#pure emotional torture right now ive been putting it off for a day

[t4tails]

psyching myself up to read an email from my teacher

#og post #pure emotional torture right now ive been putting it off for a day

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Brody in the Machine - AU

I woke up this morning and truly chose violence lmao

CW: The Machine (forced intubation, restraints, loss of bodily autonomy, medical torture), collar mention, touch deprivation, touch starved whumpee, self hate, sadistic whumper, lightly referenced human trafficking (kinda), choking mention,

As with all Machine pieces, please heed the warnings. This is just an AU and is not important to either Tool's or Brody's stories.

[Tool Masterlist (more Machine, no Brody]

[Brody Masterlist (more Brody, no Machine lol]

The Mechanic examined the blond young man that had been left for him. He was a bit short, small and already very timid. Honestly, Nigel wasn’t sure why he had been brought here but that was not his concern. He reached a hand out to touch the boy’s hair.

Brody was trembling, but trying to hide it. Things looked bad, they looked so so bad here, but! Just when it looked like pain and torture - the man reached out to pet him! He pressed his head against the hand, showing that he was good and sweet and friendly. That he didn’t need to be hurt.

And the man smiled! Brody’s heart lifted and he slipped closer to his side, leaning up against it. If the man liked it, liked him, there was a good chance he wouldn’t hurt him. He might get some mercy, maybe some comfort. He just had to make the man like him.

“Well aren’t you a cute little thing,” the Mechanic mused, bringing his hand to cup the back of the boy’s neck. The submission that rolled off him was wonderful, pure and unresisting. A collar was wrapped around the boy’s neck and it caught his attention for a moment. Absently, he glanced up to his assistant who was hovering by the door and considered them. The thought was tempting, to mark them and make them wear a symbol of their submission. That would take more thought.

Brody nuzzled in closer and the Mechanic chuckled. Sweet, but not why he was here.

“Fetch me the catch pole, Tool.”

Brody’s eyes went wide from where he was curled into the man’s side. No, no no no no that’s not, he didn’t, that-

“W-Wait, sir. Sir, I-”

The man hushed him, pushing him an arm length away with a tight grip on his collar. The other person - Tool? Were they called Tool? - came back with a long rod and obediently handed it over to the Mechanic. Easily and practiced, he slipped the wire loop around Brody’s head and cinched it tight around his neck. He cried out, hands flying up to try and release the pressure.

Tool’s eyes met the young man’s panicked ones and he had to look away. They hated this, hated themself. Hated how it never seemed to get easier.

The Mechanic pushed Brody forward and down the hall, not even needing to remind Tool to follow by now. He knew they would. Tears streamed down Brody’s cheeks as he stumbled along, mind going wild.

He whimpered when the door opened, not even understanding what was in front of him.

The Mechanic pushed him forward to the Machine table, adjusting the angle of the catch pole until Brody was forced to bed over, head pressed against the padding.

“Tool, ready the equipment.”

“Sir? Sir, please. I can be good. I, I, I promise, I can - I am! If, if if if, if you give me the chance to prove it-” He stopped as he felt the wire cinch tighter. Not tight enough to keep him from breathing but enough for him to get the hint.

Tool shuddered to themself but of course they obeyed. His hands were buzzing with anxiety as they picked up the components, having to take a deep breath to calm their pulse. Not for them, not for them, they hadn’t done anything to deserve it. The boy made another sad whine and Tool’s eyes fell closed. He hadn’t either.

But Tool didn’t have a choice.

The Mechanic grabbed the back of Brody’s shirt and manhandled him onto the table. “Stay.”

Brody nodded, shaking horribly but eyes locked on him. He could do that, he could stay. He would! He would be good and show him that he didn’t need this, that, that no one had to…

The Mechanic chuckled and turned away to prepare something else. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Tool walking up to the table. “No skin contact, Tool. Understand?”

Tool’s head snapped up, hand inches from Brody’s wrist. He nodded in understanding, worry plastered on his face. Brody whimpered, understanding the implications and Tool’s heart felt like it was going to break. With a tightly clenched jaw, they secured the straps around his wrists and ankles without touching him. The entire time, Tool’s mind was berating them over and over. They were weak and pathetic and despicable. They were just as bad as he was, maybe even worse because some part of them wanted to help and didn’t. Pathetic. Tool was pathetic.

Brody sobbed as he was restrained to the table. He still didn’t know what was going to happen, didn’t know what was going one, but it would hurt. It would be pain and punishment and terrible terrible terrible and there was nothing he could ever do to make it better. This man didn’t want him to be good, didn’t want him to do anything. He wanted him to suffer, and Brody didn’t know how to handle that.

Yet.

The man came back into his view and Brody shut his eyes. He had been told to stay. Stay - that was all he had to go off. He could, well no; he wanted to run. He wanted to be far, far, from here. But he didn’t even have the choice anymore.

Something cloth was laid on his forehead, making him wrinkle his brow in confusion. What? A moment later, there was a heavy pressure over it, holding his head down without touching him. He opened his eyes, looking for him to ask why. Before he could, he saw the Mechanic reaching down for him, thin tube in one hand.

He yelped when it entered his nose, crying out louder when it kept going into his head. He gagged and cried as it hit the back of his throat, feeling like he might throw up.

Down, down, down. Through his throat and farther, hitting nerves and places he never thought he’d feel. Tears were streaming down his face now, squirming desperately even with the tight restraints.

Finally it stopped and he sobbed. The Mechanic turned away and Brody’s head lolled to the side. That had to be it. It had to be over, right?

The assistant wouldn’t look at him.

Even from where his head was laid on its side, something plastic and large was shoved into his mouth and righted his head. He nearly choked on it. By now, his pulse was so loud in his ears he couldn’t be certain if they were speaking above him, if he was crying, if it was silent.

Another, thicker tube was pushed down and that he did choke on. He whimpered and whined and gagged as loudly as he could, eyes begging the man for this nightmare to stop.

It did not.

The Mechanic finished up the last few steps, letting Tool add the IV and electrodes, and stepped back to watch. The patient was shaking so badly he thought he might see the table shake. It was stronger than that, but the boy’s blond hair was trembling with him.

It was satisfying to watch.

Tool thought they were going to throw up. How, how was this just getting worse? He liked to do little things to help the victims. Lightly holding a hand here, brushing through their hair there. Little things, things that he had craved when he was in the machine. Had the Mechanic seen? Had he noticed what his assistant was doing and was bringing a stop to it? They didn’t know. The Mechanic had taken steps to not touch the boy either, so it was probably part of the process.

It made them sick.

~~~

There was something about this one. It stuck in the back of Nigel’s mind, drawing him back to the Machine room when he had other things to do. A dark curiosity was twisting inside of him. The subject had been so docile before he was put into the Machine, already so submissive and pliant. He was torn with taking him out immediately to see the results, and leaving him in for weeks to see the most extreme end. How would he be different? How far could he push the young man? How long would it take to make him functional to the point of useful if he left him for weeks at a time?

In the end, he only had a week with this subject. The Client wasn’t interested in the extremes, wasn’t curious about the breaking edge of human psychology. That limited the boy’s time to five days, the extra time necessary for re-acclimating him to self-sufficiency.

Pity.

Tool followed the Mechanic dutifully back to the Machine room. He had thought about coming back to the room alone to comfort the poor thing who hadn’t stopped shivering and crying. More than once during their duties, Tool had been tempted to give him just the slightest bit of comfort or touch. But there were cameras, cameras that the Mechanic could watch.

And as much as it pained him, as it ate at his soul and consciousness and stomach every night as he tried to sleep, Tool just couldn’t do it. They couldn’t risk going back in the Machine. They struggled to sleep, struggled to carry around the guilt that every new victim piled on their back, but he couldn’t risk the very real, ever present danger.

Pathetic, their mind whispered to him.

Brody didn’t look at them when they entered, didn’t have the energy to. Not physical energy; emotional energy. The shorter one, Tool, had been in and out regularly, and he couldn’t keep letting his hopes be raised and dashed like this. That was the real torture. The tubes, the electricity, the ache from the restraints was pain. Pain that he hated and wanted out of deeply, put it was just pain.

But being ignored? Being pushed aside and left with no recognition of his existence?

That was torture to his very being. It struck so much deeper, into the parts of himself that were the truest parts of him. Things he couldn’t control, couldn’t change. Things he never questioned, even when everything was strange and unknown around him, he could rely on what he knew of himself. Rather than his mind or his physical body, it was like his soul was dying, strapped there on that table.

The Mechanic hovered above him and smiled at the glossy look of his eyes. With a quick motion, he added a soft dose of sedative to the boy’s IV to make the transition a bit smoother. Suffering was over, time to revive him in the way the Mechanic wanted. Distant blue eyes fluttered closed.

When Brody awoke next, he was laying in a cot. No restraints, no tubes or wire poking from under his skin. He shuddered and tried to sit up, gasping and holding onto the cot side for dear life. Was it real? Was this a nightmare? Was that a nightmare? Where, when-

His head wheeled quickly to the sound of footsteps on the other side of the room. He had to blink hard to clear his eyes, the figure walking towards him blurry.

“You’re awake,” the Mechanic mused as he crouched down by the cot. The boy was wavering, adrenaline quickly leaving him weak and wobbly. Grinning, he reached out a bare hand to steady the boy by the side of his neck.

Brody melted into his hand with a broken whimper. Tears burned at his eyes and he would have sobbed if he had enough control over his lungs to do so. He didn’t have the strength to keep sitting up, but the man was more than able to hold. Brody’s eyes slipped closed, only able to think about the point of warmth from the man’s skin.

The angle of the hand changed slightly, like the man was moving and Brody whined urgently. One hand tried to raise up to stop him. No, no no no he couldn’t leave, not yet! Brody needed him, needed to know he was still real, still there. There was an amused laugh and the cot dipped as the Mechanic sat next to him.

Nigel leaned the boy against his side, enthralled by how he relaxed bonelessly into him. The little thing was so open, so willing for any contact after only five days. He carded a hand through the boy’s greasy hair and felt the shudder that went through him.

Absently, he looked up to see where Tool had been restrained casually. He wondered how long in the Machine it would take to make his assistant just as receptive.

~~

tagging the Tool Crew only because this is not Brody's regular thing and I'm not just surprising the Machine on people. @unicornscotty @as-a-matter-of-whump @starnight-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-it @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @valkyrie-whump @cupcakes-and-pain @whole-and-apart-and-between @misspelledwitch @fanmanga1357-blog @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @just-a-raccoon-in-a-party-hat @blackrosesandwhump @panic-and-chaos @savemycrustysoul @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are

#whump #the machine tw #forced intubation tw #restraints tw #loss of bodily autonomy #medical torture #medical whump #collar mention #touch deprivation tw #touch starved whumpee #self hate tw #choking tw #human trafficking tw #brody #the mechanic #the machine #tool #tool and the machine #brody au #WHOOO this one was fun #I'm quite happy with it :D

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Promise Status, Broken

Warnings: fake death, blood, taking shirt off, drugging, hospital setting, needles,conditioned response, mention of torture

He plunged the knife into Hero's abdomen and pressed. He pressed until the hilt was hardly visible under the layer of blood that pooled around the open wound. He pressed until Hero's stuttering breaths stopped.

And he let the dead body fall to the ground with a thump. Villain put his boot onto Hero's dull face and kicked. She didn't deserve kindness, dead or alive. Villain pulled the knife out.

Suddenly, the dark shed that he committed the long overdue murder was infiltrated by an eerie white glow.

"Hero," came a breathless gasp. Then the shocked voice changed into a professional order, "Hands up where I can see them!" A gun clicked.

Villain slowly turned around. His smug attitude and cockiness was apparent as he held the bloody knife deftly between his fingers. The blood dripped to the ground with a splatter.

"Drop the weapon," a young police officer yelled. "Drop it."

Villain smirked. The police officer was so tiny. Villain was muscular and very agile. He could've just tossed the knife and mortally wound the officer if it wasn't for the sudden flash of white in the back of his head.

Villain collasped forward, falling onto his side. He blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness and stars. The dark room seemed even darker like a black abyss. The moonlight he saw earlier was all muddled into a blob.

Through his swimming vision, Villain saw the young police officer swoop down to pluck the prey off the ground. He cradled Villain's lolling head with a fake concerned look on his face. Villain blinked, squinted, did everything in his power to focus on the young face.

The officer must've realized Villain's effort because he said, "Do you know who I am?" Villain shook his head. To him, it was an effort, an effort that cost the room to tilt and Villain to sway. But in reality, it was the weakest thing.

"Recognize me now?" The officer said in a deeper voice. Villain's brain very slowly placed the voice with the face of Hero's sidekick.

"Sidekick," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Sidekick rubbed the side of Villain's head. It sent a new flare of heated pain through his body, centering on his head. Villain tried to jerk himself away, managing to break free of Sidekick's grasp. The only thing it added up to, however, was two more arms catching him before he toppled to the ground.

"Dizzy?" Sidekick said in a babyish tone. Villain didn't answer. Everything burned and ached and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

"You just murdered Hero, Villain, why?" Sidekick asked.

Villain's cognitive skills weren't one hundred percent, so his tongue spoke before his damaged mind had a chance to catch up.

"P-promise... m' status... broken," Villain whispered. He just wanted to fall backwards and die. Oh, would that be sweet. But the arms supporting him kept him up and awake as nails dug into his skin. It was a new sensation, one Villain never experienced before. Nails into the skin.

Sidekick's once serious face turned into one of pure childish curiosity. "Walk," he sneered. "We are walking to the car."

Villain felt himself being lifted onto his feet. Then, he felt all of his weight relying on those two support beams. He swayed, determined to stay upright.

Dizziness once again ran its course as Villain stepped forward- one teetering step at a time. He let out a groan, and a moan, and a whimper, and a- the list goes on.

Villain did not remember stepping into the car. The second his body touched the seat, he was out. Sidekick had to move his head so that he wouldn't break his neck going over a bump. He sighed and stared sadly at the poor Villain's head. It was necessary, very necessary, or Hero wouldn't have been able to escape.

"Thank you," came a pained voice. Sidekick spun around to see Hero limping forward. She had her hand protectively covering a bruise on her stomach. Sidekick sighed in relief and embraced her. The extra padding and fake blood worked well.

"I should be thanking you," Sidekick laughed. "If you didn't hit him, I would be dead."

Hero's happy face contorted into a much more serious expression.

"Why did you make Villain walk like that?" She asked. It was very rude, and practically unnecessary. She couldn't help but think that Sidekick wanted to offend Villain. She glanced at the sleeping, limp figure in the back of the car. Villain's blood from a nasty gash that Hero caused with a metal bar, pooled around him. She grimaced in guilt.

"Hero?" Sidekick asked.

"You never answered my question," Hero snapped. She ignored the painful bruise and glared at her sidekick.

"If we didn't have that protection on, you would be dead," Sidekick defended himself.

Hero scoffed and said, "Don't make excuses for your actions. We both know that it wasn't his fault that he turned out like this."

"He could've control his emotions, turned to goodness, not anger," Sidekick pointed out and pursed his lips. "He's not the innocent one."

Hero closed her eyes shut for a moment, replaying a memory that haunted her for a long time.

"I promise to always be there for you," Hero told Villain as she hugged him under the stars when they were nineteen, three years ago.

"Promise?" Villain's sweet voice cracked, absent of the usual sarcasm. Of course, he wasn't a villain then.

"I promise."

The next week, Villain was kidnapped by Supervillain.

"Don't look for him Hero, he's as good as dead anyways," her sidekick told her. Sidekick always saw the practical side of everything, so Hero assumed he was right.

The next year, Hero stumbled upon a broken body in an alleyway. Her heart lurched as she examimed the countless injuries. Broken ribs and nose, bruises littered the torso and his lungs struggled to take a breath. Hero tentatively pushed the skinny arm of his face and she gasped in horror. It was Villain.

Villain was alive, not dead.

Hero didn't hesitate to lift Villain's severely underweight body up and bring him to a hospital. She sat by his bed until he woke up a couple days later. She was beyond exhaustion at this point, and was so relieved to see Villain conscious that she nearly broke down in tears.

But a small, weak voice stopped her emotions from letting loose.

"Promise status," Villain murmured, his eyes already closing. Hero didn't register the words right away, she just tried to shake Villain awake. "Broken," he finished his sentence. Only then did Hero realize the meaning. She never looked for Villain. She just left him for dead, assuming the worse. After Villain's eyes slid closed, she noticed how conditioned the sentence was. It wasn't even a complete sentence. More like a robot repeating its task over and over, "Cycle One, Complete. Cycle Two, Begin. Cycle One..."

Hero, knowing she really shouldn't, laid her head on the bed, too tired to stay awake anymore. She hated the way Villain spoke to her, but was ecstatic to know he could wake up. So she slept.

Maybe two hours later, she woke to Villain scrambling up in fear. All the monitors started screaming. Without thinking, Hero pressed the HELP button, which only added to the piercing noise.

"Villain, hey, hey," Hero tried to soothe, which only resulted in Villain jerking back so hard that the IV ripped from his arm. Blood splattered everywhere, but that was the least of Hero's worries. Villain's hands went up to his mouth, yanking the oxygen mask off. In one split second, the previous rage settled into a slight panic. His chest heaved, unable to breathe properly.

Shortly after, the nurses rushed in with a syringe that contained a clear liquid.

"What is that?" Hero asked, instinctively stepping between the nurse and the terrified Villain.

The nurse hesitated before replying, "We need to calm him down before he hurts himself and others. It's just a sedative."

Hero shakily stepped out of the way. She felt useless watching the nurse inject Villain with the needle. She felt useless seeing his eyes widen in fear.

After a few minutes, the wildness in Villain's eyes were replaced with a tired look. His muscles loosened and relaxed as his breathing deepened. Another nurse rushed in with an oxygen mask.

Very soon, Villain's eyelids slipped completely shut. Hero and the nurse slowly lowered him into the bed.

The nurse laid their hand on Hero's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. When she left, Hero sunk down into her chair and took Villain's hand in her's. She brought her finger to the bandage that covered his wrist and rubbed it. She thought of how she just left him to suffer under Supervillain's wrath. It wasn't fair.

A horrid thought struck her. What if Villain wouldn't trust her anymore? He already seemed to be terrified of her. However, that could also be due to the hospital setting.

"Hero!"

Sidekick's voice dragged Hero from her flashback and so did the repetitive snaps of his fingers.

"Oh sorry," Hero gave a half-smile and walked to where Villain was sleeping. She sat down next to him, crunching his legs so she could fit.

"Are you seriously sitting back there?" Sidekick asked, leaning against the open door.

"Yes," Hero said, bringing Villain's feet onto her lap. "Of course." When she saw the look on Sidekick's face, she added, "He can't do much at the moment."

Sidekick still gave her a doubtful look, but jogged over to the driver's side and hopped in. Hero shut the door.

They drove in silence until they reached Hero's base. It was a small buidling, but had a couple cells, medic lab, and many bedrooms. It was mainly known for the gorgeous decor, both outside and indoors.

Hero and Sidekick worked together to bring Villain into one of the medic rooms. When Sidekick rushed to find Doctor, Hero took the time to examine Villain's physical health other than the bloody wound on his head.

Hero gingerly lifted his shirt, but then put it back, too scared to actually see what was under there. When Villain was discharged from the hospital, the doctors told her that the psychological healing would take awhile, especially since he would be reminded everyday with the scars. She took a deep breath and looked.

The criss-crossed scars made her want to vomit. They lined his muscles, putting unnecessary dents into the perfectly lined abs. Trying to ignore the marks, she tried to find the positive things. He was much more physically in shape than she had ever seen. All the lost weight was returned to him.

Footsteps sounded so she put his shirt back, trying to dispel the image now engraved in her mind.

"You whacked him hard," Doctor commented, examining Villain's head. "But he should be able to recover with minimal damage, but we will see. I do want to take tests and do a scan when he wakes up." Doctor cocked his head and then asked, "Is he better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he recovered from Supervillain? The last time I saw him-"

"No," Sidekick interrupted. "He was trying to kill Hero."

Yeah cause we let him, Hero thought, but remained silent.

"Hmm," Doctor mumbled. "Expect confusion for a couple days." Then he left.

Sidekick and Hero hovered over Villain's bed, silently. Hero recognized that things seemed to be more quiet between them, but didn't dwell on it.

After a moment or two, Sidekick left, leaving Hero alone. Again.

She sat next to Villain and held his hand like she did a couple years ago. It was the same setting, just a different hospital.

Suddenly, Villain's hand jerked away from Hero's touch. She looked up at him, fear coursing through her body. He just tried to kill me, she told herself over and over.

"Promise status, broken," Villain said. "Promise status, broke. Promise status, broken! Promise, promise..." Villain voice trailed off as he looked around the room. "Promise status, broken," he whispered and closed his eyes. Hero gently shook him.

He looked at her, evil eyes meeting righteous eyes. Hero couldn't help but feel yet another twinge of guilt.

Villain, in his delirious state, could not recognize the figure in front of him. She was pretty, was all he could think, and the same words. "Promise status, broken," was the only thing his tongue allowed him to say. Nothing made sense, nothing at all.

But what didn't make sense the most was when the girl leaned forward and took Villain's head in her hands. He wanted to recoil backwards and escape the misery, but she was stronger and the blinding headache made little things impossible.

"Don't worry. I am gonna fix you up... I promise."

#conditioned whumpee #hero caretaker #injured villain #villain whumpee #hospital

[voltagesmutter]

Pregnancy HeadCannon (Gavin/Kiro)

It’s an emotion, fluff kinda day.

Gavin:

“Do you we really have to do this?” You groggily questioned, taking lazy steps as you held your husband's hand. The cool air of the Sunday morning brushed against your exposed knees, sending a light tickle across your body. 

“It will be fun! And you’ll finally get that morning exercise you always go on about,” A laughter in his voice, this is not the morning exercise you were on about. 

The sun glinted down on the soccer pitch, the reporters had warned it was a heatwave of a day which was beginning early in the day. You and your husband were attending the annual event of a soccer match with a rival precinct from another sector. Three games consisted: Cops, spouses/partners, mixed. And because your wonderful husband thought it was a brilliant idea, signed you both up to participate. That the first time you ever looked at Gavin and thought of a divorce. You hated being up early, you hated soccer, you hated any sport for that matter and now the two now combined on your day off work was just pure torture.

“Beside, you look really hot in that uniform,” The blush grazing his cheeks as he swung your intertwined hands. Oh Gavin, I do love you. 

The rules explained, 6 a side game for all matches and pleasantries made with the rivals, the games were ready to begin. Gavin and five other offices from his team took their positions, taking 2-2-1 formation, Gavin taking a defender position. Your eyes were unable to stop watching your husband in such a physical form, almost jealous of the beads of sweat that dripped off his forehead, a physique that even the gods would envy. 

The ball kicked from foot to foot, balls being sent flying across the pitch in hopes of reaching the netted goal. The team rippled with stamina, none of them even losing an inch of fatigue through the 30 minute game. You on the other hand, you were exhausted just watching. 

The partners and you all cheered as they managed to score a winning goal within the last minute, one of the sergeants dodging the attackers perfectly to hit the ball into the net. Walking off the pitch he gave you a quick peck on the lips, neither of you wanting to show too much PDA in front of his colleagues. 

You took position as a defender, the rules had been explained but you still didn’t fully understand, your aim was to run around and kick the ball towards the goal. Normally balls flying to your face wasn’t something you minded, but in this circumstance it was. Having to duck and dodge every so often, a rival player profoundly booted the ball every time it came near them, almost smacking you square in the face at one point. 

Your muscles ached from the running, only a few more minutes until the game ended, the rivals winning by over 2 points; the whole team out of breath, it was evidently clear none of you had fitness like your partners. By now the sun had risen, blaring down on the field, your skin tingling from the heat. 

Only four minutes left.

You saw an opening, the ball passing from directly in front of you. You sprinted with the last of your energy, the ball blocked by your feet from the opposition.

 Three minutes left.

You ran up the pitch, the wind pushing with a light graze behind you to help your speed, the opposition feeling it heavily push against them. What’s the fun in having a wind-controlling husband if he can’t use his powers to help his wife every so often. 

Two minutes left.

Even if you didn’t win you still wanted to attempt at a goal. As you waited for an opening, the side of your foot hitting the ball, your skin tingling with a blaze.

One minute left.

Your vision popped with white, Gavin looked in horror to see the colour fade drastically out of your skin, your knees buckling from under you as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. A strong pair of arms swooping under you to catch your fall, black taking over your vision.

--

“Hey,” A soft reassuring voice filled your eyes, the warmth of a hand over yours as your heavy eyes peeled open. The brightness of the light made you hiss slightly, holding up a hand to block it as your vision adjusted. You lay on a blue leather chair in the emergency room, Gavin flying your limp body in recording timing after you fainted. 

An iv drip inserted into your arm, even looking at it made your stomach queasy. Gavin sat to your right so you didn’t have to look at it, his eyes slightly bloodshot and the faintest wetness graced his cheeks.

“What happened?” You asked, adjusting yourself to sit up properly, Gavin bolting forward to help you. 

“They said you passed out from the heat,” Gavin squeezing your hand before pulling you into a tight embrace, “Please don’t scare me like that again”. The warmth of his words sent your heart fluttering, your whole world clutching you tight to him.

A doctor came into the room only moments later, clip-board held close as he examined his notes. He reassured both you and Gavin that everything was fine, until a sentence sent your heart racing to the point the heart-rate monitor was pounding against the screen.

“Fainting is very common in the early stages of pregnancy, everything with the baby is fine”.

The room in the air almost stilled, you blinked a few times before asking the doctor to repeat.

“Mrs.Bai you’re pregnant,” The hand on yours twitched slightly, “I assumed you both knew,”.

The look shared between your husband and you was one of pure love, no need for an exchange of words as he cradled you close, tears from both of you ran down your cheeks. 

It didn’t matter to either of you about the game that still continued, both of you winning in a completely different sense.

A life created from the purest of love in the universe. 

Kiro:

The third wave of nausea hit you at work, barely making it to the bathroom in time as the contents of your breakfast came up in the porcelain bowl. Your stomach cramps throbbed, almost bringing you to tears. Never had your pre-period cramps been this bad. 

You freshened up, noticing how you skin breaking out in the corners like it did as a teenager, you looked like you'd been hit by a brick wall. You felt like it too.

“You look worse than normal,” A stern tone met by a purple gaze. The CEO who you was just giving a report to moments ago in his office stood outside the bathroom.

“I feel it,” You mumbled, followed by an apology, face red with embarrassment from rushing out of your 1-1 meeting. 

“Take the rest of the day off,” His tone not be argued with, “Go rest and do this right tomorrow”.

You didn’t argue or put a fight, too tired to battle a losing fight. 

You almost had a heart attack when you came home, Kiro sat on the couch, game controller in hand.

“Miss.Chips! Your back!” Dropping the controller and running to pick you up in his arms. Still shocked to see your boyfriend who should be away on shoot for a few more days in your shared home.

“K-Kiro put me down!” You squealed playfully, a hand clutching to his shoulder with a slight lightheadedness, What are you doing home?”.

“Do you not wish to see me Miss.Chips,” He pouted, unable to hide his playful smile as placed your feet back on the floor.

“Of course I do, but your meant to be filming for four more days,”.

“We wrapped up early because of the good weather, so I’m all yours now,” A smile from his lips that would light up a room, your own personal pocket of sunshine.

“But why are you home so early?” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I don’t feel to good,”. Not telling him about your sickness, he didn’t need to know about that.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m home! Let me look after you,”.

He ran you a bath, heavy essences of lavender filled your home as the salts mixed in with the hot water. He held you close to his chest as you sat between his legs, massaging bubbles into your skin as he bathed your body with gentle touches. The brush of the clothed towel was pleasantry, letting the exhaustion win you over as Kiro carried you to bed. One hand pressed flat on his chest as your cheek pressed over his heart, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. 

You awoke to a horrific scent, one that bad your toes curl and the hairs inside your nose burn. Whatever Kiro was doing, it toyed with your sense of smell, the wrenched feeling of throwing up happening again. 

Kiro dashed into the bathroom after hearing your sobs, stroking your back softly and whispering sweet words of reassurance.

“Your probably just over worked, I know how hard you push yourself,” His voice weathering slightly, the slight knotting of his brow.

“Is this why you came home early?”.

 You answered in silence, a nod speaking for you.

“Is it… that time?” He asked bashfully as you gave another nod. 

“What was you making?” Pulling yourself away from the toilet and leaning back against the wall.

“Your favourite of course! Them chocolate pop tarts,” His voice soft and gentle, his thumb stroking over yours.

“What did you do? Burn them?”.

“Silly Miss.Chips,” He chuckles and playfully rubbed your head, “You should know I’m a master at making them,”.  

“But they smelt awful, that’s what made me sick,” Taking a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind of the smell before you threw up again.

“How dare your nose betray your stomach like that!” He laughs, standing up and picking you up, carrying you bridal style back to bed, “You must be really unwell if you can’t eat your favourite treat,”.

He tucked you into bed, bring you a hot water bottle as he stroked your hair.

“Miss.Chips?” 

“Yes Kiro?” You already knew what he was about to say.

“So since your not going to eat them pop tarts…” He sang sweetly.

“Fine, I guess you can have them,” A laughing sigh followed you response.

You spent the rest of the evening in bed, playing video games together, as always Kiro player one and you player two.

—

A week on and you hadn’t improved, in fact you were vomiting now every morning and Kiro’s concern was growing.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” You tried to play it off but the way you dashed to the bathroom in a hurry, hand clutched over your mouth as you speed from the living room in a bolt of lightning.

“Miss.Chips I’m worried about you,” The tremor in his eyes made your heart melt.

“I’m fine,”.

“Miss.Chips”.

“It’s nothing,”.

“Bella…” He only called your name when he was serious.

But it wasn’t fine and you both knew it. You could have blamed it on your period as you originally had done so but the fact of the matter was you were late, your heart stammering. You were never late, regular as clockwork when it came to your periods so all of this lit your nerves on fire.

It frightened you to admit it but there was a possibility you could be pregnant, the symptoms all lined up and accidents can happen. It wasn’t as if Kiro and you hadn’t been spending every minute of free time after he came back from a tour ravishing each other.

“I’m late,” The words that had been harbouring in your mind for the last several days finally came a shore.

“But we’re not going anywhere?” The purity and innocence radiated off him as his slight delay in understand what you meant

A cocked eyebrow from you, the silence before a dropping gasp, penny dropping.

“Are you-“.

“I don’t know,” You cutting him off before he could finish his sentence, taking deep strides to pull you close. 

“Do you think-“.

“I don’t know,”.

The pounding of heartbeats could be heard through both of your ears, an undoubtable flood excitement lingered in the air between you.

“Do you want to-“ He started, bringing a finger to your lip to halt your words.

���Do you want to find out?” His words laced with nerves but the calmness stayed in-control in his eyes and all you could do was nod in response, finding yourself lost in the hazy shade of blue.

—

The tears of pure joy and happiness range through your home that night. Joy that neither party could exchange in words to find out that player three had joined the game. 

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mr love queen's choice gavin #mr love bai qi #mlqc kiro #mr love kiro #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc zhou qiluo #mlqc fluff #mlqc headcanon #birdcop celebration #birdcopcelebration

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter IV: The Sinners’ Subconscious

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You’re an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. 

CHAPTER WARNINGS: implied rape/sexual assault, mentioned rape, cold water torture, sane asylum, non-consensual drugging by injection, a detailed panic attack, and a single mention of alcohol.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! I’m sorry this chapter came out a little behind schedule,I hope you enjoy it! You may want to find somewhere comfy and grab a snack because this one has whooping word count of 10k!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

JANUARY 23RD, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“Thank you,” you hugged yourself, wrapping your arms to keep the thick fleece robe secure around your bare figure as Mey-Rin hauled a heavy tin basin of steaming water with two hands. You sat on the edge of your bed, simply watching the maid struggle to carry the basin for the final few feet to the interior of the attached lavatory. She had apologized time and time again for the lack of running water since it was only installed in Lord Phantomhive’s personal quarters and the kitchen, rather than the assorted rooms of the main house. Apparently, they were planning to finish renovations when the Earl made his yearly move to his townhouse in the interior of London, but in lieu of your arrival, both happenings were canceled. However, whether the water was pushed by some innovative pipes, or dragged up the main stairs made no difference to you. After all, you were well adjusted to going through the tedious bathing process without a willing servant at your disposal. 

“Ah- of course- Your- Highness-!” Mey-Rin managed through labored breaths, finally putting the basin next to the opulent clawfoot tub.

Nonchalantly, you stood up from your bed, your hand running over the top quilt to smooth the wrinkles that surfaced from your moving. You followed Mey-Rin into the lavatory and loitered beside the open door as you watched her work.

The tub’s feet were constructed with pure silver, holding up the white porcelain body of the appliance. “Are you sure I can’t be of more help to ya?” she asked before quickly pushing up her falling glasses with two fingers. Tucked in her apron was a dry washcloth that she put over the rim of the tub, paired with a bar of ivory soap and a crystal bowl of lavender essential oil. She poured small spoonfuls of the essential oil into the water, the scent of lavender momentarily calming the hyperactivity of your nerves.

“I am quite certain, yes,” you recalled how you had requested a change in scents when she originally offered a combination of rose and honey. The scent of roses never failed to bring you back to the lavatory of the woman you drowned. She decorated her entire estate with red and pink roses, down to bathing in the scent with perfumes and oils. That woman- Agatha Tolton- was the reason you could only bathe in tubs with a little more than an inch full of water inside and meticulously dip your washcloth in the remaining basin water to dab on your body.

“Right, Your Highness. I’ll be back with your tea,” Mey-Rin squealed, pulling a matching beige towel out of the linen closet by the bathroom’s door. She put it on the lid of the toilet (which surprisingly, had plumbing) and showed herself out, closing the door behind her. 

Finally left to your lonesome, you picked up the tin basin with a grunt and slowly poured a good quarter of the water into the porcelain tub. You wondered how Mey-Rin was able to haul it up the main staircase and down the winding corridor every other night when all you needed to do was pick it up for a few seconds. Steam now rose from both the tub and the basin, which was hot to touch, leaving your palms red from merely moments of direct contact. After setting it down again, your arms too weak for your preference, you shouldered off your robe and quickly stepped into the tub, the hot water encompassing your feet and drawing goosebumps all over your scarred skin. 

Sitting down, the water only came to your kneecaps which was too shallow for drowning. Agatha always liked her water up to her chin and not an inch less. She needed a team of three maids on her bathing service, one to wash her hair and two to lather her body as it submerged in rose water. You had waited two weeks exactly for her servant rotation to put you on the bathing team, and two days to put you in charge of her hair. The maiden charged with Lady Tolton’s hair always entered first and you were efficient- out the window and halfway out of Essex when the two other maids entered, meeting the corpse of their employer.

You squeezed out the washcloth after dipping it in the basin, methodically running it over your body and re-dipping it into the water when it began to lose its heat. The steam from the hot water caused your hair to curl, although you had yet to wash it out yet. You undid the precarious bun Mey-Rin twisted it in that morning, letting it fall on your shoulders in brushed out waves. The least enjoyable part of bathing was submerging, or nearly submerging your head and face. It was left at the very end of your bath for that reason.

The smooth surface of the soap was a sensation that you always focused on while bathing. You found that it kept most intrusive thoughts at bay while you lathered your skin that was long marred by unsoftened water, combat, and self-sufficiency. 

With a sigh, you rubbed the bar of soap over each clavicle and back to the middle of your chest- your sternum. The lather left lines of white on your skin, the gentle scent combining well with the lavender oil in the water. Everything from your privacy, the warmth of the water, the dim lamps should have been enough to completely wash the tension out of both your body and your mind, but it made your looming stress even more intense. It was different from the stress that came from sitting through a play at the Globe Theater and proceeding to enter a dark carriage as the late Felix Keating had. Instead, this stress manifested itself as something that was going to happen because of the serenity of the scene you were in. This was everything that could happen, simply because there was a moment of peace.

Quickly, you finished washing and you poured the remaining water from the basin into the tub, dipping your hair by sitting back and keeping your face out of the water. You carded your fingers through your hair and sat up, squeezing all of the water out and standing, since the water level had raised considerably and frankly, flashbacks took too much emotional- and seldom physical- strain. If you could help to avoid the circumstances that led to them, you did everything in your power to. Unfortunately, bathing was, for the most part, unavoidable.

Water ran down your body as you stepped out of the tub, the cold hair causing a fresh wave of goosebumps to multiply across your skin. You wrapped the towel around yourself, trying to catch each water droplet that ran down your thighs and to your legs before it could reach the tile flooring. You then squeezed out your hair with the towel, letting the soft fabric absorb all of the water before dropping it to the floor carelessly. Mey-Rin would take care of it after bathing Lady Midford, delivering your tea, and finishing off the rest of your night routine. 

Your robe was warm from the steamy air, which allowed you some comfort before opening the door of the lavatory where Mey-Rin was waiting, her smile toothy. Her eyes were hidden under the glare of her obnoxiously round glasses. Water stained her white apron, likely from having to wait on the blonde noble more than she had a princess. The irony of it was amusing to you, but in Lady Midford’s exhaustion, she would have fallen asleep in her own tub, which would have resulted in the Earl having to wed a prune. “Oh, you’re out so soon!” Mey-Rin commented, fumbling over her words in her haste to stand at attention. 

“The brush?” You requested, extending your hand to her as you sat in front of the vanity mirror, the padded stool supporting your bottom. 

“Right ‘ere!” she chirped, her tone too excitable for the late hour. Too happy for the solemn moon that hung in the sky. You could see it out the large windows beside your bed. Mey-Rin handed you your brush by the handle and you preferred to only let her touch your hair in the morning when it needed to be braided and twisted about. You watched yourself move in the mirror, your reflection showing your face and copying your every move, but you couldn’t help but feel detached from it. Disconnected from the flawless skin on your face; grime free and blemish-free, the lack of prominence in your collarbones from the food you had Mey-Rin bring you after cutting every major meal short. The female that stared back at you wasn’t the woman the conman had raised- but a product of status and society. 

She was Princess Marie-Louise, not you- Y/n Y/l/n. 

“Something wrong, Your Highness?” Mey-Rin asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t realized that you stopped brushing your hair and instead, regarded your own reflection. 

“No,” you lied, handing the brush back to her so she could tuck it away in one of the dresser drawers. You dipped a cotton ball into the elderflower water that sat in a small bowl before you, which was prepared nightly by the maid. It ran down your face when it was supposed to only go under your eyes on behalf of Andrea’s instruction. 

“Well you had quite a long day, yes you did,” Mey-Rin said, unfolding a light yellow nightgown from a drawer and holding it open for you to look. Long day. Please. “How about this one?” she asked, showing you the long ruffled sleeves of it, the satin rippling from her movement. The shade of yellow reminded you of the primrose petals that bloomed in Alfriston. 

“Sure,” you stood once again, abandoning the cotton ball on the surface of the vanity. You exchanged your robe for the nightgown in Mey-Rin’s hands, allowing her to sink to her knees and pull the silk that rode upwards. “I suppose you’re right. Salome was a taxing piece,” you added as a truthful afterthought. Salome’s main topic was sexuality and the toxicity of addiction, a sin that you held close to your heart- behind each emotional barrier you erected around the proverbially vulnerable organ. 

“Why, yes, Lady Elizabeth recounted all of it for me,” Mey-Rin agreed, efficiently undressing the bed by taking off each decorative pillow and pulling down the bulky quilt for you. Without hesitation, you took your place on the right side of the bed, sitting forward as she put another pillow behind you. “She told me all about the maiden...the gentlemen who loved her. And that ending! Nothing short of a tragedy- I’d have bawled if I was with you lot.” The side-table with your nightly cup Earl Grey tea sat waiting.

“Right,” you answered halfheartedly, like any investment you had in the conversation from moments ago swiftly disassembled to nothing. The citrus notes of your favorite tea were rejuvenating as per usual, which always helped you to put off sleep. Sleep was the most vulnerable point of everyone’s existence, a death-like state and you couldn’t count the number of lives you’ve taken by using this fact. There wasn’t a dagger under your pillow for the angst of it.

Mey-Rin hummed, “if you don’t mind, I will just finish up ‘round ‘ere and be out of your way!” she chirped, nearly tripping over the stool that you failed to push back under your vanity as she started towards the bathroom to clean up after you.

“Alright, thank you, Mey-Rin,” using someone’s name amid a conversation was a sign of attention, making them more prone to like you. The conman always reminded you to use names as often as you naturally could, since it further expressed respect and divided the subject’s attention. Convincing someone that they were more important than they truly were put them off guard and you were open to taking any advantage you could in this environment. 

“M-My pleasure!” Mey-Rin exclaimed, scurrying into the bathroom after looking at you. The use of her name always caused her to startle, as if a sudden lightning bolt struck.

Your restless night had begun the moment Mey-Rin left your quarters. As you instructed her, she left every lamp and drape open, which kept the room properly alight, sufficiently keeping the darkness of night at bay. You were left nursing the Earl Grey tea she brought, the remaining contents of the teapot lukewarm as you poured the rest of it into the teacup. 

On your lap, the book was open to the Emperor’s New Clothes chapter of the book. You skimmed halfheartedly over the tale, only for the dullness of the task to distract you from your reality and allow you to drift off into a light, dreamless sleep. You hadn’t known the phrase ‘sweet dreams’ since the conman died and you vouched for a violent change in career. 

After finishing off the remaining mouthful of tea, you sat back, leaning against the two downy pillows that were upright against the bed’s headboard. The covers of the bed were pulled over your chest and folded at the top, shielding you from the draft from the window. Your own warmth was trapped under the sheets and the sensation along with a sated appetite and fatigued mindset, you succumbed to reluctant slumber.

. . . 

????

????

Bethlem Royal Hospital; established in 1247- admitting and torturing the mentally unstable since 1407. It was financed and run by the same family for centuries after Bishop Goffredo de Prefetti. Now it ran under a descendant of his great-great-great-great-great-great grandson, Alessandro de Prefetti, who was particular in ignoring the terms of the 1853 Lunatic Asylums Act as it exemplified the rights of the mentally ill. Under his control, the Bethlem Royal Hospital was a prison for the poor and incurable- a way to dump them off-radar. 

The system, at its Greek origin, worked purposely against women which inevitably led to a woman asking you to get her sister back after her husband had dumped her into admission for ‘imaginary female trouble’. Already, you received a hefty sum for organizing a lethal accident involving her sister’s husband, and next, you were off to finish Alessandro de Prefetti and as you promised, clear the falsely imprisoned. 

It was raining, the sky a deep grey as the clouds wept. The wind whistled in your ears, blowing the loose strands of hair in your face as you climbed the side of the brick building, the tips of your boots fitting between the worn gaps of the cement. After studying the layout of the entire facility, you knew that entering through the window of the man’s study was your best option, as senteries and doctors roamed through the corridors unpredictably. 

You shivered from both the exertion and the freezing wind and when you finally reached the window, your fingers were raw from climbing and you weren't sure you could properly feel them. As you predicted, the window was locked, which made it all the more gratifying to pull your screwdriver out of the soaking wet pocket bag between your petticoats. Your trembling fingers quickly wrapped around the handle as you balanced precariously on the side of the wall, your knees bent. The glass window cracked under the blunt tip of the screwdriver as you drove it into the glass repeatedly, as a miner would drive his pickaxe into the ore of a gem. The crack grew with each hit, splintering off before the entire pane shattered, some of the glass shards falling and hitting you. One particular piece fell into you, slicing a thin cut into your cheek, causing you to spit out a curse as you pulled yourself through the busted window, “Huhrensohn!” (Son of a whore!). You could hear the fabric of your gown tearing as it was caught on the few parts of glass that were still intact.

“Who’re you?” A gruff voice asked, giving you no time to catch your bearings. A man stood before you, years older and dressed finely. He was pointing a gun at you, which made sense, considering you had just pried open the window of Alessandro de Prefetti’s study. However, you weren’t about to risk a bullet in your head, driving you to act swiftly. 

“Hmm,” You hummed, dropping your screwdriver back into your pocket bag as you slowly inched closer to the man holding the gun. The lamps illuminated his face, casting shadows over the features that likened him to the praising photographs in the paper. “Are you Alessandro de Prefetti?” you inquired, purposely emphasizing the questioning lilt in your voice. The muzzle of the gun was within range, a few inches from your forehead.

“I asked you a question, girl,” his eyes were fixated on the hilt of the dagger that stuck out of your pocket until both of your hands worked in tandem to disarm him. You turned away, hooking your right arm over the antecubital space of his right arm. Instinctively, he jolted forward, pushing the gun closer which allowed you to turn your body back in towards his, pinning his forearm against your chest with your right arm, your palm flat over your heart. Without hesitation, your left hand forced the gun out of his imprisoned hand, and for good measure, you pushed his face away with the palm of your right hand. 

The conman had shown you multiple ways to trap a gun.

Prefetti stumbled back with a yell, bending over and cradling the red side of his face. The metal gun felt cold in your hands and while you considered chucking the firearm out the window and hacking the businessman to bits with your dagger, this mission called more efficiency- especially if you were to liberate as many as possible. You pulled the trigger of the handgun, staggering back from the force of the gun and immediately, the man before you crumpled to the ground, the bullet finding sanctuary in the midline of his stomach area...before he laughed.

“Enchanting,” Prefetti climbed to his feet, his eyes never leaving your figure. His thumb and index finger entered the entry wound, digging around until he found the bullet and dropped it to the floor. Your next panicked shot missed, flying past his head and running into the door behind him.

“H-How?” you stuttered, shooting again as Alessandro smiled at you, a sadistic glint lighting up his onyx hues. This bullet landed in his shoulder while he walked towards you, continuing to advance after picking out the bullet in the same manner. 

“Come on, darling. We can help you,” he purred, “it’s unladylike to shoot at your savior.” Blood poured out of both his wounds, but he appeared completely unfazed as it ran down his clothing, staining the carpet under his boots. “We’ll take care of you.”

. . .

You were bound to a wooden chair, rope binding both of your arms and legs. The fibers of it poked at your skin, leaving red imprints from the tightly pulled loops. You were shivering once again, your head down as another bucket of ice-cold water was poured on you. Completely exposed, your entire body was peppered with goosebumps, your fingers fidgeting, your palms facing in front of you. There was a pounding in your head and you couldn’t keep your eyes open. 

Another bucket of water was poured over you, each breath you took was laborious and shallow and your whole body tensed.

“I reckon that’ll teach her to not shoot at Master Prefetti,” a familiar voice chuckled, causing you to reluctantly open your eyes. Your vision was obstructed by wet hair that fell in your face, but vaguely you could see the outline of another man, paired with another set of laughter behind you. “That’s right, princess. I hope you didn’t intend to kill us with that shootin’ back there.” His hand pushed your hair out of your face before giving the strands a forceful tug. The pain caused you to yelp and immediately, another bucket of freezing water was violently spilled, causing you to choke on it. “Ha, good one there, James.”

Pete.

“Tell me, how is this one still beautiful after we’ve played with her?” James asked, a bucket in one hand as the other forced you to look at him, the back of your head hitting the top of the wooden chair. “Still so breathtakin’, ain’t she?”

“Quite,” Pete chuckled, accepting the bucket from James to pour right in your face. You squeezed your eyes closed before the water could sting. 

“Did our little princess not enjoy that?” Pete cooed, the false sympathy in his voice palpable. “Brat needs her medicine to properly calm down,” he left the room after calling over his shoulder, “I’ll tell Prefetti!” The door was slammed behind him, the sudden noise causing you to flinch. 

 “Hear that? We’re going to calm you right down,” You were met with James’ smile once you opened your eyes again, blinking as much as you could to keep water out. “And while you’re out, we’ll relax ya even more,” he kneeled at your level, his cold eyes prying, his large hands on your thighs. His fingertips tickled your skin, which was frankly, a more comfortable substitute for biting ice water. “That sound good?”

“Don’t think you’re useless to us when you’re off in that dreamland of yours,” he added as Pete returned, immediately going to your side. Amusement danced in James’ eyes, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was meeting Pete’s gaze and in the same moment, there was a dull sting in your arm. The smell of rubbing alcohol vaguely permeated the air.

Your vision went dark as the hands on your thighs languidly traveled up your torso.

. . .

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

You couldn’t breathe.

The opulent bedroom around you seemed to be a mirage, as your hands pulled at the covers over you. Sweat gathered in your hairline, falling down your forehead and to the bridge of your nose. You sat upright, your heart beating uncontrollably as you panted. 

Alessandro de Prefetti had died about two years ago, 1890. The spring rain had made scaling the side of the building challenging and there was a faint scar across your cheekbone from the broken glass of the window. Every element of that dream was accurate until you shot him. His handgun was instead, thrown out the broken window and you had wrestled the skinny man to the floor, pulling the blade of your dagger across his throat to sever his carotid artery. Everything else that you could vaguely recall from that nightmare- the cold water therapy, the rise of the first two men you had ever killed, never happened. 

After killing Prefetti, you found the woman that you were set to free in the first place and she was treated that way. She was chained to her chair and the men that poured the freezing water over her head were torturing her for bearing an illegitimate child out of rape. Her husband had dumped her into the institution on the assumption that it was her fault. You should have killed him afterward since he took no time to replace her with another doe-eyed lady. Her belly was swollen with presumably, his child.

You pushed the covers off of your body, the heat that they provided was no longer any kind of comfort to you. A quick shake of the cold teapot told you that you finished the last of your evening fix of tea when you needed more or at least a glass of warm milk. The bell that sat on the wall beside your door was tempting, as it would wake the maid and bring her to your room, but you didn’t have the heart to wreck her night of sleep simply because your mind conjured horrid dream sequences. 

The wooden planks felt cold under your bare feet as you sulked to the door of your room, opening it and immediately meeting the dark abyss of the corridor. Before crossing the threshold, you grabbed a lantern to take with you as it illuminated bits of the walls, floor, and ceiling around you. The light chased away the foreboding darkness with each reluctant step you took.

Frankly, you had no clue as to where the kitchen was located- if it was near the dining hall, by the servant quarters, or even at a completely different wing. Your only interest was a certain beverage to calm your racing heart, to still your trembling hands. The lump in your throat was hard to swallow down as pitiful tears threatened to fall. 

Every door that you passed was closed and there was no sign of light anywhere, except the bit that the lantern emitted. The ruffled sleeve of your nightgown had to be stained with how frequently you wiped your forehead clear of anxiety-fueled perspiration. All you needed was a glass of warm milk and you’d go back to your bedroom, on the assumption you could find it after somehow reaching the kitchen.

The opening door to your side caused you to jump and the yelp that passed your lips was narrowly stifled, causing it to be a diminutive squeak. Your tense back was against the wall, the lantern in your hand brandished as if it was an effective weapon. In a way, you supposed it could be. The iron was heavy enough to cause some amount of damage if your hands hadn’t been shaking as much as they were. 

“...Your Highness? Is that you?” Lord Phantomhive’s hoarse voice was octaves lower from sleep. The light of the fire dancing in your lantern showed his face, his black hair disheveled. Notably, there was no black eyepatch over his right eye and instead, his eye was only closed, his long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks. “Did you need something?” His hand fell to his side, his fingers wrapped around the grip of a gun. The sight of it caused the lump in your throat to return with vengeance and while crying in front of your target was lamentable of you, the dam that kept your emotions at bay was only so sturdy.

“I-...” You started, staring at the equal confusion and surprise on his face as tears welled in your eyes, falling down your cheeks as you sniffled. Crying in front of others was an ultimate sign of vulnerability and the conman had you do it on command to play with the heartstrings of your victims when needed while this was different. This was the type of weeping that you couldn’t force down and as a result, you were gasping like a fish out of water before the Earl’s perplexed gaze. Your throat seized with words you couldn’t dare admit. “I-... need warm milk,” your damp sleeve did a poor job of absorbing your tears. 

“We can send for Sebastian. Wait just a moment,” he quickly returned to his room, having exchanged his weapon for a white handkerchief, and his eyepatch fastened back around his head. “Silk is never good for anything more than a first-glance appeal,” he commented, handing the cotton to you. He was right;  the material was much more absorbent than your sleeve. 

Upon rubbing your nose with the handkerchief, the prominent scent vaguely reminded you of the Earl’s- bay leaf with a touch of lavender and ivory soap. 

“Wait with me in my room,” you ordered as a ploy to cover your own passing fear of being alone. Walking back down the winding hall in the darkness was a poor idea and even if your temporary companion was the condescending Lord Phantomhive, he was better than no one. Having to actively speak to someone helped you remain present- far away from the pain that you associated with darkness.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” he said, walking with you, but a few short paces behind. You could hear each step he made, otherwise, the impenetrable silence that loitered between the two of you returned. It was a void that neither of you bothered to fill unless there was a need to. But as he escorted you back to your quarters, two hours after midnight,  there was no need. He knew his place, and it was far from inquiring as to what had agitated you enough to send you out of bed, wailing silently. Although, the unfazed expression on his face; a neutral frown and unfurrowed brow, you suspected he knew. If Lord Phantomhive killed as much as Doña had claimed, then surely, the theater of his subconscious treated him just as poorly as yours did.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, nodding once to validate his attempt at chivalrously opening the door for you. It was already ajar, and you had been able to see the light pouring from it into the hall from ages away, but he didn’t dare leave you then. The cotton handkerchief was rolled into a crumpled ball in your fist, damp with your tears. Your tears had finally ceased as you grappled for control over your own train of thought.

“No,” Lord Phantomhive responded and you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. His poker face rivaled yours as it was impassive as a brick wall unless you were deliberately poking fun at him. His grandiloquence needed to be rivaled and by passively vexing him, you took pleasure in offering a semblance of modesty to his countenance. “Unfortunately, the thresholds of sleep aren’t so welcoming to me either.”

“I reckon you could use a glass of warm milk as well.”

You could have killed him right there in your room. There were at least seven completely lethal places on the human body to stab with a blade; the spinal cord, the carotid artery, the axillary artery, heart and lungs, the liver, the femoral artery, and the popliteal artery. Your dagger was tucked right under the pillow you slept on and Lord Phantomhive was merely standing at the side of your bed while you sat down on the edge of it. He was off his guard, making it easy for you to pounce, stab, and make your escape through the window. 

However, the mere thought of holding a weapon and covering this nightgown in more bodily fluids was mildly distressing. You knew yourself well enough to be sure that stabbing the Earl would only cause you to freeze up and stare at his corpse, rather than act swiftly and leave. Besides, your eyes were heavy and it felt as if loads of bricks were piled onto your shoulders. Killing him could wait until you returned to top form. Giving Doña such a short time frame was foolish of you, and there was no doubt that she would gloat when you returned after a few days more than a week. There were too many unprecedented factors; such as the able butler and lack of opportunity. The most time you spent with the Earl in a day couldn’t surpass more than an hour, or even less. From accompanying him and his betrothed to the theater to having to wait silently for a glass of milk together, this was the most time you spent with him since your arrival. 

“It would be my second of the evening,” he responded, hesitating long enough for you to look at him, rather than the wall across from you. This was the first time you noticed that he was only clad in a long nightshirt, the neckline a deep v-shape with ruffles that matched those on your sleeves. The shirt hugged his thin shoulders, the rest of the garment completely loose around his frame. His arms were slender, the muscles there likely less developed than yours. Against you, any fight he attempted to put up would be pathetic. 

The conman made sure of it, although he’d never be happy with this life you picked for yourself. After all, the violence he armed you with was supposed to be ‘last resort’. He would have wanted you to attempt to take his lessons and make yourself into someone legitimate. Naturally, the irony was that he was the most honest man you knew.

“To unwind, milk surely surpasses a two-row malt,” you said under your breath, which the Earl either ignored or didn’t hear. Clearing your throat, you spoke louder to articulate more of an appropriate response, “as many as it takes, Lord Phantomhive.” Alcohol wasn’t proper to discuss for a woman, much less a princess. 

“Es ist ziemlich früh zum Aufstehen, Eure Hoheit,” (It’s quite early to rise, Your Highness). When Sebastian entered, he showed no sign of fatigue, unlike yourself or even his master. Out of the three of you, he was the only one clad in more than oversized nightwear. The butler tended to wear some form of a black ensemble, matching with the raven hair that fell in his eyes and cascaded down his neck. Within your time at the estate, you had never seen his bare hands, since they were always covered with pristine white gloves. Sebastian couldn’t have been much older than the Earl, his face was clear of any hints of aging.

“Ich würde den nächtlichen Terror nicht als 'früh aufstehen' bezeichnen,” (I would not call night terror ‘rising early’) your eyebrows knit at the cheeky statement as you took on of the two glasses of milk off of his serving tray. “Mein Bedarf an Ihrer Unterstützung sollte nicht zur Diskussion stehen,” (My need for your assistance should not be up for discussion), you continued, quite sternly. If you hadn’t noticed the Earl’s blank expression, then you would have forgotten that he couldn’t understand German as you scolded his butler. When he was agitated, Lord Phantomhive’s ability to filter his facial expressions was significantly reduced, which resulted in what you christened, the look.

Sebastian chuckled as if he was more amused by your sentiment than taken aback. He closed his eyes, briefly lowering his head as he stood before you. “Sie haben Recht. Ich bitte aufrichtig um Entschuldigung; wenn Sie noch etwas benötigen, zögern Sie bitte nicht, danach zu fragen,” (You're right. My sincerest apologies; if you need anything more, please do ask) he said, practically cooing with the smooth intonations of his voice. That patronizing articulation reminded you of the three men in your nightmare and the sickening reminder caused your blood to boil. 

“Wenn ich sehe, dass Sie Ihren Zweck erfüllt haben, würde ich sagen, dass Sie sich rar machen dürfen,” (Seeing that you've served your purpose, I would say you're cleared to make yourself scarce). You took a sip of your milk, the warmth of it providing a new sensation to anchor your presence onto. The glass between your palms was also warm to touch.

“Natürlich. Gute Nacht, Eure Hoheit,” (Of course. Goodnight, Your Highness), Sebastian responded, tucking the serving tray under his arm. “A goodnight to you as well, my Lord. I presume you can show yourself to your bedroom when Her Highness requires privacy once again.”

The Earl was slow to respond, likely having allowed his mind to drift some with the foreign conversation that excluded him. “Evidently,” each syllable of the word was pronounced with malice from the haughtiness in Sebastian’s condescending countenance and the conversation that was completely lost to him. Once Sebastian closed the door behind him, he turned to you, his upper lip saturated in milk before he pursed his lips to get it off. “Of all the skills he’s mastered, Sebastian still hasn’t learned the art of holding his tongue. My apologies.”

“He answered for himself,” you stood with your glass in hand, and looking back at your disheveled bed, you had half the mind to ask the Earl to stay until you fell asleep. The conman would do that for you when your nightmares were far tamer; consisting of missing an important event, or simply falling from an unknown height. However, scratching a subconscious itch wasn’t worth shredding the carefully crafted exterior you had put on for this charade any more than you already had that night. “You should retire now. It’s late.”

“So long as you attempt to as well,” Lord Phantomhive said, giving you a long look, devoid of pity. Instead, there was a tentative awareness, an insight that was dangerously convincing. “Sleep well,” his parting timbre seemed octaves lower, causing you to pause and look at him. 

“Sleep well,” you reiterated, quickly putting your glass on the side table with your empty teacup, sliding back under your warm covers. He shut the door, twisting the knob slow enough to leave a soft click, rather than the louder bang that sounded when the door was shut normally.

The next bout of uncertain sleep you fell into was light and fortunately, dreamless.

. . . 

JANUARY 24TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

“It was an honor to meet you, Your Highness!” Lady Midforf dawned a new dress for the fresh day. It was another baby pink shade that strategically brought out her big emerald optics. You had left breakfast early that morning, but as kindness towards her, provided her and the Earl your permission to continue to dine. You had retreated to your room with the hope of catching some final moments of rest, despite being completely dressed in a deep blue gown, your hair pulled into another intricate bun. 

At your request, Mey-Rin brought a tray of Earl Gray tea and two little squares of butterkuchen, or butter cake, paired with assorted berries. You were in the process of nursing your tea and slowly picking at each cut of cake with your dainty dessert fork. They were easiest to maneuver in your small hands. 

The moment the door opened, you stood and quickly brushed crumbs off of your lap with your hands. In order to eat your breakfast, you were sitting at the desk in front of the large window. Merely watching snow fall lazily was enough entertainment for you, since it gave your mind the proper space to wander. 

“The same to you, Lady Midford,” you said. Her title came out awkwardly as you tensed in surprise when the tall blonde caught you in a tight embrace. She was a handsy girl, judging by the way she clung to her betrothed, but you had assumed that being royalty, she’d grant you mercy. However, her (surprisingly strong) arms squeezed your middle with the same insistence that your corset had that morning. You couldn’t imagine having to endure uncomfortable contact multiple times. 

Reluctantly, you patted Lady Midford’s back twice, which she took as a gesture for her to release you. She didn’t know her own strength and you couldn’t help but wonder where it came from exactly. “I very much hope to see you again,” Lady Midford continued, her smile beaming at you. It reached her eyes and you had no doubt that it was genuine; your only question is- how is one so happy?

Although you sincerely doubted the likelihood of you crossing paths with the noble, you pretended to have a desire to. After all, if you did see her again, it would mean that Lord Phantomhive was still alive and you were still shouldering this heavy charade. You hoped to be out of the estate days ago and at this incredibly slow rate of progression, you were sure that you’d be stuck there for at least a few more days. 

“Safe travels,” you said, watching as she stepped back towards the open door. She proceeded to retreat, until she stopped at the door, her face suddenly quite serious. 

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice lower. “Ciel is very dedicated to Her Majesty. As long as you’re here, he won’t let a single thing happen to you,” she continued, her stare prying into your soul, it seemed. “He’s...a bit distant, but you can trust him if my word means anything to you.”

Your face softened and for a passing moment, you felt sad for the girl. You were going to kill her betrothed- her cousin that she seemed to care dearly for. She was merely collateral damage- considering Lord Phantomhive was responsible for the deaths of many innocents. 

Your hand rested on the top of the chair that you were previously sitting in. “Thank you, Lady Midford. That is very reassuring to hear,” you lied, moving your hand over heart for a shallow curtsey. “My grandmother has done nothing but sung his praises. I trust him with my life,” you continued, properly standing to your feet. Lady Midford’s eyes were glassy as if she was about to cry from the sentiment. Hopefully, she’d get on with leaving before you had to deal with that. 

Lady Midford nodded, her high pigtails moving as she returned the curtsy. Hers was deeper and much slower than yours had been. “The pleasure is completely mine. I must go now- before Paula comes up to fetch me herself,” Lady Midford made an effort to joke, her laugh was a little wanner than it normally was. She sniffled and quickly left your room, leaving the door open after.

. . .

“Your Highness...might I ask why are you are so invested in these...children’s tales?” Lord Phantomhive’s voice sounded behind you, causing you to nearly lose your footing and fall off the short stool that you were using to look for more Brothers Grimm pieces. The sound you made wasn’t as strong as you would have preferred it to be, your hands quickly flying to the shelf for stability. If you had been holding a book, it would have certainly fallen to the floor. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you.”

Normally, you would have heard his footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing, but you were too invested in finding the story that Hanna used to tell you from memory. Hanna was a maid that worked in the Glücksburg Castle for your family. She took you in the kitchen from time to time and you’d help her bake as well as a little girl could; until Governess Lydia fired her for teaching a princess a skill of a middle-class woman. Hanna had every tale from the Brothers Grimm memorized and she’d recite each story to you, particularly one that featured a mother, a murder, and a bird. You couldn’t remember the title for the life of you, but out of a lack of agenda (besides plotting an impending murder), you set out to locate it within the expansive collection of books.

You took a large inhale, closing your eyes for a moment. From having them open for an extended period of searching, you had forgotten to blink. You released the air in your lungs after it grew stale and stepped down from the short stool to properly face the Earl. The height difference between the two of you wasn’t severe with your heels, but it was enough to force you to look up at him. 

 It took you a moment to realize that the bulk of his words were completely lost on you. “I beg your pardon?” you asked, dutifully ignoring his reliable deadpan.

“You’re going to read...yet again,” Lord Phantomhive pointed out rather astutely. You were positive that his statement was much longer than that simple comment, but you didn’t push the matter. 

“Unfortunately, the options in the estate are rather limited for me,” you responded truthfully. You meant this by way of interesting things to do as well as the opportunity to complete your assignment. Sebastian was always hovering around the Earl and in the rooms where he is alone, there are no clear routes to leave through. You weren’t in possession of any thallium which was last resort in the first place. “I can do almost anything at home, but here,” you mused, playing into your role, “...here, I’m essentially under a house arrest. It’s quite boring.”

Lord Phantomhive’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. The action always caused the bit of skin between them to wrinkle and paired with his parted lips, he resembled a gaping fish. This was the look of exasperation and disbelief you met multiple times per day- enough for you to start calling it the look. 

“I’m looking for a particular story by the Brothers Grimm. Are you familiar with their work?”

“I was-” you cut off his budding sarcasm with a glare of your own.

“A stepmother kills her stepson and bakes him into a pudding,” you explained as you turned back to the shelf to skim over the titles on the spines of the books. 

“The Juniper Tree,” the Earl named almost instantaneously. At your questioning stare he cleared his throat, “my late aunt would read that one to myself and Lizzie all the time...there’s no copy here.”

You frowned and turned to look at Lord Phantomhive again. How could he be so sure? There had to be a few hundred books in the library to keep track of altogether...how could he be sure of one particular tale? The tautness in his shoulders told you not to pry. “Very well. Did you need to speak to me?” you asked since the Earl only approached you outside of meals when he needed to inform you of something particular. 

“Yes. I have a dinner meeting with the head of a trans-Atlantic shipping company this evening. For your safety, I’d like to request you remain on this level of the building while it proceeds,” Lord Phantomhive’s poker face was quite nonchalant as he more or less ordered you to keep hidden from the other businessman. You understood that given his own instructions from the Queen, he had a certain degree of authority over where you went, or who you saw. Besides, you could use the time on the second floor to your advantage. 

“And what of my dinner?” You were quite open to the prospect of eating alone because it meant that you could eat more than a few measly forkfuls. 

“My staff is fully prepared to serve you in the foyer- or wherever you’d like on this level,” the Earl said, shifting his weight to his other side in preparation to leave you alone once again. “If there’s anything you need-”

“I won’t hesitate to ask,” you finished, finding the spiel more patronizing by each second it carried on. “Thank you,” you added as a half-hearted afterthought, pairing it with a strained turn of your lips. 

A few seconds of silence followed as Lord Phantomhive composed himself. Irritation flashed in his exposed eye and his hand clenched at his side since he wasn’t carrying anything with him. The subtle movement caught your gaze and when he noticed that you were looking, the same hand opened. The blue gem on one of his rings shined in the light, just as yours did. Was it a family ring as well? The band was silver instead of rose gold, but there was no doubt it had a hefty fortune behind it. 

“Of course, Your Highness.” 

. . . 

While Lord Phantomhive focused on his meeting, you took the opportunity to get into his study. A nagging voice in the back of your mind demanded concrete evidence that the boy was truly a criminal, considering you failed to pry into Doña’s motivations. She was a shrewd woman and went as far as to unapologetically provide you with an alias. Doña translated to lady or madame, a tidbit that you learned through finding a Spanish to English dictionary tucked in a shelf of the Phantomhive library. You didn’t actually know her name, and for all you knew, her deceased family resided within a crime ring that your grandmother could have asked her guard dog to eradicate. Although the likelihood of finding evidence, either way, was slim, there was cause to try.

Your hand twisted the knob of the door, but before you could apply any pressure, Sebastian intervened. He stood behind you after his stealthy approach, silent, almost waiting for you to speak first. Sebastian’s steps were too quiet- the conman taught you how to make yours as indiscriminate as possible, but the old wooden floor always whined beneath your heels. You let go of the knob after trying to give it a twist. However, it didn’t budge.

“Kann ich Ihnen helfen, Sebastian?” (May I help you, Sebastian?) You turned around to face him properly, his face predictably smug, no matter how he tried to maintain his respectful smile. Although his poker face was far superior to his master’s, no facade was perfect; not even yours. Marie was much more genteel than you; following the customary guidelines to pretend to be nice, or pretend to enjoy having her whole middle shoved into a restricting torso. She shoved her feelings so far off, you doubted she had the complexity to frown- or think- by the second time you ran away. In that way, you were failing to personify her- the perfect princess she was. 

Sebastian ignored the question, “Mein Meister ist derzeit in einer geschäftlichen Besprechung. Wenn Sie ihn gesucht haben, erlauben Sie mir bitte, eine Nachricht entgegenzunehmen,” (My master is currently in a business meeting. If you were looking for him, please allow me to take a message) you figured it would be best to pretend as if your conversation with Lord Phantomhive had simply slipped your mind (or didn’t take place at all), since Sebastian was notably absent. 

“Ach ja, richtig. Dann werde ich mein Abendessen jetzt im Foyer einnehmen, vielen Dank,” (Oh, right. Then I will take my supper in the foyer, now, thank you). You hastily left Sebastian standing alone in the hall to show yourself to the exact foyer in the west wing of the estate. The fireplace reminded you of the exact brick pattern that the fireplace in your own home had, which was a vague comfort to you. Furthermore, eating alone was a relief because it allowed you to fully let down your usual restrictions and eat until you were completely satiated- to take bite after bite until your corset felt even tighter than it had that morning. Your empty stomach rumbled at the thought.

. . .

Finny brought firewood inside the foyer and started a warm blaze in the fireplace at your off-hand request. Once again, his strength took you aback when he effortlessly hauled in multiple thick logs, the dirt on them staining his yellow shirt. 

Since Sebastian was too occupied in serving the Earl and his other guest, the other servants on the estate were left to tend to you. The table that you were sitting at was pulled in from the library, the white cloth that ran over it was pristine and pressed to size. Your utensils shined, likely polished recently. The atmosphere was much more comfortable, as opposed to the cold silence that you and Lord Phantomhive tended to sit in. Moreover, the other servants- Mey-Rin, Finny, and Baldroy were simply less...presumptuous and sly. 

You particularly appreciated Baldroy- not for his work or lack thereof, but his scattered presence. The vague scent of cigars that followed him reminded you of the conman, just as his laid-back drawl and leadership tendency did. There was hardly any commonality between the respective appearances of the two men, but the way Baldory carried himself oddly...helped you to remember the conman’s voice. His phlegmy laugh and snide grin.

“We’d be doin’ a fine disservice to you in tryna pronounce the names of these dishes,” Baldroy said, emerging through the open doors of the foyer with several small plates of distinctively different German plates. They were small enough to be considered canapés, but the summation of five plates made up for their portion. You assumed it was a bid on Sebastian’s part to waste less food in attempting to please you.

At Baldory’s side was Mey-Rin as she held a small basket of bread rolls, with one little glass bowl tucked within them. It was one type of jam- likely the quince that you had been favoring over your last few meals. Even as a girl, it was one of your favorites, being almost exclusive to Germany. 

Your smile turned one corner of your lips upwards- barely there, but completely genuine. “That’s fine. I do find Sebastian’s introductions quite tedious to sit through,” your shoulders jumped when you laughed shortly, unable to help your reaction to their surprised faces. Baldroy wasn’t accustomed to your dry humor and Mey-Rin’s shortcomings were rarely validated with a semblance of amusement.

“Oh- well, alright, then-” Baldroy started, placing the tray that carried all the dishes before you. It was clear that he wasn’t experienced with table service, (Mey-Rin none the wiser), but in a way, you found the informality strangely comforting. 

“-This is spätzel,” you interrupted, gesturing to the first plate with egg noodles nearly twirled. It was usually quite heavy for your preference since the noodles could sometimes be considered ‘dumplings’. “Käse, cheese,” you couldn’t name the exact type of cheese that was cut on the next plate. Each slice was paired with a different cracked and knowing Sebastian, you felt safe in assuming that this was on purpose. “Katenspek...teewurst” you continued, mostly naming the food in front of you for your own memory’s sake. After spending the most recent nine years of your life in various cities in England, you were more accustomed to bangers and mash and heavy cottage pies.

Quickly looking up at the two servants, you cleared your throat. “Is this all?” you asked impassively. It seemed to be more than enough already. 

“Yes!” Mey-Rin responded, “this is all. I’ll be right back with your tea, ‘scuse me,” she rushed out. Her basket of bread was still in her hands and with her short attention span, there was no way she’d realize it until she reached the kitchen. However, the scent of freshly warmed rolls continued to linger around your table, just as Baldroy’s scent of smoke did.

The combination reminded you of the desperate day you met the conman- after you swindled an upper-middle-class couple out of a great sum of their money. With that man’s wages...Baxter purchased a loaf of bread, under the logic of conserving what the two of you rightfully earned. He laughed in that alleyway, praising your acting skills until his face was shades darker than the cold air made it. No one in Germany praised you- not once and within a single week of relocating across the sea, you had garnered someone’s appreciation. As a girl, nothing (besides a full stomach) was quite as satisfying. That was when he offered to take you in, and evidently, the rest was history. 

You hadn’t noticed Baldroy leave, but after looking up from the plates of food before you, space across from you was empty. Once again, you were left alone, the only prominent noise in the foyer was the soft crackling of the fireplace and the chime of your fork and knife against the bowl that the spätzel was piled in. There was a sprinkling of parsley on top, but you brushed it out and onto the plate under the small bowl. Amongst many moving parts, the food that was involved in this particular operation was both a vice and a virtue- sitting in front of delectable meals multiple times a day, but due to social codes, only being able to eat a few bites while with company. Your circumstances reminded you of the Greek myth of Tantalus, though you were much better off than the deceased king of Sipylus.

After reaching the bottom of the bowl, you moved on to demolishing the tasting of pre-cut Katenspek, which was smoked pork belly. It would have been salty for your liking, had there not been some kind of cranberry sauce pooled at the bottom of the stack of thin strips. You were about halfway through finishing them off when Baldroy returned. By the surprise in his eyes, it was safe to assume that he expected you to have returned to your quarters instead. 

Baldory didn’t wait too long to speak as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Huh, I was beginning to doubt me cookin’,” he mused, sharing your bashful half-smile. You dabbed your lips with the edge of the folded napkin on your lap. The action stained the white cloth with the red cranberry sauce that loitered on your lips. 

You sat back in your chair, finding the corset you wore much tighter than it felt before you sat down to properly eat. Relief bloomed in your stomach as you regarded the chef in front of you, the euphoria of finally having a full stomach causing you to smile again. “It was delightful, thank you,” the idea of someone of importance witnessing you so content sent shivers down your spine.

. . . 

There was a knock at your door, the sound too strident to be Mey-Rin’s and unnecessary for it to be Sebastian’s. Mey-Rin had finished her nightly duties, this night’s routine much more simplified, since you had only just bathed last night, and rather than Sebastian, she brought up your Earl Grey tea with a hefty slice of Black Forest cake- the best dessert to grace the earth. The recipe was native to Germany, chocolate layers of cake with a cherry and cream filling. The cherries in the filling were soaked in cherry schnapps that originated in the Black Forest, a mountain range in Germany. There was still more than half of it on the plate as you pried small bites from it every couple of minutes. 

“Hereinspaziert,” (Come in), you mumbled, hardly looking up from the page of the new book you picked up before retiring to sleep. This was a compilation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Poems, each in native German, and translated on the next page over. Along with theater, poetry tended to enervate you enough to allow you to rest some for a night. This particular poem was called “Night Thoughts”. The title was ironic enough to catch your eye in the glossary at the beginning of the book.

‘Ihr, von denen der Seewurf die Matrosen angezündet hat…’ (Ye by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted…)

The door opened to reveal the Earl at the threshold. He was still dressed in his posh number, his jacket, and trousers a matching forest green while his shirt was its predictable white. You pulled your covers up further, holding them up to your chest under your open book. The neckline of your nightgown was much lower than you were comfortable with exposing and keeping the bits of dignity you had was more than preferable. 

“Yes?” you urged Lord Phantomhive to state his case for interrupting your reading- not that the poem made much sense to you anyhow. The male’s face was terse as if the meeting hadn’t played out the way he had wanted it to. Considering he had only shown himself in your, it was hard to believe that you coaxed out the look with a single syllable.

“You called this estate boring,” he stated nonchalantly, loitering in front of the open door. Behind him, the hallway was alight with the dim glow of lanterns, a gesture that you duly appreciated. 

“I did,” you replied, matching his level of care in his articulation. Lord Phantomhive was nothing of a utilitarian in a sense of parlance. He used too many posh words most of the time and appeared to believe that studying Latin was a productive use of time. Yet, he seemed too peeved to care.

Furthermore, fun wasn’t something you were well acquainted with, but you could confidently say that sitting through a tragic play with your intended victim and his betrothed did not qualify. Vaguely, fun was supposed to be stimulating or engaging in some way. Lord Phantomhive was close to your age, but he acted several years older with a lack of interest in anything that resided off of some variant of paper.                                

“Let’s go horseback riding, then. I know a private trail,” he suggested. Learning how to ride a horse was about the only interesting lesson you had as a girl, although you were constantly scolded for refusing to sit side-saddle. It was considered a way to preserve a woman’s modesty. For a lady to spread her legs outside a marriage bed was a complete sacrilege and you made the most out of standing in the stirrups of your horse when you could. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you held a pair of reins in your own hands since you had only learned in the instance of an emergency. In any other case, you had to sit behind a man while he directed the horse for you. Besides, the January cold had to be too much for the horses to bear for a winding trail in the countryside. 

“Well?” Lord Phantomhive asked arching an eyebrow at you. If the trail was private, it made a good setting for killing him, hiding the body, and leaving with the horse. Especially if Sebastian was going to be the only accompaniment on the trip. Judging by his slender physique, you doubted that he’d be able to put up much of a fight against you if there was no way to be furtive.

“Fine,” you cut a slice out of your cake with the side of your fork, momentarily breaking eye contact with the noble as you let the hunk of chocolate cake and tart cherry marry on your tongue before meticulously chewing and swallowing. “You know, you are ambitious in your pursuits, my Lord.” You added offhandedly, considering this proposal came from a vague challenge from you. 

Lord Phantomhive shrugged, the corner of his lips twitching to form his elusive smirk. “Hm,” he paused, the thought clearly facetious when it was supposed to be a simple observation from you. “We’re human beings, Your Highness. Always after our own self-interest.” 

“Then it’s within your self-interest to both protect and entertain me?” The conversation was quickly evolving into a clever, existential turn of phrase, rather than an invasion of your time alone. You closed your book after putting a little piece of paper inside to save your page. 

“Of course. The Phantomhive name is known for the standard of care we give our guests- particularly-”

“Particularly grandchildren of Her Majesty,” you finished smugly, although he would have used a less blunt way to state your title. The coy smirk on his regrettably prepossessing face dropped, quickly replaced by the look, once again. If the Earl couldn’t admonish you verbally, he was sure to show you his irritation with his face, whether he meant to or not. At least he was to be reasonably humbled before you ended him. 

The Earl cleared his throat, “Tuesday is my only free day this week. I’ll have Sebastian make preparations for then.”

“And what am I to do in the meantime?” You questioned, playing up your impertinence to bother him further. Marie would do the exact same and more likely, she would have demanded more from the Earl. You were much more acquiescent and you merely kept to yourself, save for your attempt to get into his study to pry. Gaining access was crucial to your morality and since you intended on striking at the end of that trail, you’d need to enter before Tuesday morning. 

“I trust that you are capable of entertaining yourself, for the time being, Your Highness.”

You took a long sip of your tea, the floral notes of the Earl Grey mingled nicely with the remnants of cherry on your tongue. The heat of the beverage caused you to cringe as it ran down your throat. The teacup remained in your hands as you regarded the noble, who had inched his way to the foot of your bed for ease of conversation. Naturally, he loitered at the respectful distance, keeping his gaze proper and away from the covers that fell from your chest. You didn’t have the hands to readjust them, or the peace of mind to notice.

 “...Fine. Sleep well, Lord Phantomhive,” you dismissed, putting the teacup back on the nightstand with the remnants of your cake. You had a feeling that he wasn’t done with the conversation, but you weren’t shy in expressing that you were. The night was a complex time and while the presence of another in your room was somewhat soothing, it reminded you of the episode you had that morning. The bruise to your pride was somewhat fresh, making it uncomfortable to think about or dwell on. At least in that way, you understood Lord Phantomhive. His pride made for a sturdy defense around the vulnerable- terrified- subconscious as yours did. You each protected your weaknesses fiercely and that's what made this particular assignment so complicated.

“Sleep well, Your Highness. I’ll sort out the rest of the details and keep you up to date,” the sound of the door shutting behind him caused you to jump. You put your book on the nightstand, using it to push the tray of refreshments further away. This night would do well to be kinder to you. 

. . .

Tags:

#ciel phantomhive #ciel x reader #black butler #black butler fanfic #strangers to lovers #anime fanfiction #sebastian michaelis #murder #angst #historical fiction #victorian era #the indignant pawn #a sinner's subconscious #ciel phantomhive x reader

[maltedroses]

The Doctor is Here

This is  a birthday present I  made for my friend that ive decided to crosspost from Ao3

warnings: gore, mutilation, seriously if you don't like blood or any of that stuff look away move on this is your only warning.

He was sick, everybody was sick, and it was foolish of him to think he would be the exception. Hari always believed Kai would never use his quirk on him but he was wrong. The leather cut through his wrist the more he pulled the worse it would get. 

Kai didn't even try to cure him, he simply just shaved his hair. Hari became something Kai could play and experiment on. It hurt him but he couldn't tell at what scale. By now all pain felt the same, his body was unable to tell the difference from a cut to a slap on the face. He just wanted it to end.

Clack

Clack

It was the devil he once called friend. As the door rattled tears began to fall, his body still aching from the last time Overhaul put him back together. That was the thing, his quirk, it didn't matter how many times Hari would break or bleed, Overhaul could simply put him back together as if nothing happened, or he could leave him unfinished. It was all a game to him. "I'm surprised you're up, get that look off your face- Oh you're crying how dull." Overhaul slightly lifted his chin, upon contact Hari shivered. "Hm, what's wrong Hari? I'm not going to hurt you~" that was a lie. 

"You know I don't ask for anything other than for you to be cooperative. I even let you keep your quirk because we're friends." How? Friends don't lock each other in rooms and experiment on them for their sick entertainment in disguise of 'the greater good'. Hari couldn't even use his quirk without his hair growing back a little, so he was basically quirk less. "I'm here for your check up, can't have you dying on me now can we?" Fuck off, or at least mercy kill me. The popsicle stick entered Hari’s mouth, Overhaul put two fingers inside, feeling every corner and tooth. "Good boy. I'm feeling nice today so no surgeries will be performed today, unless you disobey me, got that?" Hari couldn't respond, after the first time Overhaul made sure to get rid of his vocal cords. His screams were horrible and nothing but pure fear and agony from his action. But it gave him great satisfaction knowing he was the last to hear Hari's voice even if it was a scream. Hari lied motionless with a monotone face.

He snorted chuckling a little "Of course you can't answer, but you know what's best for you. Right Hari Kurono?" Overhaul smiled caressing his face. Hari was repulsed, in the past he wished to receive his affection, but now the thought of him touching him made him wish for death.

Overhaul frowned seeing the expression on Hari’s face, "Don't you dare test my patience.." gripping Haris throat, cutting off the air from reaching his lungs.  A short rush of adrenaline kicked in his body giving him enough strength to pull away from Overhaul but ultimately failing

He was done playing games he'd been too nice and now Hari was thinking he could get away with acting up. Overhaul took out a knife "Hari I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you leave me no choice" he held Hari's hand who was desperately trying to get away.

"Don't worry Hari it won't hurt long, this is for your own good. it hurts me more than it hurts you" liar, please somebody get me out this hell, thought Hari as tears continued to fall down his face. "Besides I can always put you back together, my sweet Kurono Hari"

The blade against Hari who was shaking in fear. "Don't make this any more complicated than it has to be, now stop moving or I'll cut more than what's necessary". The incision was painfully slow, that's when Hari realized Overhaul wanted him to suffer, he was sawing not cutting 

He opens his mouth wanting to scream but he couldn’t, he sat there defenseless doing nothing but cry and wish for death. “Hari I know it hurts, oh stop that please don’t cry” he sighs pausing for a quick second “fine I’ll give you a sedative just this once.” Hari didn’t know if this was good or bad. On one hand, he would be numb and not feel anything sparing him pain but that would only mean Overhaul would come up with more sadistic forms of torture. 

"This won't hurt, it's nothing compared to what I could do to you” Hari truly doesn’t feel anything. He lies to himself that it's all a dream, soon he'll wake up and things would be normal again. But it wasn't, this was hell on earth, with overhaul death wasn't an escape, it was a door that would always lead to the same room.

He could still feel the knife sawing through his flesh, Hari found it ironic how he saw this as a form of mercy, what good was it for him to feel nothing if Overhaul was still acting with ill intent? "See? It wasn't that bad. Although I will say you're bleeding an awful lot.” he hummed bringing the blade up to his mouth. Chrono looked back at him in fear of what he was to do next. Overhaul looked at the blade as if to inspect it, admiring the way Hari's blood stained the blade.

"You know I've always wondered what you'd taste like" he tauntingly twirls the knife in his hand "suppose it's never too late to find out" he takes the knife and gives it a long lick around the edges. "You taste quite heavily, why don't we get some more" before Hari could even process what the brunette said Overhaul lunged at Hari's fingers, slicing them off with a clean cut.

Overhaul lowered himself to the stumps staring in awe as the blood gushed out. He grabbed the severed fingers and licked them "have I ever told you that you have nice fingers? Incredibly soft, I almost feel bad for cutting them off, but it's okay I'll fix you up real quick after I'm done with this."

Hari looked back at him disgusted and confused, this was out of the normal routine. Overhaul then stood up, severed fingers still in mouth and twirled. "Oh Kurono I really hope you won't mind but I just want to return the favor~" Overhaul grabbed the blade and slashed his tongue "Now we can both taste each other!" He smashed his lips against Hari's, swirling his tongue inside. “This is kinda gross but it feels so good, you’ve been a good boy so far Hari, maybe I should reward you, hows that sound? You want your voice back, maybe ill let you grow out your hair even if it’s just a little bit” he stopped briefly to caress his face “or perhaps you’ll like to go outside again, see the sun and not be in your room all day?”

Hari’s eyes lightened up with a faint shine of hope /outside?/ would Overhaul really grant him his freedom? Without thinking it much further he nodded.

“Oh so you want to go outside? Well” Overhaul resumed kissing his …’friend’ “that’s too bad because you belong here Hari” 

His heart sank, along with a sharp pain in his abdomen. Blood. 

“You truly are a fool Hari, always a loyal servant. Look at you now, trapped, lead by your own desire to be noticed.” he darky laughed “I’m not even going to bother fixing you up, let this be a lesson for letting your emotions get to you” he chuckled exiting the room and leaving Hari to bleed out.

Hari knew the devil was real, and that devil was Overhaul.

#chronohaul #overhaul x chronostasis #gore tw

[sunyoonandstars]

✨Linked✨ || BTS Soulmate AU Series || You x !Soulmate! Yoongi | You x Jimin || Part 18

Text/Social Media/Narrative Series || Soulmate & College AU

Previous Part | Next Part 

LINKED MASTERLIST

“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

― Plato, The Symposium

Credit goes to the incredible @789cream for creating this beautiful moodboard for my series. Thanks again!

You should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell by the way [Suga] talked about his soulmate. About you. You should’ve figured it out before it was too late. Before he, somehow, made his way into your mind and heart. But you were just too preoccupied with Jimin and everything that was going on. You really stood no chance.

And now … What now?

Your thoughts keep racing, chasing their own tails.

How do you even feel about him? About Suga? Why do you miss him, although you left him behind in that hospital bed no more than thirty minutes ago? And are any of those feelings real? How will you ever be able to tell?

Pairing You x Soulmate! Yoongi You x Jimin

Word count 5.072

‘siblings’, according to age: Namjoon, Jimin, y/n, Taehyung (you grew up living in the same foster home as implied in earlier parts of this series)

fluff, angst, hints at/of smut

❗️Warning/s ❗️ mentions of emotional trauma, suicide/suicidal thoughts, death, hospitals/sickness, and child neglect

Previously, on ‘Linked’…

Eventually, after years of successfully having avoided it, you have come across your soulmate. An ominous stranger of whom you know no more than the back of his head, his phone number and that he works as a part-time barista at your (former) favorite coffee shop.

Having been pressured by a friend into contacting him, things start to get complicated. Because your heart already belongs to another. And, haunted by the ghosts of your past, the last thing you want is for your soul to find its one, true, destined mate.

After texting back and forth for days with the man only known to you as your ‘Soulmate’, you are forced to break contact since he is starting to get too close and your boyfriend Jimin is anything but pleased with that. When your paths, however, cross, the ominous ‘Suga’, as he calls himself, refrains from revealing his true identity to you - which would mean an instant link of souls and the end of his torture -  and, instead, is set on making his way into your life the right way.

A fateful accident at your workplace is followed by a visit to the emergency room and a falling out with your boyfriend, Jimin, leading you to turn to a virtual stranger for comfort ... 

CHAPTER 18

Now it all makes sense. Why I felt so drawn to you. Why you knew me so well. Why you appeared when I was at my weakest. 

How could you?? When were you planning on telling me your birth name?? Once I broke up with Jimin?? Or would you even have waited that long?? 

Shit. I trusted you. I was so blind. I should’ve seen it coming. 

Don’t contact me. I really can’t have this right now. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Yoongi can’t stop himself from muttering this same word over and over again as he pulls the cannula out of his vein without giving it a second thought and gets up and out of the uncomfortable hospital bed, his mind racing, all his thoughts revolving around you. 

He has no idea how long ago you left. He doesn’t even know where you would go from here, where there is even the remote chance of finding you. But what he does know is that he cannot stay put here and let you walk away, just like that, sitting it out, not even trying to hold you back. His soulmate. He cannot just let you slip through his fingers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this. End like this. 

No. He refuses to believe this is the end. It can’t be. It can’t. 

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” 

Yoongi doesn’t get very far, though. Before he can make it out of the room, he is stopped by a firm hand grabbing his arm. Nothing seems to escape this nurse’s attention. 

“Back to bed. Now. The doctor responsible needs to discharge you before you can set a foot across this door sill.”

“But —”

“No buts.”

“But — Wait. Who even paid for my treatment?” 

“Your friend did, of course.” 

“What? She —?”

“And now stop wasting her precious money and go back to bed. The doctor will examine you again in the morning. Only then will he be able to tell if you’re free to leave. We want to do our job properly after all.” 

Reluctantly accepting the fact that there is no use in going against this unrelenting woman, Yoongi eventually caves in and does as he is told, watching the nurse re-connect the IV bag to his bloodstream. 

“What’s that?”, he inquires, gesturing towards the plastic bag filled with a clear liquid. 

“Antibiotics.”

“What for?” 

“You are suffering from pleurisy, young man.” 

“Of what?” 

“An inflammation of your pleura.”

“Due to what?” 

“Trauma, it says on your chart. Apparently, one of your ribs was badly bruised.” 

“Oh.” 

“Well. You’re all set now. Take a nap. Drink a lot of water. There is pain medication sitting on your nightstand, in case you need it to sleep.” 

“Thanks.” 

Pleased with her work, the nurse takes a step back and eyes him intently, her head tilted to one side like that of an attentive dog. 

“You’re so young, but your body is so tired already.” Hands resting on her hips, she sighs, shaking her head in discontent. “I hope that woman of yours takes good care of you in the future. You need someone who feeds you right. Good food. Home-cooked.” 

Her well-intentioned words hit him like a blow to the stomach. 

“Yeah. Sure”, he nods, struggling to conjure up a cordial smile. “I’ll let her know.”

If I ever see her again. 

“If you don’t, I will”, the nurse — Yoongi takes a quick look at her name tag — called Oh jokes. “Such a handsome young man, but far too frail.” 

She clicks her tongue in a reproving manner. 

“Now rest. Let the medicine do its work and get some sleep. You look like you could use it.” 

With that conclusion, she turns away and leaves Yoongi to his torturing thoughts, your last words echoing in his mind, haunting him until he, eventually, drifts off into sleep. 

Headphones on, your phone in airplane mode, hands buried deep inside the pockets of your black bomber jacket, you start walking at a smart pace, quickly bringing a safe distance between yourself and the hospital you just left. Even now you’re still shaking, your legs barely carrying your weight. 

It’s him. It’s really him. It can’t be. But it is. Your thoughts keep spinning. 

Suga. He’s your soulmate. No doubt about it. You could clearly read your name as you frantically checked Suga’s pulse, the letters standing out blood red against the pale skin of his wrist. Y/l/n Y/n. The possibility of him having linked with another woman of exactly the same name not too long ago, judging by the early stage of healing his tattoo manifested, and him coincidentally stumbling into the very bar you work at just about when you broke off any contact with your anonymous soulmate is close to zero. 

It’s him. It must be him. Suga being your soulmate makes an awful lot of sense, now that you come to think of it. It would explain everything. Why you were so drawn to this ominous stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger to you at all. Why you blindly trusted him from the very start. Why you felt so comfortable around him, felt like he was the first person on this godforsaken planet to actually understand you. Why your burn wound, or rather the inside of your left wrist, the spot on your skin that is supposed to be taken up by his name, started itching again every time you were near him. 

You should’ve known, should’ve been able to tell by the way he talked about his soulmate. About you. You should’ve figured it out before it was too late. Before he, somehow, made his way into your mind and heart. But you were just too preoccupied with Jimin and everything that was going on. You really stood no chance. 

And now … What now?

Your thoughts keep racing, chasing their own tails. 

How do you even feel about him? About Suga? Why do you miss him, although you left him behind in that hospital bed no more than thirty minutes ago? And are any of those feelings real? How will you ever be able to tell? And if they are, how could you just overlook the fact that he tricked you? That he lied to you, abused your trust? And, most importantly and purely hypothetical, how could you ever be with him without actually establishing the Link?

Because linking with him is still not even close to an option. The mere thought of it makes you sick to your stomach. 

After all, you don’t want to end up like her. Like your mother. Pitiful. Desperate. Without power or sanity.  

No. No way. Not ever. 

You will never let yourself abandon all control over your own life like that. You will not give in to genetics. Nobody other than you and you alone, not your soulmate, not science, not fate, will ever take the reins of your so-called destiny. 

That’s what you swore to yourself when you saw your mother’s lifeless body dangling from your kitchen ceiling all those years ago. Leaving you alone. All alone in this strange and cold world. Her own child, no more than four years old. Simply because her soul couldn’t take the loss of its one true mate. 

No. You will not become her. You will not surrender. Not ever. Not for the life of you. 

Even if it means you are to spend the rest of your existence in isolation. You will, under no circumstances, subject yourself to this kind of power. 

Your nails boring deep into your palms, the pain, at least to some extent, bringing you relief, you keep striding forward aimlessly, your feet carrying you to a location even unknown to yourself while deafeningly loud punk rock seeps out of your high-fidelity headphones, almost successfully drowning out each and every painful thought of Suga and Jimin. 

Because, as if you didn’t have enough on your plate already thanks to this unexpected revelation of Suga’s true identity, sitting in the hospital’s waiting room you forced yourself to face reality and turned your phone back on. A decision that resulted in you being presented with more than a dozen unread and exceedingly unsettling messages by your distraught boyfriend and worried brother. 

With shaking hands, you kept scrolling through the countless angry outcries Jimin had sent your way last night while you were sound asleep in Suga’s studio. Your muffled gasps echoed from the walls of the quiet anteroom as you skimmed the text messages depicting the progression of Jimin’s heartbreaking exasperation over the course of several hours.

Approximately 26 hours ago ...

Present Time. 

His words still haunt you, their tone desperate. 

‘You still love me, right?’

Jimin must have been hurting when he wrote [these words].

As you now mend your pace, tears burning in your eyes, blurring your vision, you can see him before you. The lost, ‘damaged’ teenage boy whom you shared your first kiss with all those years ago. In your mind’s eye, you can see it play back like a movie. The night of the thunderstorm when you had tried to run away from your foster home — the fourth in total that child protective services had placed you in. Jimin ran after you, despite the pouring rain. When he finally caught up with you, he begged you to stay and confessed his feelings. He told you that you were the most beautiful person he had ever met and that he loved you for all that you were, and if any fourteen-year-old ever spoke these words and truly meant them, it was Park Jimin. His eyes gave him away. They were genuine. You knew you could trust him.

Jimin was the first person you ever let in. If he hadn’t come after you that night, there’s no telling where you’d be right now. Dead, for all you know. He saved you. You saved each other.

The both of you had made an oath that night, to protect one another and always stay together, come what may. 

Back then, it had felt right and keeping your promise seemed to be possible, the only possibility, really. But now, at this moment, you don’t know anymore. If you ever truly reciprocated his feelings. If you ever loved Jimin the way he loves you. Or if you just needed a companion. Someone to catch you when you fell. A friend and nothing more.

Sure, your feelings for Jimin changed quickly following his heartfelt confession. You suddenly saw him in an entirely new light. Not as a wanna-be brother anymore. But as a man.

When you first got together, the two of you were young and both your bodies were riddled with hormones. You were inseparable and couldn’t keep your hands off of each other whenever you were alone. Being intimate with Jimin was exciting. You never even gave your reasons for craving after his touch and body much thought. You never questioned your desire. In hindsight, though, you’re not sure if you enjoyed the sensual part of your relationship merely for the satisfaction it gave you or because it was Jimin pleasuring you. If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you’re afraid the former is the case. It has been for a while, at least. But it never bothered you. Not until you learned what it truly feels like to want somebody. Need somebody. On so many more levels than just this one. 

Damn. And there he is. Back again. Suga. In your head. Haunting your every thought. 

You can’t erase the pictures. Of his pale face. His limp body. He looked so small in that hospital bed, so vulnerable. It took all the strength you had in you to leave him behind. But staying around until he’d wake up wasn’t an option, either. Right now, you’re in no condition to face him. Being around each other won’t do either of you any good until you have all of this figured out. Or at least some things are starting to make sense. Because, right now, nothing does. 

What you need is a drink. Or two. Your feet carried you to the right place then, you acknowledge as you lift your head to find yourself staring at the neon sign hanging over the entrance to the Plutarch. 

Great. At your workplace on your night off. How pathetic. On the other hand, though, where else would you come across an unlimited supply of free drinks at this time of night? Right. Nowhere. 

So, straightening your posture, you throw open the door and step into the bar where you are greeted by the all too familiar stench of sweat, booze, and nicotine.

Drink in hand, you stumble through the Plutarch’s back door and into the fresh night air, the boosted bass of the electronic dance music following you outside, echoing through the littered back alley. 

A few minutes pass until Taehyung eventually picks up, his voice low and heavy with sleep. 

“Y/nnie? What’s up? Where are you? It’s late.” 

You can hear fabric rustle in the background. 

“Shit. I woke you up, didn’t I!?”

“It’s okay, y/n. I’m glad to hear from you. Let me just — Wait a sec — I don’t wanna wake up Nana.”

Your heart stings at the mention of his soulmate and the image of them peacefully sleeping side by side, perfectly content in the knowledge of having linked with their mate for life. 

With a shake of your head and another sip from your beer bottle, you push aside that useless thought. 

“Where were you, y/n?” He pauses, the sound of a closing door filling the silence on his end of the phone line. “Is that music I hear? Are you out? Alone. Or with —”

“With Suga?”, you scoff, kicking an empty coke can. “No. No, I’m not with him. Not anymore at least.”

“He told you? That I called?” 

“Yeah. Sorry that I didn’t text you back. I read your messages. I didn't mean to worry you. It’s just — Everything is a little overwhelming currently. And — And I —”

You wanted to hold them back. So badly. The tears. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry again and you tried hard, so hard, not to give in. But the alcohol combined with the sound of Taehyung’s warm voice eventually break your resistance. 

“Y/n? What’s wrong? What happened? Are you crying? Are you okay!?”

“Funny thing’s that I’m perfectly fine. But Suga — He —”

“What’s wrong with him? Is he in trouble?” 

“He’s in the hospital, Tae. He — He just collapsed. Out of the blue. And I — I saw it, okay!? That he’s my fucking soulmate!” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh!? Is that really all you have to say to that, Kim Taehyung!?” you scream into the receiver, your voice cracking, drowning in stifled sobs. “He was wearing my fucking name on his wrist, Tae. Did you know? You knew, didn’t you!? You fucking knew!” 

Of course, he knew. 

“Y/n, have you been drinking?” 

“What!? Why?”

“It’s just. You’re cursing. A lot. And you only —”

“Does it really matter right now?” 

“No. I — I just want you to be safe, that’s all.” 

With one big gulp, you empty your bottle.

“I’m fine, Tae. Never been better. It’s your friend you should be worried about. You can find him in the Seoul National University Hospital, room 1346. I paid for his treatment and all, so no need to worry about that. Just … make sure he’s okay, I guess.” 

“Yes! Of course! I’m already on my way. But — Did you —”

“No, Tae, we didn’t link. I left before he even woke up. I still don’t know his name and I want to keep it that way.”

“Of course. Of course! I get it. I do. With all that happened to you. I get it, okay? I’d never tell you. It’s not my place.” 

“Right”, you snicker. “So, it wasn’t you who sent him to the Plutarch that night, when we ended up in the ER?”

You are met with silence. 

“It’s okay, Tae. I don’t hate you or anything. I mean, you should’ve stayed out of it. But what’s done is done and I know you meant well. Just — From now on please don’t get involved. I mean it.” 

“All right. I won’t. I promise.” He seems to mean it. And you know, Kim Taehyung is a man of his word and he respects you far too much to consciously go against what you want. 

“Thank you”, you sigh, running a hand through your hair, damp from sweat. “I just can’t have any more drama right now.”

“Then you should better not come over, I guess.” 

“Why?”

“Because Jimin’s crashing on our couch. He arrived here early in the morning, drunk as hell, and didn’t leave ever since.” 

Shit. He must’ve missed his rehearsal. 

“Okay. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Where will you sleep then? Do you have a place to stay?”

“Dunno. Maybe I’ll stay with Catrina, my colleague. Her roomies are nice. They won’t ask questions.”

“So, you’re at the Plutarch?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” He sounds relieved. “At least you’re safe there. But, don’t do anything stupid, okay? No going home with random strangers and stuff, okay?” 

“Tsk. What are you? My dad?”

“Please, y/n. Promise me you won’t fall back into old habits. I remember quite vividly what the sleeping around did to you when you, you know, were on a break from Jiminie.” 

Yes. You remember, too. And part of you wants to feel it again. Wants to be used again. To be treated like a piece of meat and thrown away after. But the other part knows very well where these kinds of escapades usually lead you. And you’re not to keen on going back to that place. Because, deep down, you’re scared that, this time, you won’t make it back. 

“All right, I won’t. I promise. No screwing around tonight. I’m not in the mood anyway.” 

“Haha. Good to know”, Taehyung laughs. His deep, warm, rich laugh. The laugh that makes you feel safe and grounded wherever you are. Like hot chocolate. You’d give anything for a hug from him right now. 

“I love you, Tae. You know that, right?” 

“Ah. You always get so sappy when you’re drunk.” 

“Stop it, or I’ll take it back.” 

He clears his throat before he speaks up again, his tone almost solemn this time. 

“Yes, I know, y/n. And I love you, too. You’re family. You always will be.”

“Thank you. Nana is a lucky woman.” 

“I’d say it’s the other way around”, he jokes, eliciting a genuine smile from you. Taehyung, the life of the party, so handsome heads keep turning wherever he shows up, always so humble. 

“Well, give my love to her. And —”

You stop in mid-sentence, your mind suddenly blank. You know what you mean to say, but the words just won’t come. 

“Yes, y/nnie. I’ll take good care of Suga. Don’t worry.” 

“Thanks”, you barely manage to croak out. 

“No need to thank me. Let me know later if you found a safe place to stay for the night.”

“Will do.” 

After you said your goodbyes, you end the call and are left with nothing but deafening silence. Even the music is gone now. And dawn is breaking already. 

As if by command, Catrina pokes her head out through the back door, her eyes searching the alley until they find you. 

“Here you are! Come on. Move your pretty ass. It’s time to leave and we have to lock up. I wanna fucking sleep, okay!?” 

Impatient as always, she waves you nearer, grabbing at your sleeve and pulling you inside as soon as you come into range.

“Do you have a death wish I should know about!?” She shakes her head, strawberry blonde hair flying. “Jeez, y/n. It’s freezing cold outside. What were you even doing there? You missed all the fun.” 

Playfully punching your shoulder, she throws her head back, her crystal clear laughter resounding in the now-empty club. 

“There was this hot chick who —”

“Cat”, you cut her short, having trouble to keep your teeth from chattering. “Could I maybe stay with you for tonight? Or this week? Or, you know, just for a while?”

“So, basically, I fainted because of this pleurisy thing, the resulting fever, extreme physical and emotional stress due to the proximity of my unlinked soulmate and the implied consequences, like cardiac arrhythmias and stuff. And, well, malnutrition over an extent of a few weeks, months maybe. On top of that a moderate panic attack. Things like that. They just all came together somehow. At that very moment. Or that’s what the doctors say, at least. I didn’t even see it coming.” 

Sitting on the edge of Yoongi’s hospital bed, Taehyung listens attentively while the other one cites his numerous bodily defects, his countenance suggesting that none of this is any of his business or reason for particular concern. Yoongi speaks as if he is talking about someone else, not meeting Taehyung’s eye. Nonetheless, the older one fails miserably in his attempt to hide his true state of mind. He’s anxious, restless, clearly tormented, judging by the way Yoongi’s fingers nervously fiddle with the rim of his sweater’s wide sleeve and his teeth keep gnawing away at his swollen lip, nails bitten short to the bloody nail beds. 

Taehyung can very well imagine what it must look like behind those dark, glossy eyes. He remembers the agonizing hours after meeting Nana and until she finally linked back with him as clearly as if it happened yesterday. And, at this point, Yoongi has been existing in this limbo of longing for a week already. It’s incredible that he is even still alive, Taehyung thinks to himself. His friend must surely possess a strong heart and mind not to be driven insane by this burning desire to be with his one destined mate. Especially the knowledge of your current situation should be torturous to him. Because, if his distant expression is anything to go by, Yoongi must have a rather good idea of how you are dealing with this whole mess. 

“That doesn’t sound too good, Hyung”, Taehyung eventually concludes after Yoongi has fallen silent and resorted to motionlessly gazing into space. “I talked to her, just a little while ago, in case you were wondering.” 

“To who?”

“Come on, Yoongi. Who are you trying to fool? She’s all you can think about.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Yoongi leans further back into his pillow, looking away, lips pursed in disapproval. 

“It’s five in the morning. What are you even doing here? Did you sleep here?”

“Kind of. Y/n called me to look after you. But that’s not what’s important right now”, Taehyung protests. “Don’t try and change the topic. You can’t just act like nothing’s different, Yoongi. Like this isn’t a big deal. Come on. Talk to me. Y/n basically went missing for 24 hours, dropped off the face of the earth. What happened? What did you do? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, okay!?”, Yoongi snaps at him, having trouble keeping his voice down, it appears. The nurse shoots him a warning glance whereupon he pulls his blanket up to his chin like a sulky five-year-old. “Just — After I met her, thanks to you.” He pauses to dart a murderous look at Taehyung. “I couldn’t stay away anymore. I wanted — No, I needed to see her again, to be with her, to feel her close and make sure she’s okay. Because she didn’t seem like it when I left her that night.” 

“I know. Okay? I know what it’s like. From experience. But — You must’ve felt like shit.”

“No. Well, yeah. But she kinda made me forget, you know? Whenever I looked at her, the pain disappeared. Or at least I didn’t feel it anymore.”

“Or you fooled yourself into thinking you didn’t feel it anymore. Yoongi, you could’ve died. Of heart failure or something. Do you realize that?” 

The older one just shrugs in response. His indifference is starting to anger Taehyung. 

“Hyung, you shouldn’t be this reckless. I mean, If you don’t care about yourself, at least think about her. How do you imagine she would’ve felt if she found out she could have killed you? Or how she must be feeling right now, knowing that she’s responsible for your pain?” 

Finally, he engaged his friend’s attention. Alert, Yoongi’s eyes shoot up to meet his. 

“What did she say? How is she?” 

“Well …”, Taehyung sighs. “She’s not exactly great. But I think she’ll live.” 

“Is she staying at your place?” 

“No. She can’t since –– —” 

“Since what?”

“Well. That’s where Jimin is staying, so …”

“Oh.” 

Taehyung can literally watch Yoongi’s mood drop to an all new low. 

“Are they — Did she mention if they were —?” he cautiously asks.

“What?” Yoongi answers his tactless question with one of his own. “If y/n mentioned anything about making up with him? With this dancer guy?”

“Hey, careful there. Jimin’s like my brother. I love him. And he doesn’t deserve to be in the middle of all this, okay?” 

“All right, all right. Sorry.” Yoongi raises his wiry hands in defense. “But, no, it didn’t seem like she was particularly looking forward to seeing him again. She had a couple of, I don’t know, panic attacks or something, just talking about him. How she didn’t love him anymore but she didn’t wanna hurt him either.” 

“Yeah, sounds like her.” 

Poor Y/nnie, Taehyung can’t help but think to himself. You must be miserable right now. Knowing you, his sister, the last thing you’d want to do would be to hurt anybody, most of all Jimin. Taehyung is well aware of how special a bond the two of you had formed over the years. He watched it flourish with his own two eyes. Breaking it can’t possibly be an easy thing to do.

“So, Taehyung?” Clearing his throat, Yoongi props himself up on his elbows. “Would you mind telling me something? Because I didn’t get a chance to ask her.” 

Taehyung has a feeling he is about to break his word he gave you on the way over here.

“Sure. Ask away. I’m just not sure if I can answer.”

“Fair enough.”

Yoongi sits up, leaning in closer, his eyes eager.

“Y/n’s feelings towards the whole Link business are rather extreme, it seems. So, what’s up with her and this soulmate thing? Why is she so adamantly against it? There must be a reason and I think I deserve to know.”

He knew it. Taehyung knew he would regret making that promise to you. Because he is about to get so involved in your business, there will be no getting out of it again.

“Well, she has her reasons, that’s for sure”, he starts out, swallowing hard.

Please don’t hate me for this, y/nnie, he sends a quick prayer to the hospital’s unsightly styrofoam ceiling before he continues.

“Have you ever heard of phantom pain?”

Yoongi nods.

“Well, the soul can have it, too. And some people aren’t strong enough to endure it.”

“What are you getting at?” 

“Y/n’s mother — She committed suicide. Six days after y/n’s father, her mother’s soulmate died. The woman just couldn’t take it. And hung herself in their family kitchen, right in front of her four-year-old daughter eyes. After having neglected her child for days, not even feeding her, only screaming her husband’s name time and again, sobbing herself to sleep while her daughter was literally starving next to her.” 

Taehyung can barely fight back tears as he retells your life story, his voice trembling. He still remembers the girl he first met more than ten years ago. Frail. Pale. Scared. Untrusting. 

“When Y/n became of age and was first allowed access to her files, I got a glimpse of pictures that were taken when child protective services found her back then. She was in a terrible state. No wonder she’s still traumatized. She remembers everything, Hyung. Every. Little. Detail. But most of all the screams. She once told me that, sometimes, she still hears them in her sleep.” A cold shiver runs down Taehyung’s spine at the thought of it. He really hopes you’re not alone right now. All of this must surely, once again, have stirred up those horrible memories you tried so hard to bury. 

“Her mother turned into an entirely different person with her husband’s death”, Taehyung proceeds after a few seconds of silence. Meanwhile, Yoongi seems to have fallen into some kind of paralysis. Taehyung can’t be sure if his friend is even still breathing. 

“The second she lost her soulmate, she lost herself. And y/n never ever wants to go through that, to allow anyone or anything to have this kind of control over her state of mind. But can you blame her?” 

Wide-eyed, Yoongi stares at him, his even features distorted by agony and rage. 

“No. Of course, not. She’s not the one to blame here. I— I get it. I get it now.” He stammers, jaw clenched. “Why she hates me. And she’s right to stay away. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing this, how could I ever see her again? How could I make her be with me? I must make her sick.” 

“No. Don’t say that, Hyung.” 

“But I’m sure it’s true. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Disappear from her life. I could never — How could you let me go to her, Tae? I — I can’t force this onto her. She must feel revolted by the idea of even being near me.”

Taehyung can see it in his eyes. Yoongi’s pain. His horror at the realization of what he most likely put you through. His misguided disgust with himself. 

“Yoongi, it’s not your fault.” He reaches for his hand, but Yoongi flinches, pulls it back under his blanket. 

“You didn’t know, Hyung. And her mother was just one case. One in a million. She was simply … weak. And you and y/n, you’re stronger. And she will realize that. Just give her a little time. Don’t give up just yet. Please”, he begs. But Yoongi seems unimpressed, cold even.

“I think you should go, Tae. I just want to sleep right now.” 

“If you really want me to leave, I —”

“Yes, I do”, Yoongi cuts him off, his tone harsh, as he already gets comfortable in a lying position, curled up into a ball. 

“Okay. I have to get to work anyway”, Taehyung sighs. “Have a good rest, Yoongi. And get better, soon. I’ll come by again tomorrow and I don’t care if you want me to or not. I’ll be here.”

“Whatever”, Yoongi grumbles, by now having been entirely swallowed up by his blanket. 

“Bye, Yoongi. And it’s not over, okay? Don’t forget that.” 

As soon as he is sure Taehyung has left, Yoongi kicks off his blanket, his limbs as restless as his thoughts. 

Being aware of what you went through and must be going through right now, how could he just stay here? Lying in bed? Sleeping, as if everything was right in the world? When it clearly isn’t? 

No. Merely putting up with the way things are and playing dead isn’t an option any longer. 

Yoongi has to think. To clear his head. And he can’t do that here. Not in this room full of the sick and dying with nurse Oh watching him as closely as if he is about to burn this whole place down. 

No. He has to get out of here. To get moving. To sort out his thoughts and figure out the right thing to do in this kind of situation. If such a thing even exists. And in order to do so, he needs to talk to somebody. 

Yoongi is curious what Jimin has to say to all this as he makes his way towards Taehyung’s apartment in the refreshing cold of the early morning hours.

END OF CHAPTER 18 || TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the series so far and this chapter didn’t disappoint. 😌

Here you can find my Masterlist in case you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction.

Also, if you have Spotify, you can listen to the ‘official’ 🎶 playlist 🎶 to the ‘Linked’ series here. It contains all the songs having been sent back and forth between Yoongi and the reader in the past and some more tunes fitting the series’ vibe.  

Take care and have a great day! ☺️💖

NONE of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

#bts #bts soulmate au #TheSugaNetwork #daeguboynet #kpopwonderlandtag #bts fake texts #linked series #yoongi soulmate au #bts au #bts text au #bts series #bts au series #bts angst #bts fluff #yoongi #taehyung #jimin #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin angst #jimin soulmate au #bts fiction #bangtan fiction #bts imagines #bts texts #yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #taehyung au

[hookaroo]

A Captain’s Heart (12 of 34?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight & @killian-whump by request :)

“Oh Killian.”

Awakened first by the door opening and then more fully by the complex emotions in his wife’s voice, Killian groggily lifted his hand in her direction… only to be reminded of his dire situation by the clank of handcuffs against the metal railing. He grimaced a sheepish apology.

“Hello, love. You made it, then. How was the drive?”

She stopped just out of reach. The twitching of her fingers betrayed how badly they itched to reach out and comfort him, assure her he was actually there in front of her, promise them both a happy resolution to the predicament. Her expression was a rigid neutral, but he could see the loving softness in her eyes.

“They weren’t even going to let me see you. Had to pull some strings.” She scoured his body for injury, but the gruesome wound on his leg had been cleaned and covered with a thick bandage once the pain medication had taken effect. “You okay?”

“Aye.”

There was no need for him to protest his innocence to her. He knew that she knew. And that’s all that mattered. Still, there was so much he wished he could tell her, if only the pesky guard officer would leave them alone. If only he knew for sure they weren’t being recorded. If only…

Killian could do nothing but sigh in frustration. To have her so close, and unable to touch… it was pure torture. His fingers tingled to wrap around hers, his lips burned with the need to kiss.

“Not quite the reunion I’d imagined,” he admitted with a sad smile. Emma’s answer was equally rueful.

“It’ll be okay, Killian. We’ll fix this mess.”

He nodded in a display of confidence beyond what he actually felt. “Do you know what’s become of… er… my cousin?”

Killian tried to use his eyes to convey the importance of having her play along. Emma’s brow creased in the slightest of confused frowns. Mystified, she mouthed, Cousin? before shaking her head.

“No. Sorry.”

Quietly, Killian voiced his concerns. “They haven’t told me they’ve done with her, and you know how she gets.” He raised a prompting eyebrow, and Emma nodded.

“Oh. Right. I’ll… see what I can find out. Can’t promise they’ll let me back in with news, though.”

“That’s okay, Swan. I’ll feel better knowing she’s got an ally in you.”

He had really hoped to break the news to her gently. Under different circumstances…. Any other circumstances, really. But Marvel didn’t deserve continued distress, and she would recognize Emma. At least then she wouldn’t feel completely abandoned.

“Time’s up, sheriff,” intoned the guard, and Emma’s expression flattened; Killian could immediately recognize her usual reaction to strong emotion whenever she thought she wasn’t in a good place to express it. He bit his lip, feeling horrible that he was the source of that angst, no matter how innocent he actually was.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

She tried to smile, but the result was a sad shadow of her normal sunshine. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She blew him a kiss. “Love you, Killian. See you soon.”

“I love you, Emma.”   

He couldn’t even return the gesture. And the ache in his heart was killing him.

Because of his injury and the necessity of IV therapy, Killian was not sent to jail to await arraignment; instead, they admitted him to the hospital for the night. Late afternoon found him in a private room with a guard posted by the door and a cuff around his ankle, securing him to the bed rail. He wasn’t sure if the latter was a concession to his disability, or a sign that they considered him not to be a danger to the nurses that were in and out checking on him. Either way, Killian was grateful to have his hand free.

He wasn’t allowed any visitors apart from his lawyer, a disturbingly young man who hadn’t yet mastered the poker face needed to conceal his obvious belief in Killian’s guilt. Killian confirmed his intention to plead ‘not guilty’ and did not avail himself of the opportunity to ask any questions. Alone again, he spent the rest of the afternoon worrying at the TV, nodding off from drug-induced drowsiness, and fighting the need to visit the restroom every 15 minutes - a process which required nurse assistance and direct guard supervision and was much more trouble than it was worth. But the saline being pumped into him had to go somewhere.

What would they have done with Marvel? Fed and clothed her, presumably. But then what? Was it at all reasonable to hope that she’d been discharged into Emma’s care? Knowing that she was his wife and thus put Marvel at risk of unwilling contact with him after his release? Killian prayed that, wherever she was, she wasn’t too confused or afraid, or feeling like he had deserted her.

He missed her. Emma, too, of course - gods, what he wouldn’t give to have his wife snuggled next to him right now - but that was expected. He and Marvel, though, had just met. They had spent less than 24 hours together, by his reckoning. Very eventful hours, to be sure, but… somehow she had become so precious to him in that time, and he missed having her by his side. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

Killian spent the night in an odd mixture of stressed wakefulness and deep, drugged sleep, until dawn roused him squarely into a state of hungover listlessness. He was more nervous than he thought he would be over the day’s court proceedings. They would not be determining his fate... at least, not beyond the amount of money required to release him on bail. It must be old habits. No pirate could be thrilled by the prospect of appearing before a magistrate, under any circumstances.

Morning rounds brought a physician to check his progress. And Killian was doubly grateful for the narcotics during the exam and bandage change. Apparently satisfied by whatever could be gleaned from the appalling sight, the doctor gave orders for a switch to oral medications and discharge home - or, in this case, to the courthouse and then home. Hopefully.

A nurse removed his IV and helped him into a correctional facility jumpsuit, which had to be a size larger than preferable in order to accommodate the bandage on his leg. And then it was simply a matter of awaiting the court's pleasure. Thankfully, the Friday docket was light, and Killian found himself being wheeled to a transport vehicle before 10 am.

The trip was short and quickly forgotten in Killian’s preoccupation with their approaching destination. The attorney had explained what was to happen, and Killian had had a vague notion anyway, although their ‘courthouse’ in Storybrooke could in no way be considered reflective of the rest of the country. Beyond the occasional villain cropping up every so often, crime tended to be minor, and Judge Hart of Wonderland only rarely suggested beheading as an appropriate punishment.

As he was wheeled through the door and into the courtroom, Killian’s gaze immediately found Emma in the audience, before he took in anything else. Her mere presence worked wonders, bolstering his confidence and soothing his anxiety. He flashed her a wry smile, which she returned instantly, projecting calm reassurance, weariness, and a bit of annoyance at the situation. But knowing she was there - that she had his back, no matter the outcome - made all the difference.

The proceedings were over before he knew it, and apparently, Emma’s presence also influenced the judge, who released Killian on his own recognizance without even requiring bail. A surprised but grateful Killian was then returned to the patrol car and the court moved on.

All that remained then was a quick return to the hospital to fill out discharge papers and collect his prescriptions. He would be required back in Newburyport at some later date for meetings with the lawyer and a trial, if it proceeded that far. But for now, he was free. And all he wanted was to throw himself into Emma’s embrace… and then reunite with his ship incarnate, wherever she may be.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #a captain's heart #sorry for the summary chapter #been waiting for the blank space to fill #it never did #I just want to get on with the rest of the story

[theaterkid821]

Watching and Waiting (Soulmate AU) (Michael Mell x Reader)

A/N: i’m giving you and your emotions a fair warning now; this is what happens when i’m not in the best mood and am bored...i get evil. anyway, here’s a new fic. it’s kind of TFIOS-ish. hope you enjoy and requests are open. love you all!

Masterlist

Request: “Can you do 6 and 7 w/ Michael Mell??”

6. Am i dead?

7. am i supposed to be impressed?

TW: death, cancer, i think a curse word, angst, afterlife, emotional hurdle

You honestly would have rather never met him then put him through this torture. Since you were a baby, the name “Michael” has been imprinted on the back of your hand. You would have ignored the boy in the red sweatshirt walking towards the hospital but he stopped you in the middle of the path.

“A-are you (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, why?”

He holds up his hand with your name on it, “I saw you had Michael on your hand and I thought, you know… might as well give it a shot.”

You smile for a moment but curse yourself for complying. This would make things so much worse.

“So what are you doing at the hospital?”

You sit on the bench next to him, “just… a blood test is all.” It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the total truth.

“Oh cool.”

“I’m sorry, I’m ususally more talkitave I’m just a bit tired and woozy, I should go.”

“Wait, can I get your number? So that I can stay in touch with you?”

“Sure” you take his phone. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF AND TO HIM!?!?

.         .         .

Since that day, you and him spoke on the phone every day. You couldn’t find it in your heart to tell him though. But the day had to come.

“Hey, Michael? I can’t talk tomorrow night at our usual time. I have a…meeting at the hospital.”

“Oh, are you a volunteer there or something?”

“Not exactly…” “You want me to come?”

“No!” you said rather forcefuly, “I mean, I don’t want you to go through so much trouble for me.”

“It’s nothing, but you’re sure you don’t want me to come?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“Of course. See you then.”

.         .         .

You remember the day you found out like it was yesterday. What started off as a simple headache turned into multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, and anything else they could do to try and stop the cancer from spreading. It’s been almost three years and the big issue; it’s not getting any better. They didn’t say how long, but you didn’t think you had much time left.

That’s why you didn’t want to meet him, you didn’t want to put this pain on him. But of course, the universe decided to be cruel to the both you.

“Alright (Y/N), ready for your chemo treatment?” the nurse said. The IV all set up and you offer her your arm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You flinch a bit as the needle enters into your skin. It pinched for a moment, but you didn’t feel it much anymore. You lean back in the chair and sigh, trying to relax as much as you could before the nausea kicked in.

Then the sound of someone rushing out of the elevator forced you out of your thoughts. You hear a voice at the reception desk ask for you. Shit. Of course he came.

You look out the window, not looking in that direction. The chair you were sitting in wasn’t in full view, but if he was really looking, he’d see you. Soon enough, those same footsteps run over to your area. You look over at him and he was kneeling beside you, he looked so hurt with a tinge of anger.

“How did you even find me?”

“I wanted to surprise you and when I asked around they said you’d be here.” “Am I supposed to impressed?” you sigh, “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

“I did. Why didn’t tell me? I mean, you could said something and I would’ve been here for you instead of searching every crook and crevice of this damn hospital to find you!” “Michael hand me the bin.”

“I mean, I’m your soulmate! Your supposed to tell me these things!”

“Michael, the bin.”

“I can’t read your mind (Y/N), were you just never gonna tell me!?”

“Michael Mell, unless you want to have to clean my lunch off of your sweatshirt, hand me the bin next to you now.”

He quickly obliged and waited patiently for you to be done. You put it on the other side of you and wipe away the sweat on your forehead.

You lean back in the chair and sigh, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell you how. I mean I met you two weeks ago. How am I supposed to say, ‘hey just so you know, I’m dying from brain cancer and the doctors think I only have a couple months to live.’ It just isn’t said… I was terrified the day we met honestly. I didn’t want to pull you into this mess.”

He wipes the hair from your face and squeezes your hand, “(Y/N), I want to help you. I don’t care if never see you for the rest of my life I just want to spend as much time as I can with you. If that means keeping you company here, then I’ll be here. I’ll do anything.”

.         .         .

And he did. For two months, he stayed by your side and kept you company. Despite your past thoughts, it was better to have him there than not. But those two months could only last so long. The night it happened, you watched his heart shatter right in front of you.

You’ve watched over him seeing his every memory, smile, laugh, and big moment in his life. You teared when you saw him adopt a baby and name it (Y/N). All the while you waited, waited for him to come to you.

On the day that his granddaughter was born, he had a heart attack that was too much for his body to handle at that age. You practically ran to the entrance where he’d pop up and there he was. The sixteen year old boy you fell in love with almost 70 years ago; your soulmate.

He quickly woke up and you sat beside him smiling. He looked at you in pure shock, even more so when he realized he looked like a teenager again.

“Am I dead?”

You nod and help him up, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he encases you in bear hug and you happily hug him back.

“I’ve always been here. Watching over you and trying to help.”

He smiles and kisses your forehead.

“Come on, we have places to be and an eternity to spend.”

#be more chill #be more chill imagine #be more chill musical #michael mell #michael mell x reader #michael mell imagine #reader fanfiction #soulmate au #bmc musical #BMC #bmc imagine #bmc soulmate au

[southsidestory]

Homecoming

Rating: Teen

Pairing: SasuSaku

Summary: Their first kiss was on Homecoming night. The briefest touch, his lips to hers, before Sakura pulled away, blushing. Then again, a kiss not so fleeting, followed by one after another until the sun rose above them.

Notes: I’ve been in a mood for SS lately (blame @xxlovendreamsxx), and it seemed like the perfect time to write this little high school fic. @jjibbless sent me a request for “high school popular kid / nerd AU” awhile back, which ties into the Day 9 prompt pretty well in my opinion! Thank you jjibbless for the request and @sasusakumonths for hosting this awesome event. 

.

.

prelude

It isn’t that Sasuke Uchiha is a misfit, exactly. He’s too good-looking—and high schoolers are too shallow—for him to be an utter outcast. But he’s the kind of boy who spends more time alone than with their classmates, and if he has any friends besides Naruto, who’s friends with everyone, then he’s keeping them well hidden. Sasuke’s GPA is tied with Sakura’s for the highest in the Class of 2018, but she’s sure that if he’d socialize, people would stop dismissing him as a nerd. Instead, he blows off every dance, football game, and party he’s invited to.

Until homecoming. It’s the kind of warm October evening that you can only find in southern California, late enough in the year that autumn’s edge has calmed the weather from suffocating to balmy. Sakura is crowned homecoming queen, the San Junipero Sharks kick the Gardena Wolfhounds’ asses, and Sasuke Uchiha shows up to a school event. All in all, it’s a beautiful night.

watch the queen

Only a loser would lurk around the corner, pretending not to spy on a pretty girl, and Sasuke is not a loser. He isn’t lurking either. Just standing around, keeping himself busy with people-watching—well, person-watching.

Sakura is sitting with the other girls from the homecoming court, all of them trussed up in ridiculous fluffy gowns and torturous-looking shoes. Ino seems pissed that Sakura took the crown, but in that strangely fond way that characterizes their relationship. Maybe Sasuke is too distant from Sakura’s circle to understand how that odd friendship functions, but he thinks it might be every bit as confusing to witness up close.

Seven months. He has seven months until graduation. He needs to either ask Sakura out or get his head on straight and forget about her.

Moving on would be better. He heard that Sakura is applying to Ivy League schools all over the country, and God knows she’s accomplished enough to be accepted into most of them. Sasuke keeps pace with her academically, but foster kids don’t have the financial backing for Yale. He’s about to age out of the system, and it’s going to take all of his time and energy just to get by. Even if Sakura wants him back—and sometimes, when he catches her looking at him across the library, he thinks she might—Sasuke knows that it’s not enough. She’s beautiful, brilliant, privileged, and loved. Her future is too bright to risk dimming, and she deserves better than anything he could provide.

But then he thinks, What’s one date? It’s not like watching a movie together and grabbing dinner (maybe kissing on her doorstep, if he’s lucky) would turn into something committed. Sasuke can’t hope for any of that, much less more, so why not at least try?

laid bare

Ino steals Sakura’s crown and puts it on her own head. “You should just give this to me,” she says.

“Oh really?” Sakura asks. “Why’s that?”

Ino sticks out her tongue, adjusts the tiara, and says, “Because all anyone will look at when you wear it is the big billboard brow it’s sitting on.”

Sakura pinches Ino’s shoulder. “I guess the majority of the student body disagrees, Pig.”

She pulls a handful of pins out of her hair, kicks off her shoes, and props her feet up on the bleacher seats. Ino gossips about the torrid affair that she’s certain Mr. Sarutobi and Ms. Yuhi are having.

“That’s ridiculous. They barely talk.”

“Well, duh, that’s because they’re trying not to be obvious,” Ino says, rolling her eyes. “Because when they are in the same room, the way they look at each other is practically pornographic. Mark my words, Forehead: they’re doing the nasty.”

Ten-Ten says, “Please shut up. I don’t want to think about Ms. Yuhi getting busy while I’m trying to learn calculus.”

“Seconded,” Hinata says gently.

Ino shrugs. “Why not? She’s hot as hell, and sex is way more interesting than differential equations...”

Sakura thinks Ino might still be talking, but she can’t focus on the conversation because Sasuke Uchiha is walking up the bleacher steps, and it looks like he might be walking toward her. They’re friendly enough that her silly coronation merits some kind of congratulations, right?

“Sakura,” he says.

The other girls fall quiet around her, and Sakura could kick them all for staring.

“Hi,” she says. “It’s, uh, really nice to see you here.”

“And surprising,” Ino adds.

Sasuke doesn’t seem offended, although he’d have every right to be.

Sakura jumps up, straightens her dress, and asks, “Wanna take a walk? I’d invite you to sit down, but this bunch probably wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise.”

There’s the briefest flash of unbridled emotion on Sasuke’s face, a slight expression of surprise, maybe even excitement. But he reins it in before Sakura can be certain, and he only says, “Yeah, sure.”

Sakura is so elated to have a moment alone with Sasuke that she runs off without her heels. By the time she notices, it would be embarrassing to go back to fetch them, so she just walks on the dewy ground barefoot, too happy to even care that she’s getting grass stains on her snow white dress.

until sunrise

Their school is dark, empty, and locked at this time of night, but there are still places to linger. They take seats at a picnic table outside the cafeteria doors, splitting a funnel cake. Sasuke bought it when they passed the concession stand, but he didn’t think about the intimacy of sharing food. They have to sit close, and their hands keeping brushing as they eat. It tugs at something in his chest when Sakura steals the choicest pieces of cake, her smile teasing and bright.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be so greedy,” Sasuke says.

Sakura ducks her head, then looks up at him through her lashes. “Well, maybe we should get to know each other better.”

“So I won’t be surprised when you steal my food?”

“Our food,” Sakura corrects. “You bought it for both of us. It’s not my fault if you can’t defend your territory.”

She swipes the last chunk of cake and eats it. Sasuke doesn’t think she means to be seductive, but he still has to look away as she licks the snowy sugar off her fingers.

Silence falls between them once the funnel cake is gone, and just to break it, Sasuke asks, “How’s your English paper going?”

“Oh, no,” Sakura says, laughing. “I’m not giving you an update on your competition.”

“Hn. You’re not my competition,” Sasuke says. He pokes her side, purely for the sake of making her jump. “Valedictorian is mine. We’ll just have to wait a few more months to confirm it.”

“Is that so?” Sakura asks, suddenly serious, except for the brightness of her gaze. “What makes you so certain?”

“I need it more,” Sasuke says, without thinking.

Sakura’s teasing expression slips away, replaced by something softer. She doesn’t say anything—which is good, because if she pitied him right now, it would ruin everything.

Then she reaches for his hand and grasps it in her own. They stay this way, linked by a singular touch, for a long while.

the valedictorian

Sakura can’t be upset when Sasuke takes the number one spot. His GPA barely edges hers out because of an A- she made in English IV, and if anyone else had ranked above her, she would have been furious. But Sasuke hadn’t lied four months ago at Homecoming, when he said he needed this more than she did. She hopes that maybe, with a little luck, he’ll get a financial package from Stanford that will allow him to accept the place they offered him. With her.

She takes Sasuke to a little Italian restaurant by the shore to celebrate their accomplishments. While they eat their appetizers, Sakura lifts her glass of water and says, “To my amazing boyfriend, the Class of 2018’s valedictorian.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, but his smile is happy, if small. Sakura counts that as more of a victory than class rank could ever be.

coda

Their first kiss was on Homecoming night. The briefest touch, his lips to hers, before Sakura pulled away, blushing. Then again, a kiss not so fleeting, followed by one after another until the sun rose above them.

On graduation day, in the wake of his speech, Sasuke thinks of that night. It was a beginning, the start of something he could never have anticipated. Maybe today is an ending, the closing chapter of their simple school days, but what he and Sakura have together, it’s the kind of love that can be counted on.

.

.

#sasusaku #ssfanfiction #ssm17 #ssm17d8 #sasusakumonth #sasusaku fanfiction #ss fanfiction #on opposite sides #high school au #prompt fill #oneshot #jjibbless #homecoming #my fanfiction

[gabriellesteele]

random thoughts part 2 , its a long one

been about three weeks since I last posted how I feel and today feels like a day where I'm drained and tired and need to get stuff off my chest . the reason why I write it on here you ask. I'm usually too scared to say what I'm feeling and don't really have many friends to confide in or feel like I'm a pain and just to give an understanding mental illness and recovery.

since I last wrote I had been written off work for 5 weeks . my first thought was that im fine but in reality I wasn't, I needed a break and the work place I worked for at the time gave me depression and didn't respect anyone, sometimes felt harassed, I used to put on a fake smile and cry on the inside, hide who I really was. I was unstable and i cant help but say i agree although i didn't want to tell myself that as it made me feel defeated .  in the end I quit working there two weeks ago and have now got a lovely new stable job and really feeling a lot happier and relaxed.

Physically and mentally i feel somewhat better as the new meds im on seem to help a bit . Iv seen myself happy a little bit more , the tablets prevent me from crying when i want too which is a pain as letting it out is usually the best way for me . My brain is still cloudy i still cant remember most things i cant write stories or any motivation for all the hobbies i had a passion for i just have a feeling of staying in bed and forgetting the world . I still cant go outside on my own without panicking or even speak to people . And i still have mild cases of ocd or tidying because mess stresses me out . it feels like I'm a ghost on the outside and who I really am trying to escape on the inside.

sometimes I don't know if its Gabz talking or if its my other side Gertrude (I know it might be a silly name but its appropriate for me ). Gertrude's the darker side of me that controls me its like I switch. I could do things and then switch back and don't know what happens , I could hurt myself , smash things or get aggressive not violent but like just a bit or rage. she tells me that I'm worthless and that I have no friends or a life and various other pieces . knower days I see her more than I do myself . I feel persuaded to drink because its the only friend I have and for a while it dulls out the pain I have throughout my entire body however I know its not healthy I don't drink excessively but just a bit .

went to Nottingham for our 7 years and Ashley's birthday the other week. I felt super relaxed whilst in the apartment room as it was our own little bubble where i could relax and forget my problems even if that was only for a little while it helped. However when i went shopping my anxiety kicked in making shopping difficult as i could piece together what i was doing an why i was getting certain items . It also didnt help people walking into me making me feel like i was invisible making me feel like a ghost which was horrible .

I know he loves me but my brain just doesn't acknowledge that its the me i am now only the one who i was before which sucks because it feels most of our perfect memories have been erased and i have to strain or look at photos to remember which also happens alot when im with my family .  I he does love me i cant see why he does , i just dont know , why cant my brain tell me . If only i could read minds like sookie stackhouse it would make my life easier right now .

Another thing on my mind is It makes me feel super lonely at the fact i dont have many friends around me and that the only best friends i have are far away meaning i only get too see them like once or twice which makes me really upset almost everyday .

I miss seeing my best friend in london too . I feel that i help him get better as much as he does to me .I feel attached to him like just being in his presence is like a breath of fresh air and he knows exactly what im going through and how to calm me , protects me from all the demons torturing me and fix it for a little while. I have a need to run and just go and see him when im alone because he makes me feel happy and safe and loved which is what i need to get better and feel is the only one who can help right now . I had such a good time when I was down in London going shopping and just chilling was great :) . right now hes the only friend I have that wants to listen to me .

I feel my mum doesnt trust me and accept what i want to do most of the time and my dad and i have an occasional chat but not enough to get rid of my depression . However i would be lost without my sister whenever i need a best friend shes there holding me letting me cry on her shoulder and helping me with ways to fix my issues and says i have a purpose , im truly glad shes my sister .

I pray that i get better for the sake of myself and those around me as i feel that it hurts for them too see me this way and i cant give them the explanation as too why i am this way. in some ways its a part of me like a leech draining away who i am and leaving shattered memories and fragmented emotions behind.

I hope i will learn to move on from what seems mentally normal to me  and give myself a chance to explore ,have a new job ,be happy and meet new people as i want that badly the chance of pure happiness and bliss .......Only though it seems so far away and too good to be true.

next step for me is too start with some positive thinking and find some methods to help me relax. I want to get back into painting and drawing and start getting back into filmmaking again. go on some adventures and document them and take it from there

#mental health #mental illness #ill #depression #depressing thoughts #mental health awareness #anxiety #bdp #am i the only one? #why am i like this #lonely #upset #scared #panicing #recovery #trying to stay positive #real me #two sides #memories #my life #my thoughts #Thoughts #honest thoughts #this is me