Cracks in the Mask

Jay!?

Notes:

Hey Descendants!

Guess who forgot what her 12:30 alarm was for...

Hello Wednesday update!

Last chapter Harry resolved to follow Frollo, but flights of fancy and thoughts of kissing T distracted our poor pirate and made him lose his quarry. But we all know how stubborn our favorite Number One can be, right?

Are you ready to find out how stubborn?

Lots of love and luck

-Dark-

(See the end of the chapter for questions with Twisted.)

He lets out a whoosh of air as the breath is knocked out of him.

He had long ago given up on trying to stop his shaking from the pain and exertion.

Stay awake. Or it will be her. Stay Awake. Or she'll feel this. Stay awake. Or you'll die.

He grits his teeth as his hands tighten around the chains. He needed to stay present. He needed to stay in control. He needed to protect her from the excruciating agony that coursed through every inch of them.

His jaw clenches.

This was the last fucking time he ignored Cecelia's readings. If he lived through this- Which he was going to do, even if it was out of pure spite. He refused to succumb. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

But that didn't make him any less exhausted. Didn't make the ache in his belly or the dryness of his throat go away. Didn't make him any closer to getting out of here.

He was beyond caring if he screamed at this point. Beyond caring that tears streamed from his eyes. It had been consuming too much of what little energy they had to hold it back.

But talking back? Spitting out biblical verses? Being an overall defiant shit? To see the look of outraged exasperation and frustration on his face? Now that was worth the energy.

He shifts his hips, the salt digging into the burns and lashes on his back producing an unfathomable pain. He hisses as he lets his head fall back.

What the fuck had be been thinking? How the fuck had he let this happen? Why the fuck had he even considered this idea?

He was so fucking foolish to think no one in their right minds would work with him. Then again he wouldn't exactly say that Stromboli and The Coachman were sane. They clearly took joy out of everything he ordered them to do. Took pleasure in it.

Fucking sadist pricks.

He closes his eyes as he tries to breathe through the pain, ignoring how ragged his breaths were. How short.

Was anyone looking for him? The thought had been bothering him since he'd been stripped of his lock pick sets.

At first, he'd prayed that they weren't... But now?

He shifts, every fiber of his being alert to where Frollo was, off prepping some new form of fucking horror. He swallows as he glares at the stone ceiling above him. His eyes narrowed.

Fuck you too god! He scowls. Fuck you for forsaking them- Her.

A weak smile tugs at his lips as he feels Faustina's flair of disapproval at the curse before he shoves her back. She didn't need to feel this. Didn't need to be close, to be subjected to this. But knowing she was still here, still with him was a comfort. The sick fuck hadn't won yet. He could handle it. Could endure it for her.