#nap time is for mortals

[zhelin-thames]

The Realms React To: The Batkids Trying to Babysit De-Aged Danny

(aka “This Child Has More Power Than God and Knows It”)

Bruce: He’s two. How bad could it be?

Alfred: Master Wayne, he levitated the salt shaker and tried to crown himself “Snack King of Gotham.”

Dick: That’s adorable. I love him. He’s mine now.

Barbara: I left the room for three minutes and he hacked my comms with a crayon drawing.

Tim: I blinked and he disappeared. I blinked. There was eye contact.

Jason: He looked me dead in the eyes, called me “Angry Boom Boom Man,” and then turned intangible through a locked fridge.

Steph: I tried to distract him with a stuffed animal and he bit it and said, “This is my child now.”

Cass: He high-fived me, then phased through the floor while giggling. I’m both proud and terrified.

Duke: He used his glowing green eyes to convince a Roomba to follow him like a tiny mechanical minion. It keeps bringing him juice boxes. I don’t own juice boxes.

Damian: He looked me in the face, summoned a ghost snake, and asked, “Do you bite?” I said yes. He gave the snake my sword and said, “Good. Protect me from him.” I’ve never been so betrayed.

Danny (age 2, wearing a towel like a cape, floating): “I am Phantom, ruler of snacks and cartoons. Fear me.”

Jason: I gave him a toy gun. He turned it into an ectoplasmic cannon. I’m not mad, I’m impressed.

Dick: He just phased into the laundry basket and declared it his throne. That’s a bold leadership move.

Tim: We tried to put him down for a nap. He astral projected and started reorganizing our security protocols. While asleep.

Barbara: He reset my firewalls using finger paint.

Steph: He found my glitter stash. Everything he touches sparkles. I’m still sparkling. I haven’t touched him in two hours.

Cass: He threw a Cheerio at Damian and said, “This is your battle token. Win for my honor.” Damian accepted it.

Damian: I have never been so loyal to a warlord. I will kill for him.

Bruce: He’s two.

Danny (holding Alfred’s ancient cane like a scepter): “I’m older than you.”

Alfred (smiling fondly): He’s not wrong, Master Wayne.

Jason: He called me “Uncle Shoot Bang.” I’ve never felt so seen.

Duke: He asked if the sun sleeps. When I said no, he frowned and whispered, “I will fix that.”

Dick: I taught him how to do a somersault. He teleported halfway through it and said, “Shortcut.” My back hurts from laughing.

Tim: He made eye contact and the lights flickered. That’s not normal.

Barbara: I asked if he wanted a bedtime story. He summoned a ghost librarian who told me to use a better tone.

Cass: He hugged me. I felt peace. Then he made the couch float just a little. Just enough to flex.

Danny (cheerfully, riding the Roomba into the living room like a war chariot): “BEHOLD. I RISE.”

Everyone:

Everyone: beholding

Bruce: …So we’re keeping him, right?

Jason: Obviously.

Damian: He’s our tiny war general now.

Alfred: I’ll make extra cookies.

Danny (covered in stickers, glowing faintly): “I’m baby.”

Lights flicker. The Realms rumble approvingly.

[sacredfixation]

[headcanons] Loki god of being a caretaker to one (1) sniffling midwestern man

Mobius, congested: It’s just a cold.

Loki, voice deadly calm: No illness is just anything. Diseases are deceptive. Cowardly. They wait for the strong to be vulnerable.

Mobius: I sneezed twice.

Loki, wrapping him in a cloak enchanted for ‘thermal vengeance’: Then the battle has begun.

Mobius, with a cough: I think it’s moving to my chest.

Loki, dead serious: We must begin your funeral rites.

Mobius: It’s a chest cold.

Loki, already summoning a floating platform of velvet and firelight: I want them to remember you beautifully.

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 8

Majora('s Mask)

*throws bouquet of roses* For the Time lovers.

Also my bias is probably coming through really strongly right now, but I'm not well rested enough to care plus I've been playing Majora's Mask a lot again this month, it's as important to me as Twilight Princess so this is kind of my love letter to it and Time and my excuse to explore the concept of Majora and the Fierce Deity and divinity in LoZ, though that's an essay for another day lol (/j)

As always can be read as romantic or platonic depending on your preferences, Reader is gender neutral and this is definitely self indulgent so it can be read in or outside of an LU context, most of the references to the LU names are for simplicity and to give a rough idea of why Reader has some stuff they do. Makes it easier to clarify lol, though as I've been hit by yet another storm the Linktober prompt will be for tomorrow, I'm basically picking a god and praying this actually posts X_X

TW(?):

Don't think there's any warnings besides MJM's typical body horror really, and very graphic descriptions and Majora in general.

Even after so, so long, so much so it feels like a lifetime ago, Termina still stuck with you and Time.

The thing about being in a timeloop that went on for who knows how long and whose failure to reset it would be total destruction to so many good different people, is that you quickly learn some habits to try and maximize as many successes as possible, how Time (Mask, then, after the living nightmare of Termina, during the War of Ages, still Link though) quickly learned the location of each enemy he could, how you learned to call out the best way to quickly assess and take down an enemy as quickly as possible, how you both learned to watch each other’s backs and to care for the people and Termina to the point Link went from just a warrior to a healer, granted the trust of holding the crystalization of the hopes and dreams of the people of Termina that, even if they couldn’t remember it, wanted the cycle to end, wanted to hunt the threat to reality itself and purge it from the world. To bite down onto it’s neck and feel the thrill and glee and cutting down such an opponent.

Most importantly, after bleeding, crying, sweating and toiling against the unrelenting flow of time and insanity all brought upon by a lonely child being left alone and manipulated to commit heinous acts as ‘pranks’. It taught you and Time the importance of contingency plans, and about always, always being prepared for any and all situations, unlikely as they could be. Of taking through note of even the smallest detail that caught your eyes at a glance.

‘To defeat an abomination, you need one of two things: A deity, or a monster.’, you think cynically to yourself, stepping over Time’s fallen form as Warriors bolted over with blizzard forged fury in his cold, calculated movements to defend him in your stead as you called Hyrule over, the young man quickly starting to heal your Hero as you glare down at the disgusting stain on reality engaging Twilight and Wild all at once, gleeful at having watched the person you adored the most fall, bringing out the ultimate contingency from your cloak, you hadn’t even told him about it, because you prayed you’d never need to resort to this, ‘… Forgive me, Link. The first option isn’t doable here.’

Time was your everything, you knew how his story ended, with so much grief until he finally met Twilight again. You tried, you really did, to not allow yourself to love him but it was impossible because he was Link, the man who longed for adventure ever since he was young, embodying the freedom of the forest of life and death that made up the whole of Faron Woods and the Lost Woods and as steady as it’s moors, voice quiet and calm like a stream in the woods and with and with a smile to rival the warm sun and so, so heartbreakingly kind. Who protected and saved and healed people while slowly healing his own soul and who attempted to soothe his descendant’s pain the second he could even from beyond the grave.

And you’d be darned if you allowed anything to take him from you or the boys before his time without a fight. You couldn’t care less if he would eventually die as he was destined to in every timeline, it didn’t matter if it was futile, because he mattered, you loved him, and you’d keep him safe and happy for as long as you could.

It didn’t matter if one day tragedy will catch up to him, it mattered that he was loved while alive.

Even if you had to step on fire to make sure of it.

“Twilight, Wild. Step away.”, the edges of the spikes of the purple and crimson mask that haunted your nightmares as much as it did Time’s, it leered at you with it’s arsenic and pus eyes, picking apart at your weaknesses as it’s spikes dug into your hand as you tightened your grip to keep if from shaking. Tone falsely confident as you called to the Hero of Twilight and Wild to retreat.

(‘To defeat an abomination, you need a deity or a monster.’

The definition is awfully interchangeable, if you look at it.

You had found it, abandoned and in a dungeon Wind’s Era, not quite awake, but not asleep either. The eldritch hunger almost chocking you with it’s voracity, the darkness assessing, stalking, prowling and starving, it prodded at you but didn’t dig yet. It knew how to play the long game in it’s quest to stop feeling empty.

Funny thing is, so did you. You were a lot harder to break than the Skull Kid, would not break.

Majora wanted to cease, like how it had ceased before the Terminan Tribe ripped it from it’s slumber, taught it hunger, taught it cruelty, taught it how to manipulate and take amusement in consuming the wishes of mortals and their very souls only to never be satisfied. Had fueled it with wrath from being ripped from a lovely, endless dream of beautiful songs and a kind soul. To be torn from it’s fantasy and then left to rot.

You offered to grant it a proper rest. And so a deal was struck. Your one contingency if the situation was truly dire, in case you couldn’t get the Fierce Deity Mask instead -because you knew how Link was, he’d burn himself out until there was naught but ash. You refused to let it ever come to that, after his excruciating screams of pain had clawed an aching, hurtful place into your very soul-, and Majora was starving and desperate, a dangerous combination for any being but something you could use.

So be it, if to protect divinity you needed to become a monstrosity, a monster was what you’d be.

You’d keep him safe. And you knew that if the Fierce Deity put him down once, he could do it again in case you slipped. Between him and Sky you weren’t afraid at all of the risk.

Even if Time never forgave you for taking it.)

You smile bitterly, tearing up in spite of yourself as you see the second Time spots you and the cursed artifact in hand, eye wide, voice ripping from his throat in desperation, “I’m quite selfish, I’m sorry.”

His haunted expression cuts you deeper than any knife, as you knew it was an image that featured in many of your nightmares and his own. But you’re insatiable for his happiness, so you take the plunge.

“NO NO NO NO DON’T-“

You put on the mask, and you scream.

It’s like stepping on fire, a twisted, desperate tune, a note of discord, a belt of harmony and fury and most importantly, the mighty need to consume the one who had tried to take the one you loved away from you.

Defy death, defy entropy, defy chaos, defy flame and voracity.

You cling to your self control with a snarl, howling in defiance. Sinking your nails into the abyss’ throat and biting, tearing, holding, tasting rot and withered flowers and the writhing of shadows and the blood of distorted gluttonousdivinity on your tongue with savagery equal to the way the demon sinks it's spikes onto you. Chew on it’s tender, rotting flesh, quaff down the lukewarm pus of it’s heart and the rust of blood as it bites off your skin, stripping your mind into chunks as it nests into your ribs like the spikes of wild, dead roses when it finds your mind tougher to break and you BURN YOU ARE LIFE YOU ARE CHAOS AND YOU ARE DROWNING AND YOU ARE FLAME-

You move, and Majora’s laugh sounds like a scream and a song as reality howls.

Your bones, sinew, muscles, nerves, veins and teeth are reformed, the being pounces, dancing, swerving, whipping, cleaving, ripping and feeding into the monsters with putrid, revolting gusto. Whenever it’s attention even tries to waver towards the Heroes you sink your hold in harder, stubborn, you’re sure there’s blood dripping from your mouth beneath the mask, your eyes, your ears, as it reaches a crescendo of glee and pain. A human body isn’t meant to hold so much divinity at once, much less as wretched and horrific as Majora’s, but you don’t care, can’t care, when you’re holding onto yourself like a vice, refusing to give it even a single inch.

It doesn’t kill Dark Link, the bastard (the one who’d hurt Time, the one who would have finished him off if not for you and Warriors). But the screech the Shadow releases as it gets ripped to shreds and the ripple of it’s retreating form is enough to make you partially agree with Majora’s vicious, amused glee that it was satisfying. Even if the feeling of you allowing it to utilize your skin temporarily felt revolting and disgusting in a way it made you wish you were actually on fire, not just in so much pain in a metaphysical level that it sure rivaled being set on fire, frost burned and lightning struck all in one go.

All is still now, all is silent.

Now comes the difficult part.

'Are you quite sure?', whispers Majora, crooning like nails on chalkboards, and it’s spikes sink into you tighter when you grip the sides of it, teeth gritted as you start prying it out of your face, amused by your defiance, but no longer as hungry. You did allow it quite the meal, you bet nothing like fellow divinity tastes better to the being, like the taste of a forbidden fruit you were going to be unfortunately acquainted given you’re sure Dark Link’s blood is on your teeth.

'Yes.' comes your faint response, as your sanity frays in fragile threads, you think someone calls your name, but you are drowning, you are burning, and you know that if you don’t focus it will break you. And you’d be fully dead before you let that happen. If you’re going to die you’re going to die as a human.

'Tou are so, so cold… So cruel.' It drawls, the demon’s voice like the gnawing of rats, like maggots under you skin, you convulse, falling to your knees with a wounded keen and pull harder, you barely noticed someone falling by your side, frantically calling your name, but the mask’s eyes dim to an outsider’s perspective, resigned as it hums dreamily, 'I suppose that’s why The Divine Hunter cares for you so, why it’s vessel’s claim is so strong.'

Good, you were banking on it being sleepy, after gorging yourself on the enemy of your boys, Hylia’s gash and Din’s assets your mouth is going to taste putrid for months isn’t it?

Majora hisses, growls, howls and screeches, a brush against your essence as it retreats. Unwinding from every single cell of your body, distorting your atoms back to their proper shape. It still hurts, buy it’s more bearable, although you quickly notice you’re chocking on a different form of Divinity, more possessive, more wild but just as old and ferocious as it snaps at the retreating heels of the twisted, chaotic thorns. Making reality remember your own shape quicker at the cost of filling every crack consumed by the demon.

You swear that thing is smiling smugly at something else, teeth bared and very entertained, taking the suffering of the people of Termina and the cold revulsion in your veins with it as it retreats with it's cacaphony of voices to the shade, 'A shame. Feasting more would be delightful, but very well. We trust that though you hurt today, tomorrow you’ll make sure we head on our way.'

You don’t have the mind or heart to say anything else to it, for it grows silent as the spikes rip from the sides of your face, you bite of a tortured yell as the spikes rip off chunks of skin and flesh, clawing at the ground with, thankfully, soothing, perfectly regular fingers and nails, albeit cracked, you feel someone take their hand in yours, and you crack open an eye, carefully aware of the blood dripping down your face from the half removal of the heart shaped mask and the thrum of thunder replacing the cold in your veins with boiling, protective warmth.

Time.

“You shouldn’t be up already.”, you rasp, looking over his wounded form, healed by Hyrule, you shakily take your left hand to keep prying at the Majora’s Mask, only for him to take it gently in yours, you taste blood, the petrichor of the Lost Woods mist and pine on the back of your mouth, chasing the rot of Majora away.

“It’s nothing, we both know I’ve had worse.” He says, firmly shaking his head. His scarred eye is open, ivory like bone, the markings more vibrant and prominent with the ferocity of a god, he looks tired, and you attempt to speak, to apologize, to voice your worry because you knew channeling the deity without a conduit was a bad idea, before coughing, shaking from the aftermath of your reckless, reckless plan.

(You unfortunately can’t say you regret it much, though, when you silently bear the combined brunt of Time and Fierce Deity’s care once you reach camp and the protective way they act towards you. Even though Majora is long gone much to your resigned exasperation, and the rest of your boys amusement, but that is for much, much later.)

Time gently hums, it rings through you like thunder as he holds you close, tapping your neck in a rhythm you could recognize in your sleep for when he was about to pull arrows, blades or shrapnel from your skin, or was ready to have it done to himself, you immediately loosen yourself as much as possible, gripping his hand tightly as he rips the rest of the Majora’s Mask off, inert and lifeless as when you’ve both woke up from a new day, he holds you close as you try to breathe, reassuring himself you’re still here, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again. Please.” He pleads, begs, prays. He can't lose you too.

And you can’t help it, you smile as you cry crimson and russet tones from your eyes, holding him back as close as you dare to. He doesn’t hate you, you’re sure you’re going to soon participate in the argument of a lifetime. But Link doesn’t hate you, doesn’t see you as a monster any more than you could ever see him as anything but the kind companion you always knew.

So you let yourself nod, helpless to say no to him for anything really. And allow yourself to breathe, you’re both going to be alright.

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[lilborealis]

I woke up from a nap a few minutes ago and had the WEIRDEST dream of the muppets interacting with MK1 characters (Claudia, Rhyolite, Yumi and Riptide were there too)

Shenanigans included

-Miss Piggy absolutely thirsting over almost all of the male characters

-Smoke is low key terrified, Kuai Liang is confused and Bi Han is just annoyed

-and of course everyone being surprised at Miss Piggy’s frightening amount of strength

-Miss piggy also nearly kidnapped Johnny

-Fozzy, Rhyolite and Kung Lao were all just firing off terrible jokes and puns

-Yumi punting Sam the eagle and Pepe the prawn

-Shang Tsung tried to experiment on Gonzo to figure out what species he is before he was saved by Riptide

-Rowlf just generally getting along with everyone

-scooter was way too shy around all of the pretty ladies that he hid behind Kermit nearly the entire time

-speaking of Kermit, he had to yell at Miss Piggy when she would not get off of Mileena’s throne

-Smoke having to calm down Riptide after she got riled up by Statler and Waldorf

Altogether a VERY weird dream but very funny and interesting crossover

[just-a-mod]

sometimes your own kid's world's inhabitants annoy you just because they choose to be some of the most close minded ignorent pieces of shit capable of being conceived and (barely) comprehensible

some times you just want to an entire planet's population in time out

[tallbluelady]

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them? (for Aoife!)

Well, considering her partner is Emet-Selch, it would probably be for the best if Aoife didn't. But she does. She actually gets seduced by the "you will be more powerful after the Rejoining" bit. Though this usually just ends up as her tagging along with him as he tweaks a few things on the Source. But keeping him company seems to really help his mood as they all come closer and closer to the Rejoining, actually! Right until the end at least.

Thanks for the ask!

[knavestrolls]

Ok I’m ososo sleepy and don’t have brain cells but um. If u have things u wanna share but don’t get the chance to, I’m makin grabby hands. Otherwise I’m nappin in ur ask box :P

This is gonna be a long post of silly little fun facts so here's a readmore.

Merrin doesn't glow if the sun is up. It only glows with the moonlight. Althea's dreamjob is trophy wife. Her second dream job is adult toy tester. Calmet knows the name Alacard. They have no idea who he is. Mortal's phone home screen is a picture of Barbie sleeping. His lock screen is a close up of her eye that's so zoomed in it's unrecognizable as an eye but he knows what it is. Rimmer is an absolute disaster gay who's type is something he'll only admit to while under the influence. Vladir isn't attracted to Syhren's current body she's tied to. If a quad of Veketi's ever hurt him, Liegia would kill them at risk of her own life. However, if they hurt her while he wasn't around but they clearly make him happy? She'd hide that fact and take it to the grave. Liliac's favorite flower is actually dandelions. Angela regularly shows up to work in her husband's shirts and has to change because she realizes she got dressed tired and the oversized shirt is restricting her movement.

Helsin has almost broken his wrist by stimming a little too hard too long. Nerola has no confidence that anyone will stay with her- except for her moirail. If there ever was a day he'd leave her it would break her completely. She also will let anyone do anything to her in trying to make friends.

Koreki can track scents via tasting them. His tongue can expand to almost a foot long.

Bailey, despite working at a bar, is a lightweight.

Beatrx's vision is slightly blurred due to her unusual pupils.

Xennaa would regularly leave needles around by accident while she was working on projects and still wanted to be a seamstress, which left Trisin with no more than 4 foot scars.

Harvey is a vegetarian because he hates the taste of blood. He loves to pretend to be a vampyre.

Cutlas will wear anything but shapewear.

Airika regularly performs for small crowds of lowbloods for free. She dreams of starting a school of ballet for the less fortunate.

Nemasu can't read.

Ginesa is life long friends with Kala.

Trisin can make all 6 irises look individually.

Sadhbh never disconnects her legs, even when home alone.

Espoir's current Favorite Person is Feashe, and neither of them know if it's romantic leaning.

Maxton refuses all interviews except during a competition, and then only accepts those done by the official casting crew.

Gefgor's voice is incredibly low baritone.

Vravei, although themed with snakes, lusus was actually a luna moth.

Salzaar could be any weight she chooses, but is most comfortable with what's seen currently.

Hearts loves filling in for trapzee best and filling in for Dimple least.

Dimple has 3 replacement noses on her at all times.

Alexie has only spoken to two trolls in the last sweep.

Jugular once confused regular brownies with edibles and proceeded to have the worst night of her life completely sober.

The body Syhren's currently in was once named Girlie.

Davosi's pupil shape makes their distance judgement terrible.

Tsubuu doesn't like talking walks on land- being too far away from her ship gives her terrible anxiety.

Doppio watches e-sports to relax. She has a favorite streamer but he doesn't know it's her because she chats on a throw away account to not draw attention to herself.

Feashe wears her hair in buns because it's the easiest hairstyle to do that she thinks balances out her horns.

Esstoc likes to find quiet places to read books alone. Recently he found one that had a mutant girl sleeping- so he stayed until she woke up just to make sure she made it back safely.

Neyire's fashion sense has been the same since she was a wriggler.

Velosi will wear anything for the right price.

[lestats-ovaries]

"just a short nap" I say as I crawl into bed for 6 hours

[swtnjk]

kuroo with his hothead soccer player gf

the whistle blows. the sun bakes the turf, the bleachers are shaking with cheers, and you’re in the zone on the field. eyes on the goal, jaw clenched.

kuroo lounges back with a smug grin, elbow nudging kenma? who’s got his switch tilted up to shade his screen. “look at her go,” kuroo brags. “absolute menace.”

“she elbowed that girl in the ribs,” kenma mutters, barely glancing up. “love of my life,” kuroo says without hesitation.

it all happened so fast. a defender from the other team blocks your run, twists your ankle, and you go down. not before dragging her down with you, of course.

the ref doesn’t call it. the girl says something too smug, too stupid. you shoot up, telling her to repeat what she said. she says it again, you shove her.

“uh oh,” kenma says flatly. kuroo’s already standing up, hands in his hair like he just witnessed the winning goal and a crash at the same time.

you yell, the other girl yells back. and now the ref’s blowing his whistle and your teammates hold you back. your eyes stay on the girl.

kuroo’s voice rings over the chaos of the audience and the field, “hell yeah, baby! show her who runs this turf!”

kenma’s face deadpans as the security runs into the field, “you’re saying a war crime,” he says. kuroo smiles, “she’s perfect.” he replies, watching you get escorted off the field still mouthing, “say that shit again! everytime i see you—“

you pace around the parking lot, jersey half tucked in, hair messy and water bottle in your hand like it’s a weapon. steam’s basically coming off of you.

like expected, your coach gave you a stupid speech. saying how this is soccer! not a ufc match! and now you’re here, stuck and banned for next week’s games.

kuroo jogs over, kenma trailing behind like he was dragged out of a nap. kuroo looks you up and down like you just walked off a red carpet. one covered in turf stains and rage.

you turn around to him. “you’re glowing,” he says with that dumb lovesick grin. “like a really sexy volcano i wanna jump in.”

you squint at him, “i almost got suspended and kicked off the team.” kuroo kisses your forehead, “you almost fought a girl for saying something to you. that’s my baby.”

kenma a few feet away, looking deeply unimpressed. “you made espn’s twitter. you’re trending as ‘psycho striker.’”

you blink and groan, “seriously?”

kuroo beams, “so proud.”

you’re stuffed in the passenger seat of kuroo’s car, cleats kicked off, legs curled up, still simmering with leftover fight energy. but now it’s leaking out as sighs and sleepy glares at the dashboard.

kenma has his head against the window, sleep and has music blasting in his ears.

kuroo’s driving with one hand, the other resting on your thigh like it’s just meant to be there. “so,” he says casually, “was that a tactical shove, or a rage-induced one?”

you grunt, “she called me a ‘discount striker.’” kuroo whistles low, “yeah, okay. jail.”

you glance at him, and your whole face softens. the tension drops from your shoulders as you lean over and nuzzle into his arm like it’s your favorite pillow.

his neck extends as he parks into the space in front of you guys’ (and kenma’s) favorite diner. he nods and stops the car.

“thanks for coming,” you mumble, voice muffled against him. “you always do.”

he looks down at you with that annoying smile that makes your stomach do things. “well, yeah. somebody’s gotta cheer for my mean girlfriend who plays soccer like it’s mortal kombat.”

you let out a tired laugh, then thread your fingers through his while his hand’s still on your thigh. “i’m really glad it’s you,” you whisper, eyes half-lidded. “… it’s always you. you keep me from going full rage monster.”

kuroo’s heart combusts. he squeezes your hand, all smug and sappy. “baby, you are a rage monster. i’m just lucky you like me enough not to eat me.”

[coffeeanddonutscafe]

Astarion’s Hidden Strength — Headcanons part 2

The Switch is Sudden — And Terrifying

One moment, he’s lounging against a tree, half-laughing at Gale’s latest ramble. The next — a twig snaps nearby. His spine straightens. His head tilts unnaturally sharp. And his eyes? Red. Alert. Starving. No transition. Just predator.

The Shift Is Physical. Violent.

His elvish grace no longer looks delicate. It looks lethal. Tav once described it as, “Watching a silk ribbon tighten around someone’s throat.”

His Teeth Click When He’s Agitated

Like a predator baring warning. A little click, jaw twitching. You’ll hear it in the quiet moments before a fight. Tav once heard it and simply muttered, “Oh, he’s gone feral again.”

He Smells Fear

Literally. His nostrils flare. His mouth parts slightly. He can scent it like perfume. Tav once saw him smile — wide, teeth too long — just as a cultist backed away trembling. “Oh yes… you’re ripe.”

Then he steps forward, slow and graceful, and whispers:

“Run.”

After all, the chase is half the pleasure.

He Growls Without Meaning To

Not just in battle. When someone touches Tav without permission. When someone speaks of Cazador. It slips out low in his chest, a growl deep and ancient, not meant for words. Everyone hears it. No one comments.

His Hands Are Always Cold

Not icy. Not corpse-cold. Just… unsettling. Like marble left in shadow. When he touches your wrist, it’s like the blood in your veins pauses for just a second. He likes the contrast — your warmth against his chill.

He Stalks Even in Combat

While others charge, Astarion prowls. Circling. Waiting for the moment a neck is exposed or an enemy is distracted. And then—he pounces. Not a fighter, but a hunter. It’s never messy. It’s swift. He doesn’t brawl — he strikes, like a serpent through lace.

He Watches Like a Beast Studies Prey

He doesn’t just look at you — he studies you. The jugular. The pulse under your jaw. The way your chest rises when you panic. Gale once caught that look and quietly moved behind Lae’zel.

His Smile Is Not Always Human

Sometimes it stretches too wide. Sometimes he smiles with too many teeth.

And when he tilts his head — when he’s deciding whether to toy with you or tear you open — it’s pure predator, wearing lace and lies.

Eyes Like Knives in the Dark

They gleam when he’s fighting. When his blood is up.

When the world slips into slow-motion for him, those red eyes cut through fog and illusion — tracking prey with the patience of something who’s stalked forests longer than you’ve been alive.

They don’t blink. Not when he’s hunting.

When He’s Hungry, His Voice Drops

That usual flirty sarcasm? Gone. Instead, there’s this deep, low thing to his voice — velvet, but tight like it’s being forced through clenched teeth. Astarion doesn’t snap when hungry — he becomes still. Watching. Breathing slow. Every sense on edge. It unsettles even the bravest of the party.

He’s Stronger When He’s Angry

Not many people get to see it, but when he’s truly furious — not playacting, not sarcastic — something ancient floods up from his blood. His voice drops. His muscles tense. He doesn’t roar — he hisses, low and guttural, and the very air feels like it wants to step back.

He Doesn’t Break a Sweat — He Breaks Necks

Literally. No drama, no battle cry. Just movement: quick, quiet, final. There’s a predatory efficiency to it when he stops pretending to be “the pretty one” and shows what vampiric instincts can do.

He Has No Fatigue Like Mortals Do

It takes hours, days even, before he slows. While others sleep or rest, he stays unnaturally still — and when it’s time to move, he’s instantly alert.

It unnerves the others sometimes, especially Karlach, who once joked, “I swear you just power-nap with your eyes open like some kind of murder statue.”

Sometimes He Forgets to Breathe

Hours can pass. Astarion will sit motionless, unreadable, utterly still — not even blinking.

Only when someone speaks too close does he return to himself — with a blink and a hiss, like a cat waking mid-hunt.

……………………………………..

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.

Alright, so here are my Astarion headcanons, everyone! I know he’s technically a spawn, but I love leaning into his full vampiric self.

What really gets me is the contrast between his angelic elven beauty and that feral, beastly vampire side.

It’s like—rawr—my adorable little murder baby has claws and everything. 💖

Here’s a part 1 btw.

Masterlist with my Astarion fics

[ducksido]

I LOVE YOUR WORKS Practically going to tumblr to see it, I wanna request a houswardens having s/o who has unreal beauty? And has soft melodic laugh, I am just liking the trend of unreal beauty AHHHH I wanted to do myself the fic but you will do it better[sry just love you fics they look like canon]

(thank yew ❣️❣️)

Riddle Rosehearts Riddle was raised on rules, not daydreams. But when he looks at you? Logic flies out the window. You don’t just look beautiful—you’re unreal, like a fairytale vision spun from silk and moonlight. The first time he hears your laugh—soft, chiming, and full of genuine warmth—he forgets his entire sentence mid-way.

“I-I… you’re… no, I mean—ahem! You shouldn’t laugh like that in public—it’s… distracting…” His ears are as red as his hair. He gets flustered trying to enforce rules around you, but deep down? He loves that he’s powerless to your smile.

Leona Kingscholar Leona’s seen plenty of beautiful people, but you? You're on a whole other level. He calls you “Herbivore”, but the way he looks at you—like you’re some mythical creature who wandered into his den—is pure reverence.

“Tch. With a face like that, you’ll give the sun a complex.” He pretends to nap through your laughter, but his tail always flicks toward you when you laugh—like it’s trying to chase the sound. You're the only one who can make him willingly move from his nap spot… just to hear you laugh again.

Azul Ashengrotto You’re his Achilles’ heel. Azul, ever-calculated, tries to maintain composure around you—but when you walk in, glowing like ocean pearls with that melodic laugh that ripples like waves? He short-circuits.

“W-Would you mind… not laughing like that during meetings? It’s hard to think straight when you sound like a lullaby.” He fantasizes about bottling your laugh like a potion—something precious only he can hold. No business deal could ever compare to the way you smile just for him.

Kalim Al-Asim Kalim adores you. He's stunned every time he sees you—like he forgets you're real. Your laugh? It’s his favorite song. He claps, spins, and cheers when he hears it.

“You're like a genie’s wish come true!! Even your laugh sparkles!!” He shows you off like a precious jewel—not out of pride, but pure awe. He throws lavish parties just so others can see what he sees: someone too beautiful for words, with a voice soft enough to tame storms.

Vil Schoenheit Vil is the standard of beauty. And yet—even he can’t help but pause when you walk into a room. He studies you with a critical eye at first… but soon finds himself breathless.

“You’re… quite literally dazzling. And that laugh? It’s like perfume for the ears. How am I supposed to stay composed?” You’re the only one who could make the Queen himself stumble over words. Vil admires your grace, your softness, and the way your beauty is effortless. He won't admit it out loud, but you make him feel insecure—in the best way.

Idia Shroud He thought ethereal beauty only existed in RPGs. But then you appeared—with that glowy, surreal aura and a laugh so gentle it makes his chest ache.

“You… you’re not like a ghost or a simulation, right? B-Because you look like you phased in from another dimension or something…” His hair flares hot pink whenever you laugh. He replays your voice in his head like a cherished OST. He’s convinced you're some kind of mythical NPC that accidentally wandered into his world—and he's not letting you glitch away.

Malleus Draconia To Malleus, who has wandered centuries alone, you are a vision he never thought he’d witness outside a dream. Your beauty transcends mortal standards. He doesn't just admire you—he worships you.

“Your laughter… it soothes the thorns in my heart. You must be a forest spirit, come to enchant me.” He finds himself smiling whenever you’re near, your presence brighter than even his beloved gargoyles. You’re his lullaby. His light. His reason to want the company of others—for once.

[rubystudios-yt]

He held the small thing in his hands, gently shifting it from side to side, careful to not puncture it's frail flesh with pointed bone. Softly poking at it's face with a knuckle to see the skin move with it and it squirm at the feeling.

The tuff of wool on top of it's head looked clean, thoroughly washed and cared for. He only wished his flesh hadn't rotted off some time ago, maybe then he'd be able to feel it's warm softness, even if just a smidge.

The little sheep had made it's way up the hill to greet him, and took it upon itself to try and climb up his robes when he didn't respond. He had to catch it when it started to slip.

He hadn't ignored it on purpose, he had simply just not heard the sheep's little bleats. Far too small to make a sound really that loud enough for him to hear when it had been on the ground.

But with him cradling it in his palms with his legs pulled up by his chest, leaning back onto an old redwood tree, he could hear it just fine. He wasn't entirely sure what it had been babbling on about, only really half paying attention. He did hear it ask what the scars on his bones that where his wrists where. The question went unanswered.

The sheep didn't seem to mind the old god prying at it or his lack of any vocal responses, after a while it did seem to finally tire itself out of talking and were content with taking a nap as he held it.

It was intriguing to him.

He watched it's chest rise and fall as it breathed small and evenly through it's slumber. The way it's face twitched and softened, a reflection of it's dreams it held onto.

It was fragile and light, any wrong move of his could crush bones and tear it's flesh apart. Surely the creature knew of this as well, and yet it still entrusted it's life within his hands.

He looked up over at the village that the mortal had come from, nearly hidden in the dense forest of Darkwood. It was a cute little place, decorated beautifully with bright florals and different brilliant shades of green. Roofs of straw and hay bundled together tightly to protect from the weather outside sat atop of wooden walls with carved windows.

He wondered which one the sleeping sheep had come from. Did it have any family? Did he? The four gods who had found him in chains called him their brother, so he supposed he had them. But their every movement and word seemed like they didn't know what to do with him. They were afraid to touch him, like he would wither away if they pressed on his bones too roughly, spoke with shaking soft voices that sounded forced. Like they didn't want to speak with him, he never reciprocated their words so he knows not why they forced themselves to.

In a way he knew why, having the need to use a slickly scythe designed for combat as nothing more than a walking stick (which now lay against the same tree as he), easily falling down as his legs felt as though caving in on themselves. But those where nothing time couldn't fix, if he kept walking without over exceeding himself then he wouldn't have to walk with one of the gods trailing close behind any longer. He wouldn't have to be a burden to them, it was troublesome enough as is.

He had managed to find escape away from the worm this time around. He felt terrible using his blindness to his own advantage, but he felt as though they had been suffocating him, coddling him as though he couldn't do anything at all on his own. He felt pathetically small around them, despite his height causing him to practically loom over the four of them.

The sky that overcasted the village was dark with the night's colorful blues and blacks. Stars twinkled bright above them. It felt like only minutes before the colors shifted to allow room for the sun's early morning rays. Highlighting the shadowy purples with pinks and golden orange and yellows. It made the village below feel more full in a way. Like this was how it was meant to be viewed as.

small doodle for a snippet I wrote a couple of months ago lol

[storiesoflilies]

crimson reverie

synopsis: the gods had forbidden him from her, but they could not stop her from following the trail of pomegranate seeds that led her straight to him. w.c: 13k

pairing: hades!ryomen sukuna x persephone!f!reader.

warnings: trueform!sukuna. descriptions of bruising and choking (not the good kind). mentions of smut and greek mythology incest. sfw, but MDNI!

a/n: this piece was requested by the lovely @pinknipszz ! i want to thank my darling @neptuneblue for beta reading, and also to those who donated (@ficsforgaza) towards this fic!! you’re all very loved <3 (ao3)

it was spring, and everything was golden.

from the barley stalks swaying in the gentle breeze, their prickly feather heads tickling her as persephone ran her hands through them, to the light of helios’ sun as it made its way across the sky, to the dripping honeycomb offerings left for her at the edge of the fields from the local villagers.

life was golden, iridescent, and precious, and it was good.

birds chittered in the trees, and the smell of freshly churned soil and evening jasmine wafted through the air. it was the end of a hard day’s work for persephone, and though there was still much more to be done for the mortals that lived in this remote area, that was a task for tomorrow. for now, all she wanted was to do as she pleased.

and that was to wander through her meadows of narcissus flowers, bathe in freshwater pools of starlight, and feast on pomegranates while she rested beneath the trees that bore them. she would sleep underneath those very trees, with moonlight shining through the gaps in the leaves, tenderly kissing her brow. her meadow was her haven, on the edge of a deep, green forest, where only her playful little nymphs kept her company.

even now, persephone could hear the sweet moans of their lovemaking carried along the breeze, and she sighed in exasperation. she knew they would only reach out to her with sticky fingers and sparkling adoration, begging her to join them. they craved her so badly, yearning to offer her a different sort of ecstasy that nature could not, but persephone would not join them. she never would, for her mother demeter had forbidden her from ever corrupting her purity and from doing anything that might throw her virtue into question.

persephone was to remain a beautiful blossom that could only be gazed upon, but never ever touched.

and so, she avoided the shaded part of the meadow that met the outskirts of the forest, where the nymphs loved to congregate, and went to her favorite pomegranate tree where she would not be disturbed. persephone crouched down underneath her tree, stretching out like a feline catching the last warm rays of the day on its belly, saccharine and ostentatiously content. a light doze fell upon her quickly, her breaths coming out in light puffs, with the sounds of the birds twittering her a lullaby.

“dearest daughter, how lazy you are, napping at this hour when it is not even nightfall!”

her eyelids fluttered open as the golden light behind them turned black, the sunlight blocked by the overarching figure of her mother. with her rose-bloom shoulder, hulking figure intertwined with vines and branches, and a voice only audible through the mind, demeter inspired more fear in mortals than she should have. to them, she was a great and terrible protector of nature, and this greatly saddened persephone.

in her eyes, her dearest mother, known only to her as hanami, would always be beautiful and tender.

“i think it’s warranted after a hard days work, mother,” persephone yawned, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

hanami tilted her head in amusement, tiny red rose petals falling as she did so. “your humble work tires you greatly. your power has not grown as i expected it to in the time since i last visited you.”

persephone pursed her lips, avoiding direct eye contact with her mother, and replied with a stiff jaw, “it is has grown, mother. but there are many poor mortals living in these villages. hundreds of their fields need to be nurtured with my touch, otherwise they will not grow.”

she didn’t think her mother understood. demeter only cultivated the holy nature of the gods, the grand gardens of greek royalty, while persephone travelled far and wide across greece to ensure even the most remote places had a bountiful harvest. so that even the poorest of worshippers went about their lives content with full bellies and golden fields of barley. persephone knew that the other gods looked down on her, sometimes even hanami, thinking that all she would ever surmount to was a nymph tending to the flower beds of peasants.

her mother wanted to uphold that lowly picture of her beloved daughter, to avoid the attention of the other gods, and persephone accepted it. but if demeter didn’t understand that there was good, honest work to be done ensuring the welfare of lesser mortals, then persephone would still continue with the duty she had charged herself with regardless.

and so, she avoided her mother’s sharp gaze, lest she would see the spark of defiance in her eyes. a defiance for the confines of the cage that was her mothers love, and it seemed to be growing stronger with each passing day.

persephone felt demeter’s heavy hand on her head, its weight almost too rough as she stroked her affectionately. her mother’s chuckle reverberated through her head. “perhaps one day you will eventually be nearly as strong as i, my blossom, so you may continue to rest. i will not disturb your peace any longer.”

her defiance crumbled, and she felt guilty, because her mother did love her despite everything. “oh mother, you could never disturb my peace.”

a loud cry of ecstasy came from a distance, and hanami looked up, her lip curling in displeasure. “you’re too sweet, persephone. but rest well, and do not let the nymphs come anywhere near you tonight.”

persephone watched on as her mother called upon her nature, her fingers bending and beckoning the vines and narcissus as if they were long-lost lovers. within a moment, demeter was enveloped in a blanket of green and white, with only her face and neck visible.

“your father misses you, you know?” hanami murmured, almost fearfully. “he wishes to see you.”

her father zeus, satoru gojo as he was called by his brothers and sisters, was as unpredictable as the lightning he wielded with his bare hands. they were all at the mercy of his passing whims, something her mother knew well, as persephone was the product of one of his said whims. demeter tried to keep them both apart as much as possible, because she knew she could not keep satoru from having persephone if his attention settled on her for too long.

however, she also could not outright refuse the king of the gods either.

“then i shall see him,” persephone sighed. “i will go to olympus.”

“we shall go, my blossom. i would not let you face him alone. i will come for you in a fortnight, so be ready.”

and with that, demeter disappeared. persephone sighed loudly, slumping back onto the grass. although demeter held no ill will towards her brother, she understood that the gods were not like mortals, especially zeus, and did not bind or limit themselves to their marriage vows – much to hera’s rage for zeus’ many lovers. she had passed this sentiment on to her daughter many times, despite being an olympian herself.

“the gods of olympus are fickle, ever-changing, and that in itself is predictable. never stay in their company for too long.”

persephone never liked to visit olympus anyway. the gods were so very loud, ostentatious, and always bragging about the legendary achievements of themselves and their offspring. moreover, while her mothers love was endearing, it was also suffocating at the best of times. she knew demeter was always watching her every move with eagle eyes, daring any of the gods to try and come near her daughter.

save for artemis, her dearest maki, nobody else was allowed to say more than a few words to persephone.

she sighed dejectedly once more and turned over, plucking a particularly beautiful narcissus flower from beside her. with a long, slender stem, its orange center surrounded by snowy white petals, persephone admired its beauty as she leaned her back against the trunk of her pomegranate tree.

“mother will see sense one day,” she hummed, musingly, as she plucked a petal from the flower. “that i will become a goddess worthy of olympus, and do not need her protection.”

another petal plucked. “she won’t ever, and will hover over me for eternity.”

pluck!

“she will.”

pluck!

“she won’t.”

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

it was close to midnight, and persephone could not sleep.

she spent what seemed like an age staring up at the moon, committing all of its ridges and craters to memory. if she squinted hard enough, she could make out selene’s silver and pearl chariot pulling it across the sky, her pale white horses snorting and charging through the stars of the night. beside her, the nymphs softly sighed and turned in their sleep, their nimble legs and arms entangled with each other, embracing persephone in a comforting hug to try and lull her to sleep. but it hadn’t worked this time; there was too much on her mind.

it had been ten days since she last seen her mother, and persephone’s nerves were becoming more frayed by the minute. in her meager three centuries of living, demeter had never once been hesitant about her meeting zeus. something must have changed, but what exactly, she couldn’t guess.

persephone felt a flush of warmth, the nymphs’ heat suddenly becoming too much for her to bear, and gently unwound herself from their grasp. the fresh night caressed the bare skin of her arms in a cool kiss of relief as she tip-toed through the small gaps between the scattered nymphs.

she broke into a light run across the meadow, her bare feet softly thudding against the grass, and her white toga billowing behind her as she headed to the refuge of her pomegranate tree. the narcissus were squeezed shut, as if the light of the moon bitterly stung them if they looked at it. persephone giggled, and with a tender wave of her slender fingers, the flowers unfurled their delicate petals, and their little golden faces turned towards their goddess.

she had made a meadow of minuscule suns amidst the midnight blackness of the sky. it was a small miracle, something that she could witness and cherish alone. persephone almost wanted to weep with joy, because she couldn’t remember the last time she used her own power to bring herself happiness. a particularly beautiful flower called to something deep inside her soul, and she couldn’t help but reach over and pluck it from the ground. she tenderly cradled it in her palm, cooing and whispering sweet nothings to it as she spied another gorgeous bloom, and plucked it too.

and another.

and another two beside it.

she picked and picked until a whole armful was practically overflowing from her arms, somehow weaving themselves into a delicate long dress that trailed behind her as she walked back to her tree. persephone laughed, carefree and as light as birds feathers, wrapping her indulgence around her like silk. tonight, she would sleep on a bed of flowers, and nobody could say anything to stop her.

the flowers dropped to the ground at the foot of the tree, as if a magic gust of wind had told them to arrange themselves into the perfect blanket for persephone to lay on. she dropped to her knees and laid out, rubbing the apples of her cheeks against the petals.

that was when she saw him.

he stood there, his looming figure visible from this distance, and his eyes.

oh, his eyes.

four of them there were. she didn’t need to strain to see them; they glowed iridescently, shimmering like blood-red rubies that reminded her of a deep bowl of pomegranate seeds. a promise of a messy feast, dripping messily from her chin onto her hands, coating them in red, red, red.

persephone instinctively sat up, her body going rigid, as if the very essence of her life had left her. the stranger stalked towards her, and in the light of selene, his form became clearly visible. he was a god, that much was clear, for his large body was adorned with the black markings of death, seeming to swirl and move by a trick of the moonlight. he had two pairs of arms, one of which carried an obsidian bident that whispered of violence and horror.

this was undeniably hades, the god of the underworld himself.

persephone knew who he was because hermes had told her stories of his frequent descents to the underworld, whenever her mother wasn’t around, of course. of how hades sat atop a throne of black diamonds, with the viscous cerberus at his feet, unfeeling and unforgiving as hermes guided both the lucky and unlucky souls to wherever hades had judged them to go.

why was he here? hades was known to reside in his halls of blood and bones, and never left it. the last time he had even been to olympus was sometime before she was born. he stood before her now, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. his lower pair of eyes were flicking back and forth between different parts of her, as if sizing her up. she stared up into his eyes, her heart hammering against her ribcage like a trapped bird.

“do not look at me that way,” the god rumbled, his voice carrying something ancient, as old as the depths of the earth. he was carved from war, a god who had struck down titans, and it was obvious.

persephone’s heart skipped a beat, and she clenched her fist, accidentally crushing a poor narcissus. “in what way?”

“as if i was about to strike you down this instant,” hades replied, his tone resonating with chilling authority.

her eyes flicked pointedly to his bident. “why else are you here then, lord hades?”

hades glowered at her, seemingly displeased, and tightly gripped his bident before throwing it a distance away, never taking his eyes off of her. “better?” he asked sneeringly, a slither of fire, and squatted down right in front of her.

she could only nod her head, his proximity alarming and unnerving her. despite him lowering himself, hades still looked down on her, looming over persephone with the promise of death.

“so,” he started, his tongue swiping over his lips. “you’re my brother’s elusive daughter.” persephone gaped, shocked he even knew of her existence, and hades chuckled darkly. “hermes likes to talk, especially to me.”

he grinned, a hint, no promise of madness, like knowing the grass would be kissed by water droplets overnight. she knew she had to tread carefully as she stared into his eyes, and accepting that she may not survive this night completely unscathed. hades adjusted himself into a sitting position, his powerful legs crossed over each other, his movements causing persephone to flinch. he rolled his eyes, displeasure flashing in them again.

“i must say, you look nothing like satoru,” he continued, his bottom eyes still observing her so very closely. “definitely not like my sister either.”

persephone asked, perhaps foolishly, naively, “does that please you?”

with a flash of crimson and jasmine-scented air, heat rose to her cheeks. she placed her hands delicately on her lap, as if behaving more placidly and curling in on herself would save her from him. hades tilted his head amusingly at her, pink-peach curls rolling to the side.

he knew she was inexperienced, clearly reveled in it, soaking himself in it, dipping his fingers in and licking them clean.

persephone hated it.

and unexpectedly, she hated her mother for making her so inexperienced, for sheltering her, and pruning her so that she was always prim and proper.

his crimson eyes flashed mirthfully, lips curling upwards. “you care what pleases me, little flower?”

hades’ words only added to her inner turmoil of embarrassment, and she refused to allow him even a glimpse of her vulnerability. so, persephone maintained a somewhat composed exterior, refusing to answer, and a fragile silence enveloped them, save for the hum of crickets in the bushes. hades turned his attention elsewhere, supporting his chin with one of his hands, seemingly gracing her the dignity of not responding to his taunt.

“a goddess should not be fraternizing so closely with mortals,” he said suddenly, a sour look on his features. “especially a daughter of zeus.”

“i do not mix with them,” persephone corrected gently. “it is my duty to help their grains grow.”

hades scoffed, white fangs flashing in the silver moonlight, and one of his smaller eyes fixed solely on her. “your duty, or the one placed upon you by demeter? you should know, mortals do not deserve the power of a goddess.”

persephone didn’t know what to make of the god of the dead. here he was, never having met her before, yet referred to her as a goddess, as if she belonged on olympus drinking ambrosia with the rest of her family. she felt somewhat honored, acknowledged, that hades seemed to be able to see her meager power for what it was worth.

“why do you think they are so undeserving?” persephone asked rather curiously. “they worship the very ground we walk on, pray to us, and turn to us in times of need. have they not earned our help?”

"sweet little flower, they would defile and hurt you the very first chance they got. mortals are ugly, infesting creatures that care for nothing except themselves. they serve only as a means to an end for my kingdom."

the grass underneath hades suddenly wilted, as if he had let his power run free for just a moment. something seemed to have snapped in him, something dark. for whatever reason, he seemed to loathe the very souls that inhabited his kingdom. perhaps he had judged them for far too long, had heard and seen all they had done in their short little lives, and deemed the lot of them unworthy of anything good at all.

and still, hades would carry out his duty and pass judgment, allowing the very same mortals who shirked and shunned his name to avoid his attention to pass onto a happier afterlife if they so deserved it. she couldn’t imagine how spiteful she would grow to be if the villagers trampled on the barley she grew for them.

despite her initial apprehension, it made her heart ache for him.

it was pure instinct, but persephone reach out and placed a narcissus right next to one of his hands.

all of his four crimson eyes were fixed on her, and she felt another flush of heat wash over her body. how strange, she imagined being close to death would be like ice, cold and empty, instead of fire and the rushing of her godly blood through her veins and arteries.

“you are a strange one,” hades murmured, pinching the stem between his fingers, sniffing the bloom almost suspiciously with his nose upturned. “tell me your name.”

“hermes did not tell you?”

“he is a trickster, and speaks in riddles. he would not give your name to me willingly.”

“then it is persephone, but my mother calls me kore.”

“and what do you prefer to be known as, little flower?”

she hesitated for a moment. “persephone.”

hades repeated her name, tasting it on his tongue and between his teeth, in the same way she savored a gem of pomegranate seed.

was it sweet to him?

something told her that it was.

the ghost of a smile played on his lips, something old and perhaps long since forgotten until this moment. hades stood up, brushing the dead blades of grass from his toga. “well, persephone, i must leave you. i cannot be away from my kingdom for too long.”

she understood that. the underworld was his home the way the fields of golden barley was hers. but why hades had even come to the surface, persephone didn't understand, and perhaps never would. "farewell, hades."

"ryomen," he correct, almost insistently, one pair of his arms folded over his broad chest in a display of strength. or was it vulnerability? perhaps protecting his heart from that which would seek to harm it? “you may call me ryomen."

with that, the earth beneath his feet cracked and split open, and a deafening rumbling reverberated through her eardrums as she clapped her hands to cover her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. when she opened them again, the god of the dead had all but disappeared.

persephone could not help but feel a touch of disappointment.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

demeter was enraged.

it had only taken a single whiff for her to mother to know. she could sense the unmistakable aura of her brother, the essence of death clinging to persephone like a shroud. it was a like a smell that permeated every crevice of her body, one that no amount of scrubbing or soaking could wash away.

"how dare he approach you?" demeter seethed, gripping persephone's face so tightly she thought her bones would crack. "did you encourage him? have the nymphs corrupted you? did you lay with him?”

"n-no, mother," persephone sputtered, struggling against demeter’s hold, her feet wriggling as they dangled uselessly in the air. "i would never do so."

demeter's wrath was rare but quick to build, like dried kindling catching fire, "you lie," she sneered, teeth bared in a snarl as she shook her. "you must have done something to entice him to approach you."

“ah! no, hanami!” she cried, milky-white tears falling like shining pearls from her eyes. “i never encouraged him once!”

her mother scoffed cruelly and dropped her to the ground in an ungraceful heap, pacing erratically back and forth as she muttered to herself, “zeus will hear of this! oh yes, he must be told at once.”

persephone painfully rubbed her cheekbones, feeling a dull ache spreading throughout her face. the trees of the forest were screaming bloody murder whirled madly in a chaotic dance, the very essence of nature responding to her mother’s rage. vine tendrils lashed angrily like whips of fire, and persephone flinched to avoid being struck. she had seen this sort of anger before, always directed at foolish mortals who dared to lay a finger against nature.

but never her. never once had it been against her.

it shifted something within her, and persephone knew it would never go back to where it belonged. she had done everything her mother asked her whole life, been obedient, never complaining as she followed her rules and carried out her duties. as the tendrils of resentment tightened around her like poison, persephone was beginning to understand one thing.

nothing would ever be enough to please demeter.

(somewhere in her meadow, a narcissus petal fell, and the god of the dead stirred in his throne.)

eventually, demeter’s rage calmed, like a hurricane settling into a somewhat pleasant sea breeze. she looked at persephone, who hoped to sense some semblance of remorse or even sheepishness for what her mother had just done. yet, there was nothing – only the remnants of simmering anger, now settled enough for demeter to think clearly.

“forgive me,” demeter murmured, placing a stiff hand upon her head. “you are still young, and i must protect you from the gods. they would only seek to corrupt you, especially hades.”

and what about you? what about zeus?

but persephone said nothing except, “there is nothing to forgive,” the sting of a lie thickening her voice. “i understand.”

even though she most certainly did not understand, for hanami should know better than anyone that persephone was good and pure, and would never actively encourage any of the gods of olympus – or underworld , for that matter – from pursuing her.

she should have known.

and so her apology meant nothing, for it was obviously false.

the fire in persephone’s godly blood was igniting into something foreign, something full of fury, something maybe even ugly, but she didn’t care. not anymore.

demeter knelt down in front of her daughter, pinching her chin and placing a kiss on her brow. “fret not, kore. i will speak with zeus tomorrow when we visit him. let us deal with hades.”

a flash of fear made persephone’s bones tremble at the thought. she very much doubted the power of nature would stand a chance against the underworld and all the death in it, against hades himself.

against ryomen.

with a gust of wind and falling rose petals, demeter vanished into the forest in a purposeful flurry of energy, leaving the shattered pieces of herself for persephone to pick up and put back together. the nymphs peeked out their frightened faces from behind the bushes they had hidden in, taking in persephone’s crumpled figure with a mixture of apprehension and pity. they had been the initial target of demeter’s wrath, for they had failed to keep an eye on their goddess and call for demeter when she was needed.

a mistake they would not be repeating again.

she felt the dark vines of her cage tighten, closing in on her more, and persephone knew it would be rare for her to get any sort of alone time from this moment onwards.

“come,” persephone whimpered, barely above a whisper. “i must tend to the fields.”

she collected herself from the ground, dusting the dirt from herself, and began her familiar walk to the barley fields, with the nymphs trailing not too far behind. the birds were whistling stories of things that had happened in the night, and the bees were flitting about in between the honeysuckle flowers. persephone wished she was one of them; drinking in nothing but sugary sweetness all day, and still being known for her sting.

the mortals kept away from persephone as she worked. they were grateful people, gifting her with more honeycomb and burning incense in her name. she could smell it in the air, a smoky mystery; powerful and deep. her thoughts trailed back to ryomen, and what he had said about the mortals. persephone didn't believe these men would hurt her, but what if they did?

what sort of punishment would defiling a goddess warrant in death? what sort of things would hades do to them if they even so much as touched her?

would he mercilessly set his vicious cerberus on to them, or would he do it himself? relentlessly rip them apart until they were only ribbons of flesh, and suck their blood from his fingers with a grin on his face, only to put them back together and do it all over again.

persephone almost didn’t want to know.

and yet, she did. with a sick and twisted fascination that was a small seedling sprouting inside her.

when the sun almost touched the horizon, persephone wiped her brow and halted the flow of her power into the fields. she was done for the day, bone-weary both emotionally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to be cleansed and taken care of by her nymphs. they were waiting for her at the edge of the fields, still sheltered by the border of the forest. their faces brightened every so slightly at the sight of her, then dipped upon seeing her weariness and sadness. persephone could only manage a half-hearted smile before silently making the trek to the bathing pool.

upon seeing the pool, the nymphs rushed to it, unable to contain their glee. some remained by persephone’s side, gently helping to remove her clothes, and slowly setting her down into the pool. they cupped water between their palms and let it trickle down her hair and ridges of her spine, and cooed and praised her beauty as they washed her.

persephone was only half-listening to them, completely ignoring their gentle kisses to her hair and hands, as white noise gradually became all she could hear. she wanted to drown in white, she thought, as she felt more of her milky tears slip from her eyes. would they fill the pool until it was a deep lake? she imagined she would fall back into it, her vision filled with white as she sank to the bottom lined with blood-red poppies, and demeter would scream and wail as she tried to find her.

an acute silence suddenly snapped persephone out of her escapism.

the birds had stopped twittering, and the nymphs were as still as deer in the face of a hunter. the only movement was the water ripples moving to the edge of the pool as they slowly settled and the water stilled. persephone felt a tingle, her hair raising at the back of her neck. she turned her head over her shoulder, sensing an intruder amongst them.

and there stood hades, doning the same dark toga as before, his dark pupils dilated and blown as he locked eyes with her.

the nymphs squealed and hissed at him, flocking around persephone, gripping and covering her protectively, their nails almost scratching her skin. hades looked down at them, his nose turned up as he ordered darkly, “leave us.”

“no, you are the one who must leave,” one of the nymphs snapped bravely, yet foolishly. “we will call for our goddess, and she will drive you away.”

the earth rumbled loudly, ominously angry, and the nymphs cried out in fear, clinging to persephone. “is that so?” hades smirked before it fell abruptly, and he snarled. “out of respect for persephone, i will not kill you for your insolence. leave us, now.”

his last words were like molten fire, an echo of an ancient power rolling over hills and mountains, the grass and flowers wilting and dying as death touched and halted right before persephone. she gasped as she felt its warmth tenderly caress her face, sliding along her jawline and down to her neck, brushing over her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

the nymphs did not receive such gentle touches of hades’ power, it seemed, as they scrambled away from her, splashing and screaming bloody murder. persephone simply observed their fear, feeling a sort of detachment and almost indifference wash over her.

she knew it was only a matter of time before her mother arrived.

“you’re hurt,” hades remarked, but not unkindly, stepping over fallen tree logs as he made his way closer to her.

she said nothing, remaining perfectly still, hoping the water was deep enough to protect her modesty below, and tightening her arms around herself. he kneeled in front of her, his breath wafting over her damp face. some part of her was still dissociated, her soul drifting above them, looking down, and persephone wasn’t sure if it was because she was frightened or simply not afraid at all.

hades seemed to hesitate for just a moment, and then his fingers were cupping her jaw, gently moving her to each side as he observed the blooming shadows of bruises on her cheeks.

“demeter,” he stated lowly, and it was most certainly not a question, but persephone nodded nonetheless, a snowdrop tear running down her cheek and onto his hand.

crimson anger flashed in all of his eyes, and his jaw tightened and clicked, a sliver of his teeth visible between his lips. her stomach lurched as hades licked her tear from the back of his hand, and he closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste of her on his tongue.

“i must go to olympus tomorrow,” she blurted out suddenly.

hades cracked a single eye open, and it narrowed suspiciously. “what for?”

“zeus wishes to see me. my mother says he misses me,” she replied, moving away from his touch on her jaw and looking down to the side. “and i do not know what it is, but something is… different.”

he sighed deeply, and she gazed back into his eyes as he gripped her chin. “zeus has waited patiently for all this time, but demeter can no longer keep him at bay. he will have his way with you, and soon. he most likely wishes to see you to try and seduce you into his bed.”

persephone felt her heart drop as hades all but confirmed her worst fears. she had some sort of inkling that this would happen eventually, and guessed that her mother had been shielding her from zeus and his urges. however, some naive and childish part of her had hoped that he would remain as her father and cherish her as his daughter forever. her breathing becoming erratic, and her body started to shake as the trees around her started to rustle loudly, heralding the imminent arrival of demeter. hades hushed her softly, cradling both sides of her face now.

“what if i could stop this? ryomen whispered, with a tenderness she didn’t think the god of the dead could ever have possessed, as the tip of his nose touched hers.

persephone blinked rapidly as the wind stung her eyes, utterly perplexed. “you cannot stand against zeus.”

he laughed at this, throwing his head back as if it were the funniest thing in the world. “oh, how you doubt me so, little flower.”

“i don’t understand. what can you do or say against the word of satoru? he is our – your – king?”

“only understand that i am owed, little flower. for fighting with against the titans many centuries ago and faithfully serving my duty in the underworld for all this time. i am owed, and zeus knows this well.”

his thumb stroked her left cheek, and persephone instinctively leaned into his touch. the wind howled louder, and the trees seemed to be screaming at them to tear themselves from each other and run, run, run.

“you are stronger than you know, persephone,” hades murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, as if they were already lovers who had been together for many years. she heard a great thudding noise, like the footsteps of a giant running, and he gripped her a touch tighter. “light that spark again in your eyes, and say you will fight.”

“hades.”

demeter was very close. their time was running out, and persephone instinctively grabbed his hands holding her face. her soul seemed to snap back into place, and her eyes widened as fear seized her. “ryomen,” she gasped, urgency lacing her words. “you must go.”

“not until you say you will fight,” he repeated, steady as a boulder against her trying to push him away, not even budging an inch. “i will save you, but you must give me your word that you will fight until i can reach you.”

“sukuna! how dare you lay your hands upon my daughter?!”

her mother’s voice was like a thousand thundering horses, their hooves smashing into the earth with all the force they could muster. persephone screamed as the trees rocked back and forth, their roots ripping free from the ground and poised to strike hades. as fast as a snake, hades grabbed a root that was a second away from slashing them both, wrenching it in two and hurling it far away. he snarled defiantly as he turned his back to her, glaring into the forest.

“i promise!” persephone exclaimed as her demeter’s figure came into view from the forest, barreling towards them. “ryomen, i promise! please, you must leave.”

hades turned to look at her, with a mad grin and gleaming teeth, as his crimson eyes flashed brightly. with a great swing of his arms, his power came crashing into demeter, sending her flying back deep into the forest. there was an explosion of shadow, only inky blackness seeping into persephone’s eyes and bones, flooding her head with dark whispers and promises.

promises of the dead.

and the dead were known to keep them.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

persephone felt as if she were approaching her death sentence.

the grand halls of olympus were no less than resplendent, with tall white marble columns and lavish golden decorations. the very air was alive with the energy of the gods that dwelled there, and their laughter and music always echoed throughout the pantheon. this place had once felt like home, its splendor familiar and warm, but now it only felt oppressive, like a cage who’s cold bars she had only just registered.

persephone could finally see it for all of its faults and how deep its rotten ugliness actually ran beneath the surface.

she felt her soul detach once again, keeping her numb to everything around her. perhaps it was a defense mechanism, to perhaps keep her fear at bay, or to shield her from feeling too much all at once.

either way, it was a blessing.

demeter was in an uncharacteristically somber mood. persephone had found her mother completely unconscious after hades had used his power against her. when she woke, all her anger had been replaced by a slumped and defeated sort of exhaustion. demeter had spent the night with her, placed beautiful blooms in her hair that morning, and helped her dress to travel to olympus, all the while not saying more than a handful of words.

it seemed as if the goddess of nature had been drained of all life, her petals falling faster, leaving a trail of red behind her, like blood.

it unnerved persephone, who was no longer sure how to act around her mother.

as they entered the dining hall, persephone was first greeted by the sight of a long table draped in white silk and laden with a feast of various meats and salads. the golden goblets of the gods sparkled in the warm, soft afternoon light, no doubt filled with ambrosia and sweet nectar.

and there was zeus, seated at the head of the table, his legs and arms spread comfortably, exuding both carefreeness and power. so assured was he in his authority, absolute as the king of the gods.

“welcome, my daughter!” zeus announced, his booming voice echoing like thunder, his cerulean eyes twinkling with mirth and lightning. “come and join us; we have missed you greatly.”

there was once a time, not so long ago really, that she would have been moved by her father’s words, believing that he truly missed her and loved to spend time with her. but now it was tainted, and all she could think of were hades’ words from last night, and her perfect image of zeus was forevermore ruined.

the olympians were in full attendance, their gazes resting on persephone and demeter, before they all raised their goblets in acknowledgment, then resuming their conversations and merriment. she spied a seat next to artemis and tried to rush over to it as inconspicuously as she could, leaving her mother to take her seat elsewhere.

“persephone!” artemis exclaimed happily, her fierce eyes glinting like the shiny, rich wood of her hunting bow. “it has been too long.”

persephone smiled, feeling a slight weight lift off her shoulders, and embraced her earnestly. “it has, my beautiful huntress.”

maki pulled back, tenderly stroking her cheek before frowning. “you were hurt,” she noted, gently prodding over the places where her bruises had been. “right here, and here.”

she sighed, hoping that artemis would not have noticed at all, for her bruising was all but gone overnight. “fret not, it is healed now.”

“was it a man? a god? tell me who did this, and i shall hunt them down,” artemis vowed, her untamed ferocity blazing forth.

“be at peace, sister,” urged the light voice of apollo, his golden hair rich and radiating with the energy of the sun. “it was neither a god nor a man.”

maki turned to glower at her brother beside her. “then who was it, nanami? do not keep it from me.”

apollo leaned forward in his seat, peering at persephone expectantly with honey-brown eyes. “do you wish me to say? helios has already told me all he has seen.”

persephone hesitated. would it really be wise to expose her mother’s abuse to maki? she shook her head, deciding that it would only escalate the tension with demeter. artemis growled and said no more. she abruptly stood up and stalked off somewhere, her hunting bow in tow, and apollo slid into his sister’s unoccupied seat.

“pay no attention to my sister, kore,” he hummed, strumming his lyre absentmindedly, his voice a beautiful sing-song melody. “would you like me to play you a song? i have thought of something especially for you.”

“since when did you need to ask for permission to play your music, apollo?” persephone asked, reaching out and sipping on a goblet of ambrosia, hyper-aware that demeter had not interrupted them already.

“since i am in the presence of a beautiful blossom such as yourself, i cannot help but seek your approval,” apollo purred, an easy, saccharine grin on his face, and heat rose to the back of her neck.

there was a loud thumping noise across the table, and they both turned to look at hermes, still appearing as an adolescent boy, banging his fists against the table as he gulped down the contents of his goblet.

“now, now, apollo! you are not to pursue persephone. she is promised to another,” he chided, childishly indulging in his own proclaimed self-importance.

apollo raised a brow. “is that so, ui ui? tell me more of this suitor, for helios has seen nothing. he must be possess a certain prowess to avoid the all-seeing sun.”

hermes giggled, his quicksilver tongue mischievously sharp as his gaze knowingly pierced her. “oh, that he does, and he may be among us already, or perhaps not. what say you, persephone?”

she glowered at the young god, saying nothing as he taunted her, and drank more ambrosia. apollo grumbled, plucking the strings of his lyre to play a somewhat fast-paced tune. “ever evasive, hermes. one day, the sun will burn you as you fly.”

hermes cackled, red wine messily dripping down his chin. “i would like to see you try.”

persephone’s mind strayed as the two gods engaged in playful banter, and she further dissociated from her body, merely a spectator in the midst of her family. she could still feel the linger touches of hades’ shadows, promising her that he would come for her. a knot formed in her stomach, both from apprehension and anticipation, as she wondered how the god of the dead intended to keep his word.

she looked up at all the olympians sat at the table, observing them indulging in their feast and flowing ambrosia and wine. apollo and hermes were now playing their music together, their voices harmonizing as they sang about the stars and sun. zeus was heartily clapping along to them, his wife hera watching him with eagle eyes, wearing a bemused smile at her husband’s antics. poseidon sat at zeus’ left, his long silky black hair flowing like a river down his back, his gold trident leaning ominously against his chair.

ares was there, his emerald orbs shining as he gnawed on a meaty rib, his handsome face and raven hair speckled with blood, no doubt having just returned from the heat of battle. all the while, aphrodite was a vision of grace, her long golden hair tumbling perfectly over her exposed back, swaying sensually to the music. persephone dared to steal a glance at demeter, who sat beside hera, wearing a slightly sour expression as she watched the performance.

all these gods have gathered here, feasting and drinking without any care, without any consequences. what is the point of it all?

“are you well, kore?” athena asked softly, pulling persephone from her thoughts. her lavender eyes gazed at her with gentle concern behind a veil of her white hair.

she managed a faint smile. “of course, than-”

“loveliest kore,” an all-consuming voice interjected, and persephone felt two large hands covering her ears as zeus placed a great big kiss on her head. “it has been too long since we have spoken. come, walk with me.”

persephone’s heart pounded, her body instinctively reacting fearfully, but she nodded and rose from her seat. she glanced at her mother, and could sense her concern and growing despair emanating. hera’s gaze bore into her with mixture of suspicion and barely concealed jealousy, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

hera’s punishment for laying with zeus would be almost as horrifying as the actual deed itself.

“excuse us, shoko, my love,” zeus mumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of his wife’s hand, and then urging persephone on with a hand to her lower back.

he led her to a secluded balcony, the music and laughter of the dining hall fading into a faint noise. night had fallen, and it was pleasantly cool. the view of the mortal cities below seemed like a dream, for they appeared so small and far away that they couldn’t be real. persephone shivered as zeus’ broad arm brushed hers, lingering for a moment too long, as he leaned over the balcony.

“you have grown into a remarkable goddess, kore,” he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically low and husky. “i have missed you here on olympus, and i told demeter that you must spend more time here.”

persephone’s discomfort was growing, but she steeled herself, and remained composed. “i’m sorry, father. i should have visited more, but my duties are rather demanding.”

zeus’ eyes darkened just a touch, his snowy hair reflecting starlight, as he moved just a touch closer to her. “your place is here, with your family. with me.”

she felt the full weight of his words and implications bore down on her, causing a sickening sensation in her core. the torches lining the balcony flickered, casting dancing shadows with a nervous energy. she remembered her promise to ryomen, to stand her ground, and so persephone gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what might come next.

zeus reached out and gripped her hand, his thumb rubbing circles. “look at me, kore,” he ordered lowly, squeezing her hand in an attempt to force her attention. “it’s only me, your satoru.”

“i don’t want to,” she whispered, her lip quivering as her body betrayed her, behaving fearful despite feeling almost nothing inside.

“no?” he tilted his head, his expression predatory.

the torches suddenly dimmed, casting the balcony into near inky blackness, save for the light of the moon and stars. the shadows loomed large, a dark mist collecting just a foot away from zeus, who moved into a more protective stance in front of persephone.

a flash of four crimson eyes gleamed between the shadows.

teeth bared in a display of madness and the sort of bravery that only the dead could possess.

“hades,” zeus greeted, his expression morphing into a forced veneer of pleasantness. “how unexpected! what brings you to olympus?”

“brother, i believe we need to have a word,” hades returned, his voice deep and resonating with the power of the earth, cutting straight through the night like an assassins blade.

a blood-red eye locked on persephone, slowly blinking at her as if trying to communicate without speaking. she tried not to show any emotion, even though her very soul was shaking with relief, gradually sinking back into her body as if the god of the dead had decreed that it must return to her.

ryomen is here. he’s here.

zeus’ hand fully slipped from hers as he crossed his arms over his chest. the tension between the two gods crackled, and persephone felt the familiar hum of her father’s power radiating through the air. and still, hades showed not an ounce of fear. his dark essence emanated in rhythmic waves, pushing back against the electric sparks.

“demeter has already asked me to keep you away from kore. are you really ready to challenge me for her, sukuna?” zeus dared, his jaw clenched.

hades’ lips curled into a sly smile. “no, but i do propose a conversation to settle this little… issue.”

the universe seemed to hold its breath for a fleeting moment. then, with a begrudging nod, zeus conceded, motioning for hades to approach. persephone bit her lip, feeling that familiar rush of blood through her veins as the god of the dead stood beside her, as if staking his claim, one of his hands dangerously close to hers. her father pursed his lips disapprovingly.

“well, what do you wish to discuss?” zeus all but growled, his tempestuous nature rapidly wearing down his patience.

hades breathed out, slow and steady. “persephone belongs with me, and i her. long ago, you asked me what i wanted for fighting with you against our father, and i wanted for nothing. and now, brother, still i am owed, and i have come to claim what i want, and it is her.”

persephone’s heart stuttered, and a swarm of butterflies flew in circles in her belly. his words had awakened something deep, something she dared not name just yet. ryomen’s eyes flicked over to her, his features softening just a touch, as if sensing her inner turmoil.

“you dare try to claim her when our sister has forbidden her from you? while she is still under my protection as my daughter?”

“i did not come here as your supplicant, zeus, but as your brother. i will only ask you once for this favor.”

“kore is a goddess of life and growth, and you would only subject her to death and decay. why should i allow you to have her?”

“because i refuse to let her be trapped any longer between you and demeter. she deserves more than that, and far more than either of you could ever give her.”

suddenly, demeter burst through to the balcony, her breathing frantic. “zeus! do not let him take her, brother! please!” she cried, her knees buckling. whirling to face hades, her expression twisted with anger, and she snarled, “you will not take my daughter! she belongs with me.”

lightning bolts lashed through the clouds, and crashing thunder reverberated in the air, ringing through persephone’s ears. “enough of this,” zeus boomed, his rage transforming the sky into a fully fledged storm. “you will not have her, hades. you are never to come near her again, or you shall face the full extent of my wrath.”

hades’ expression turned grave, and he rumbled, “keep her from me, and there shall be consequences.”

“you dare to threaten me, brother?” zeus exclaimed, his brows raised incredulously. “you dare and threaten me here, in my home?”

persephone looked fearfully at hades, who set his dark gaze upon her, the whispers of the dead breathing into her ears as he smirked. with a great clap of his hands, persephone found herself thrown backwards, her senses dulled by a blinding flash of light as a mighty lightning bolt bore down on hades. when she reopened her eyes, her savior had vanished, leaving only a scorched imprint on the marble balcony where he had stood just moments before.

“demeter, take kore and leave here,” zeus ordered, his tone dangerous and leaving no room for argument. “find artemis and order her to keep watch over our daughter. she is never to leave her sight, is that understood?”

persephone stumbled dumbly, her breath catching in her throat as she stared transfixed at the spot where hades had been, the echoes of thunder still reverberating through the air. demeter huffed impatiently as she swept persehone into her arms, whisking her away from zeus and his almighty anger. the dining room was deathly quiet, all the chairs empty and abandoned, as the other olympians had scattered, knowing all to well that the jovial feast was over.

she rolled her head back, the ground passing swiftly beneath her, her mother’s feet thudding against the ground in a swift, determined rhythm. artemis’ loyal dogs had materialized, their fur glinting in the moonlight as they ran ahead and behind them, the pack forming a coordinated and protective circle around them as they descended back to the mortal realm.

was this it?

was this ryomen’s mighty stand against zeus?

it seemed that whatever his grand plan had been, it had failed.

persephone’s heart cracked in two.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

from then on, the days were dull and dreadfully monotonous.

persephone moved through her days like a ghost, her soul roaming the skies high above her, and it had not landed since she had been to olympus. every morning, she awoke to the feeling of metaphorical vines tightening around her throat, binding her tighter to the life demeter wanted her to live.

she never smiled, not anymore. not even to artemis, who looked at her with such palpable pity that it was almost unbearable. the huntress never left her side, watching over her as she tended to the barley fields, her hounds sniffing and growling at the onlooking mortals. even during the night, maki dutifully kept her vigil, silently keeping watch against the encroaching shadows. and still, despite her dearest friend’s constant, heavy presence, persephone’s despair was ever-growing.

demeter visited almost every day, always arriving during the night. sometimes, she would sleep with her amongst the nymphs, one hand reaching out to persephone as if zeus himself might descend from olympus to steal her away, or as if she might run away and disappear into her dreams.

and oh, how persephone wanted to do just that.

she would dream of ryomen and his deep crimson eyes, a reverie of passion. he had shown her just a little taste of what it was to live as she pleased, and although persephone was shy to admit it even to herself, she missed him – fiercely. she missed that comforting rumble in his voice, and the way all of his eyes looked at her as if she were the most precious thing to him. persephone’s heart ached with longing every time she woke, the sort of pain that carved out a hollow space inside her, one she felt that only ryomen could ever fill.

but she was an empty vessel for all the flowers and seeds she had ever grown, always giving and giving, never able to take anything for herself to fill that hole.

miraculously, there had been no word from zeus, but persephone knew it was only a matter of time. sometimes, in the dead of the night, with only the sounds of the nymphs soft snores and crickets chirping under the light of the fireflies, she imagined what it would be like with hades. the thought ignited ignited a low thrum in her core, making her lower stomach flutter with pleasure.

the dreams started soon after that.

dreams of the underworld. of ryomen holding her in his arms, his bare skin flush against hers, tenderly kissing her neck and shoulder. of him telling her that she was the only one for him, that it was always her, and how he had been waiting for her his whole life. how his hand would drift lower and lower, tracing little circles and swirls down her navel, and…

persephone would always wake up at that point.

and she’d be in a crimson hue of deaths essence, thinking about how much he must have loved her to try and bargain with zeus for her, even going so far as to threaten him. persephone’s heart would flutter with warmth, but she kept her sudden happiness hidden, lest artemis would sense her desire and raise a questioning brow at her.

perhaps if i close my eyes and imagine it is ryomen instead of zeus, it won’t be so bad.

until a cold splash of ice-cold water doused over her head, and persephone was painfully reminded that she hadn’t seen him in so long. consumed in a fit of petulant anger, she wondered how could ryomen have forgotten her so easily. had she not meant that much to him after all? perhaps she was just a passing whim to him, in the same way that zeus had many.

surprisingly, but bitterly nonetheless, she thought that maybe demeter was right.

that the gods of olympus – and the underworld, it seemed – were fickle and untrustworthy.

one afternoon, after once again dreaming of hades and the underworld, persephone woke up in a fluster. deciding not be caught up in the rose haze of her fantasies, she maneuvered out from amidst the nymphs, who had gone for a nap to escape the heat of the sun. artemis was nowhere to be seen, but persephone knew she could not be far, for her hounds were resting closely to them and keeping a watchful eye.

one of the nymphs stirred, slowly sitting up and rubbing away the sleep from her eyes. “kore, where are you going?”

persephone angled her face away from the nymph and rolled her eyes. “i want to bathe. it is far too hot.”

the nymph gracefully stood up, rousing a few of the others with her, and together they all went to the bathing pool, with the ghost of artemis’ shadow following through the treeline. they gently lowered persephone into the water, cleansing her body and hair, while she struggled to keep her thoughts from drifting towards hades.

“your ichor runs hot, kore,” one of the nymphs hummed thoughtfully, rubbing the pads of her fingers deep into persephone’s scalp. “why are you so flushed?”

persephone remained silent, her attention firmly fixed on the hounds circling the pool, while the nymphs continued their ministrations.

“you are aroused, kore,” one of the nymphs whispered intimately into her ear, so low so that the others couldn’t hear. “i know these things. who is it you think of? the lightning god, zeus, hmm?”

she made a face of disgust, and the nymph giggled, almost a little too knowingly, her eyelashes fluttering not so innocently. the nymph sensually trailed her fingers down persephone’s arm. “but of course, death has you in his clutches, and you do not want to be let go of, do you?”

“enough,” persephone snapped, whirling to glare at her as her godly blood flushed once again.

the nymph did not taunt her anymore, and after they had finished washing her, persephone took off towards her pomegranate tree, all but growling at them to leave her be. artemis stepped forward from between the trees, the curve of her bow gleaming in the golden light of the hour, her hounds bounding freely through the grass, snapping playfully at each other. she said nothing to the huntress, something her dearest maki had probably come to expect by now, for persephone spoke very little at all these days.

she laid down in the long grass in front of her tree, little daisies tickling the supple skin of her shins, and set about weaving a flower crown made of narcissus. a hound bravely flopped down in front of her, its heavy, wet tongue lolling from between its fangs, rolling into its back and exposing its belly to her.

“that one likes you,” maki commented, a rare softness in her tone. when persephone didn’t reply, she sighed, setting her bow leaning against the tree trunk. “persephone, what is wrong?”

“you already know, maki,” she muttered, piercing the stem of a flower with her fingernail.

artemis shook her head disappointingly. “i only wish to keep you safe from hades. this has all been necessary to ensure that, but that does not mean that i enjoy it.”

persephone ignored her, deftly continuing to weave the stems together, to which maki huffed. it was unwise to antagonize the goddess of the hunt, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. she decided to indulge in the fleeting sense of rebellion that seemingly stemmed from her youth as a young goddess.

she held out the crown, both admiring and critiquing her own handiwork. it needed a crowning jewel, persephone decided – a large and most beautiful blossom to be placed right in the center.

when she looked up, there it was.

the most ethereal narcissus blossom stood proudly in the middle of the meadow, with petals so vibrantly yellow they were almost pure gold. it was complete perfection, the most gorgeous bloom she had ever seen.

persephone clutched her crown tightly, her heart racing as she sprinted towards the blossom. it seemed to sing to something within her, a haunting song she hadn’t heard for an age. the grass beneath her feet seemed to urge her on, whispering words of encouragement. artemis watched her with a furrowed brow, a scowl etched on her face as she ripped clumps of dirt from the earth.

the universe went eerily still as her fingers gripped the stem.

artemis pricked her head up, her hounds suddenly bristling and alert.

the earth let out a mighty groan and trembled, a deep rumble reverberating through the meadow as it trembled beneath her. persephone screamed as the ground split open and rocks cracked and gave way under her weight. the very earth seemed to be opening its jaws, yawning wide to swallow her whole.

this is it, this is my death.

until she found herself ensnared in a scorching embrace, her ear pressed against the warm, bare skin of a chiseled chest. persephone couldn’t move, the steady heartbeat of death soothing her.

“oh, persephone,” ryomen rumbled, his lips pressed into her hairline, his words laced with a desperate sort of affection. “my love, my life. how i have missed you so.”

he pressed quick kisses to her forehead, as if every one could say all the things he wanted to say. “why did you leave me for so long?” persephone couldn’t help but ask, her voice cracking like marble. “i thought you had left me forever.”

a swoosh of an arrow sliced through the air, and with a speed she had never seen before, hades caught it with his bare hand, its wood splintering as he crushed it. persephone heard artemis’ hounds howling, and the huntress’ threatening shouts at the god of the death, unflinching and unwavering. hades’ black stallions snorted and pawed the ground, his menacing obsidian chariot glinting in the sun.

“my love,” he cooed, cradling her face with two hands and forcing her to look deep into his ruby eyes. “i am ashamed of that, but i am here now to break you free from your cage.”

persephone reeled, shock gripping her in its cold clutches. “i– but zeus has forbidden us from each other. there would be war.”

“then let there be war,” he hissed, then quickly softened, tenderly rubbing her cheek with his thumbs. “come with me persephone. let me give you a crown of bones that can never die like your flowers. be my queen, be my wife.”

she paused, sucking in a breath.

could persephone really do such a thing? did she have the strength to not only disobey her mother, but zeus as well?

ryomen bent his neck down closer to her ear and whispered, “are you afraid?”

“no,” she replied as steadily as she could, wetting her lips with her tongue. “i could never be afraid of you.”

another arrow whizzed past dangerously closer to his ear, his curls fluttering as the wind from it rushed through, and still hades did not flinch. he smiled softly, kissing between her brows. “then say you will stay with me, my sweet flower. let me give you the power you were born to wield.”

persephone nodded slowly, the gravity of her decision weighing heavily on her, but there was not an ounce of hesitation that it wasn’t the right one. with a great grin on his face, hades cracked a magnificent whip and his stallions lurched forward deep into the earth, as artemis screamed promises of vengeance.

she didn’t care.

as the earth swallowed them both, the golden sun disappearing entirely and the first glimpse of the underworld came into view, all persephone could feel was an astounding sense of just one emotion.

freedom.

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persephone had finally blossomed into full bloom, unfurling her radiant petals to show the world that she was a goddess after all.

the underworld had not subjected her to death and decay as zeus had once predicted. instead, she flourished into who she was always meant to be. ryomen had always seen persephone for who she was, even before she saw it herself, and he had only helped her flourish. he had declared that she was not bound to a singular fate of a lowly wood nymph, but rather embrace duality as both a goddess of nature and queen of the underworld.

they had married the very same day persephone descended into his domain, their union blessed by hecate, or uraume, as hades often fondly referred to them as. persephone’s days were then spent in a wondrous bubble of discovery, wandering through the underworld with uraume as her guide, learning all its secrets and inner workings. then, when she felt ready, she judged the souls of the dead alongside her husband, sitting atop his lap as if he were her throne. together, they would listen to the pleas of all that stood trial before them, with persephone running her fingers through his curls, and the unyielding god of the underworld would allow it.

their nights together were tender and vulnerable, both of them baring themselves to each other with all their faults and discretions in plain view. and still, it was full of love and acceptance. persephone would never change her husband’s ways, just as ryomen would never try to tell her how to live her life.

the god of the dead was true; his love steadfast and searing with passion, nothing at all like the cold fickleness of the olympians.

persephone didn’t know how long she had been in the underworld, and she didn’t care to count. there were no mealtimes to mark the passing of the day, for there was no need to eat in the underworld, and hades was vehemently against her ever eating a thing. instead, she marked the passage of time whenever they retired to their bed, where she lay in his arms, talking about everything and anything at all.

“ryo, why do you not allow me to eat?” persephone finally asked him, her curiosity getting the better of her, tracing her fingers over the strange black markings on his biceps.

hades sighed, one of his hands gently squeezing her thigh. “because… it would bind you forever to me.”

“but we are already husband and wife,” she rebuked, frowning. “we are bound through our vows to each other.”

“this is different, my love. you would be chained to the underworld as i am, and you could never leave it.”

“would that be so terrible? i never want to be parted from you.”

“it would. i do not wish for you to be in another cage, even if it is with me, and even if i also wish for you to always be at my side.”

hades gently maneuvered her beneath him, his crimson eyes trailing over her body. “let us not speak of such things anymore, persephone,” he murmured, planting kisses along her bare chest.

she was then lost in a haze of pleasure, and they spoke no more of it.

until one fateful day, when the air carried the taste of snow and change, hermes paid a visit to the rulers of the dead.

“your mother has covered all the land in frost and ice in her grief,” the young god solemnly said, staring straight at persephone, his very hair seemingly touched by the very same cold he spoke of. “the people of greece are suffering.”

persephone shifted uncomfortably on ryomen’s lap, and her husband’s grip on her hips tightened. “do not try to guilt my wife as if demeter’s actions are hers,” hades growled at the messenger of the gods.

“the people of greece are suffering,” hermes continued defiantly, his head bowed and all traces of his usual mischief gone. “the very essence of nature is dying. everything you have toiled to ever grow is dying, oh queen of the dead.”

her bottom lip trembled, and her eyes glistened with a milky white sheen of tears that threatened to spill as persephone’s body tensed in an effort to control her whirling emotions. ryomen hushed her softly, his hand gently stroking her back, as if he could sense her anguish.

“it is my fault,” she whispered, more so to ui ui than hades. “it is my fault my mother thinks i have perished, and nature is now doomed to die because of my decision.”

hermes shook his head, his face crumbling with regret. “it pains me to bring you this news, but zeus has instructed me to carry this message to you both.”

“a message from zeus?” hades snapped questioningly, his breath hot against persephone’s ear. “he knows she is here?”

“helios witnessed persephone descend with you into the underworld, but he has kept this knowledge to himself for a time, as he knew you had not kidnapped her. but now, the earth is dying, and the people pray and cry for mercy.”

hermes took a deep breath before continuing. “and so helios has told zeus of what has transpired, for the sake of the mortals. demeter cannot accept that her daughter has chosen death over life. she refuses to cease the endless winter until persephone is returned to her at once.”

the ground rumbled, and persephone could feel her husband’s anger growing as her guilt did. her heart tore as she thought of the golden fields she had so carefully tended, now withering and buckling under the weight of an unnatural winter. she thought of the mortals, who had so kindly offered her honeycomb and incense, always praying to her for fertility of the land and womb. she thought of her mother, whom despite everything, persephone still loved deeply. she could not begin to imagine the sort of pain hanami must be enduring since her disappearance.

“i do not wish to cause you this sort of pain, persephone,” ui ui said earnestly, a hand over his heart. “you already know that i have kept your secret for these past six months.”

six months…

“what does it matter if the mortals are dying?” hades grunted, waving a dismissive hand, leaning back against his throne. “the more souls that reside in our realm, the stronger we are. zeus knows this.”

hermes’ face scrunched up in discomfort. “zeus… acknowledges that fact, and he is imploring for you both to see reason.”

has it really been six months?

“reason?” hades scoffed. “riddle me this then, trickster. is it reason or jealousy that drives my brother to ask me to give up my wife, hmm?”

“he knows not that you are married, so let me help you strike a bargain with the god of lightning,” hermes proposed, his hand ominously disappearing into the folds of his toga.

he procured a whole pomegranate in his palm, holding it out to them both like some sort of salvation. persephone sucked in a breath, and hades stiffened, his muscles hardening into marble at the sight, as if he were almost afraid of it.

she knew that fruit; it was from her tree.

“i offer you a choice t-”

“you overstep, hermes,” hades hissed, recoiling and ready to strike. “you do not offer her a choice, only to lock her in a cage with me.”

“stay calm, ryomen,” persephone finally interjected, her voice but a mere drop in a turbulent ocean of salt and sorrow. “what if this is the only way?”

ryomen’s gaze snapped towards her, a whirlwind of confusion and unmistakable panic in his eyes. “what way, persephone? i will not have you bound to only this realm. it would just be another cage.”

“but it wouldn’t be a cage if i was willing. it is you, after all,” she returned, tears of pearls running down her cheeks.

“my love, my sweet flower, you would only resent me after a time,” he whispered reverently, his forehead touching hers. “and i would rather be thrown into the depths of tartarus than have you hate me.”

six months…

“please, then let me do what i believe is right,” persephone implored desperately, her fists clenching his toga. “you promised me that you would let me be free to do as i wish.”

persephone watched on as her beloved, her ryomen sukuna, seemed to wage a war within himself. his deep ruby eyes, usually so alight with a stout sort of resoluteness, were now a tempest of uncertainty. lines were etched deep into his forehead like scratchings on a stone carving, and each fleeting change of emotion spoke volumes of how much he was struggling.

until the god of the dead finally crumpled, his shoulders growing slack, and his entire demeanor going so very still.

“do what you must, my love. my soul cannot refuse you, nor can it stand to limit you,” his voice quivered with raw emotion, heavy and unbearably low with defeat.

persephone kissed the bridge of his nose, a salty tear landing on her husband’s cheek, and slowly, agonizingly, untangled herself from his tight embrace. she strode towards hermes, the gold jewelry adorning her arms and neck – opulent gifts that ryomen frequently showered her with – clinking as she did so.

the messenger of the gods quirked his eyebrow expectantly, and he further extended the pomegranate towards her, its smooth skin reflecting the dim light of the underworld. her fingers itched to reach out and touch it, a mixture of longing and dread washing over her.

persephone wasn’t sure whether or not to grasp it or run far away from it.

she cleared her throat and thoughts, and asked, “what sort of bargain would ever stand with zeus?”

“i propose this to you, loveliest persephone,” hermes began, cracking open the pomegranate in his little hands. “you have spent six wonderful months with your husband, and so your mother is owed six months in return.”

anger flashed in her irises, and the ground shook once more. “you are full of mischief, ui ui. you speak so very boldly for your age.”

ui ui seemed to shirk in shame, curling into himself ever so slightly, as he removed six ruby gems of pomegranate seeds from the shell of the fruit. “i propose a bold claim, and therefore i must speak in the same manner.”

“well, what is it then?”

“eat six of these seeds to bind yourself to the realm of the dead. you will be forced to return to your husband for six months of the year, and there will be nothing zeus nor demeter can do about it. i will go to olympus and inform them of what you have done, and will say that you threaten to eat another six seeds if zeus does not vow to never touch you while you are away from hades.”

thorns grew beneath the soles of persephone’s feet, her ichor and power manifesting its detestation over the injustice of it all, a painfully silent protest against the weight of the choices before her.

how could she possibly make a decision to willingly leave her husband for half the year?

she couldn’t. she wouldn’t.

but could i abandon the golden crops of my labor to die because of my choices?

behind her, she could sense ryomen’s grief growing wildly – a sorrowful groan echoing through the earth as it responded to his pain.

ui ui grabbed persephone’s hand, dropping the seeds into her palm, and curled her fingers to cover them. “i never wished for you to ever be in pain. i have always thought of you very fondly, and i hate for you to be coerced into such unfair choices.”

she unfurled her fingers, staring down at the glimmering gems from her tree as if they beheld all the answers of the universe.

“you have much to learn, ui ui, as do i,” persephone murmured, her voice suddenly imbued with all the wisdom of the gods before her.

she had grown this tree from a mere seedling to what it was now. how could she have not noticed that it had always revealed the true nature of her soul? it had always known her intimately, as its branches curved and tilted towards the earth, and persephone had never understood why it had until now.

it had always been guiding her.

persephone looked over her shoulder at her husband, her ears sinking as she took in ryomen’s crushed posture. he was stooped over, a pair of arms crossed protectively over his chest, the other pair gripping his throne in support.

persephone hated how utterly exposed he looked.

“but you must always know to listen to your heart,” she said, her voice steeling as her ichor pulsed in her veins. “know that it cannot lead you astray from what is right for yourself.”

with a tip of her head, persephone pressed her palm to her mouth, the seeds falling between her teeth. she bit down slowly, their burst of tart yet sweet flavor spreading over her tongue, their red juice staining her lips and trickling down her chin in rivulets. her husband stirred, and she felt her soul meld with his, intertwining and caressing each other as persephone sealed her fate.

two gold strings tied together, shimmering threads of destiny, never to be undone until the end of time.

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taglist: @tadabzzzbee @wannapizzamymindposts @stromynight

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Against All Odds

A bodyguard and his charge are secretly dating and expecting their first child. But as Melissa approaches her due date, things take a dramatic turn at her father’s campaign rally….

(25k words!!! Content: childbirth, violence, death (not MC’s), non-con elements, mortal peril, clothing birth, birth denial)

Story co-written by the incredibly talented @wootenbassett75 and will be posted in parts to his DA account here

~•~

His suit was pressed, and his gun fastened to his hip beneath the jacket. Victor had been in the bodyguard game for nearly a decade now, yet none of his previous gigs compared to his current. For the past year, he had been on the personal detail for Senator George Matthews. Well, not his detail, but that of his daughter. At first he had regretted it, seeing this as a glorified babysitting duty for some spoiled politicians kid that had never been told no. Oh how wrong he’d been. 

It all started ten months earlier, a Christmas party her father had been holding for his campaign supporters. Up to that point, he had mostly avoided conversation with Melissa, finding the fierce independence she had as a nuisance. She hadn’t wanted a bodyguard, and apparently only relented due to her fathers position making them all potential targets of groups that had less than savory intentions. At the party though, something happened. Victor didn’t know what, but one thing led to another and they spent the night together, then the next week, it happened again, and again, and again. Before long they were having their secret love affair whenever they could get away. All seemed well, till those two pink lines appeared.

She was pregnant, and Victor was the father. They couldn’t come out and say it, he’d never get to keep his job. So, she claimed it was a fling, a one night stand with a man she didn’t recall the name of. Her father had been furious, but eventually relented. Now months later here they were. He tried so hard to be with her at all times but it didn’t work. At the hotel he wasn’t able to sleep in her room due to the constant eyes of the press. He’d protested about her even coming, the baby was due soon, this party was the last place she should be. But he had a job to do, and there was no way he could convince her or her father otherwise. 

Victor pulled out his copy of her room key, and entered. “Melissa?” He called out. “You awake? The party is already starting.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Melissa said from the en-suite of her hotel room, leaning against the sink and shifting her hips side to side. 

After arriving at the hotel mid-afternoon Melissa had disappeared to her room to take a nap; being 39 weeks pregnant and carrying the weight of a bowling ball in her pelvis all day was exhausting, so she took the opportunity to rest before the event tonight. She only managed to get an hour or two rest before she was awoken by a dull ache cramping across her womb and the need to use the bathroom. 

On pulling down her clothes and sitting on the toilet she soon discovered she had lost her mucus plug. Part of Melissa was excited at the sign that she was nearing the birth of her child. But the timing wasn’t great. Her father’s campaign was reaching its pivotal point and it felt like every other day she was required at some event or another, helping to create the perfect family image, to aid her fathers bid for Senate. 

They were hoping she’d go overdue to when all the craziness of the campaign was over, so she and Victor could disappear for a few days and have their baby together. Melissa clung firmly on to that plan, determined to get through this final week. 

After discarding her ruined underwear she quickly showered and freshened up, wrapping the fluffy white hotel towel around her swollen body. She felt another dull ache ripple through her middle and leant against the sink taking slow breaths. That's when she heard Victor enter her hotel room. After the practice contraction ended she waddled out of the en-suite, towel still wrapped around her, and saw him standing there in his suit for the party tonight. 

“Don’t you look handsome this evening.” She said, smiling brightly. 

Victor chuckled. “And you look like you’re glowing.” In the privacy of this room, he had no hesitation walking up to her, placing both hands on her towel wrapped bump, and planting a kiss on her lips. Beneath his hands he could feel that slight tightening, but having been unable to read any of the pregnancy books thanks to an overly nosey roommate, he thought that was just some kicks. “I see our girl is anxious about the party too.” He knelt, and gently opened the towel so he could see the soft flesh of her belly. “Behave in there lil Miss. Mommy has to give a speech tonight.” Victor kissed her navel and stood. “You did remember your speech right? You dads staff will have a heart attack if you wing it like you did in that last party.” A fond memory, watching her fathers upity speech writer lose his mind.

Victor walked to her bed, keeping one hand on the small of her back to guide. None of the dresses seemed like they would be comfortable in his mind, but he knew very little of women’s fashion. That being said, he’d never seen her more comfortable than in one of his tshirts and sweat pants with a tub of ice cream balanced on their daughters dwelling.

“Yes, yes, I remembered the speech. It’s in my handbag somewhere…. I think.” Melissa added with an uncertain giggle as she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. 

The second her weight transferred onto the mattress a small hiss slipped from her mouth and she immediately lifted and adjusted her seated position. “Oooof— she’s tucked so damn low it feels like I’m sitting on something.” She joked. 

Melissa closed her eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, before opening her eyes and running her hand over her towel-clad belly. “I’m not sure any of the dresses I’ve brought for tonight are even going to fit. I’m huge. Could you get the black one from my bag please? I think that’s my best bet. You’re definitely going to have to help me get dressed.” A smirk flashed across her lips. 

Victor returned the look, then shook his head. “Of course I’ll help you baby.” He said, moving to grab the dress. He removed it from the back, he’d seen her wear this one before, months ago, when she was far smaller. They were going to be lucky if they didn’t have to cut this off of her when the party was over. He saw some other items that he was unsure if she’d be planning to wear, so grabbed them too. When he returned he had the dress as well as panties, a bra, and pantyhose. “No funny business ma’am.” He winked. If Victor was honest with himself, she carried pregnancy so well that it somehow made her even more attractive. It’d led to some adventures beneath the sheets. “What first?”

Melissa winced a little as she adjusted her position on the side of the bed, the baby determined to stay nestled right between her hips making it impossible to find any sort of comfort. 

“Underwear first please.” She said, pleasantly surprised Victor had managed to select a matching set that was also black to go with the dress. Throwing open her towel in a casual fashion, Melissa then tried and failed to stand up. Scoffing in annoyance she took the garments from Victor and proceeded to put her underwear on as much as she could while sitting. 

From the corner of her eyes she could see the smirk of amusement as Victor watched her struggle around her belly that was weighing heavily over and between her thighs. 

“Don’t you dare laugh.” She playfully warned. 

“Not a word.” He said, holding his hands up. The smile remained though. “Miss Independent, how about you ask the father of your child for a hand huh?” It wasn’t the first time he’d helped her, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Victor took her hands, waiting till she gave the go ahead to pull her to her feet. 

That discomfort in her face made him desperately wish he could take it away, but knew that there was nothing to be done until their little bundle made her grand appearance. An idea did come to mind though, one that could give temporary relief. Victor put her hands on his shoulders, then knelt to help her raise her underwear. Dirty thoughts came and went. Later, they’d have some fun later. He managed to get her panties on, then went to work on the pantyhose. 

“Ah shit…” He grumbled, realizing once they were to her knees that they were apparently inside out. They both got a good laugh out of the mistake. All in all, dressing took almost thirty minutes. “You look beautiful.” He told her as they worked the dress. “Now turn around.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Victor turned Melissa so she faced away from him, slowly, he placed his hands on the underside of her belly, and lifted up. Videos circulating on the internet told him this would relieve some of the aches and weight temporarily.

“A pre party gift.” He whispered in her ear, planting a kiss on her cheek.

The sound that left Melissa’s lips as Victor gently lifted her swollen belly was low and full of blissful relief. 

“Oh wow—” Her head tilted back, melting into his embrace as she was granted a temporary respite from the weight she’d been carrying. “I need you to never stop doing this…” She said with a soft giggle of amusement knowing full well they couldn’t navigate the evening in this position. Especially as no one knew of their relationship. They’d be lucky to get away with meaningful looks and a few subtle points of contact with all the eyes watching. 

Reluctantly after a few minutes Melissa gave Victor a silent signal it was okay to let go and she braced herself for the weight and pressure to return to her hips. She didn’t bank on another cramp hitting at the same time and she groaned a little hunching over slightly. Attempting to walk off the seized muscles she waddled over to the desk to get her clutch, remembering to include her speech. “We are definitely doing that again later, that felt incredible. How did you know to do that?” She asked in pleasant wonder, her hand absentmindedly rubbing under her belly already missing the support of her partner’s hands.  

“One of those internet things. ‘What to do for your pregnant partner’.” Victor explained. “It also had ‘make her favorite meals’, and ‘get her a pregnancy pillow’. You kinda beat me to both of those so, this was the next best thing. After the party I’ll give you a foot massage. Read that they can help this late into pregnancy. Lord knows heels look uncomfortable even at the best of times, I can’t imagine how irritating it’ll be for you to wear them with lil Miss in there.” To ease the amount of walking, he grabbed her handbag for her. 

Together they walked to the door, his hand on her the entire time. Before reaching for the handle, Victor gave Melissa one last passionate kiss before they would practically be separated for the entire night.

“I love you, and our girl. Once this nights over we will do anything you want, promise.” With his proclamation said, Victor opened the door. The night would be simple, easy, just a little speech and he could sneak her away to relax and get out of her restrictive clothing. What he hadn’t told her yet, was that he had a little box in his pocket, and a hotel room reserved one town over with flowers, chocolates, and candles all laid out. Along with a note, one asking the question he should’ve asked the day she showed him the test.

Inside the lift going down to the ground floor Melissa looked in the mirror, adjusting her soft curls that skimmed her shoulders, ignoring the way her belly felt like it was tightening again. These braxton hicks had an annoying habit of happening at the worst time and she just hoped it wouldn’t happen while she was giving her speech. 

She stepped closer to Victor, seeing their reflections in the mirror and wondered what their daughter would look like. Would she have her red hair, or her fathers blue eyes… 

“One more week. Then my fathers campaign will be over and we can welcome our daughter into this world together.” Her voice was soft and quiet, as if worried someone would hear through the doors. 

The lift slowed, approaching the ground floor where the event was being held. Facing the doors they stepped apart but kept their fingers linked, giving each other a loving smile before separating as the doors opened and their facade began. 

Victor understood politics about as well as an ancient Roman would understand the use of smart phones. He knew there was a vote coming, and that Melissa’s father was predicted to win in a landslide, but he had no clue what his policies even were. As it was from the beginning of their relationship, Victors facial expression was that of perpetual boredom when he was working. Eyes scanned the crowd, hands at his sides and kept open in case quick access was needed to his handgun. Not that he would. Besides himself, Victor knew Melissa’s father employed four other private security guards for his staff. 

“Another boring party eh?” Asked one of the guards, an older man with gelled back hair.

“Quiet nights make our job easier don’t they Felix?”

“True.” Felix said, his own body set to spring into action. “How’s Dandelion?” He asked, pointedly looking at Melissa as she socialized.

“She was fine. Just moving slow today.” Victor worked to keep his tone level. Felix was ex-military, Military Police to be specific. The man could sniff a lie from miles out. “Rooster and Hen?” Victor asked, steering the conversation away.

“Hen stayed in the room, turns out that it was the flu, not a stomach bug. Rooster is talking to campaign investors at your two o’clock.” Victor looked, and saw the Senator. “Head on a swivel tonight. Rumor has it he pissed off quite a few people with some announcement.”

“Will do.” Victor said, and left the veteran guard to his duties, moving to where he could watch the woman carrying his child speak with others till speech time.

Melissa moved around the hall with the social ease of a butterfly; although she had not followed in her fathers political footsteps and despised half the people in this room, her upbringing meant these formal events were second nature. Effortlessly navigating conversations, speaking with the relevant people, singing her fathers praises - being the perfect reflection of the perfect candidate. 

Her pregnancy had initially caused a little controversy for the campaign but the negative press soon died out and now, being quite visibly heavily pregnant, everyone was fawning over the impending new child. It was almost impossible to get through a single conversation without someone touching her bump without asking or making some comment about her looking ready to ‘pop’. Melissa smiled falsely through gritted teeth, both from annoyance but also the persistent cramps that continued to plague her evening. 

The dress was too tight, making her belly heavier and firmer beneath the black form fitting fabric. Pressing a hand into her aching lower back, she turned to find a comforting face through the crowd watching her silently. She smiled, feeling instantly more relaxed at the sight of Victor's dimples as he returned the smile.  

“Hey!” A voice as piercing as the last time Melissa had heard it echoed through the room. Quickly approaching was one of the only people who was actually closer to her age than her fathers. “Melissa girl, I thought you were going to be held up in some hospital somewhere, look at you!” Genevieve Wilkins, or Evie as she preferred to be called, was a friend of Melissa’s from college. Her short pixie cut brunette hair gave her a tomboy look that did nothing to suppress her femininity. 

She wore a pants suit, her press badge proudly on display for all to see. While they had known one another for years, even Evie was unaware of the childs true father. That didn’t stop the reporter making her attempts at guessing. 

“You are looking great! I’m surprised to see you out and about. If I were as pregnant as you my ass would be on the couch watching tv and eating my feelings.” She smiled. “I know I ask every time we see each other but… cmon… an exclusive story for your best friend? The name of your babies father?” Evie was only half joking, such a story would make her career as a reporter in the political scene.

Melissa laughed at the audacity of her friend; she was like a dog with a bone when she wanted something. “Well….since you’re my best friend and all…” She said in a hushed voice, looking around them before leaning in towards Evie, opening her mouth with the distinct impression she was about to share a secret. 

“…I’m still not telling you.” Melissa whispered into her friend's ear before laughing loudly, holding the swell of her bump that seemed to jolt with the laughter. Evie playfully swotted her shoulder, scowling with annoyance. 

“Seriously though, I’m just not ready for that yet. I’m sorry.” Melissa made a conscious effort not to look towards where she knew Victor was standing nearby and watching, not wanting to give her friend any sniff of a story. Changing the subject she asked “Is the dress alright? It was the only option that still fit, this little one just doesn't stop growing. I feel huge. But I couldn’t miss the party tonight, Dad’s got me giving yet another speech.” She rolled her eyes, unconsciously shifting her hips a little as her back flared up again in discomfort, the tension wrapping around her sides and up her spine. 

“I just need to get through this week. Oooof— One more week, then the campaign will be finished and I can focus on my little girl.” Her affection for the baby shone through her bright smile, hands cradling the underside of her belly as she spoke, rubbing away the tension that had caused a little moan to slip past her lips. 

“Ugh, another speech. Of course.” Evie sighed. “Not that you are a bad speaker, it’s just, having you do all these speeches is dumb. Let a soon to be mom relax why don’t you.” The reporter didn’t seem to notice the moan, that or she assumed it was just one of the many joys of pregnancy. Constant discomfort. “When the time comes, I expect to be your first call girl. I have duties as favorite Aunt that I can’t properly fulfill if I’m not at the hospital to meet her.” Evie smiled, placing a comforting hand on Melissa’s arm. “And yes, that dress looks great on you. Shows off your curves just enough.” She winked, that playful nature ever present.

Meanwhile across the room, Victor was watching with bated breath. Evie, he only interacted with the reporter a handful of times. ‘Nosey’ was an understatement with that woman. He shifted his gaze momentarily, spotting the Senator and some other partygoers pouring glasses of scotch. God, he would kill for some alcohol, but that was one thing he’d sworn off. ‘If you can’t drink, then neither will I.’ Victor should’ve just gotten Melissa a puppy. 

“Excuse me?”

Victor was pulled from his thoughts, a man dressed like the wait staff stood before him with a platter.

“Yes?”

“The party is running out of food already and the Senator requested that catering be ordered. Do you have the gate code so the delivery can come in?”

“Oh, uh yeah. #9921856. Then you press the unlock button and the back door opens.” Victor said, only half paying attention. 

“Thank you sir.” The waiter said. In his distraction, Victor missed that the staff member with whom he’d just interacted with had no name tag, unlike all the others present.

While Evie was regaling the story behind her latest article, Melissa found herself zoning out a little, distracted by the tightening and heaviness of her belly. It wasn’t anything unusual, she’d been experiencing cramps sporadically ever since she reached 36 weeks, but she was starting to notice the frequency in each pulse of discomfort. 

Nodding habitually along with Evie’s animated story, her hand moved across her belly and she felt it harden beneath her fingers. A sharp inhale pulled through her nostrils as the tension peaked and the baby shifted. 

“C-can you hold my drink hun?” She interrupted her best friend, practically shoving her glass of sparkling water into Evie’s hand. “I need to nip to the bathroom. Baby’s pressing right against my bladder.” With a forced smile and lighthearted joke Melissa was waddling away before Evie had a chance to respond. 

Thankfully the ladies bathroom was empty and Melissa sighed in relief as she went straight up to the sink and braced her palms against the counter, letting go of a quiet moan. “Oooohhh…..” Everything felt so tight and heavy, her hips moving in natural circles around the baby’s low position between her hips. 

“Mmm… no, no…. Please just be false labour…. You don’t want to come now baby….” Melissa looked down at her body, speaking to the bump packed tightly into her black dress. “Your dad and I have everything planned for next week…. Stay safe in there a little longer for me sweetie.” 

Her body responded with another sharp contraction, forcing Melissa to grit her teeth to stop any sounds from echoing around the empty women’s bathroom. 

There were too many people. How hard could it be to keep track of a heavily pregnant redhead? Victor, after a solid ten seconds of scanning the crowd, relented. 

“Oh hello handsome.” Evie said as he approached. “I assure you I’m allowed to be here, look, press.”

“I know. Where did Mel, I mean, where did Ms Matthew’s go?” There wasn’t panic in his tone, not yet at least. There was however, concern. He knew next to nothing about pregnancy and as a result immediately thought the worst could have happened.

“Oh! Her little one was dancing on her bladder.”

Victor nodded, and wove through the bodies of rich people till he reached the bathroom. An instinct he didn’t understand told him to go in, but logic prevailed. Others would notice if he went into the women’s restroom. So, he gingerly knocked on the door.

“Ms Matthew’s? Is everything alright?”

On hearing the knock Melissa’s head whipped towards the door, worrying for a split second someone would come in and see her leaning heavily against the sink and swaying her hips. That voice…his voice sent her heart fluttering despite the current cramp she was still trying to ride out. 

“Yes, e-everything’s fine.” She said with a forced lightness, catching her breath as the discomfort eased away. It was just a few cramps, nothing to worry about and certainly nothing to warrant telling Victor. He faced danger and high stakes situations for a living, a trait she was forever in awe of, but she had the distinct suspicion he wouldn’t take even the hint of a suggestion of being labour very well. They had to keep up appearances, especially tonight at the campaign event, and she wouldn’t risk his career over a false alarm. 

It took her another minute or so to be ready; smoothing her hair back into place and pulling her dress down from where it had ridden up from her swaying, but with a final glance at her reflection she pulled open the door and left the privacy of the restroom. 

“If I can’t hide, neither can you.” Victor whispered when he saw her. She seemed, tired, but not like she usually was. Pregnancy exhausted her and he was used to that. Maybe their night out after this would just turn into a relaxing night in. “Baby girl irritating you? I can give her a firm talking to tonight.” A group of her fathers supporters got a bit too close so Victors demeanor quickly altered to that of the bodyguard. 

People were attracted to his girlfriend like bees to honey, and as per usual, he was the invisible protector. The night continued, and Victor's eyes lingered on the woman who’d stolen his heart. There still seemed to be something off about how she acted. Perhaps the anxiety was finally getting to her, making her constantly rub her belly and sweat.

Melissa found herself needing a seat more often than she usually did during these events; her hips felt like they were carrying the weight of the world and these damn cramps just weren’t going away. She wasn’t timing them, couldn’t bring herself to admit that she might need to, but they were roughly happening every 15-20 minutes. 

Perching awkwardly at the side of the stage on one of the high bar stools she read through her speech, trying to stop herself from cradling and rubbing at her belly. Her father was currently on stage giving his usual confident spiel to his enthusiastic audience, which was mainly filled with wealthy older men who donated generously to his campaign. Plus the press of course. She smiled seeing Evie standing front and centre with her dictaphone and notepad. 

Another cramp seized her womb and Melissa nearly bent over in response, instead gripping her speech and the chair as she took slow and subtle deep breaths through the wave. It was just practice contractions….only practice… then why did the baby feel so damn low-? 

When it came to speeches, the entirety of the security team became one cohesive unit. The Senators body man was on stage with him, remaining a few paces behind and off to the side. Felix was stationed opposite Victor, taking the stage left corner of the raised platform while Victor had the right. He knew Melissa was behind him, and that she was far more fidgety than he’d ever seen before. Over the last hour, Victor watched her like a hawk. Nothing was wrong that he could tell, but it certainly wasn’t right.

“Foyer secure.” Came a crackle over his ear piece.

“Upper floor access secure.” Another said. Victor, out of the corner of his eye saw Felix lift his cuff to his lips to whisper.

“Crowd shows no threats, but keep your heads on a swivel.” He said.

“Possible code red.” A voice said, Victor didn’t know the man’s name, but was aware of his credentials. If he was calling a code red, there was a problem.

“Details.” Felix growled, tensing. Victor did the same, his hands falling to his side.

“Kitchen door wide open. Tape over lock. Building is not secure, repeat, building not…” He was cut off, as if the microphone ceased all existence. 

“I’m en route. Felix keep an eye on Dandelion.” Victor said, turning to move for the kitchen. He passed Melissa on the way, and in a moment of instinct, reached to squeeze her hand. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered, and disappeared into the back of the hotel.

Her eyes followed him as he rushed off out of sight, she didn’t even have a chance to ask what was happening. Melissa looked to the remaining security presence, at Felix, but his face was unreadable. Victor didn’t often leave her side, especially since she reached full term, and she wondered what called him away. 

No one seemed nervous or on edge; her father was making jokes to the audience, the sea of people hanging on his every word. Perhaps it was just a staffing issue, Victor had been closest to the kitchens. She had more pressing things to worry about— 

“Mmmh…” a groan rattled the back of her throat as her belly tightened once again. This time she placed a casual hand under it, hoping the movement looked absentminded and affectionate, keeping her face smiling and watching the stage. They were really starting to take her breath away now, that dull pulsing ache twisting into sharper more focused pulling. As she breathed her way through it she noticed her father wrapping up his speech and beginning her introduction. 

It took more effort than she cared to admit to move herself off of the bar stool and across the stage to the podium. Each step she became more and more aware of where the baby was nestled, low and deep in her pelvis, her waddle more pronounced than ever. 

“Thanks Dad.” Melissa said in range of the microphone, smiling as he kissed her cheek and passed the stage to his daughter. Her hands very quickly found the podium, leaning into it slightly to steady herself, her balance feeling off. Taking a deep breath, she said a silent prayer to her little baby “hold on a bit longer sweetie” before beginning her pre-written speech. 

The kitchens were quiet, and that was the first sign that something was wrong. In his training to become a bodyguard, the instructors always said not to draw your weapon unless your charge becomes endangered. However, Victor was military before he was a bodyguard. That part of his brain took over. 

“Al?” He called, using the echoes of his voice to cover the subtle scratching that was his handgun clearing the leather holster. There was a shuffling off to his left, the direction of the back door. Instinct and training had his pistol raised with his off hand supporting it in less than a second. The further into the kitchen, the more unsettling it became. 

The first body was one of his fellow guards, the bruising around his neck a clear indication of how his life had ended. Victors heart began to pound, blood rushing in his ears as adrenaline flooded his system. Two more bodies, one whom was shirtless, with a name tag tossed onto his chest. The second was a woman, one that Victor knew from the profiling of the staff. She was the head chef. Victor lifted his sleeve to his mouth to speak, and that was when all hell broke loose.

The sounds were muffled, but Victor knew gunshots when they happened. On the off chance it wasn’t his hearing that told him, then the new ventilation in the sleeve of his jacket would make a fine confirmation. Pain lanced through his body, emanating from the graze that hit his left bicep. Three more shots came, all of them intended to kill, but Victor was gone. The bodyguard dropped to the floor, rolling onto his back and pulling the trigger. He missed, spotting his target duck into cover at the last second. 

“Tangos in the kitchen!” He yelled into his sleeve. “Secure the family!” Two more sources of suppressed gunfire came at him, Victor giving himself covering fire as he moved to a counter for protection. “Felix! Do you copy?!”

Felix, couldn’t answer.

Out in the lobby, eight men stood. Felix was gone before he could even reach Melissa, and she was all alone atop the stage. The men wore masks, all identifying markers removed. Three had on wait staff clothing, explaining how one had gotten close enough to stab Felix. 

“Ladies and gentleman!” One called out over the cries of alarm. When they wouldn’t be silenced, a single nod came and automatic gunfire peppered the ceiling. “Ladies and gentleman! I hate to interrupt your party, but there is business to be conducted.” 

Gunfire echoed from the kitchen, from where Victor was. This didn’t phase the masked man. His eyes, were set on the heavily pregnant Melissa.

In the blink of an eye she had gone from giving a speech to frozen in fear. The room was deathly silent, no one daring to move an inch as the men with guns spread out across the room. Felix’s body was sprawled across the stage, the blood pulsing from his body and pooling towards her shoes. 

Her gaze moved across the room, still gripping the podium and keeping her head and torso perfectly still. Where had her father gone? He’d stepped off stage when Melissa began her speech but she couldn’t see him or his bodyguard. The eyes of the armed man who spoke locked onto her making her skin crawl at the darkness behind them. Even though he was wearing a mask, she could tell he was smirking behind the fabric as he stomped towards her. 

One of her hands released the podium, placing itself protective over her swollen belly, and she gulped nervously. “W-what do you w-want?” Her voice stuttered, failing to sound as strong as she wanted. 

“Where is your father darlin’?” The man’s voice was low and gravelled but somehow purred with malicious intent. 

Melissa opened her mouth but words failed her. Her heart thundered in her chest, eyes flicking sharply between his eyes and the gun in his hand that was poised directly at her. It felt like her lungs had stopped working, she couldn’t breathe. Another contraction tore through her body and she whimpered, cradling her belly and gripping the podium with white knuckles. 

“WHERE is George Matthews?!” The man yelled across the lobby, stepping right beside Melissa and putting the gun against the side of her waist. 

This close, she could smell his aftershave, the stink of his breath pungent with every syllable pronounced. There was two more shots from the kitchen, a cry of pain, followed by silence. Less than a minute later, two men emerged.

“Rest of the security is dead boss.” One said, nursing his arm. “Bastard killed Milo and Jamie though.”

“Then that shouldn’t stop you from FINDING THE SENATOR!” The leader shouted, pressing the pistol a little tighter to Melissa. “Search the building!” He pointed at Evie with his handgun. “You! You’re a reporter right? Make sure the world knows this is what happens when cowards are allowed on Capitol Hill.” One of the masked men ran up to him. 

“Cops are on the way. Silent alarm was tripped.”

The leader growled. “Fine.” He said after a moment. “Three minutes, then we go plan B.” He got close to Melissa, inhaling deeply. “Shame on your daddy for leaving a girl to take a man’s punishment.” He said. “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you too bad.”

The man’s hand gripped her bare arm, pressing the small circular barrel of the gun against her side. Those three minutes were the longest of her life as the other armed men searched the lobby and surrounding rooms for her father. The boss meanwhile had gotten closer, his body almost pressed against her side as she stood frozen on stage. 

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you.” He sneered quietly into her ear, his hand releasing her arm to stroke the soft curls of her auburn hair. “The photos don’t do you justice.” 

“P-please…. I’m pregnant, don’t hurt my baby.” Melissa croaked. 

“Oh I’m well aware of your… condition.” His hand travelled from her hair down the length of her body until it landed on the full swell she was carrying. “So big, bursting with new life. It's a shame their grandfather is a double crossing bastard.” 

Melissa’s breath hitched with another contraction, grimacing and gritting her teeth as everything tightened and squeezed and pulled downwards. The Boss just took her reaction as one of fear, laughing as his hand splayed across her belly while the other kept firm on the gun pressing into her side. 

She was trembling, paralysed by fear. She always thought she would be good in a crisis, headstrong and fierce, and yet now when the cards were down she couldn’t move. Begging to protect the life of her child. 

Another masked armed man jumped up onto the stage. “Boss - we gotta go. Cops are getting too close.” 

“Times up sweetheart.” The leader sneered, letting go of her belly and grabbing her arm once more. He looked out from the stage, at the sea of people now all on their knees cowering. “This is a message for George Matthews - If you ever want to see your daughter and grandchild again, you will reverse your decision and meet our demands!!”

The leader yanked harshly against Melissa, tearing her away from the podium which she was still gripping for dear life. She stumbled, knees threatening to give way. 

“No! Please— you can’t do this—” she yelled as she tried to break free from his grip only for the other man to grab her other bicep. Together they dragged her stumbling off stage. 

Every instinct was screaming at her to fight, to kick and punch and claw her way out but the men were too strong. Pulling her towards the door she could barely stay standing, her knees wide and shaking. Another agonising unyielding pressure wrapped across her middle and her cries of protest turned into groans of pain. 

“Unhhhh— no— please don’t do this… don’t take me. I’m— I’m having a baby—” The admission came from her mouth without even realising, desperation forcing her to admit aloud that she was in labour. 

But the true meaning of her words were lost to her kidnappers, thinking she was just referring to her very obvious pregnancy. “Shut up!” One yelled, while the other yanked her harshly through the doors and out of the venue. 

They didn’t slow for her. The men practically forced Melissa to skip steps as they descended to the parking lot where the unmarked blue van awaited them. Every shove, every yank, all contributed to her already advancing labor. No one was going to save her, they’d said as much. The men from the kitchen, where Victor had gone, their words hung in the air. The bodyguard was dead.

The Boss shoved her, hard, into the van. Others piled in behind. Distant sirens echoed through the forest, the police, safety was almost there. 

“Get moving!” The boss yelled to the driver, and the van jerked to life, screeching tires leaving two dark rubber lines on the road. They were underway. The boss looked at Melissa, and smiled, removing his mask. “You ain’t leaving till your old man reverses the choices…” His eyes dropped to her belly. “But I wonder how much extra he’d pay to save a grandkid.”

“Don’t touch me—” Melissa shrivelled back from the leader, using her feet to push herself into the corner of the van in an attempt to stop his giant hand from touching her skin. Every pore was sensitive and sweating, her breathing heavy and laboured through the ever increasing tightness wrapping across her middle. 

With his mask removed she could see the unkept beard that framed his jagged face. But those eyes… the way he looked at her, the way his gaze travelled down her body. 

Another contraction had her arms wrapped around her bump, bending forward slightly in her awkward seated position on the floor of the van. “Oooohhh….” A low moan slipped freely from her mouth as she breathed deeply through the intense feeling of her womb contracting. Why were they so intense… her hips were screaming at her to move but the guns pointed in her direction kept her in place. There was no denying it anymore, these pains were happening too often, too intensely. She was in labour…in labour and kidnapped. She was in labour, kidnapped, and the father of her child had just been murdered. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she moaned through the contraction. 

“Stop your whining! We’re not even touching you!” One of the men, who had kept on his mask, snarled and lifted his gun towards her face to make a point.

 “Whoa… hang on a sec Clyde.” The leader interrupted, looking curiously at Melissa. His large hand moved to her rounded stomach, splaying wide across its surface over the fabric of her black dress, feeling the hardened muscles beneath. Melissa’s breathing was heavy, terrified and struggling to get through the contraction without moaning. 

“Fuck—” the man cursed with a gravelled voice. 

“What’s going on back there Boss?” The driver called, taking a turn with enough speed to force the others to grab hold of the grips.

“This got much more interesting boys.” Boss said, a smile that would curdle milk directed right at Melissa. “Looks like this girl is about to give us another hostage.”

“What? Wait, she’s having the kid?!”

“Oh yes. And trying her damndest not to show it.” He began to rub her belly, the gun still trained. “Ain’t that right girly?”

“The hell are we doing here? We can’t have her do that in the van! Boss! We need to pull over.”

“No! We are going to the hideout. She can hold it till then.” Boss looked at her, now kneeling so he could lean close. The other men averted their eyes as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “Be good.”

“Fuck this. We need to reassess.” Clyde said. “Pull over!”

Despite the fury in the Boss’s eyes, the van pulled into a gravel cutout and turned off. The men filed out, some arguing. Boss lingered a moment, keeping his eyes on her like a stalker finally close enough to touch his obsession.

Melissa opened her mouth to speak, to plead with him to let her go, but all that came out was a low strained moaning sound as her belly contracted harshly beneath the weight of the Boss’s hand. The relentless pressure in her hips had Melissa pushing her hands into the cold metal floor of the van trying to ease the discomfort any way she could. 

“Yesss…. Oh darlin’ you’re really havin’ this baby soon aren’t ya?” The leader’s voice was thick, captivated by what was happening right in front of him. 

“I need a h-hospital— ooooohhh— please let me-go-unnnngh—” 

“I’m not letting you out my sight sweetheart.” He crooned, his hand moving around in large circles over her belly as if committing this moment to his memory, the way her skin was so firm and taut beneath his scabbed fingers. “You look like you’re about to drop this kid any second. So full and round. And to think… your father made you come to his ridiculous party when you were so close to giving birth.” 

He leaned in closer, the smell of his stagnant breath on her cheek making her want to vomit, and he whispered into her ear “…and I’m so glad he did.” 

He bit her ear, tugging it ever so slightly before pressing his hand harder onto her belly. “Maybe I should check that progress for you. Papers said you ain’t got a man for the kid… I’ll step in.”

Outside, the arguing between the men continued, till from nowhere the revving of an engine filled the air. Through the open side door, Melissa watched three men disappear. A flash of light had preceded it, a car, travelling at insane speeds plowed through the three men. Cries of pain and agony were drowned by the screeching of tires.

“Boss!” Clyde called, one of three who hadn’t been hit. “Boss it’s the bodyguard!”

Gunshots followed immediately, hitting Clyde in the neck, his blood spraying out to cover Melissa and the Boss. The last two living kidnappers opened fire as well, but over the fight, one word could be heard, a man screaming a name.

“Melissa! MELISSA!”

That sounded like— no, it couldn’t be— Melissa’s head craned towards the side of the van to look through the open door trying to see the owner of the voice calling her name. The leader, covered in blood, caught her movements and shoved her back into the corner of the van. 

“Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere!” He spat, kneeling up, blocking her view out the door and gripping her harshly in place. 

Yelling and more gunshots roared from beyond the vehicle, someone was fighting against her kidnappers, someone was helping. Even if it wasn’t Victor, even if he wasn’t dead, there was a small glimpse of hope and Melissa grabbed onto it tightly and screamed loudly. 

“HELP!!! Help me please!” The air tore from her lungs, desperation to get away from this man pumping adrenaline through her veins. 

The man smacked her across the face and covered her mouth with his dirty hand. Melissa pushed against him, clawing and biting to get free, drawing on some primal unknown strength to get to safety…to get to whoever might be helping her. But another contraction twisted her insides, drawing her knees up towards her belly as she curled forwards and groaned into her attacker’s palm. It was too much; the pressure, the tightness, the pain coursing between her hips and shooting up her spine. It was overwhelming. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, the contraction reaching its peak, and she didn’t see the shadow now standing in the doorframe. 

Victor appeared as a specter. In the hotels kitchen he’d been shot in the arm and had another bullet graze his head knocking him unconscious. Upon waking, he’d found and killed the kidnapper whom had been sent to find the Senator. From there it was all a blur, pain and excruciating fear for a life not his own drove him into the parking lot as the kidnappers had escaped. He barely recalled breaking into a car and stealing it, all he saw was red.

Now here he was, out of ammo, yet full of rage.

“Hey!” He growled, and with practiced ferocity, grabbed ahold of the Boss’ belt and collar, using his adrenaline to throw the man out of the van and into the road with his dead comrades. The boss’s gun went with him. Victor advanced, knowing he needed to check Melissa but too scared, too angry to let himself think in that way. He beat on the man, holding his shirt in one hand to lift his face into the punches. “I. Will. Fucking. Kill you!” Victor shouted. He dropped to his knees, straddling the man’s body. Again, Victor pulled him close, but this blow wasn’t from a fist, but an angry headbutt. The Boss was out, dead or unconscious Victor didn’t care. Melissa was what mattered.

“Mel…” He croaked, rising unsteadily. Victor limped back into her view, a shaking hand coming to touch her cheek. “I told you I’d be back…”

“V-Victor?” Melissa croaked, blinking in disbelief and crawling across the van floor to the door where he stood. “I- I thought you were dead… they… they said they killed all the security…” 

She could hardly believe her eyes. The love of her life, the father of her child, standing right there covered in blood and surrounded by bodies. He took her hand and waist, helping her slowly out of the van. She was trembling. 

“Wha— how are you here?” Words nearly failed her. But she threw her arms around him, clinging on to his clothing and breathing in his cologne, as if touching him would make this all real.  

“What matters is I’m here sweetheart, and you’re ok.” Victor couldn’t bring himself to break the hug, even to check on her condition. “How is she?” Concern bleeding into the question. “Did they hurt either of you?” His hand moved down, rubbing her belly. The touch was from love and concern rather than the malicious intent that Boss had used. This was a man who wanted to protect. He felt that perpetual tightness, but his thoughts were too laser focused on injuries to realize that this wasn’t normal. “I’m so sorry, I’ll never leave your side again.”

She pulled back slightly looking up into his sparkling blue eyes, allowing his hand to cradle the swell of her belly that was wedged between them. “No….” She said quietly, shaking her head. “T-they didn’t hurt me or the baby… but… Vi—” 

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Victor kissed her sweat-dampened forehead, moving his hand around her waist to support her weight and guiding Melissa away from the blood and bodies littered around the van. 

The adrenaline still pumping through her body was the only thing keeping her legs from buckling as they moved slowly down the gravelled path back towards the main road. The smell of burning rubber ghosted her nostrils, a car abandoned nearby still smoking from the bonnet. She didn’t recognise the car but the blood smears on the open door aligned with the stains on Victor's suit. 

“Are you hurt?” Melissa asked concerned, stopping to look him over, checking for signs of serious injuries. She knew he could survive anything, her strong protector, but the sight of what she was now discovering to be his own blood was turning her stomach. 

“Nah.” He said, his lie obvious to anyone who heard it. “Just a little scratch, I’ve got band aids in the ho-.” In the blink of an eye, Victors gaze left hers, and stared off towards the van. His eyes widened, and grip tightening on her arm he spun his body to place himself between her, and the awakening Boss. A single shot rang, and Victor cried out in pain, and fell to a knee.

When Melissa turned, she saw the blood coming from Victors abdomen, and the Boss grinning.

“I told you I’d step up girlie.” He sneered. “That boy isn’t worth shit, have a real man.” 

“Run…” Victor gasped. “Run!” A hand pressed to the hole in his stomach, Victor managed to get himself and Melissa moving before a second shot rang. There was no third, only a click followed by cursing. The bastard was out of ammo, but that didn’t mean he was harmless. The others had guns, a rifle and two shotguns. 

“You can run girlie! But I ain’t no absentee dad!” A deranged cackle followed them into the woods.

“J-Just keep moving Mel.” Victor's voice was low, the blood loss already affecting him. “I’ll get you out…” 

He swayed, unsteady, and Melissa found herself having to support him slightly as they ran into the thick dense forest. Her stomach turned as she looked down to his hand, clutched firm against his middle. There was so much blood. Dripping between his fingers and seeping into his already stained shirt. 

“Victor… you're—you’ve been— oh my god….” The words barely audible through her heavy breathing as she pushed to move as fast as she could. With one hand supporting injured Victor the other cradled her full and heavy belly, each step was agony throughout her pelvis and spine. 

With slow movements they somehow managed to make it deeper into the woods beyond the direct line of sight from the road. That man, that ‘Boss’… he wasn’t dead, he was still alive! The whites around his eyes as he had called after her were enough to prove his insanity and anger. Victor’s breath hitched beside her, clearly struggling as much as she to move at any sort of speed away from the vengeful kidnapper.  

But then she stopped abruptly. Looking down with betrayal at her own belly as a sharp and twisting contraction came crashing over the horizon and swept her away with the pain. “Oooohhh…. No… not again—not now…” 

Reaching forward her hands braced against a nearby tree as the full strength of active labour tore through her body and an instinctual moan slipped past gritted teeth. The weight of the baby felt so low it forced her legs apart, an urgent pressure growing between her hips. Victor was clutching his own stomach, stumbling back to where she’d stopped, looking pale and horrified. 

Melissa opened her mouth to speak, to explain, Victor didn’t know she was in labour! But the contraction peaked, skyrocketing to higher levels than any of the others she’d felt. Instead of words a low rumbling sound came from deep in her throat, nearly grunting as her knees dipped and hips jutted back, feeling a distinct shift— 

Something gave way. Something changed. The pressure went away in an instant. But it was followed by a warmth dribbling down her inner thighs and her eyes flashed wide in sheer panic. 

At first, Victor had thought it was simply a break. He was ready to tell her that there was no time. But then she doubled over, not too dissimilar to all those times she’d tried to go jogging while pregnant and wound out gasping for breath. He almost laughed, delirium telling him that this was a moment to make light. The grunts were odd, his mind worked to put the pieces together. The logical answer was impossible. After all, she wasn’t due till next week. 

“Melissa?” He questioned, only to see her dress soiled, and a small puddle below her. “Oh…” Victor's confusion was evident, then his eyes went wide as hers! “Oh! Shit, shit.” He hissed. “You’re in labor?!” He was panicking. Immediately, a hand went to her stomach, and another to her cheek. “How close?” He whispered.

“I…I don’t know…. too close…” she said breathlessly, still recovering from the intense contraction. Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at her partner, the faint smell of copper in the air as his bloodied hand cupped her cheek. 

“I think I might have been in labour all day…” Every word was an effort, her body trying to draw all its focus inward onto the primal efforts of its task. But she couldn’t give birth out here… couldn’t have this baby now. The Boss was still alive, Victor had been shot, and they were stuck with no transport in the middle of nowhere. 

“W-what are we going to do?” She panted, her fingers lacing with his on her full and low hanging belly. 

It was dark in the woods, the only source of light coming from the full moon in the clear sky. But even in the low light she could see the paleness of Victor’s skin, the blood loss draining the colour from his cheeks. A stark comparison to her own flushed expression as each breath that filled her lungs was heavy and measured even between contractions. Melissa had no idea how far along she was in her labour, no clue how close their baby was to being born. But her waters breaking and the steady unyielding weight in her pelvis was not a good sign.

“What?! Like now? Is, is she…” Victor looked down at her, an image popping into his head of a baby dangling between Melissa’s legs. “Is she out? She coming now!? What do we do?” Victor asked. He thought there was going to be time, he thought he’d have a whole week to read the baby books? How long was labor supposed to even last? An hour? Two? The movies always implied it was fast and loud, a sure way of them both getting killed belt the kidnapper. Melissa’s body was ejecting their baby, and there wasn’t a way to stop it. 

“Ok, ok.” He breathed, quickly looking back in the direction they’d come from. “C-can you just like… not have her yet? We can’t stop here.” Another glance down, panic evident. “Just hold her in like there’s a line in the bathroom, right?” 

Nearby the cracking of branches announced the Boss stalking closer. He was still ranting.

“I ain’t got money for child support!” He was calling. “But I won’t raise no coward like that body man of yours!”

“H-hold her in—? Fucks sake Victor…. It doesn’t work like that….ooohhh….” Melissa snapped before humming behind closed lips. There wasn’t a contraction happening but that weight…. deep in her pelvis it felt like there was a bowling ball between her hips. 

“She’s not coming out right now but… oh I don’t know, she feels so low. And the contractions are so strong already…. I don’t know how long we have…” she admitted, rubbing the underside of her belly as Victor looked nervously in the direction they had travelled. The thumping of her heart in her ears was so loud, she didn’t hear the rustling of the trees or snapping of the branches. But her blood went cold at the sound of her kidnappers' voice. Getting closer. 

“Can you move?” Victor asked her, his eyes showing concern only for her even with a gunshot wound to the stomach. 

Melissa nodded, still cradling her belly. With Herculean effort she moved away from the tree and they staggered deeper into the forest. 

He wanted to carry her, anything to help her, but even moving was an effort on Victors part. The hole in his stomach was going to make this all much more stressful no doubt. They moved, the pace slow and sloppy. Even in the darkness, it was like following a bull in a china shop. Branches broke, bushes rustled, and Victor was silently cursing. At one point, Melissa had to stop, and he was forced to make her move even as a contraction wracked her body. With regret he took hold of her arms, and guided her.

“You can’t hide girlie!” The voice was further away. Had he actually lost them? Or was this simply a game to him? With the deranged sadistic mind chasing them, the latter was more likely.

“Keep moving.” Victor mumbled, his voice was getting quieter, and Melissa could tell it wasn’t because he was forcing it to. Victor was well and truly lost in the woods, his sense of direction evaporating. He had to protect her, that’s all he knew.

“Hooo…hoooo… ohhh Victor…” Melissa whimpered, her knees trembling and her gait wide as they staggered through the dark wood. “Mmmmhhh…. Oh god I can feel her… she’s so low—ughh-!” 

She nearly doubled over as she clasped her rounded belly and pulled upwards, trying to relieve the building pressure. Another contraction had her curled into Victor's arms and gritting her teeth, trying desperately not to moan as her muscles contracted and her belly turned to stone against him. 

“I— ohhhh— I need you to check me— she feels like she’s right there—” she gasped into his bloodied shoulder, nearly biting down as the pressure spiked. Barely able to speak Melissa prayed the baby wasn’t as close as it felt… she almost felt like she needed to— 

The contraction finished and she gasped for air, pushing her intrusive thoughts away. They would make it to safety. They simply had to. 

“Check?” Victor looked at her like she was insane. “H-how?” 

The look Melissa gave him was a mix of exasperation and exhaustion.

“Right, right…” He had to do it fast, the kidnapper was on their trail. Victor helped her to the tree, seeing how her belly sat impossibly low. Cursing her overly tight dress, he managed to lift it just enough, and knelt. Well, there was no head between her legs, and for that he was thankful. “She’s not there.” 

Melissa groaned. “Fingers. In.” Her voice came between breaths.

“Fingers… Melissa that…”

He couldn’t tell if the sound that came was a growl from her or simply more pain management from the baby coming, so he obliged.

Her hose were ruined, and panties soiled, but there was nothing to be done about that. Grabbing the hem, he tugged and moved till he had access to her. As gently as he could, he inserted two fingers. How deep was he even supposed to go? He didn’t feel a head or anything, was he supposed to? Maybe they had time after all.

“You’re good Mel.” He said, putting her clothes back rather than pulling them off. They had time for that later, he was sure. “Her head is nowhere I can reach.”

She nodded, swallowing a deep breath. “Okay…. Okay that’s a good thing. Unnngh… it certainly doesn’t feel like it but if you can’t feel anything…” 

As Victor stood up from his knees, wincing and holding his stomach, she managed a smile. This man would move heaven and earth for her. “Thank you.” She kissed his lips lightly, holding on to his shoulders as her head tilted up to meet him. 

“Are you alright Victor?” She asked, feeling his clammy skin against her cheek. The baby kicked, harsh and disgruntled. “We need to get moving again, I don’t think she’s going to wait for much longer. That last one was strong, I almost felt like I needed to…” 

Her sentence trailed off, not wanting to say the word aloud. But her body knew, like an instinct somewhere in the recess of her mind. They were running out of time. There was something pressing down so deep inside, urgent and heavy, and somehow she knew the head of their daughter was right up against her cervix. Every move they made brought them closer to meeting their baby, but they couldn’t stop. 

A cackling laugh suddenly echoed through the woods followed by a very loud gunshot. 

The trunk not far from them exploded in a shower of bark. Pellets from a pump action shotgun did very little from a distance, but that didn’t stop a lucky shot from killing you. Victor was growling with effort, trying to get them both moving. The further and longer they ran, the slower they became. Melissa, to her credit, did keep a consistent pace. However each step appeared to force her stance wider and wider, like a saddle sore horseman. The perpetual leaning forward of her posture caused growing concern. Visually her belly looked the same as earlier, so that meant the baby was still up there right? When she got small then he would need to worry.

Another gunshot, another tree peppered with led pellets. The kidnapper was far from being in effective range, but he was catching up. 

Another sound became prominent the further they moved. A roar, for lack of a better word. It took far too long for Victor to realize exactly what that sound was. Water, rushing water. Pulling Melissa behind a tree, he caught his own breath while letting her catch hers. 

“Hear that?” He asked hoarsely. “That’s a river. That’s our ticket. We will never outrun him.” Victor removed his shirt, leaving only the blood stained undershirt as he tied a makeshift bandage around his stomach. A wince escaped his lips as he tightened it. “Nngh, jump in, let the rush carry you…” He said. Victors adrenaline was waning, and to Melissa’s eyes he’d appear on the cusp of passing out. 

“My little baby here yet!” That cackling voice called. “I got so many lessons to teach! Including how to properly discipline a mother who don’t FUCKIN LISTEN!”

Victor took Melissa’s shaking hands. “I love you. I promise you will get out of here.”

“Me…? W-what about you?” Her eyes were wide, searching his, trying to understand what he was suggesting. As realisation dawned her mouth hung open. “You can’t leave me!…. I can’t do this without you….” 

Victor seemed determined, military training having taken over with logical thinking. But he could barely walk as well, practically all the colour was gone from his face and his clothes were drenched with blood from the wound on his stomach. 

“What are you gonna do Vic? You haven’t got any weapons. Hell, you can barely stand. You can’t fight him, he’ll kill you—ooooohhhh—”

Another contraction had Melissa grunting as her knees began to buckle. “Nnnnghh…. I can’t do this… ohhh… the baby is coming soon… don’t make me do this alone….” 

Melissa whimpered, knees shaking as she gripped onto Victor for dear life, trying to get through the agonising wave forcing more and more pressure deep into her pelvis. 

Victor sighed, he had to do this, he had to protect Melissa and their daughter.

“Mel…” He said, trying to find the strength to argue, he had none. The dress was so strained, her hair plastered to her face. The makeup long since wiped away from the combination of tears and sweat. Victor could only imagine how he looked to her. He pulled her close, arms wrapping around her body. Up close hugs had become a thing of the past after their daughter joined, her growth causing her parents to be unable to embrace like they once had. Victor knew there was no time, but he waited, waited for her grip to loosen, his only outward sign that the contraction was over.

“I’ll come. But, baby, I need you to promise me.” He forced her eyes to meet his, thumb and index fingers on her chin. She was so beautiful, so strong, fierce, loyal, independent. She was going to be one hell of a mother. “If you have the opportunity, to escape…” His breathing was uneven, something had to be wrong inside that he wasn’t letting on about. “You run. And you don’t stop till you find the cops.”

Far away, the eerie sound of a deranged man singing a lullaby reached through the woods.

“Promise Melissa. Protect her, before you worry about me.”

The couple remained silent, no exchange or words could soften the awful request he was making. Victor would remain as long as he could, but his time was limited, and he knew it. 

They left the spot, moving at a glacial pace thanks to the constant contractions their daughter was causing. Each stop he saw the woman he loved descend further into pain, panic, and worry. The dress was torn in spots now, and her feet, he wanted to give her his shoes but had no time to stop, and they wouldn’t fit her anyways. He kept them both moving, following the growing sound of the river. It was their only hope. 

They reached the riverbank, both out of breath as they looked across the ravine. The moonlight reflected off its surface, twinkling like stars on the dark depths of the water rushing down stream. Melissa was clutching her belly, panting even between contractions, trying to hold the baby inside of her anyway she could. 

“I— I don’t know if I can get down there—” she said under her breath, looking hesitantly at their only option. The river was just so wide, so deep, a black abyss of uncertainty. Her legs were like jelly, wide and unsteady. The baby was so low it felt like she was seconds from dropping into a squat just to relieve the nauseating pressure. 

The next contraction came before they could formulate a plan, and her body did exactly what she feared. Grabbing Victor's arm as her knees buckled, Melissa dropped into a squat and a low mooing sound came from the depths of her chest. 

“Oh fuck— uhhhh— pressure—” her knuckles were white pulling Victor down as she sank further into the squat. “—nnngh— I think— I think I wanna push—?” 

“Push? Nonono.” Victor practically fell beside her. “Melissa, don’t push.” He tried to touch her bump, finding it a malformed mass rather than its previously rounded state. “Breathe, j-just breathe. All we have to do is, ah!” He winced as she pulled him closer. For fear of her making too much noise, he pulled her into a hug, his free hand pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder. “Do whatever you have to do, but you can’t push Mel.” His eyes darted the treeline praying that their pursuer wouldn’t hear whatever noises she had to make to prevent pushing.

Melissa clung awkwardly to his body, her knees had spread wide in her squat but her face was somehow buried against his neck. Groaning deeply she worked through the intensity of the contraction, feeling every millimetre of progress her body had made now in this position. Her hips felt like they were being wedged apart, her lungs ached from each ragged breath. She resorted to panting, heavily and desperate as the pressure built quickly to its peak. Mercifully the contraction let her go and the sudden panicked urgency of birth faded away. 

“Oh my god…. That was…. Oooohh….” Forming any sort of sentence was an effort but she slumped against him breathing slower and she hoped it would be taken as a sign the moment had passed. 

Slowly she lifted her head, worrying filling her eyes as she looked desperately to Victor whose arms were still supporting her squatted position. “I think we’re running out of time…” 

“You got that right darlin’…” A cold voice came from behind the trees. 

Victor moved in the blink of an eye, yanking her up to her feet at the sound of a gun being loaded. “Jump!” He yelled, squeezing her hand tight. Obeying without question, survival instincts giving her the required strength, together they leapt off the riverbank. 

The shock of ice cold water hitting them was akin to a freight train running down a car. For Victor, it spiked his adrenaline to the point that he forgot he’d even been shot. Heart pounding, he fought the current to reach the surface with speed. Was he still holding Melissa’s hand? Victor squeezed, finding that she was in fact still there. For Melissa, it only made things worse. Ice cold water forced all her muscles to contract involuntarily. In the dark depthless river, Victors hand was the only comfort. 

He found her with his other hand, and kicked down hard, bringing them both back up to the air. Only seconds were spent submerged, yet it felt like an eternity since the pair had breathed air. Silence fell as the roaring returned. In the short time, the couple was already nearly a hundred yards downstream. Their pursuer was nowhere in sight, had he jumped too? Or simply given up? The latter was too good to be true. A rock hitting his leg pulled Victor from his thoughts, and he tightened his grip on Melissa, doing all he could to keep her above water.

“Hold on!” He shouted, and she could feel him not only holding her, but also wrapping around an arm to protect their baby in her womb.

The need for air triumphed over the pain and the ice cold water. She tried to move her legs, to swim so Victor didn’t have to keep all three of them afloat, but her lower half had stopped listening to her mind… legs spreading under water around the head constantly pressing against her cervix.

Water spluttered from her lips as she groaned, her body contracting, the baby moving down. The water was strong, plunging down stream with a frightening ferocity. Their heads kept getting pulled under, but Victor’s arm around her body kept bringing them to the surface. 

Goosebumps covered her body, she had been so hot and sweaty trying to escape the wood in active labour but now every pore had clamped up against the frozen temperature and was screaming in protest. Her ripped dress was thankfully short enough to have ridden up her thighs but its fabric was tight across her skin, making her feel trapped in both the water and her own clothing. 

They weren’t going to make it. This would be how it ends… drowning in the dark.  Never meeting her daughter. Never marrying Victor. Never having that happy life she had pictured. 

But then the water calmed, no longer pulling them under and almost lazily carrying them down stream. 

“V-Victor— are you okay?” She gasped, still secure in his arms as he worked tirelessly to save them. 

“I’ve. Been. Better.” He said between gulping breaths. He kept her tightly held to him, a hand against her contracting womb. Even submerged, he could feel how different her belly was. “Let’s not, do that again.” He forced a smile, it was weak, and the hair plastered to his face thanks to the water made it seem like a delusional joke. 

For a few minutes, they just floated, the pair catching their collective breaths till Victor asked the question he’d been afraid to ask.

“How close?” No context was needed, for only one thing could make Victor, a man of action, bravery, and integrity soften his voice and fill it with such concern. His chest was to her back, an arm around her chest just beneath her breasts and above her belly, while the other remained on her stomach. Could that jump have hurt their girl? Could it all have caused her to be born in the water? 

Melissa’s legs floated uselessly in the water, naturally wide apart, her dress gathered just under her hips. At Victor’s question she lowered a shivering hand around her belly and felt between her thighs. She winced at the touch of her own hand, sore and swollen behind the thin fabric of her black underwear. 

“She’s not… coming out yet… but she’s definitely right there.” Melissa said with a cracked, rough voice. All the water and spluttering having scratched her throat raw. 

“I— I can’t close my legs anymore, the head is that low…” Delirious from their near-drowning, a quiet laugh escaped Melissa’s lips. “But I think the jumping and ice cold swimming might have scared her from her arrival…” 

As the sounds of the flowing water slowed, Melissa realised they had entered shallower waters and Victor was pulling them towards the bank. The edge was rocky, large boulders creating a bottleneck where the river quietened to a gentle stream. It was still deep and the water almost black in the dark midnight. Her bare feet found the bottom of the riverbed, her shoes for the evening's party long gone, and she tentatively stood upright in the water bracing against a boulder. Victor slumped exhausted against it beside her. 

The movement of her legs and body prompted the sudden arrival of the next contraction. Her hands flew out against the rock as everything squeezed aggressively. “Unnnnghhh— fuck— Victor!” 

Words failed her as the baby shifted, pressing urgently downwards and drawing a grunting sound from her throat. The instinct to squat… to open… returned with a vengeance and her knees trembled slowly bending. Dipping down into the icy water all she could manage to say was “—pressure—!” 

“Mel, Mel we’re so close.” He said, lifting himself to try and discourage her from pushing. “Just keep her in a little bit longer, please.” He could only see her upper body, the woman whom he’d fallen in love with nearly a year ago. It felt odd, having a reflective moment here and now. This independent free spirit that had struck him as a nuisance on their first meeting, now actively laboring with their child. And here he was telling her not to.

With the stream being more of a gentle rush rather than its frantic roar, everything could be heard better, and much to his dismay, the groaning Melissa had been trying to suppress for so long echoed throughout the small gorge, flying in all directions to give them away. Hand on his stomach, he looked for something, anything that could help them. Reflected by the moon on the slow moving water, he spotted it. Decades of erosion ate away at the banks of the river, leaving spots sporadically where one might be able to hide outside of the forest's view.

“Ok j-just breathe.” Victor got behind her, pressing the heel of his hand into her lower back and massaging. It’d relieved some discomfort in the late months of her pregnancy, perhaps it could do some good here as well.

Automatically her hips jutted backwards against his firm hand, an instinctual shift to get counter pressure. With a shaky inhale Melissa focused on his words and his hands, releasing her breath as slow as she could manage. 

“Hooooo— ohhhh I really want to push V-Vic—” her words a quiet whimper amongst her moaned breathing. It felt like the baby’s head was rammed against her bones, urgent and insistent. With wet palms slapping against the rock she growled through the peak and very nearly gave into her body’s instincts. 

His hands stayed strong on her hips, squeezing and moving in tandem, as she shifted her weight side to side in the water. “I… don’t know if I can…hold back the urges much…longer…” Melissa admitted quietly. Not daring to let go from where she was braced against the rock. 

“Ok.” He soothed. She was in pain, his only love was suffering. Victor took a look around again. There was no sign of the man, maybe they could rest, if only for a minute of two. “Melissa this is what I want you to do. Little pushes, j-just enough to ease the pressure.” Victor had no idea if that was how it worked or not, but he had to try. “I’ll help you walk, over there.” He nodded to the alcove.

They waited, five seconds, ten, thirty, when Melissa finally took a step it was unsteady, and Victor, despite his own pain, had to support her. Downstream the river was running crimson, his makeshift bandage had dislodged when they rushed down river. Victor didn’t care, his eyes were on Melissa. Her legs couldn’t get closer than shoulder width anymore. Was that the pain? Or was their daughter lodged so deep in her hips that it made it impossible? They stopped again, a little over halfway there.

“Do you need me to check again?” He asked, pressing a little harder into her lower back.

Melissa hummed her answer, nodding vehemently. Wading down the rivers edge would be difficult enough in this darkness even without a baby lodged between her hips. Every step felt like it could shift the baby that final inch right into position that would have her uncontrollably bearing down.

She grit her teeth, bending over slightly to brace her own thighs and would have bobbed under the surface if it weren’t for Victor’s arm around her waist keeping her upright. All logical thinking went out the window as the pressure thumped steadily downwards, contraction or not, it was always there reminding her of what needed to happen. Melissa barely registered the blood seeping more and more from Victor’s wounds, couldn’t think of anything bar the primal urges screaming through body. 

“P-p-please check me— oh god— I really wanna push— I need to p—” Her legs twitched beneath the water, a growl of failed restraint echoing from her lungs, finally bearing down with the urge. 

Victor acted fast, his arms going under hers to prevent Melissa from sinking deeper into a squat as her body finally got a little of what it wanted. Far too exposed in their current position, Victor practically forced Melissa’s legs to follow along with her body as he worked to guide her on. The fabric clinging to her belly shifted with each movement, and if it weren’t for the elements around them, he felt it would probably be a relief if he’d just tear all the restricting clothes off of her. However, that restriction was partially what was helping them delay their daughter's imminent arrival.

After her contraction ended, Melissa was paler than before. Resistance to her natural needs was taxing her to the point of what Victor thought was dangerous. Finally in the little nook, he leaned her against the vertical bank. Just as before, he knelt, wincing audibly as he tried to resist his own pain while simultaneously fighting her dress for access. The river water was murky and laced with grime, much of which was now caking the couple. Her thighs were dirty and scratched, and Victor found himself regretting making her jump.

“You’re doing so good.” He said, and Melissa had to take a moment to see that he was talking to both of them, mother, and daughter. With speed only mustered from panic and will, he pulled down her panty hose again as pushed her black panties off to the side. Just two fingers, he slid in. Barely past his second knuckle, he felt it. A tiny, solid mass, rounded with what he could only assume was a full head of hair.

“Shit…” He muttered. “Shit shit shit.” That was what? Three inches? Maybe four? The baby was so close to coming that renewed panic filled his mind. “She’s right there.” Victor said, rubbing Melissa’s thigh. “Only a few inches. Can, can you just, push her out real quick?” His cluelessness as to how birth worked remained his greatest shortfall. Not knowing that Melissa would have to fight with her body for every centimeter.

The laughter that came from her mouth was predominantly delirium. “I thought… we were trying to keep her in…?” Melissa said, leaning back against the riverbank and feeling the mud and roots on her spine. 

The water levels had lessened significantly at this point in the river, but that meant gravity was pulling harder on all her muscles. Including the weight of the baby wedged in her pelvis and forcing her legs apart. “As— much as I want— to give birth— oooooh— I don’t think a crying baby is going to keep us hidden from that mad bastard.” 

The reality of what Victor had said took a few moments to catch up with her brain. “What did you… did you say you could feel her? Our daughter?” The crack of emotion was clear in her voice just as much as it was mirrored in Victor’s eyes. Their daughter… she was almost here. “What are we gonna do?… I don’t think I can hold back from pushing anymore… I definitely pushed a little just now.” 

The urgency of the situation got stronger with every contraction. The weight she carried, lower and lower in her hips was only going to end one way. Her hands were wet and muddied as she rubbed the swell of her belly, silently wishing her daughter to slow down. Melissa grimaced and shifted in the water, her tights pulling harsh around her thighs from where Victor had pulled them down. 

“Ugh…. Just rip them off… they keep catching on everything and it feels like they are cutting me in half…” she asked with a frustrated huff, gesturing to the pantyhose littered with holes. 

It was an easy enough request. Getting a good grip on one of the tears closest to her belly, he pulled apart. Fabric separated with the ease of paper. Within seconds, Melissa was left with her legs fully exposed to the elements, not that the tights had done much to deter them in the first place. Anger and anguish in equal measure bubbled as her bare legs and thighs were finally revealed. She was covered in bruises and little cuts. What he’d thought was mostly mud was in fact the woman he loved getting all sorts of scars.

“That better?” He asked, tossing the ruined tights into the river. Victor rose to his feet, one hand resting on the bank for support, the other pressing firmly into his side. “We can’t stay here long Mel.” He hissed. Victors eyes expressed the pain he was feeling yet refused to voice. “I need to get you somewhere that you can deliver, a road, a cave, fuck I’d take some hollowed out tree. So long as it’s warm and dry.” Both were pipe dreams, Victor was kidding himself about all of this. Every second out here, exposed and in the open, was a greater risk he’d lose the only two lives that he cared about. “But, you’re right. She can’t come yet, it’ll give us away and risk her even more. So, try to not push. Maybe one little one here and there, but we have to protect her. She’s safest inside you…” Forcing a smile, he got his weight under himself, taking away the supporting hand to put it in her bump.

Her heart melted as he touched her rounded belly so affectionately. So often Victor was forced to show little to no emotion or affection towards Melissa and their baby, in order to keep up pretences and keep their relationship a secret. Each time they were granted that intimacy and excitement of impending parenthood it took her breath away. 

 “To keep her safe.” She repeated, nodding gently. Her fingers laced with his, both pairs cut and scratched and dirty. Together the parents-to-be were determined to survive. For their daughter. 

They continued down stream, following the bank until the ledge was low enough for the pair of them to get out. Victor continued to wince and hiss as he moved but never said a word. Too focused on protecting Melissa. Usually she would say something, force him to take care of himself, but the contractions were so close together now she barely had any energy to speak let alone worry about Victor. She needed him, had to trust him to get them all through this. 

Before climbing out of the river, Victor checked the area as far as the moonlight allowed, fearing their kidnapper had somehow reached this far through the forest. Melissa rode out another contraction at the edge of the water, practically bent over a boulder and grunting tiny pushes. The pressure was too great to ignore the call of her body and pushing provided blissful seconds of relief. As if her instincts were celebrating she was doing what was needed. But she tried to keep them small, tried to clench her thighs as much as she could, not wanting her daughter to be born until it was safe. 

In the short break between contractions Melissa somehow managed to crawl up the riverbank onto land, Victor helping her despite his injuries. She collapsed onto all fours on the grass, groaning with another contraction that happened less than a minute after the last. 

“Mel? Mel!?” Victor was beside her in an instant. “Breathe, breathe. Little pushes.” Inwardly he was cursing. These damned contractions were too close, how in the Hell would they make any progress if she was forced to the ground every other minute? He thought about carrying her, it wouldn’t be much faster, but perhaps… 

As if his own body was telling him that this was in fact not possible, he coughed, once, twice, a fit overtaking him. Hacking into the crook of his arm, the fit subsided and he managed a wheezing breath. This wasn’t good. Pulling away, he saw specks of crimson where he’d been coughing. Pushing aside his own welfare, he racked his brain for ideas. Carrying wasn’t going to happen. All they had was hope, hope that the bastard would give up, or never find them.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into her hair, hugging her close. “I’m going to get you on your feet, then we need to get going.” Not too far ahead, the forest grew thick with undergrowth. Maybe a rest, somewhere hidden. He was so tired himself, and everything in him told him to lie down. 

On all fours and panting heavily, Melissa nodded in understanding. The tight black dress she had chosen for the party was now soaked, ripped, and had ridden up to her hips. Her knees were cut and scratched, blood and mud smeared across her body. She shivered as the contraction ended, her damp skin prickling in the night air. 

“She— feels closer—” Melissa said to the ground as she tried to catch her breath. “I— can’t stop— the pushing— I’m trying- to only do little ones but— oh Victor….” 

The pressure between her thighs had mounted, the position of all fours opening up her pelvis fully, feeling like something had definitely shifted. Her hands clawed at the grass as she panted through the new sensation, soil gathering beneath her fingernails. 

He removed his grip for a moment. Melissa’s belly was mere inches from the grass, and each contraction shrank it. The frame of reference let Victor see just how much her body was fighting her. Their daughter wanted out, and her body agreed. Impending danger to them all was the one and only reason he wasn’t stripping her clothing off to help deliver their little future. Victor watched in awe as Melissa shifted her weight back, the fabric of her dress coming up to reveal her panties waistline. 

That, was when his heart dropped.

Between her thighs, under the black lace panties that only hours ago he’d helped her pick with the intention of taking them off later for both of their enjoyments, had a noticeable bulge. Her crotch pressed out, rounded, yet still her lips remained together. She was there, she was right there. How could he ask Melissa to move when their daughter was so close? Victor centered himself, taking in a painful breath before he spoke to her.

“Baby, we still have a little time.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was far from the truth. Victor had no clue how long it’d take for her to go from this to holding her baby. “She’s close, b-but she’s not showing yet.” He glanced again, seeing that she wasn’t receding, but more importantly she wasn’t actively progressing.

Melissa moaned with gratitude, hearing that the baby wasn’t showing yet. Every cell in her body, specifically between her legs, was telling her their baby was coming out. But Victor said they had time. They needed time. 

“Okay— ooohh—okay that’s a g-good thing— we should— move before the next contraction hits…” she said heavily, sinking backwards to rest on the backs of her heels, rubbing her belly unconsciously. 

It took more effort than expected - for both Melissa and Victor - to get back to their feet. Victor was ghostly pale and unsteady on his feet, struggling to aid Melissa to stand who couldn’t straighten fully and stayed hunched over and bow-legged. Gravity made everything feel so heavy, the impending weight pressing right against her labia inside her panties. Melissa’s hand shot between her legs, feeling like the baby was about to fall out of her body. 

“Ohhhh… she’s right here, she’s really right there….” She gasped, feeling the change in her own anatomy from the impending baby. Panting heavily Melissa pushed upwards automatically, pressing against herself to give counter pressure against the urgency of childbirth. She kept her hand firmly on her crotch as they made the uncertain journey into the woods, hoping to find anywhere safe… anywhere they could rest while hiding from the armed grievous kidnapper. 

Victor quickly became accustomed to the different sounds Melissa made. Winces and grunts, little cries of pain all from the different issues she was subjected to. The quick, abrupt hisses most often came when her bare feet found a sharp twig or jagged rock. The lower, almost guttural moans and grunts most assuredly were the result of their impatient daughter. Every minute, almost to the point he could perfectly time it, he watched Melissa tense her arm and press firmly into her crotch. 

Trying to gain his bearings was hopeless at this point. Victors blood loss was so severe that he appeared as a specter in the woods rather than a man. Steps became dragging attempts of progression, and soon the effort to even hold his own side was too much. Vision blurring, he felt Melissa brush against him, whether in an attempt of comfort or simply because she was too distracted by her own pain, he didn’t know. He blinked, slow, lazily. Each time his eyelids grew heavier. 

“Mel—“ He rasped, and suddenly he felt cold on his knees. Victor looked down, he was kneeling, he hadn’t done that on… Victor collapsed fully, eyes staring up into the moonlit sky.

“Oh my god—!” Melissa watched in horror as he hit the ground looking ghostly white, his eyes swirling unfocused. She dropped to her knees in an instant, both her hands flying to his chest. “No no no…. Victor…. Stay with me…” 

Seeing the man she loved - her bodyguard, her protector, her soul mate - on the verge of unconsciousness and weak from blood loss made her heart stop. His chiselled perfect face was almost lifeless, blood staining his lips. The injuries he’d sustained must have been so much worse than he was letting on. She scrambled across his torso trying to locate the wound in a desperate attempt to try and stop the bleeding. 

“P-please— please Victor— you have to get up— we have to keep g-going—” Melissa’s words were breathy and panicked, her palms pressing into the hole in his stomach against the tacky congealed blood on his shirt. 

Victor looked right past her, his eyes unable to find exactly where the woman he loved was. He could hear her though, that sweet, gentle loving voice. For the first time in what felt like hours, he was numb, all the pain in his belly was gone, he felt oddly at peace. But, there was Melissa, and their baby girl. Weakly, Victor raised a hand to cup her cheek, using a thumb to wipe away the tears. Was this how it ended? Was Victor going to die unable to save her? Their daughter?

“Just, resting…” He said, the blood pumping in his ears preventing the bodyguard hearing what she said. “R-resting…” Another painfully slow blink, he tried to find their daughter, how old was she now? Three? No, four. He blinked again, finding that it wasn’t just Melissa kneeling beside him. A little redheaded girl, with brighter blue eyes and a smile to melt the world. “Hey kiddo…” He said, reaching out towards their girl.

In the realm of reality, Melissa had to watch as Victor reached for someone who wasn’t there, for, for their daughter? The daughter who, now that her mother was too distracted with her fathers condition, was taking her chance to escape.

Pushing! Without awareness or conscious thought, Melissa’s knees had spread across the muddy grass and suddenly she was pushing. 

Her hands were still pressed into Victor’s abdomen while her womb squeezed and she grunted involuntarily. But Victor was dying. Pale and weak, hallucinating and barely conscious, the father of her child was prone on the forest floor. 

The child surged downwards, desperate to be born. “Nnnnnghh—no no no—!!” The head was right against her lips, bulging obscenely behind her skin, and she growled at the overwhelming all consuming pressure. They weren’t going to make it… there was no way out of this. Victor was dying and this baby was coming. Any hope she had left disappeared faster than the river’s current and finally, she succumbed, giving herself fully to the inevitable.  

Her bloodied hands slipped from his torso and grabbed his arm, a vice-like grip with nails clawing, and Melissa gave an almighty intentional push. Bearing down she felt every single millimetre as the head slowly began to part her folds, the sounds of her roaring effort echoing loudly through the forest. 

Victor's hallucination changed. Their daughter looked at her mother. He did the same, but instead of seeing the vibrant and happy woman of his dreams, she was dirty, crying, her teeth clenched as she strained. A stinging in his arm forced his tired eyes down, her nails were digging into him, why? The forest, it was dark, their baby gone, and all that remained in its place was Melissa giving in to her body to release the primal cry as agony gripped her womb to expel their baby.

“M-Mel?” He sounded weak, yet coherent. Victor grabbed her arm with his free hand. “Breathe, breathe…” Even on deaths door, even with the reaper at his back looking to take him away, his concern was for her and their baby. 

Unbeknownst to them both, only half a mile away, someone else heard Melissa’s cries, and started his trek to claim the woman and her soon to be born baby all for himself.

Victor with resounding pain and effort propped himself on an elbow to pull her close. “It’s ok, it’s ok.”

“Nnnnnghh-!!!! Pushing—Victor— I’m pushing—” Melissa grunted incoherently through her body’s primal action. It felt like there was no stopping it now; the contraction was drawing everything in and down, her belly tight and small while her legs were wide and spread. 

The salty tears rolled down her face into her mouth that was baring her teeth with each strain of her body. The baby wanted to be born, starting to open Melissa’s body, eager to meet her parents. As Victor spoke and eventually moved to sit up slightly, her heart leapt with hope but she couldn’t speak while the contraction still held her hostage. Her nails dug crescent moons into his skin, clinging onto him any way she could through the uncontrollable pushes. 

Then she slumped forward, panting heavily as the contraction waned and after a few gulps of air she could look up to his ashen face. “Oh Vic…. You’re hurt so badly…. I thought I was going to lose you…” She released her grip on his arm to gently cup the cool skin of his cheek. “We need to get you to a hospital… we both need a hospital.” 

Melissa stated the obvious. But looking around they had no clue where they were or how to get to civilisation. “C-can you move-?” She dared to ask, uncertain if she could even move at this point, with the baby peeking between her sensitive folds inside her underwear. “We need to move… we have to go…somewhere….anywhere…safer than out in the open like this…” 

Victor looked around, he felt so weak, and even the thought of movement seemed impossible. He put all his weight on his hands to push up, but all he received for his troubles was a flash of white and excruciating pain. His breathing was steady, wheezing with every inhale. Victor hated that he knew exactly what that noise was, and likely what it had came from . Just his luck, that the jump into the water was probably going to kill him faster that the hole in his stomach.

“Tree…” He said. With Melissa’s help, as much as she could at least, both of them got a few feet towards a tree trunk. Victor rested against it, eyes only focusing when he managed to look into Melissa’s. He smiled, that sad, knowing smile when he knew something she didn’t. “I don’t know if I’m going to get much further, baby.” He said. Slow, painful movements, and he lifted his shirt. The hole from the bullet was there, but up above it, his side was nearly black with bruising. 

“I— only have— one working lung, I, think…” Tears fell down his cheeks. “She won’t— wait for her— d-dad to catch his breath.” He pressed his hand into the underside of her belly. “I d-don’t see— how we— all three get..” He coughed, blood and phlegm on his lips. “Out of here.”

On seeing the full extent of her partner’s injuries Melissa felt her stomach roll with nausea. The deathly black tinge to his ribs that faded into the smears of blood across his abdomen. She’d never seen someone so hurt, so battered and broken as Victor looked right now. The tears falling from his eyes was enough of a sign of how much pain he was in. 

“Shhh… it’s okay… we’ll make it through this. We all will make it out of here.” Melissa softly whispered, running her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’m not doing this without you. Our daughter will just have to wait a little l-longer….” 

A blind confidence washed over the labouring woman. In the absence of his usual unwavering strength Melissa became determined and tried to take charge for the both of them. “We will rest here for a bit… let you… oooohh.. catch your breath and then we can-uhhh— move again” 

She knelt beside him, his chest rising and falling even faster than her own as he tried desperately to breath. But as her belly tensed again with a contraction she leant over his body, pressing a hand into the tree trunk behind him so she could brace against it as her body worked through the intense wave squeezing through her core. The intensity had her panting as she focused on Victor’s face right in front of her, determined not to push… to hold on for the father of this child. As she bit back a groan of resistance, they heard it— 

“Come out, come out wherever you are!!” A chilling voice in the distance echoed through the trees and it turned her blood to ice. 

That grating voice, and the look on Melissa’s face told him everything he needed to know. There was no way for him to get rest, not here, not now. The struggle was only exasperated for his laboring lover with the added stress of the man who had been hunting them for what felt like hours. An expression, he read it on Melissa before she could even warn him. A spike of adrenaline, born out of fear for her and their daughters lives, he moved.

It was excruciating, but he managed it. Victor flipped Melissa around so her back was on his chest, and her rear on his lap. Just as quickly, he put his hand over her mouth to staunch the oncoming noise he knew she wouldn’t be able to hold. Fearful that she’d give in, and that their frightened screams would also alert the kidnapper, he put his hand between her legs, cupping the baby’s head. Boots crunched close by, and his grip tightened.

“You know…” The man called, his voice only on the other side of the hedges they currently hid behind. “I think I knows what got ya try’n so hard t’ escape!” The couple listened to some fabric scratching. “Foun’ this here in your body boys jacket! Suuuure is a purdy ring! I’ll still let ya wear it, s’long as ya get on out here, AND STOP FUCKING HIDING FROM ME!” He fired the shotgun, and Victor tensed. 

“Shhh.” He whispered into her ear.

For a brief second she panicked when Victor’s muddy palm went across her mouth, but she soon realised his intentions and she panted through her nostrils as her body continued its attack. Her legs were twisted awkwardly in the rapid movement onto his lap, partially bent, partially entwined with his. As the pressure of the head against her opening increased Melissa found her hips tilting backwards automatically. 

It was urgent and insistent and she simply could not stop Mother Nature. The second Victor cupped her bulging crotch, providing blissful counter pressure, she bared her teeth behind his hand as she pushed uncontrollably. It didn’t matter that the sounds of twigs snapping or muttered ramblings were getting closer and closer, or the gunshot that rang through the empty forest, every cell in her body was focused downwards between her legs. Bearing down hard with the primal demands of nature, her body trembled with automatic effort. Mercifully Victor matched every push, keeping his palm secure over her underwear, preventing their daughter's progress and stopping any more of the head peeking through her sensitive labia. 

A low grunting sound rumbled from deep in her chest and Melissa clamped her mouth shut trying to contain any sound from escaping past her mouth or Victor’s hand. 

“Come on sweetheart…” the Boss’s smirking voice leered from behind a nearby tree. “You can’t hide from me forever. That bastard in your belly wants out any moment. Show me how close that nipper is to sliding out your—” 

A thud followed by cursing told Victor and Melissa their assailant had tripped and stumbled in the low-lit woods. 

This was their best chance, an opportunity to flee while he was distracted by his own clumsiness. But, Victor couldn’t get his legs to move, and Melissa was still tense, the contraction lasting an eternity. The baby was fighting both him and her mother, wanting release into the world, thirty-nine weeks of waiting to meet her parents. She definitely had her mothers patience.

“Don’t make a sound.” He breathed, so quiet even he could barely hear it. He released her crotch for but a moment, warmth coating his palm from the expelling amniotic fluid. Victor grabbed a rock, and with what strength he had left, he threw it off to their right. Luck was on their side, because they heard a crack as it landed on a branch, followed by a series of thuds as it rolled through the underbrush. Their pursuer heard it too, perhaps assuming they’d grown desperate enough to try and run. 

“Got you now girly.” He growled, Melissa could perfectly visualize the predatory smile he would be wearing. “That lil bastards mine!” He shuffled off. 

Even in his state, Victor made an important note in his head. Four shells have been fired, and the pump action he used only carried six. If he had no more ammo, they might have a chance after all. There was something else too, an odd hair in his run. He was limping, perhaps that trip had hurt him. The bodyguard was pulled from his observations by Melissa shaking, she was pushing again, and as much as he hated himself for it, he pressed his palm into her once again to halt process. The little luck they’d found couldn’t be ruined by their daughter's cries.

“It’s ok, it’s ok…”

Still awkwardly sitting on Victor’s lap, she grabbed the backs of her knees in desperation and pulled them up either side of her belly as she pushed hard. The brief moment he had let go to throw the stone had been all her body needed and the baby had slipped further… an oval shape bulging inside of her ruined underwear.  

“Nnnnngh— she’s coming—out—” Melissa rasped her warning between the unstoppable rounds of pushing. 

But Victor knew, he could feel the progress that had already been made when his hand clamped over her once more. The contraction was never ending… that insane overwhelming need to deliver this child was affecting her mind. The pressure and stretching around the head made her forget about the danger, not caring even. All that mattered was her primal desire to bear down and deliver this baby. 

And so with every crest of the contraction Melissa pushed against his hand, over and over, but his palm never wavered, never granted any extra room. When the contraction finally gave up she slumped back against his bloodied and bruised chest, her own rising and falling dramatically as she tried to catch her breath. 

“…have…to…give…birth…” she whispered, barely able to turn her face up to see his expression, his hand still firm between her legs while the other rubbed her swollen middle soothingly. “P-please… I have to get her out…” 

“Melissa, listen to me.” His voice was calm, almost as if he was in too much pain to panic. “If you give birth here, now, your noise, and her cries, will get him here.” Victor made wide circles on her belly, praying that it could calm their daughter. “He will kill me, and I don’t want to think of what he would do to you and our girl.” Victor felt her womb sieze again, and this time instead of just holding the near crowning head in place, he pushed their daughter back in ever so slightly.

An idea came to mind, a horrible, painful one, but one that would at least buy the couple a little time.

“I still have my belt.” He told her. “Baby, we have to stop her from coming. It’s the only way. I can barely walk, and keeping my hand between your legs isn’t an option.” Logistics ran through his mind, and he debated how best to do what he planned. “It’s long enough to make a figure eight between your legs, and I’ll rest it above your hips.” Without realizing what he was doing, his thumb began to stroke their daughters head as if in apology. “It will only be till you’re safe. But you can’t give birth here or this family won’t exist.”

Melissa began to sob, writhing in his lap against his firm hand that was sending shooting pain up through her pelvis and spine. The logic was clear, but that part of her mind had long been shut off and only instinct prevailed. 

“But— it h-hurts— so much—” her voice cracked through the hitch of her crying. “I— can’t stay like this— I have to push—”

Melissa’s silence confirmed that she was once more bearing down, her efforts moving the baby back down and undoing Victor’s attempt to give them more time.  He let her push again, understanding she couldn’t stop it but kept his hand firm between her legs as she gave into the urge. When it was over and Melissa was resting between pushes, she heard the clink of metal behind her back and felt Victor moving her down his lap. 

Exhaustion was sweeping over the labouring mother between contractions, her eyes barely focusing. She didn’t see him wrap the belt around her legs, barely felt the leather against her scratched and bruised thighs that felt numb in comparison to the burning at her crotch. It was only when Victor removed his hand and the counter pressure was replaced by something else that her eyes flew wide open. 

“No… oh no Victor please…” the panic poured with each quiet word as her hands went to the contraption now entwined around her hips. But as she moved, the taut unforgiving belt held everything steady and in place… a perfect amount of pressure against her screaming hips, but most importantly against the sliver of the head now resting in the damp gusset of her panties. The baby would certainly not get out now, which meant they had more precious time. 

“Shhh shhh shh… I promise, it’s only till we are safe. We can’t have a screaming baby here Mel. Not yet.” His hand now free, he stroked her hair in the way he had months ago when she’d broken down about the pregnancy. Nothing in his world was more important that the two women next to him, and if he had to cause her a little pain to protect them both, then he was willing to hate himself for it.

They didn’t wait long. During her next contraction and session of pushing, the belt proved to be more than enough to prevent any sort of progress. It’s only major downside in the meantime was forcing her legs closer and restricting that movement. He got up first, nursing his side all the while keeping an eye out for their pursuer. He was nowhere to be seen. Once vertical, Victor leant down, grabbing under Melissa’s arms. 

“I’m going to lift. I need your help to get you up Mel.” The tears in her eyes broke his heart, and it hurt even more that he could do nothing for that right now. “We have to be utterly silent, baby.” Again, that spike of adrenaline from her being in danger was falling. He knew well enough that such a boost was impossible to have again, it was a miracle it had happened twice. If they didn’t get out before he crashed, they were all dead.

“One, two, three!” Victor pulled.

Rising to her feet a silent scream had her mouth wide open and eyes screwed shut. Her entire body was trembling and she clung to Victor like a lifeline, fingers hooked over his broad shoulders. The next contraction pulled her weight back towards the floor leaving her almost half-squatting, belly hanging between her parted thighs and her face pressed against his clavicle. 

Melissa didn’t dare try and speak for fear of what sound would come out instead. Every muscle was squeezing and bearing down against the belt tight between her legs, her efforts moving the head only a fraction before it met the leather strap blocking the exit. The contractions were near constant and it was an effort to stand let alone move anywhere. 

But deep down she knew they must. A lunatic was out there somewhere, armed and focused entirely on Melissa and her baby. That baby was safe while she stayed nestled inside her body. Their daughter couldn’t come out yet. With gritted teeth Melissa managed to get some semblance of control over her body and with shaking knees she straightened up. Nodding against her lover’s embrace, she silently told him she was okay to move.  

Speed was an impossibility. Victor held onto Melissa, the pair breathing heavily. Even not knowing where they were, Victor knew where not to go, and that was the same direction as the kidnapper. Victor knew pain, he felt it now, but it was nothing compared to what he imagined Melissa was suffering through. Every minute or so, she’d slow, her belly shrinking and her legs naturally attempting to spread wider. It wouldn’t work, there was no way she could break that belt. At one point she’d nearly fallen, only held up by all the reserves of strength he had. The pressure within her body had to be intense, because with their daughters exit blocked, more amniotic fluid came instead.

Ten minutes, that was all either of them managed before Victor was too tired to keep her upright. It was forewarned by a single stumble, his hand planting on a tree. Eyes unfocused, he squinted off into the woods.

“What’s that…” He said, trying to get a better look.

Melissa was in the midst of a forceful contraction, bearing down fruitlessly with all the strength her body demanded in its hopeless attempt. Left gasping, she cradled her belly with soothing motions and followed the direction of Victor’s gaze. 

The pain was blinding them both, but it looked like a man made shape; square, with a triangular top, hidden in the distance within a thinning patch of woodland. 

“Is… is that a c-cabin-?” She whispered with laboured breaths, not trusting her own eyes. But when Victor squinted and nodded, the tiny dying ember of hope inside her glowed just a little. 

With heavy cumbersome steps they moved through the forest keeping one eye on the large shadow of the cabin, afraid it would disappear like a mirage. But each step they took only brought more of the building into view. Wooden and very clearly abandoned from the decay and rot of the outside slats. There was a narrow porch along the front with two murky windows and an olive green door. 

“It is…” Victor said, disbelief in his voice. Of all the things he’d expected to find out here, a hunting cabin, albeit an abandoned one, was a godsend. “Holy shit… it is.” He found himself smiling at her. 

With renewed hope, the couple limped their way to the cabin, the support they provided one another blending into an inspiring urgency to reach their destination. The steps up were difficult, with Victor having to hold Melissa’s waist as her restricted movement caused issues. He followed, palm still pressed to his side. The wheezing of his breaths was far worse now, but that did nothing to dampen the hope in his eyes. Muttering a prayer, Victor reached for the handle. It was unlocked!

“Inside.” He said, gently guiding her in.

The moonlight cast shadows across the room, its dirty windows only allowing a fraction of the light to enter. The cabin was minimalist, as one would expect of a hunting abode. A cot laid in the corner, lot blankets that reeked of mildew crumbled at the foot. A wood stove in the opposite corner with a small smoke stack stretching to the ceiling. There was also a table with a seat, and some boxes strewn here and there. Victor couldn’t have cared less. This place was warm, and it was dry.

Melissa staggered on unsteady legs into the dark abandoned room and practically slapped her palms against the table as she bore down yet again. The black fabric of her dress was hitched and gathered at her hips and caught up in the belt that wrapped tight between her thighs. The movements of her body were completely involuntarily; hips jutting backwards and circling ever so slightly in a desperate attempt to move the baby out of its current position where it filled the birth canal completely. Primal sounds of effort echoed in the empty cabin as she struggled to give birth with the leather holding her hostage. 

When the contraction let her go she slumped over the table, too nervous at the idea of sitting on the hard wooden chair and not wanting to go anywhere near the bed that smelt of damp and mildew. Bending at the waist Melissa folded her arms on the table, opening her hips as much as she was able, and rested her head exhaustedly into the crook of her elbow. 

“V-Victor…. I can’t do this… much longer… I can’t cope….” Her words were thick with defeat and exhaustion and pain. 

His body called this place safe, but his mind refused to believe that. Victor nearly hit the ground as he tried to sit, only catching himself on the table at the last second. Finding that he saw two separate chairs, he decided against it. In their current condition there was no way Melissa could get him up. 

“Not, long.” He told her, trying and failing to be reassuring. Melissa needed the bed, but there was no telling what was growing on it. He needed bandaging for his stomach, the bleeding was slow, but only because he thoroughly believed he was running out. The rear wall was decorated with what appeared to be an old pelt. Not clean, but far from the disgusting green on the mattress. He moved, forcing himself to ignore Melissa’s noises. He couldn’t be distracted, not yet. Once the bed had a covering he would get her onto it, undo the belt, and they’d have a baby. It was so simple.

The pelt was huge, a bear by his best guess. He tore it down, the old rusted nails tearing through the old leather. Melissa watched him shuffle painfully to the bed, putting it over everything. It would have to do. Next, he started to rummage. The multiple boxes had an assortment of supplies, all of which were long past their expiration dates. One though, was a red metal tin. A first aid kit.

“Nnnnngh—Victor—get this off me—!” Melissa groaned, holding herself up on the table by one elbow while her hands scrambled at the leather between her legs trying to find the buckle. She couldn’t see in the dark, nor over her swollen belly that hung low and obscured her vision. 

Every nerve in her body was trembling and desperate. As her hands brushed her cut and bruised inner thighs she grunted and pushed again, the head was right fucking there, so close and yet trapped behind the leather contraption. 

Her sounds got louder the more desperate she became. “I— need to have this baby— get it out— get it outta of me—” Though they were inside a wooden cabin it would certainly not contain the noises of a birthing mother and Victor hobbled to her side to try and calm and quiet her down.  

“Fuck. I know it hurts but Mel you have to be quiet.” He hissed. Injuries would wait. He had to help her first. He tried to rig her dress higher to reach the buckle. Where had he put it? It, it wasn’t… Victor violently shook his head to try and force his eyes to work. Too loud, she was too loud! Victor found the buckle, just beneath her left buttock. His fingers wouldn’t work, the blood loss causing motor function to fade. And there was no way she could reach it. 

“Well…” A voice said from the doorway. “If I was an insecure man, I’d say you were trying to have your way with my woman…” Victor turned, only to see the kidnapper standing there, shotgun aimed squarely at his chest. “That’s my little bastard in there body boy. Not yours.” 

He didn’t know why, but Victor tried to throw himself at the man. Was it a vain hope? Some poorly judged attempt at saving Melissa? It didn’t matter in the end. The stock hit Victor squarely in the temple, knocking him to the ground. He was out before he hit the wood.

“Now… my dear… how’s my bastard?” He moved closer to where Melissa was, sticking a hand between her thighs. When he found the belt, he frowned. “You naughty girl… that’s why they aren’t here.”

A fierce maternal instinct had Melissa shoving her elbows back hard, protecting herself and the baby against the vile man who had pressed up behind her bent position over the table. 

In the brief moment the Boss stumbled backwards Melissa tried to make a run for it. With the belt around her thighs and a baby wedged deep in her pelvis she didn’t get far before the man had grabbed her and threw her down onto the pelt-covered bed. 

Melissa cried out in pain as her backside and hips collided with the uneven mattress, sending shockwaves of agony from her pelvis all the way up her spine. “Wh—why are y-you doing t-this—?” She panted, tears and fear reflecting in her eyes, her hands wrapped around her large womb. 

The man crawled over her body, ragged and wild, his hands sliding up her bruised and bloodied thighs with predatory slowness. “You ruined everything… you were supposed to be a good little hostage until your daddy gave in to our demands. Now my men are all dead… but this baby—” His rough hand cupped the bulge between her legs and made a sickening noise of enjoyment. “This baby that’s oh so desperate to come out…. Will be my consolation prize.” 

With the glee of a hyena catching a baby antelope, he took a fistful of her dress and yanked, tearing it as part caught on Victors buckle. Delight filled those eyes, and he sat the shotgun down beside Melissa. To him, she was less than a threat, she was a source of entertainment. Take the baby, and then probably kill the mother. No doubt the senator would pay handsomely for that. Melissa thrashed as he placed his hand on her womb. 

“Be a good girl.” He growled. “And maybe I’ll let you mother a second bastard.” Leaning in closer, he purred. “Go ahead, give in. Beg, and I’ll remove the belt.” 

The hot stench of his breath on her face, combined with the white hot pain between her legs, nearly had Melissa vomiting. As his hand rested possessively on the bare patch of skin showing through the torn fabric of her black dress, her muscles contracted violently and she couldn’t stop herself from pushing. 

His touch was like daggers on her skin, but she was in no condition to fight or push him away. Mother Nature was screaming at her and left her unable to do anything but push. The kidnapped groaned with pleasure as she pushed right in front of him, both his hands splayed across her belly in gleeful fascination as it contorted in on itself, muscles tight and squeezing the baby down. 

“Yes….. ohhh look at you… so full and desperate to birth your bastard babe…” he sneered, almost grinding on her thighs as she beared down uncontrollably. 

Melissa gagged and grunted and pushed, trapped beneath this deranged animal of a man, torn between wanting to birth her baby and keeping her safe in her womb. But the choice was not hers to make. She couldn’t move and there was a strong piece of leather strapped across her crotch, leaving her in a perpetual state of almost-crowning. Her eyes scrunched and tears rolled down her cheeks with each reluctant push, and with the man straddling her swollen body Melissa didn’t see the slow movement happening on the floor of the cabin beside the table. 

Victors eyes opened. The kidnapper was so unhealthily obsessed with Melissa that he’d not even bothered to double check that Victor was dead. He watched Melissa pushing, and the great pleasure the man was receiving in return. He had to get him off of her. 

Rage boiled from deep within, even more so when he saw the little box the kidnapper had removed from his pocket to dangle before her. The ring Victor was planning to propose with. With all his strength, he lunged. 

While Victor was a bigger man in almost all respects, the kidnapper was nowhere near as exhausted as the couple was. It didn’t matter. This fucker was going to die for what he’d done. Victor's forearm wrapped around his neck, the other coming to lock it in place. The bodyguard flexed, his body screaming at him to stop. Caught by surprise, the kidnapper kicked his legs out, throwing them both back to the ground. This was the flaw in Victors improvisation. In a ground game, he was severely outmatched. With the loss of body functions and severe lack of breathing capability, he would run out of strength before he’d knock out the kidnapper. 

“M-Mel!” He called, as if she could help, or maybe he wanted her to run? Melissa was stuck there, watching the father of her child dying all the while trying to kill the man who’d hurt them both. And in all the chaos, their baby girl wanted to come. “Sh-shoot!” His frantic eyes flicked to the gun that was still on the bed, and the one shell he was sure it still housed.

Following his gaze Melissa looked across the bed and saw the gun. But she couldn’t move— couldn’t stop pushing— and the gun lay just out of reach. 

The cracking sound of bones colliding echoed through the cabin and Melissa looked up in time to see the kidnapper slam a punch at Victor’s face, blood spitting from his mouth as his head went back into the floor. Everything was happening so fast, Melissa didn’t know what to do… couldn’t form a single thought. 

She clamped a hand between her thighs, pressing upwards against the emerging baby to allow her legs to close a fraction, to provide counter pressure that might just grant her a few seconds of cohesive thought. With her free hand she rolled onto her side with a groan and grabbed the gun. 

Sitting wide legged on the edge of the bed, both hands now shaking and holding the weapon up, she took aim. In the darkness it was impossible to tell who was who, the men rolling and punching and kicking on the dirty wooden floor. One second Victor came into view, the next it was the madman— what if she got it wrong?! What if she shot the father of her child?? 

The baby kicked, a contraction starting up again, and her body was suddenly bearing down automatically. As the pressure in her groin jumped to astronomical levels her whole body tensed as it gave in to the push…. including her fingers that had been hovering over the trigger.

Since their first meeting, Victor had only taken her shooting once. Even with the proper technique, any attempt to use it was squashed when their daughter forced her mother to push. 

There was a flash of light, followed by the sensation of being kicked in the shoulder by a mule. Such pain was an afterthought thanks to her body’s constant need to push. Her eyes had been shut, the force of the contraction too much for her to keep them open. The gun fell to the ground, and a thud followed soon after. A body, she’d hit someone, Victor? The kidnapper? The darkness made it impossible to tell. All she could hear was her heartbeat, her cries, and the straining of the leather still between her legs.

“V-Vi—“

She heard coughing. And fear swelled.

Backlit by moonlight, someone sat up. Whoever it was moved slowly, dragging themselves across the floor towards the noises she couldn’t stop herself making. It was the kidnapper, she hadn’t killed him, she’d killed Victor! A hand came, gripping hers tightly.

“I, thought. I’d taught you…” Victors voice was hoarse. “Don’t jerk, the trigger.”

Melissa burst into tears. All the fear and pain and exhaustion culminating into one outlet, sobbing with sheer utter relief. “I— I thought I’d— killed you—” 

A cloud moved overhead allowing a beam of moonlight through the murky windows and she could now clearly see the man standing in front of her. This rugged handsome man that had entered her life a year ago; her lover, her partner, the father of her child. 

She gripped his hands, squeezing tight as she croaked his name in disbelief. Her fingers were curled and trembling as they travelled up his bloodied arms like a ladder trying to reach his face. The need to touch him, to feel his heart beating… the need to make sure he was alright… the need to— 

“Nnnnghhh—!” Push! Melissa groaned, her body acting of its own accord, but she didn’t have the strength to aid it anymore. Muscles tensed and contracted, attempting yet again to expel their child but even her body waned in its efforts. Too long had Mother Nature been denied. It was as if her body was giving up, admitting defeat. 

He was there for her in an instant. Weak as they both were, renewed strength was found and harnessed by the hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d both survive. With the man dead, there wasn’t a single fathomable reason to stop their girl being born. 

“Breathe! Breathe it’s ok I’m here, I’m here.” He tried to soothe her, but knew at this point it wouldn’t do much. She had to push, and he had to help her. Pulling one of his hands from her grip, he started to tug at the belt, trying to enforce his willpower on his fingers to comply. No matter how much he wanted to though, blood loss had rendered them near useless. 

When the contraction ended, she was left in agony, their daughter in a nonstop fight with the leather. He could only think of one other way to get them off that was not as dangerous. Melissa would need to stand again.

“Baby, baby listen.” He said, forcing panic out and bringing that authority into his tone to get Melissa to listen through the pain. “Your legs are too wide, I can’t get the belt off.” Victor cupped her cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. “I’m not going to risk cutting it, not with her so close. So I need you to stand up.”

“I— can’t—” Melissa’s chest heaved with unbridled sobbing. Her bare legs were spread wide over the pelt across the bed, the black fabric of her dress ripped and bunched at her hips, and her spine was barely holding her upright - the only reason she was still sitting was due to her fingers clawing at Victor’s clothing. 

Carefully, he bent forward and hooked his hands under her arms and taking some of her weight he slowly moved her to standing. Both of them were beyond weak, trembling, clinging to each other in desperation to get through the final hurdle. When Melissa’s knees threatened to buckle Victor turned her around quickly and guided her over to brace against the bed. Allowing him access to the belt buckle that was just below her left cheek. 

The instinct to open, to squat, to push was so hard to ignore and she almost yelled when Victor ushered her legs together. Gritting her teeth, Melissa panted as he tried to work at the bloodied fastening which was also covered with amniotic fluid and mud.  

“H-hurry— unghhh—! I— can’t hold it— much longer—” Melissa croaked as the next contraction approached and she dreaded the thought of being stuck like this for a single second longer. And if that contraction struck before the belt came off she feared she’d not be able to withstand another blocked attempt at pushing. 

He knew when a body decided to take over, the mind had no power to stop what nature demanded. Melissa’s knees were shaking as she fought, and it would only be precious moments before they were forced apart yet again in a vain attempt to push a baby through a leather strap. He worked as fast as he could, his heart racing and his breathing weakening to a wheeze. Bloodless fingers fumbled with the buckle, taking too long. Melissa’s legs were spreading.

“Fucker!” Victor growled, angry at his body for failing them both. Unable grab, Victor tried one last desperate gambit. Teeth bared, he bit the leather laced through the buckle, tugging at it. It worked, albeit a bit too well. Leather tightened before it loosened, pinching Melissa’s thigh to the point of bleeding. But that was an afterthought. The belt was undone, and their baby girl had no more restrictions.

“PUSH!”

The sound that came from Melissa was raw and desperate and primal. Legs spreading wide, fingers clawing at the bear pelt, she succumbed to her body’s demands. The baby had been stuck at a partial crown for so long her skin almost felt numb, a coping mechanism to the near-constant burn she’d felt for so long. But as she beared down fully, giving all her remaining strength down between her legs, the head moved and a white hot burning screeched through her senses. 

“Nnnghhh!!— fuck—!” She wheezed between pushes, before her body returned urgently to its task. As if it was fearful the ability to push could be taken away at any minute. 

Victor's hands were holding her hips, thumb affectionately squeezing in encouragement. Knowing he was alive, he was with her, delivering his daughter… It gave her hope and strength. A guttural roar of effort bounced off the dusty cabin walls as the head reached a full crown. 

She was right there…

Medical knowledge notwithstanding, it wasn’t a leap of logic for Victor to discern that the little tuft of red hair caked in amniotic fluid was actually their baby girls head. He’d been right, a little victory that he loved came true. This baby was going to look just like her mom. He smiled widely, though he knew Melissa couldn’t see.

“She's right here baby! Got her momma's hair too!” He said, the excitement in his voice equal to the day she’d told him she was pregnant. “You held back long enough. Let’s get our girl.” Hands squeezed her hips, a silent affirmation. Victor was going nowhere. Nothing could describe how he felt when the baby’s head was crowning. Joy? Terror? Admiration? Perhaps a combination of all three and many many more. Melissa had always been the strongest person he knew in spirit. She proved that tenfold tonight.

“She— she’s got r-red h-hair-??” Melissa laughed through her crying. The juxtaposition of joy in this moment compared to what was happening only five  minutes ago. 

As her body tensed with an automatic push, she growled with effort as she felt the full size of her daughter's head stretch her open beyond words, beyond description. Pure determination and feminine strength had Melissa giving it her all, focusing all her energy on one thing - out! Every cell in her body trembled as the head finally breached its widest point and she wailed in pure relief as the head burst free with a spurt of more fluid. 

“Ohhhh—god— was that… is the head out??” She gasped, croaking a ragged inhale, recovering from the strain. 

It was the head. Hanging down between the thighs of the love of his life, a baby’s scrunched face greeted him. Victor was too amazed and in awe to speak, the words he wished to say dying in his throat. So, he reached out. Melissa felt him let go of her thigh, but before panic could set in that he might have collapsed or passed into unconsciousness, his hand was holding hers. Soaked in the very fluid that had been keeping their daughter suspended, he guided her down between her legs till fingers met flesh that was not her own.

“She’s right here Mel.” Victor said, finding his voice. She could hear the emotion weighted in it, and accurately assumed tears fell as well. “Our baby is almost here.” He looked back between her thighs, ready for the inevitable moment that she would push.

“Oh wow…. Hi baby….” Melissa’s fingers trembled as they touched the slimy surface of their daughter's head. Making first contact with the little life she had been growing for the last nine months. Beneath the pads of her fingertips was a face, a little nose, pouting lips. This moment would be forever ingrained in her memories. 

Then the baby turned, the feeling was unlike anything she’d ever felt. In a brief moment of uncertainty Melissa let go of her daughters head and grabbed the edge of the bed once more, needing something stable to hold on to as her body began to prepare for the next hurdle. 

“Ohhhh… oh this feels weird…. I think… uhhhh…fuck gotta push—again—” she blurted a warning before her hips went back and her knees went down, half squatting in a natural instinctive movement. 

The squeezing of her muscles, the focusing of effort, it was all beyond consciousness. Melissa was simply moving as nature demanded while their daughters shoulders pressed against and then stretched her opening once more. “Nnnnnghh!— she’s coming— she’s coming out!!—” she cried out as a rumbling grunt echoed from deep in her chest.  

Victor could do nothing but watch. Their girl rotated ninety degrees. Melissa’s body was done holding back. He didn’t know how fast this was supposed to go. 

“Oh, oh! Oh!” First a shoulder, then the other, and less than a second later with a splash of her remaining amniotic fluid, a baby was in Victors waiting arms. His eyes were wide, not even hearing Melissa asking if the baby was ok. She was so tiny, so absolutely perfect. The baby was still connected to Melissa through the cord, yet something else that Victor wished he knew what to do about. The world stayed silent, until it broke and a shrill cry of a screaming baby filled the air.

“She’s here!” Victor said, finding his voice. “Mel she’s here!”

It felt like the world had stopped turning. That sound. That precious musical sound filled Melissa’s heart with more love and relief imaginable. Somehow she kept strength in her trembling legs, instead of buckling to the floor she tried to turn around. She wanted to see… she had to see her daughter. But something got caught - the cord. 

Automatically Melissa lifted a leg, blood and fluids pouring down her inner thighs, as she tried to step over the cord. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see them; her partner with the delicate wailing infant in his arms, their daughter. Relying on one leg as she raised the other was evidently too much for Melissa’s poor exhausted body and before she could lift it high enough her legs buckled completely, collapsing down to her knees on the harsh wooden floor. 

“Mel…” Victor said. She needed to hold their baby, he had to see it. “Baby. Try to roll.” The baby was still crying, sensing her parents fear, being scared, or just hungry, he had no clue. Victor leaned forward, letting the umbilical cord reach all the way to the floor. Just a few inches, that’s all. Just a few. A bright light flashed across the window, so fast that Victor was unsure if it was real. Melissa didn’t notice, or just didn’t acknowledge it.

Victor adjusted the baby, holding her in one tired arm, the other trying to lift Melissa’s leg up so she could sit. He felt himself fading, he needed to see it. He needed to see Melissa hold their daughter.

Melissa barely registered anything other than the cries of her baby. Her leg was in the air, was Victor holding it up?.. she didn’t know, didn’t care. Somehow she was sitting on the floor, on the edge of the pelt that draped off of the bed, her arms reaching out towards the tiny little life that was crying. 

Tiny… she was just so tiny. Her fingers were both shaking and secure as she lifted her newborn daughter from Victor's arms and put her immediately to her chest. The tears flowed like rivers down her cheeks as she took her first proper look at the little redheaded baby girl. 

“Shhhh… it’s okay little one… mumma’s here…” The automatic softness of her voice was instinctual as she moved her hands across every inch of the babe, every limb, every finger, every toe. She was perfect. 

With a bright smile through tears of relief and happiness, Melissa looked up at the love of her life,  father of her child, to celebrate the arrival of their daughter. But her smile faded when she saw how ghostly pale he looked, the way he swayed and his eyes rolled. 

“Victor—?” 

More lights flickered at the edge of Victors vision. All the willpower, all the duty of a bodyguard, a lover, and a father, could no longer keep him here. Melissa saw him smiling, even as his eyes lost focus. Victor tried, one last time to reach out, to hold her hand. So much was left unsaid, so many things he wanted for her, for them both. Thoughts fading into nothingness, he thought about the engagement band. Victor collapsed, the last of his life spent handing his baby girl to her mother.

Sounds filled the cabin, though he couldn’t tell what their source was. Shouting, crying, a baby, their baby. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

At the thud of Victor’s body hitting the wooden floor of the cabin, his arm stretched out towards them both, Melissa’s heart shattered and she wailed. The gunshot wound, collapsed lung, the blood loss and the physical brawl with the kidnapper. Her bodyguard had kept her safe and delivered their child but at what cost… 

Melissa didn’t notice the flashes of light from outside the cabin, didn’t hear the noises of trucks or shouts in the distance. She crawled over to Victor’s body, one arm wrapping their baby against her chest, the other desperately seeking his ribcage. To feel a heartbeat, to feel his lungs rising with a breath, anything. 

She was sobbing hysterically over her partner when the doors burst open - a search party sent by her father. Suddenly there were people, so many people, so many voices. But none of them were Victor’s. They had to prise her away from Victor’s body, medic’s appearing from nowhere to examine both Melissa and the baby. She watched as another medical person in uniform knelt beside and worked on Victor. 

“I’ve got a heartbeat!” They yelled. 

Melissa swayed with sheer, utter relief and the medic examining her had to catch her before she slipped to the floor.

“Whoa… easy there Miss.” the young Medic said, holding her steady and guiding her towards a stretcher that someone had brought into the cabin. “He’s in the best hands. We’ll get you all to the hospital, don’t worry. You’re safe.” 

~•~ 

Beeping. Incessant and rhythmic. The first sensation Victor felt was a dull, aching throb in his stomach. He went to sit up, but realized his body wouldn’t allow such a thing. With agonizing slowness, his eyes opened. A white room, one that smelled of disinfectant and the most heinous fake lavender air freshener he could imagine. He blinked again, eyes focusing a little more. Where the Hell was he? Was this a hospital? He tried to speak, finding that his throat was raw from disuse. Logic left as memories flooded. Mel, their daughter, where?! Panic set in, the bodyguards eyes frantically darting side to side, utterly unfocused.

He moved again, a groan coming from his throat, followed by a series of rasping coughs loud enough to wake the slumbering Melissa, who he hadn’t realized was occupying the bed beside him. Nor did he see the little girl dressed in a bright pink onesie in the crib between them.

Hearing a noise Melissa stirred, automatically shhhing as she pushed herself up in bed, assuming her daughter was hungry. “It’s okay little one… hi…. Mummy’s here…”  

But as she blinked herself awake and stared at the sleeping baby, her eyes landed on Victor. Awake. His eyes were open. 

“Oh my gosh… Victor…” She threw the blanket off her bed and ignoring the soreness of her body she slipped out of her bed immediately going to his side. “Victor… you’re awake… you’re okay.” 

Her hands wrapped around one of his, the one without the IV drip, the one she frequently had held while he was unconscious and recovering from surgery. Bending forwards she brushed a kiss to the back of his hand. 

“I’d…. I thought I’d lost you…” her words a fearful whisper against his skin. 

Victor coughed again, trying to moisten his throat to speak. Melissa helped, giving him a small sip of water through a straw. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to muster the strength.

“Not. That. Easy.” He said, smiling. If Victor was honest, he thought he was dead. The bloodloss, the injuries. Even now he felt his ribs grinding together. “W-where…” He looked around, spotting the little baby still asleep in her bed. She was ok, their baby girl was ok. Focus returned to Melissa, eyes scanning her up and down. Bruises and cuts covered most of her body, but that smile.

“How long?” He asked, gulping painfully.

“Nearly two days.” Melissa said with a painful smile, those two days had been torture. Not knowing if he was going to make it through the countless surgeries, how or even if, he would recover from his injuries. 

“I’ve told my father about us. I kinda had to. I may have thrown a fit when the doctors suggested moving you elsewhere.” Melissa giggled, still keeping her hands on his torso, as if making sure this was all real. That he was really awake and alive. “They weren’t giving me any information about you, said it was “family only”. So now everyone knows… about us. About her.” 

Melissa turned around, bending to pick up their newborn baby daughter wrapped in a pink cotton onesie with daisies printed all over. Her little hands balled into fists grabbing Melissa’s hospital gown as she placed her head into the crook of her arm and against her chest. 

“She’s perfect Victor. You kept her safe. You kept us all safe.” Melissa couldn’t stop her eyes from welling up, holding her daughter in her arms and placing her gently against Victor’s side so he could get a better view. 

“Look at that…” He said, utter disbelief in his voice. Victor reached out, brushing his fingers along their daughters cheek. She quietly fussed, and Victor instinctually recoiled, worried he’d hurt her. It took Melissa’s reassurance to convince him otherwise. “She looks just like her mom.” Victor continued to brush the baby's cheek, his eyes bouncing between her, Melissa, and the new ring that now sat upon her third finger.

“You got the ring. Sorry that it wasn’t as romantic as I’d planned.” Victor adjusted in the bed, wincing, but accepting the pain in order to get closer to his fiancé and their daughter. “If it’s been two days… Did you name her already?” 

“The police found the ring and I erm… assumed.” Melissa smiled brightly, holding up the diamond proudly and catching it in the florescent hospital lights. “You saved my life, and delivered our baby, I’d say that was pretty romantic.” 

She bent forward, carefully keeping the little girl secure between them as her lips brushed tenderly against Victor’s. Full of so much emotion, love, and gratitude. Pulling away slowly, the baby stirred and disturbed her parents' reconciliation. 

“I haven’t named her yet, I wanted to wait for you to wake up, but I have thought of a name. After everything we went through to bring her into this world safely, I keep thinking about how we managed to escape… if it wasn’t for that river in the forest we never would have made it as far as we did.” Melissa looked down at the pink cheeks of her redhead daughter, nestled between her parents.

“I’d like to call her River.”  

“River.” He smiled at that. “That’s perfect.”

[nightingale-prompts]

Horrible Creatures-DCxDP prompt

Studying ghosts is always confusing. They aren't humans and they aren't aliens. They are entities unlike other sentient lifeforms.

Currently, three of them have taken up residence in the Watchtower. Not bound by the rules of mortals, the heroes had to make peace with them.

They had a system in place. Leave the big one alone at all costs. The middle one was in charge. And the little one will steal your food.

A good question is what are they?

Sometimes they appear perfectly human even bearing a resemblance to Clark, Bruce or Diana. They only do this when they wish to communicate. Sometimes they fly about with wispy tails instead of legs. This is for when they fly outside the base in space. Other times they change into half human half beast things as they lurk around corners of the tower. This is for when they get hungry and want to scare Barry or Hal.

Most of the day they just sleep. Or what they think is sleep. The big one likes to find the hottest place to plop down and nap like the sun or the furnace. The middle one likes it cold so he's usually curled up in the walk-in freezer. The little one likes sleeping either in tight spaces like the vents or in the open like on the table in the middle of a meeting.

Diana once scolded her about acting properly to get her off a stack of documents. In response, the little ghost changed her form into that of a small cat. She then proceeded to yowl annoyingly until Clark held her throughout the meeting.

After that, the ghost favored turning into little beasts to pester the heroes. For what reason? Fun.

The following day the middle one waited until Bruce got a glass of water to shove his muzzle into the cup. When Bruce got a second cup the ghost wanted that cup instead. The only solution was to designate cups for each of the ghosts. It solved the issue until they wanted their own placemats for when they eat. Keep in mind they only like stealing food. They do have their own but unless they can bully you out of eating it they don't want it.

You can't even call them pets. They are sentient beings and they can communicate. They are closer to children, really ornery children.

Taking a nap was liable to summon one. Hal learned that if he dozed off they would join him and bury him.

The big one is roughly the size of a bear and just has heavy and has no respect for your space. It's his space now and he uses his size to his advantage by constantly bullying Clark and Barry.

What are they going to do? Stop them?

When Constantine finally got off his "vacation" he came to assess the situation he became a lightning rod for the ghost's attention. The ghosts followed him around loving the aura around him and the irritable emotions he gave off.

"So they have just been running wild and you let them. No wonder they are acting like this. They don't respect you so they do what they want. They must also like you because they would have left by now if they didn't."

Clark holding Dani

Danny trying to eat Bruce's food

Hal trying to sleep