ulana asks softly, looking past Dimitri at the nurses.

“Hopefully in a few days” the younger nurse says with a friendly smile, meeting Ulana’s gaze.

Ulana swallows and nods quietly. She groans a little as she lays back and rolls onto her side. Dimitri reaches over and fixes her hair. She is very pale and a bit cold.

“Do you need me to bring you anything?” Dimitri asks as he takes her hand.

“A blanket, maybe some clean clothes?” Ulana says softly, holding her abdomen as she lays on her side, facing Dimitri.

Dimitri smiles a little and squeezes her hand. “Alright…” Dimitri says softly before he wraps his arm around her, rubbing her back gently.

Ulana quietly wraps her arms around Dimitri, breathing in his familiar scent. Having him there was better than not having anyone.

A few hours pass and Dimitri must leave, claiming that he must return to work. Ulana lays there quietly, looking around the empty room. Her hand wanders to her stomach, it had been aching a little, but nothing too severe. It still scared her though. The thought of losing her baby. The thought of losing Valery’s baby. Her heart shattered at the thought of losing it. What would Valery think when he found out? Would he be happy? Would he want her to get rid of it? Though the thought of pregnancy at her age seemed comical, Ulana was determined to keep her baby. She knew that pregnancy would take its toll on her body, but in her mind, there was no other option. She had to carry through with it. She would fight tooth and nail for the small life growing inside of her. Ulana would succumb to Charkov’s torturous ways. She would not let him win.

A few days pass rather quickly. Many of Ulana’s coworkers come to see her, and their company is rather nice. It is comforting to talk about nothing in particular with them. The company takes her mind off of everything. Dimitri is waiting outside as Ulana exits the hospital. She is wearing a deep magenta dress and a light coat. Her purse hangs on her arm as she approaches him. There are no words exchanged, Ulana simply wraps her arms around her friend, relieved to be out of the hospital. She lays her head against his chest and they stand in that sweet embrace for a few moments before parting.

“Thank you for everything, Dimitri” Ulana says softly as she glances up at him.

Dimitri smiles and shrugs “Your welcome Ulana” he says softly as he pulls out the car keys. Ulana reaches to take the keys from him.

“Woah, Woah, Woah, you really think I’m letting you drive yourself home? After you’ve just gotten out of the hospital?” Dimitri says, smiling at her and chuckling a little.

“Oh, come on, I am fine” Ulana says in protest, standing on tiptoe and reaching for the keys that Dimitri is holding over his head.

“I am still not letting you drive” Dimitri says, as he turns and unlocks the car.

Ulana sighs and shakes her head, not arguing with him. She quietly climbs into the passenger side and puts her purse in her lap. Dimitri starts the car and Ulana settles into her seat. They chat about seemingly unimportant things as he drives her home. He tells her about what has been happening at work without her, and she listens well, chiming in from time to time. Upon arriving at her apartment, Dimitri walks her inside. As she enters, Ulana sees that her apartment has been cleaned up, and there are many “get well” cards resting on the coffee table. It warms her heart to see them, the rush of emotion causing her eyes to water. She slowly walks over and sits on the sofa, shuffling through the cards. She reads the names of many people from work and a few old friends, who she had not spoken to in ages. The one name missing from the list was the name she had wanted to see most, Valery’s name. Her heart sinks as she sets down the cards and sighs. She had tried to contact him a few times while she was in the hospital, but her calls were never answered or returned. Selfishly, she wanted Dimitri to leave, but she knew he was there to help her. All she wants is to get into contact with Valery. She yearns to speak to him with every fiber of her being. Ulana sat there on the sofa, looking blankly out the window, her mind fixed on Valery. In that very moment, he was all that she wanted.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

question from a non-book reader; i've been reading up on a lot of targaryen history since i got the world of ice and fire book. i vaguely understand the blackfyre rebellion and a lot of what i see on tumblr seems to side either with the targaryens or the blackfyres. but it seems to me that neither side was fully in the right since the targaryens overall weren't exactly known for being just rulers. that said, what is your opinion on the blackfyre rebellion? (1/2)

(2/2) did bloodraven genuinely commit tyranny and sins against the gods, or was aegor rivers the one who had the moral high ground in comparison?

…um.

I’m not sure if you’re confused because you haven’t read the books, or what, but sorry… no. The Blackfyre Rebellion happened because King Aegon IV Targaryen, Aegon the Unworthy (motto: “wash her and bring her to my bed”), always hated his trueborn son Daeron, considering him weak, hated Daeron’s mother Queen Naerys (and always tried to undermine her, including accusing her of infidelity through a proxy), hated the peace made with Dorne that was sealed with Daeron’s marriage to a Dornish princess (including trying and failing to start a war with Dorne by attacking them unprovoked with wooden “dragons”), decided to give Daeron one last stab in the back by legitimizing all his bastards on his deathbed.

One of those bastards included Daemon Blackfyre, born Daemon Waters, the son of Aegon and his cousin Daena the Defiant.

Aegon had knighted Daemon for valor in a squire’s tourney (age 12), and presented him with the Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre, the hereditary sword of House Targaryen and the Targaryen kings. (Blackfyre had belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, and when Aenys gave the sword to his younger brother Maegor at Aegon’s funeral – because Maegor was a warrior and Aenys was not, wanting them to rule together – it was widely considered to be a sign of Aenys’s weakness and Maegor’s strength.) Aegon IV giving Daemon the sword of kings, acknowledging him as his son, and then legitimizing him two years later, was considered by many to be his attempt to make Daemon his true heir and deny Daeron as falseborn, Naerys’s secret bastard.

Nevertheless, Daeron did not let his father’s duplicity preclude his obligations to his many bastard half-brothers and -sisters; including allowing Daemon to change his last name to Blackfyre, arranging his marriage to Rohanne of Tyrosh as Aegon had negotiated (though Daeron did not allow Daemon to marry his sister Princess Daenerys too), and granting a keep and lands along the Blackwater to the new House Blackfyre. Daemon even took his sigil the Targaryen arms inverted, a black three-headed dragon on red. And Daemon made it known that Aegon had given Daemon the sword because he was a warrior and Daeron was not, though Daeron did have two sons (out of four) who were highly martially talented.

Daeron’s rule soon stablized the excesses of the reign of his corrupt hedonist father; he was seen as just and good-hearted, and he was called “Daeron the Good” by both smallfolk and lords. Nevertheless, as time went on, those who opposed Dorne and its inclusion in Westeros, bound by two marriages to House Targaryen, found their figurehead in the handsome warrior Daemon Blackfyre. They looked at Daeron’s marriage to Mariah Martell, and his heir Baelor Breakspear, who though a warrior, also looked like his mother, with dark hair and dark eyes. They stewed at Princess Daenerys’s marriage to Prince Maron Martell of Dorne (oh noes a smelly brown man manhandling our white princess), and imagined a great love story denied to Daemon. (Though for all Daemon’s passion was supposedly cockblocked by his mean half-brother, he was still getting busy with Rohanne, producing at least 9 children in 12 years; and Daenerys never seemed unhappy in her marriage to Maron, who built the Water Gardens for her.) They got really angry at the Dornish courtiers who came to King’s Landing with Mariah, and supposed special treatment to Dorne. They brought up the rumors of Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight, claiming that the weak Daeron was not Aegon’s son. We literally have the words of a Blackfyre supporter telling us this:

“Treason… is only a word. When two princes fight for a chair where only one may sit, great lords and common men alike must choose. And when the battle’s done, the victors will be hailed as loyal men and true, whilst those who were defeated will be known forevermore as rebels and traitors. That was my fate.” Egg thought about it for a time. “Yes, my lord. Only…King Daeron was a good man. Why would you choose Daemon?” “Daeron…” Ser Eustace almost slurred the word, and Dunk realized he was half-drunk. “Daeron was spindly and round of shoulder, with a little belly that wobbled when he walked. Daemon stood straight and proud, and his stomach was flat and hard as an oaken shield. And he could fight. With axe or lance or flail, he was as good as any knight I ever saw, but with the sword he was the Warrior himself. When Prince Daemon had Blackfyre in his hand, there was not a man to equal him…not Ulrick Dayne with Dawn, no, nor even the Dragonknight with Dark Sister. “You can know a man by his friends, Egg. Daeron surrounded himself with maesters, septons, and singers. Always there were women whispering in his ear, and his court was full of Dornishmen. How not, when he had taken a Dornishwoman into his bed and sold his own sweet sister to the Prince of Dorne, though it was Daemon that she loved? Daeron bore the same name as the Young Dragon, but when his Dornish wife gave him a son he named the child Baelor, after the feeblest king who ever sat the Iron Throne. “Daemon, though… Daemon was no more pious than a king need be, and all the great knights of the realm gathered to him. It would suit Lord Bloodraven if their names were all forgotten, so he has forbidden us to sing of them, but I remember. Robb Reyne, Gareth the Grey, Ser Aubrey Ambrose, Lord Gormon Peake, Black Byren Flowers, Redtusk, Fireball… Bittersteel! I ask you, has there ever been such a noble company, such a roll of heroes? “Why, lad? You ask me why? Because Daemon was the better man. The old king saw it too. He gave the sword to Daemon. Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, the blade that every Targaryen king had wielded since the Conquest…he put that sword in Daemon’s hand the day he knighted him, a boy of twelve.” “My father says that was because Daemon was a swordsman, and Daeron never was,” said Egg. “Why give a horse to a man who cannot ride? The sword was not the kingdom, he says.” The old knight’s hand jerked so hard that wine spilled from his silver cup. “Your father is a fool.”

–The Sworn Sword

There is nothing to do with justice here. Nothing to do with ruling justly. There’s only hero-worship, glorification of violence, ableism, anti-intellectualism, misogyny, and Dornish racism. That’s what the followers of Daemon Blackfyre supported. They’re like Trump supporters, wanting to make Westeros great again.

And no bigger supporter of Daemon was his half-brother Aegor Rivers, aka Bittersteel. Aegor, “pissed off all his life”, was particularly mad at the court, because his mother Barba Bracken, Aegon’s mistress, had been sent away in disgrace after it was found that she and her father were talking up making Barba queen when Naerys had a health scare. (It was Daeron and his uncle Aemon, Naerys’s supporters, who made enough of a fuss about the scandal to get Aegon to send her away. Note also that Aegor’s grandfather was later executed along with his daughter Bethany, Aegon’s mistress, after she was caught sleeping with a Kingsguard.) While Aegor also received the legitimization given to all of Aegon’s bastards, he didn’t get all the benefits he felt he should have gotten – unlike his half-brother Brynden Rivers, “Bloodraven”, whose mother Melissa Blackwood (another one of Aegon’s mistresses), had always been popular at court (even with Naerys and Daeron), leading to Bloodraven remaining close with Daeron and his family even after Melissa was dismissed as mistress. Furthermore, Shiera Seastar (another one of Aegon’s Great Bastards), chose Brynden as a lover instead of Aegor, making him even more angry.

So, Aegor got close to Daemon, including getting betrothed to one of his daughters, and frequently urged him to press his claim to the throne, on the grounds of king’s choice, having the sword, being more fit than Daeron Falseborn. Do you see a moral high ground here? I do not. It’s further implied that Brynden was also close to Daemon at the time (see him telling Bran that “a brother I loved” is one of his ghosts), and was able to get away and warn Daeron when the Blackfyre plans went from idle talk to open rebellion. He was no tyrant – he probably didn’t even have an office at court at the time, though he did eventually become Daeron’s spymaster.

But yes, Brynden did kill Daemon and his two eldest sons, sniping them during the last battle of the first Blackfyre Rebellion. For which he was accused of kinslaying, and of using sorcery to get those accurate shots. The accusation of sorcery was probably slander (probably… a weirwood bow and weirwood arrows fletched with raven feathers might have had some mystical qualities), and as for the kinslaying… it was a battle where Daemon would have killed his half-nephews Baelor and Maekar if he’d had a chance, where Aegor fought Brynden one-on-one and took his eye out… and if the Blackfyres had won, do you think they’d just have packed off Daeron and Mariah and Aerys and Rhaegel? No, the falseborn weak Dornish half-breeds would have been executed or hunted down. You think they’d’ve left Daenerys and Maron and their children in peace? Nope, a war with Dorne would have been next on the agenda. Don’t talk to me about kinslaying. (Though whether Brynden considers himself to be gods-cursed could be a different matter.)

Now, after the first Blackfyre Rebellion, when Brynden supported killing all the rebel lords (Daeron elected to take hostages instead), after the death of Daeron’s heir Baelor, after the Great Spring Sickness when Daeron and Baelor’s sons died, leading to Daeron’s second son Aerys becoming king, and appointing Brynden as his Hand and master of whisperers… then you might get into questions of tyranny. (Which I consider a lot more debatable than some.) But it has absolutely nothing to do with why Daemon Blackfyre and his supporters rebelled in the first place. When Aegor Rivers formed the Golden Company, to support the Blackfyre cause in their exile in Tyrosh, did he give a flying fuck about tyranny or justice? No he did not, he just wanted to keep fucking with Bloodraven and put Daemon’s son on the throne of Westeros. (Not the gay son, though! That one, the heir after his older brothers died, Bittersteel ignored and kept his support from.)

The Blackfyre cause was never just. They were never in the right. I oppose them wholeheartedly, and I’m suspicious of anyone who chooses the black dragon over the red. I hope that clears things up for you.