[ the added pain is the adrenaline she needs to jolt her consciousness back into awareness, though not at the cost of — everything. how lucky for her, she thinks with no shortage of venomous sarcasm, that the answer to being stabbed is to be stabbed again. every threading push through her skin elicits a hiss, whistling out from between her grinding teeth. a clack-clack of bone that begins to creak, with how tightly she's clamped her jaw.
her nails scramble along rhys' forearms, a vain attempt to escape it. she's as successful as a cat trying to escape the horrors of a bath — which is to say not at all, despite the ragged tallies she's pockmarked into his flesh for his trouble, squirming uselessly in his hold. that should feel ... promising. she should be thankful for the hurt, if only for the reassurance it provides: a reminder that she's alive enough to choke on her flinching breaths.
she should be. instead, her expression only pinches with indignation, a distant offense that he's jabbed her without warning. shakily, she pets down her side, tests the bandage in disbelief — but there's no sticky blood that greets her. no proof that rhys had only slapped tissue paper across a gaping wound to trick her into being comforted. then, and only then, does she allow herself to slump back down into his lap, useless to gather the strength necessary to do much more than curl his jacket around her, making a fortress out of its fabric.
for the first time, she finds herself wishing a heartrender were in the vicinity. not for the first time, she wishes that newt's infection hadn't been right to consider her power a crutch, the only real gift she has. the only blessing that might have saved her from needing to maul newt, from forcing rhys to watch her bleed out like a leaky faucet, from being the liability he needs to cradle while newt lays limp and unconscious beside them. ]
Someday, someone will teach you that you can't always get your way. The entire world doesn't kneel under your command, High Lord.
[ she huffs out what sounds suspiciously close to a wet laugh — but it only crunches her stomach together with a cough that ratchets through her, pulling her mouth into a tight grimace of pain. right. no laughing allowed, then. she doesn't even have the scope of movement to wipe away the shiny trails of moisture streaking his face, that premature mourning that makes her want to shout stop it. i'm still here. ]
I can share my best friend with you, but Cassian isn't Mal. [ she murmurs, adrenaline fading away to leave a groggy haze. ] Cassian hates you less.
no subject
[ the added pain is the adrenaline she needs to jolt her consciousness back into awareness, though not at the cost of — everything. how lucky for her, she thinks with no shortage of venomous sarcasm, that the answer to being stabbed is to be stabbed again. every threading push through her skin elicits a hiss, whistling out from between her grinding teeth. a clack-clack of bone that begins to creak, with how tightly she's clamped her jaw.
her nails scramble along rhys' forearms, a vain attempt to escape it. she's as successful as a cat trying to escape the horrors of a bath — which is to say not at all, despite the ragged tallies she's pockmarked into his flesh for his trouble, squirming uselessly in his hold. that should feel ... promising. she should be thankful for the hurt, if only for the reassurance it provides: a reminder that she's alive enough to choke on her flinching breaths.
she should be. instead, her expression only pinches with indignation, a distant offense that he's jabbed her without warning. shakily, she pets down her side, tests the bandage in disbelief — but there's no sticky blood that greets her. no proof that rhys had only slapped tissue paper across a gaping wound to trick her into being comforted. then, and only then, does she allow herself to slump back down into his lap, useless to gather the strength necessary to do much more than curl his jacket around her, making a fortress out of its fabric.
for the first time, she finds herself wishing a heartrender were in the vicinity. not for the first time, she wishes that newt's infection hadn't been right to consider her power a crutch, the only real gift she has. the only blessing that might have saved her from needing to maul newt, from forcing rhys to watch her bleed out like a leaky faucet, from being the liability he needs to cradle while newt lays limp and unconscious beside them. ]
Someday, someone will teach you that you can't always get your way. The entire world doesn't kneel under your command, High Lord.
[ she huffs out what sounds suspiciously close to a wet laugh — but it only crunches her stomach together with a cough that ratchets through her, pulling her mouth into a tight grimace of pain. right. no laughing allowed, then. she doesn't even have the scope of movement to wipe away the shiny trails of moisture streaking his face, that premature mourning that makes her want to shout stop it. i'm still here. ]
I can share my best friend with you, but Cassian isn't Mal. [ she murmurs, adrenaline fading away to leave a groggy haze. ] Cassian hates you less.