#(spoiler warning ahead⚠️ >>> ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allbark-no-bite · 9 months ago

Text

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

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"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar.

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake��s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

481 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 8 months ago

Note

Whoops! I forgot to add an emoji, sorry!

I'm the anon who made the Record of Ragnarok request regarding a goddess of fortune and luck s/o. I'd like to be called 🐢 anon, please.

RoR w/ Goddess of Fortune + Luck! S/O

Characters: Poseidon, Qin Shi Huang, and Hades Requester: 🐢Anon A/N: This was a nice thing to write, each of them have their own story, which basically never happens anymore, lol. Anyways, hope you like this! And have a sparkling rest of your days/nights! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Mentions of death, insinuated assault, SWEARING in Poseidon's part, murder, blood, and slight description of death (tiny gore warning) ⚠️

Disclaimer: The Reader is a FEMALE and based on Yaoshi (HSR)

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Poseidon ══════════════════════════════╝

🔱 You were his beauty to his beast. While that might not be physical on his behalf, his emotionless and cold demeanor made everyone, including his own family, believe him to be a devil in an angel's skin

🔱 On average, you would visit your believers in your temple, waving each ahead before gifting them with luck and a small fortune every time. But, as your reputation grew, so did your follower's egos

🔱 Poseidon was pissed when he found out one of your long-time followers had a son whom was trying to get into your pants so you would gift him with an unbelievable fortune and unbelieving amounts of luck just for being 'yours'

🔱 He decided to visit your temple one day, stabbing his trident into the stone flooring as he walked, alerting all that surrounded the area, and making them bow in respect to the God of the Sea. Poseidon just scoffed and kept walking, not giving any human any glance, they, in his eyes, did not deserve a perfect being like himself's attention

🔱 As he strode through, he found Aphrodite and Heracles outside of your temple, watching over the many children in the surrounding garden. They smiled as they caught Poseidon walking, as he just asked for your location

"Y/N went to her chambers with this guy... I think he said his name was... Dolion?"

"Yes, that was his name Heracles. They've been gone for about 10 minutes, I was about to send Heracles to check on them, but since you're here!"

🔱 Poseidon nodded and walked to your chambers, his trident making the same clack noise as he heard a man yelling at someone, which made your husband furrow his brows slightly as he listened in

"Get out of here, Dolion."

"Oh go fuck yourself, you whore! Just manipulating my emotions like that?! Making me feel such a strong connection just for you to take it away because you're married to that bastard, Poseidon?! How could you?!"

"Dolion. I will not tell you again. Get the fuck out."

"Don't tell me you never felt the connection with me, Goddess of Fortune and Luck? Come on, Y/N."

"You have no right to call me by that name. Do not make me kill you where you stand."

🔱 The sound of you screaming made Poseidon burst in the room, his trident pushing against the male's neck as you fell to the ground, your long hair pooling around your small frame on the ground

"You have five second to apologize, worm."

"Who the fuck are you?!"

"Five."

"Seriously, man! Who are you?!"

"Four."

"Oh for the love of Olympus. Answer me!"

"One."

🔱 You closed your eyes as Poseidon stabbed the man's neck, plunging his trident's three tips into the stone wall and causing blood to begin drip down the body of the now-deceased young male

🔱 Standing up and listening to your chain-wrapped foot hit the ground as you hugged Poseidon from behind, your grip tightening around his stomach, making him look back at you and breath out, providing your ears with the familiar echo of his breathing. He then grabbed your arm and wrapped his own around your midsection, keeping you in a protective grasp

"Thank you, 'Seidon."

"Hmm."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Qin Shi Huang ═══════════════════════════╝

👑 Qin Shi Huang knew that you and him being in a relationship was bound to start some kind of controversy within the Einherjar, as they distrusted pretty much any God they came across. Yep, that means they distrusted Buddha for quite a while

👑 You merely sat up with the rest of the fighters as Qin fought, and you smiled gently as Hades walked in, causing Leonidas to look at you with narrowed eyes

"What are you smiling at, Goddess?"

👑 Chuckling at his animosity, you reached outwards, pointing towards the tall, white-haired God of the Dead before speaking up again

"That man caused many issues between me and my old human friend, Tamaki. Honestly, seeing such an enemy fight against my husband is a fight I cannot tear my eyes from for a second."

👑 Kojiro smiled as you spoke, looking back down at the Emperor. He then looked at you and asked you how you had met the royal and gotten into a relationship, after all, being a Goddess of such a high-caliber in the Shinto Pantheon must have been hard to deal with a human

"It's quite the detailed story. But if you wish to know so badly, Sasaki, I shall tell you the shortened version."

👑 The others adjusted their positions to listen to you, curiosity spread through their tough and chiseled forms as you began to speak, recanting your love story with your husband

"One night, I had decided to take a walk through a garden, but this garden was owned by the Emperor's family. It was there that I noticed a young man walking around, a blindfold over his eyes, much to my confusion at the time. I walked to the man and asked him if he could see and needed assistance, the man, whom I later learned to be Qin Shi Huang, had merely waved me off with a smile before asking if I needed help since he never saw me around the building."

"Wait- he can see through that thing?" Buddha asked.

"Correct, Buddha. But, after I left, I had given him a peony and a orchid. The peony, in Chinese culture, stands for good fortune, while the orchid stands for wealth and fortune. I began to come by nearly weekly, which allowed us to grow closely before he proposed and we married. I revealed my identity as a divine being a mere few days before he proposed, so imagine my shock when he asked for my hand in marriage!"

👑 The others chuckled as you finished your story, allowing you to look back down as your husband readied his form for the fight. You allowed a single tear to fall down from your eye, but before it hit the ground, you picked it up and tossed it onto the ground, making a four-leaf clover pop up from the flooring. Grabbing it, you blew it to your husband, in your own, silent way to wish him luck in the battle for Humanity's safety

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Hades ════════════════════════════════╝

💀 As you pat the young deity's head, your husband watched from a distance. You had been bonding with Zeus' family a lot more after the birth of Ares, his youngest brother's oldest son, and after Hermes' birth, you had just doubled down on your Auntie-responsibilities, even as the two aged

💀 Hades smiled as you looked at the middle of Zeus' boys, using your magic to tie tiny golden fabric-strands onto his body, around the arm like a bow for Hermes, he lightly adjusted it to his style while you smiled and pat his head lightly

💀 Laughing as you saw Ares began to mess around with his father, Zeus, as he tried making a speech as if he was going to lead another army to battle, you gave one of the most beautiful smiles in Olympus

💀 Hermes then told you he needed to go visit with his mother, you nodded and allowed him to go speak to Hera. You then clasped your hands in front of your hips and walked towards your husband, stopping by his side and laying your head on his shoulder

"Good afternoon, my love."

"Good afternoon, my King of the Netherworld."

💀 Chuckling and laying his head on your own, Hades smiled gently. He could feel your welcoming and warm aura pulse through his own cold and noble one, and it was a feeling he didn't want to let go of anytime soon

"Aunt Y/N, Uncle Hades! It's good to see you both!" A voice rung out, snapping both you and Hades out of your peaceful moment.

💀 Looking back up, you saw two of your three nephews. Heracles and Ares walked up and shook their Uncle's hand while they hugged you delicately, making sure they didn't accidentally damage any of the golden accessories that dawned your figure

"It's good to see you both as well. How has training been?" Hades asked.

"Alright. Dad almost destroyed the arena last week, though." Ares answered while Heracles nodded with a tired expression.

"Well that sounds like fun, calming your father down and all." You teased, making the three guys smile and chuckle at the thought of Zeus acting like a child in need of discipline from his parents.

"Y/N!" Aphrodite yelled out, waving you over to her and her nymphs.

💀 You peered back at your husband, who just nodded and kissed your forehead, allowing you to walk over to your old friend. Aphrodite was excited about something, and he knew you were naturally a curious being

"You really love her, don't you, Uncle?" Heracles asked.

"That I do. That I do..."

658 notes · View notes

little-jana · 3 months ago

Text

"Truth or Dare?"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: angst, fluff at the end

Warnings: spoiler!!!, guns, canon-typical violence, emotional conflict, stress, danger, kissing happy end

Words: 2.3k

Summary: During the events of “Truth or Dare,” the reader, an FBI agent and Spencer’s close friend, is present when JJ’s confession changes everything.

a/n: This takes place during the finale of Season 14! Changed it up a bit so the reader could be more part of everything!

⚠️ SPOILER AHEAD ⚠️

It's been two days since the last case — a rare chance for the team to let loose. Rossi’s wedding was coming up, a brief reprieve from the darkness they encountered daily.

But as always with the BAU, peace never lasted long.

The phone call came in, cutting the evening short.

You’d ridden with Spencer to the scene, the two of you sharing a comfortable silence in the SUV. Being around him always felt easy, even in the chaos of your jobs. You’d worked with the BAU on several cases over the years, though you weren’t a permanent member of the team. You were an FBI agent stationed in DC, but you and Spencer had grown close, your shared love of books and intellectual banter creating a bond that felt unshakable.

What you didn’t share with him—what you hadn’t shared with anyone—was the way your heart raced whenever he smiled at you, the way his quiet strength and vulnerability had captured you completely.

The case eventually leads Spencer, JJ and you to trying to chase the unsub, Casey, down.

When you arrived at the shop where Casey had barricaded himself and his hostage.

“Are you okay?” you asked Spencer softly.

He glanced at you, his eyes softening slightly. “I’m fine. I just... I hate situations like this.”

You nodded, understanding. It was one thing to deal with unsubs in the field, but hostage situations always carried a heavier weight.

Hotch had once said Spencer’s empathy was both his greatest strength and his greatest burden. You’d seen it firsthand—the way he carried the pain of others, always striving to do more, to save more.

When he takes JJ and Reid hostage, the situation threatens to escalate.

---

You stood outside with the team, monitoring the situation.

As the conversation unfolded, you could feel the tension rising. Casey’s demands were erratic, his behavior unpredictable. When he pulled JJ and Spencer into a twisted game of truth or dare, your stomach twisted with unease.

“Truth or dare?” Casey asked, his voice cold and sharp.

“Truth,” JJ replied without hesitation, her voice steady despite the situation.

“Tell him something you’ve never told him before,” Casey said, gesturing toward Spencer.

You froze. JJ’s gaze flickered to the camera, her expression unreadable. Beside you, Spencer’s entire body went still.

“I—I can’t do that,” JJ stammered, her usual composure slipping for a moment.

“You can, and you will,” Casey said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Spence...” JJ began, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ve always loved you. I was just too scared to say it before. And things are complicated, and... I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Spencer stared at her, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. You wanted to say something, to reach out to him, but he was in there, in danger.

JJ’s confession hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. You couldn’t process what you were hearing—couldn’t reconcile the woman you admired and trusted with the pain blooming in your chest.

You’d always known Spencer cared deeply for JJ, but this... this was something else.

---

The situation inside the restaurant escalated quickly. Spencer was able to shoot Casey. The hostage was safe, and JJ and Spencer emerged physically unharmed. Relief washed over the team as the threat dissipated, but the emotional fallout lingered heavily in the air.

Back at Quantico, Spencer was quieter than usual. He barely spoke during the debriefing, his mind clearly elsewhere. You wanted to give him space, but a part of you ached to know what was going through his head.

Hours later, after everyone had gone home, you found him in the break room. He was sitting at the small table, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.

“Spence,” you said softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he looked away. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down across from him. You watched him for a moment, taking in the way he was fidgeting with the mug in his hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted finally. “I don’t know how to feel about... any of this.”

“You mean JJ?” you asked gently.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “She’s been my friend for so long. Her confession—it caught me completely off guard. I never saw it coming.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “But it’s not... I don’t feel the same way. I never have.”

Relief flooded through you, though you tried not to let it show. “Does she know that?”

“I think she does now,” he said quietly. “But I’m scared things are going to change between us. Our friendship is important to me, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “JJ cares about you, Spence. She wouldn’t have said anything if she didn’t think your friendship could survive it.”

He looked at you then, his expression softening. “You really think so?”

“I do,” you said with a small smile. “Friendships like yours don’t just disappear overnight. It might take some time, but you’ll find your way back to each other.”

He nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed to hear that.”

You smiled, but the tension in the room hadn’t completely lifted. There was something else he wasn’t saying—something weighing on him.

“Is there something else on your mind?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, his hands tightening around the mug. “There is,” he admitted. “But it’s... complicated.”

You waited patiently, giving him the space he needed to find the words.

“Tonight,” he began, his voice quiet and uncertain, “when JJ said what she said, it made me think about a lot of things. About relationships, and feelings, and the people I care about.”

Your heart began to race, but you kept your expression neutral. “Okay,” you said, encouraging him to continue.

“And I realized something,” he said, finally meeting your eyes. “I’ve been scared. Scared of ruining things, of making things complicated. But I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “Spence...”

“I like you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve liked you for a while now, but I didn’t know how to tell you. And after everything that happened tonight, I was scared it would make things... messy between us.”

You stared at him, your mind racing to process what he was saying. “You like me?” you repeated, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I do. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way, or if this complicates things for you, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words. But then you smiled—a soft, genuine smile that lit up your entire face. “Spence,” you said, reaching across the table to take his hand, “I like you too.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You do?”

“I do,” you said, your voice filled with warmth. “I’ve liked you for a long time. But I was scared too. I didn’t want to risk losing what we have.”

A small, relieved laugh escaped him, and he squeezed your hand gently. “So we’ve both been scared for nothing.”

“Looks like it,” you said with a chuckle.

For the first time that night, Spencer’s shoulders relaxed completely, and a genuine smile spread across his face.

“Does this mean we can stop being scared and actually see where this goes?” he asked, his voice laced with hope.

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness. “I think it does.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider, his cheeks tinged pink as he looked down at your joined hands. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the moment settling between you. It was as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in the quiet warmth of the room.

You shifted in your seat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “Spence...” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I never thought you’d feel the same way. I thought it was just me.”

“I thought the same thing about you,” he admitted, his voice soft and full of wonder. “You’re amazing, and I didn’t want to ruin what we already had by saying anything. But tonight... everything that happened with JJ made me realize how important it is to say what you feel before it’s too late.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness—they were from the overwhelming relief and joy flooding your chest. “I’m glad you did,” you whispered, squeezing his hand. “Because I don’t think I could’ve kept this to myself much longer.”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

You both fell silent, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering in the air. His eyes searched yours, the vulnerability in his gaze tugging at your heart. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, his hand still clasping yours as if afraid to let go.

“Is it okay if I—” he started, his voice faltering.

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the small distance between you, your free hand reaching up to gently cup his cheek. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as though neither of you could believe it was really happening. But then Spencer’s hand moved to your face, his fingers brushing against your skin as he deepened the kiss. There was a quiet intensity to the way his lips moved against yours, as though he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into that single moment.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst, the warmth of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss consuming you entirely. Time seemed to stand still, the world narrowing down to just him—the softness of his lips, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hand trembled slightly as it rested against your cheek.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Spencer’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed, and his lips curved into a shy, almost disbelieving smile.

“That was...” he began, trailing off as he struggled to find the words.

“Perfect,” you finished for him, your own voice shaky but filled with certainty.

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah. Perfect.”

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, your foreheads touching as you reveled in the newfound closeness. The weight of the night’s events still lingered, but it felt lighter now, less daunting.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I don’t know where this is going to take us,” he admitted, his voice filled with quiet sincerity, “but I want to find out. With you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “Me too, Spence. Me too.”

And as you sat there together, the promise of something new unfolding between you, the world outside the room seemed a little brighter.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #matthew gray gubler #truth or dare #season 14

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dragonridersandhighlords · 3 days ago

Note

As you have one-shot coming up, this idea could work as a long one shot or mini series.

Though I'm just halfway through Iron Flame and don't know how Xaden turns into a venin and of like rest of the fandom and Vi, as of now we don't know the cure for it too. I stumbled upon some 'venin-cure' theories and one of it inspired this idea so hear me out.

Ik Xaden turned into a venin for Violet. As per theories, if he can become one for his love, he has come into the realization and give up what he took (the direct power).

Finally the idea: the reader is actually pregnant. It's up to you if Xaden knew it earlier or not but maybe like idk they're in a war zone or whatever situation, he was going to kill somebody or whatever and at that moment reader faces Xaden. Telling him that she's not going to fight him, she let go of her dagger or sword, trying to remind him of himself, showing him his ring still on her finger. When she sees him calming down, she may take his hand and touch her barely visible (or visible) belly, begging him to let go of the power, reminding him that he's in control of himself, begging him to come to her and their baby.

So I got lost in the writing and made it an OC instead of x reader but it can still be read as a reader instert! That being said, please please please wait to read this until AFTER you've read Onyx Storm as I did use actual events in this!

⚠️MAJOR ONYX STORM SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️

What Love Left Behind | Xaden Riorson

Summary: In the wake of war and unexpected loss, Briar Veyloren–now Riorson–is left to lead Tyrrendor alone—pregnant, grieving, and haunted by the man she loves. Briar must navigate politics, power, and the whisper of hope that lingers in a mysterious letter. She learns that love may be the most dangerous weapon of all—and the only one worth wielding.

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x OC! Briar Veyloren

Notes: I included a couple theories that have been circulating. But seriously if you haven’t read Onyx Storm, you should before reading this.

Warnings: Onyx Storm spoilers, surprise pregnancy and concerns around maternal health, emotional distress and PTSD themes, implied past violence and death, mentions of planned death, war context and threat of battle, angst

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist | FW Masterlist

“Your Grace.”

The words echoed in my mind like a relentless drumbeat, each utterance threatening to send me over the edge. One month had passed since he vanished, leaving behind only a marriage certificate, a noble title, and an unexpected pregnancy. The last month spent poring over maps and sending out search parties, each return bringing nothing but disappointment. The latest team would be back any day now, but every second dragged on like a lifetime.

As the Duchess of Tyrrendor, I was trapped by my responsibilities, drowning in meetings and decisions that felt foreign to me. No longer just Briar Veyloren, I was now a figurehead, a woman expected to wield authority, yet all I wanted was a moment to breathe without the suffocating weight of my new title.

The next person who bowed low and addressed me as “Your Grace” just might find themselves on the receiving end of my very real frustration—and it's not my hormones talking.

“Briar? What are you doing?” Brennan’s voice cut through my thoughts, his brow furrowed with concern as he approached.

“Walking? Did you not just tell me I needed to be more active?” I shot back, rolling my eyes. At barely eleven weeks pregnant and not even showing, I felt more like a burden than a mother-to-be. Brennan’s worry was sweet, but it had become suffocating since he and Imogen had found me unconscious in the courtyard of Riorson House.

And let's be honest, my whole world feels suffocating without him.

“With someone! What if you tripped on any of the stairs between your room and here?” His voice was laced with the kind of earnestness that made me want to scream and laugh at the same time.

“Brennan,” I began, pinching the bridge of my nose, “I’m going to be honest with you for a minute, okay?” He nodded, earnestness replaced with curiosity. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But if you lecture me again for walking through my own home, I will strangle you.” I raised an eyebrow, my expression daring him to argue.

Brennan's face shifted to one of understanding. I wasn’t just battling the challenges of my pregnancy or the burdens of my title—I was facing the reality that the one man I had trusted to stand by my side was missing, and with him, a part of my heart.

“Understood.” Brennan nods, his expression betraying a mixture of sympathy and concern, but I know this won’t be the last time I’ll have to remind him of my boundaries. “Garrick and Bodhi landed a few minutes ago; they’re in the Assembly Room waiting for you.” His words cut through my thoughts like a sharpened blade as I turn to continue my walk.

“And you waited to tell me that because?” I gasp, the weight of urgency pooling in my chest. The minute those two returned from their mission, I should have been the first to know.

“Sorry, Bree.” Brennan’s smile emerges, almost sheepish, as a chuckle escaped his lips at my reaction. “I’ll walk you down.” I eye him suspiciously, skepticism knitting my brow, but he’s quick with a rebuttal. “Merely because I’m a part of that meeting too, not because of what I said earlier, I swear.”

My laughter, albeit strained, breaks through the monotonous hum of everyday life in the halls, a sound that feels foreign yet welcome. It’s probably the brightest anyone has heard since his departure, a small glimpse of the woman I used to be, if only for a moment.

As we approach the grand double doors leading into the Assembly Room, Brennan leans forward, his hand resting lightly on the polished wood, a silent invitation. He swings the door open, and I step inside, the air suddenly thick with the weight of expectation. Instantly, all eyes turn towards me, the occupants standing with a blend of respect and trepidation as I walk through the threshold.

“What did I say about that shit?” I groan, exasperation lacing my tone as I stride to the opposite end of the throne, settling into one of the more ordinary chairs that line the table.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to sit on the throne, Your Grace?” Major Ulices Ferris’s voice cuts through the murmur of the room, sounding less like a suggestion and more like a command. I refrain from reacting, my gaze fixated on the imposing throne that looms across the table, a symbol of power that feels unlike something that's mine.

“It is the Duke’s throne, not mine.” My reply is curt, resolute, as I remain anchored in the chair I’ve chosen, fighting the sorrows that gnawed at me.

“You are the acting leader of Tyrrendor, Your Grace. The Duke is not–”

“If you tell me what to do in my own province again, Major, you will find that my temper is much, much shorter than his.” The words escape my lips like wildfire, a hand slamming onto the table with a resounding bang that silences the room. “If I do not wish to sit on the fucking throne, then I won’t.” Wide eyes are fixed on me, some filled with surprise, others masking concern, as I struggle against the tears that threaten to spill. “And the next person to call me ‘Your Grace’ will find their vocal cords ripped out.” I realize then, perhaps it is the hormones talking, because I never raise my voice or lash out but the frustration surging within me feels all too real.

A palpable silence envelops the Assembly Room, heavy and suffocating. The clatter of chairs scraping against the floor echoes like thunder as everyone hastily settles at the long, polished table. I take in the scene before me, trying to read the emotions etched on the faces of my advisors and comrades, but I find myself floundering. My dragon, Ríogh, had decided to block me from his power until my child arrives, severing the tether that usually grounds me in the whirlwind of feelings surrounding me. The air feels thick and stagnant, as if charged with unspoken fears and burdens, and I have no way to discern why.

The murmurs fade as the Assembly begins their weekly reports—information that should be routine yet now seems to hang like a dark cloud overhead. One by one, they share updates on the army's status, the progress of the riders’ and flyers’ classes—classes I should be attending, but the demands of governing Tyrrendor weigh heavily on my shoulders. The mention of Violet’s training under Felix pulls my attention momentarily, but I am drawn back to the map spread before me, its worn surface marked with notes and symbols that pulse with urgency.

“And the search?” My voice, low and steady, cuts through the air, my gaze still focused on the map as if the answers might leap off the parchment and reveal themselves to me. Hope is a fragile thing, and I’ve learned not to cling to it, especially during these grim reports. Two weeks of relentless despair in the beginning had left their mark, and I understood all too well the reason Ríogh had shielded me from his power.

“We arrived a day, if not a few hours, after the attack.” As Garrick's voice reaches me, a dagger suddenly plunges into the map, piercing the inked details with alarming accuracy. My hand hovers above the blade, a physical extension of my shock. “There were no signs of Venin or wyverns remaining in the area.”

“But we did find this, Briar.” Bodhi’s voice breaks through my daze as he slides a letter towards me, its wax seal glinting ominously in the dim light. I reach for it, my heart racing as I analyze the unfamiliar seal. Yet, it is the handwriting that sends a cold shiver racing down my spine, his handwriting.

“Where?” I manage to ask, the urgency in my tone rising as I set the unopened letter back on the table, a weight growing in my chest.

“Hung on the main gates of the city,” Bodhi replies softly, his gaze downcast as he sets the blade alongside the letter. “With this stabbed through the corner.”

My breath hitches, and I struggle to contain the emotion that threatens to spill over. One look at the familiar blade sends a sob escaping me, and I lift it trembling from the table, tracing the delicate carvings along its length—my initials, BV, just below the hilt, carved by by parents before my entry into the Rider's Quadrant. The leather wrapped around the hilt, added by him after he won the dagger from me during a challenge in my first year, brings an achingly familiar feeling. The weight of the dagger in my hand felt like a tether to a past I desperately wanted to cling to, yet the reality of its current context made my grip falter.

I was acutely aware of the bustling energy around me as my friends hastily ushered the Assembly leaders out of the room, their murmurs becoming a distant hum, barely piercing through the fog of my thoughts.

“He always carried this dagger,” I whispered, the words escaping in a broken whisper that was almost lost amidst the scuffle of chairs and the echo of hurried footsteps. My eyes remained fixed on the intricate carvings adorning the blade, but the simplest carving of my initials below the hilt that my parents had placed there. The worn leather, a reminder of him, that was added after he had won in a challenge.

Garrick’s voice broke through the haze, steady and firm. He spoke of the dagger’s significance, recounting tales of how it had become an extension of him. As I absently twisted the blade between my fingers, the familiar weight brought fleeting comfort, grounding me amidst the turmoil swirling around me.

Using the dagger, I carefully pressed the tip against the wax, the sharpness gliding through it with an ease that mirrored the memories flooding my mind. As the seal broke, I felt an exhilarating rush that felt eerily like both dread and anticipation. The letter now lay before me, a promise of answers that beckoned me closer, even as it threatened to unravel everything I thought I knew.

The world around me quieted. I could sense the worried glances of my friends, the weight of their expectations heavy on my shoulders. Yet, the only thing that mattered in that moment was the letter before me, a bridge between despair and hope.

As the last remnants of the wax fell away, the air shifted, thickening with tension as if the universe itself held its breath, waiting for me to unveil the secrets hidden within the paper. My fingers tremble slightly, and I could almost hear the heartbeat of Tyrrendor in the silence, a reminder of the stakes that lay beyond my personal anguish.

“Briar,” Bodhi’s voice penetrated my concentration, laced with worry. “What does it say?”

The question hung in the air like a charge, electrifying and daunting. I felt as though the answer would either condemn me or set me free. I inhaled deeply, my heart racing with the weight of anticipation.

Briar,

Can’t you ever listen to me?

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.

Leave your resources where you need them most.

Look where you least expect.

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me.

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope.

Remember the good moments.

I trust you.

-X

“What does it say?” Bodhi asks again, leaning over my shoulder, his breath a warm whisper against my neck.

I carefully reread the letter, its words swirling in my mind like a chaotic tempest. “This makes no sense.” A heavy sigh escapes my lips, carrying the weight of despair that clings to me like a shroud. “Maybe he is too far gone.” The reality of the cryptic message settles in my chest like a stone, and I stand, tucking the letter into my pocket, the fabric of my clothes brushing against my skin, grounding me. I slide the dagger into its empty sheath, the familiar clink of metal against leather echoing in the silence around us.

“I’m going to watch flight maneuvers.” My voice is firm, a declaration against the unease that threatens to consume me.

“Briar—”

“Brennan, if you tell me I can’t go sit in a fucking field with my dragon and watch the cadets, I’m going to scream.” The softness in my voice belies the storm brewing within, and I don’t even turn to face him, my focus fixed on the door that leads outside.

“I was going to suggest taking a waterskin. It’s warmer today than it has been.” He sets a sturdy waterskin in my now outstretched hand, the leather cool and reassuring against my palm.

“I don’t want to be bothered while I’m out there. I just need some peace and quiet.” The words tumble out, a plea wrapped in frustration.

“Of course.” Garrick steps up beside me, his presence steady and calming. “We’ll handle everything.”

“We will?” Bodhi questions, and before I can reply, a grunt of pain escapes him, quickly followed by his reluctant agreement with Garrick.

I turn to face them, a small smile breaking through the cloud of anxiety that looms overhead. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn?” Bodhi laughs, the lightness of his voice a balm to my frayed nerves, only to be silenced by Garrick’s elbow jabbing into his side.

I laugh at my friends' antics, the sound echoing through the Assembly Room, a momentary distraction from my turmoil. With a heart a touch lighter, I walk towards the exterior door, its wooden frame worn and familiar, leading me to the open path that winds toward the valley below.

As I begin the trek, the anticipation of watching the cadets fills me with a fleeting escape from the shadows that linger in my thoughts. After a bit of a walk, I finally arrive at the designated field, the vibrant hues of summer in Tyrrendor blooming around me, and there, nestled in the grass, I spot Violet curled up with Andarna, her laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves. My own dragon, Ríogh, stands sentinel beside them, an unmistakable warmth emanating from his scaled form.

“Hey Ríogh.” I smile at the sight of him, the bond we share a steady anchor amidst the storm.

“Feeling better, Little Foot?” His smirk dances through our connection, teasing and light-hearted.

“I’ve told you this before, just because your previous riders were all men does not mean I have small feet.” I pause mid-step, crossing my arms, my glare playful yet fierce, challenging him as the sun beams down on us.

“Oh, but it's so fun to rile you up. Even if the Mender had Marbh lecture me about being nice so you kept your blood pressure low.” Ríogh's voice cuts through my simmering irritation hangs heavily between us.

I release an annoyed sigh, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest. My feet begin moving again, almost as if they’re propelled by sheer frustration. “I’m going to kill your brother,” I mutter, the declaration slipping from my lips as I pass by Violet, my stride purposeful and swift. I collapse onto the grass beside Ríogh’s massive head, leaning against his warm, scaled neck, seeking solace in his steadfast presence.

“What did he do this time?” Violet asks, laughter lacing her tone as her gaze remains glued to the pages of her book, the sunlight casting a golden glow over her hair.

“Lecturing me about walking alone, reminding me to grab a waterskin before I walked here, and apparently having his dragon lecture mine about my fucking blood pressure.” The words spill out of me, laced with exasperation. “I’m running a fucking province by myself while my husband—who I can’t even remember marrying—is fully Venin and apparently leaving cryptic letters at the cities he destroys now. My blood pressure hasn’t been normal in years.” My voice trembles with the weight of it all, each word a release of pent-up tension that has festered within me.

“Xaden left you a letter?” At the mention of his name, a sharp pang pierces my heart, each syllable feeling like a jagged blade. In the early days after his disappearance, the mere utterance of his name sent me spiraling into tears, raw grief threatening to consume me. Yet Violet never adhered to the unspoken rule her brother had set.

I pass the paper over to her when she sets her book aside, moving closer, her curiosity igniting a flicker of hope within me. She studies the words intently, her brow furrowing in concentration as she reads them over and over before finally speaking.

“Holy shit, it's an acrostic.”

“Acrostic?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, an enigma until it clicks. “Like a poem?”

“The first letters of each line spell a word or phrase.” As she hands the letter back, I analyze the words once more, and adrenaline surges through me. With newfound clarity, I leap to my feet, urgency propelling me forward.

“I know where they’re attacking next!” I shout, my voice echoing as I barrel through the doors of Riorson House, where Garrick, Bodhi, and Brennan still remain in the assembly room, their faces a mix of surprise and concern at my sudden arrival.

“Are you sure?” Aaric’s voice cuts through the tension, his brow furrowed with concern as he steps closer, the urgency of the moment hanging heavy in the air. I had sent for him the moment I returned, a spark of desperate hope igniting within me because if I was right, then a Prince of Navarre was urgently needed.

“Violet said it’s an acrostic,” I explain, my heart racing as I recall the words that had danced before my eyes like the flickering shadows of doubt. “Xaden has never written a poem in his life; that’s why it made no sense. He just needed to spell a word, not a whole message.” My hand trembles slightly as I hand the letter to Aaric, eager for him to see it with his own eyes. I spell it out, enunciating each letter clearly, “C-A-L-L-D-Y-R. He’s trying to tell us where to find them.” The hope in my voice feels fresh, like the first breath of spring air after a long winter, awakening a purpose within me that had been dormant.

“Briar, this is a stretch,” Garrick interjects, his skepticism evident as he pulls the paper from Aaric’s hands, the furrow in his brow deepening.

“I trust you,” I implore, my gaze locked onto Garrick’s, willing him to see the truth within my conviction. “It’s a code we came up with before he graduated.” My eyes are pleading, a silent plea to embrace this fragile thread of hope. “Sign off with ‘I love you’ if it’s just a letter. ‘I trust you’ means there’s important info woven into the message.” The weight of my revelation hangs in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Every pair of eyes is fixed on me, the silence thickening as I break down the implications of his words.

Can’t you ever listen to me? He told me not to search for him in the note I was found with, but defiance had driven me to ignore his warning.

Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision. The decision to seek him out? To stand and fight instead of hiding behind the wards?

Leave your resources where you need them most. Aretia had ample defenses; between the riders and flyers we housed. The entire fleet wasn't needed here.

Look where you least expect. I’d never have imagined this—his clumsy attempt at poetry-- would be a desperate lifeline crafted in the dark.

Don’t take this as a clue on where to find me. I had never been good at listening to him.

You are Tyrrendor’s only hope. The echo of his words from after he first channeled resonated within me, a haunting reminder of what he was preparing me for.

Remember the good moments. He’d been sharing his plans during those fleeting, cherished instances, hints interwoven throughout our laughter and love, guiding me to this very moment.

“He laid it out for us.” The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, pressing down on my chest as I took in the skeptical expressions of my friends. I may not have been able to read emotions at this moment, but their faces told me everything I needed to know; doubt shadowed their brows, and disbelief flickered in their eyes. “Please, let me have this last bit of hope.” My voice cracked with desperation, and I felt as if I were grasping at threads of light in an encroaching darkness.

Bodhi, always the one with a heart so large it often outshone his doubts, was the first to break the tension that wrapped around us like a constricting serpent. “What’s the plan?” His tone was firm, a lifeline cast into turbulent waters.

“Aaric and the flyers leave today to prepare King Tauri for our arrival.” My mind raced, each word tumbling out like stones rolling down a hillside, gathering momentum. “The Dark Wielders have at least a three-day advantage on us. We leave a riot first-years along with a mix of second- and third-years and officers so Aretia is not defenseless.” My voice steadied, emboldened by purpose. “The rest of us leave for Calldyr City at dawn.”

“The rest of us? You are not going to battle in your condition.” Brennan’s protest cut through the air like a sharp blade, concern etched into his features. I could see the worry pooling in his eyes, a turbulent sea of emotions that mirrored my own.

“I’m pregnant, not dying!” My defense came out more forceful than intended, but the urgency of my plea propelled me forward. “If he’s there, then I have to see him. At a minimum, he deserves to hear the news from me.” A gentle hand rested over my stomach, a silent promise of the life that blossomed within me. I watched as my friends exchanged glances, their expressions softening ever so slightly, an understanding threading through the tension.

“If you need to, assign people to defend me, but I have to talk to him. If he’s truly gone, I’ll drive the knife in myself.” The words tasted bitter, yet they felt liberating, a catharsis of intent.

They looked between each other, silent deliberation flickering in their eyes before nodding in unison.

“Fine,” Brennan agreed, the weight of his acceptance settling around us like a comforting cloak.

“The minute we tell you to run, you better be on Ríogh’s back and gone,” Garrick warned, his expression fierce and protective. I nodded, resolving the hardening in my chest.

“Thank you.” My heart swelled with gratitude, a flicker of hope igniting within me, illuminating the path ahead.

The flight was interminable, each beat of Ríogh's powerful wings echoing the urgency that thrummed through my veins. My back ached from the prolonged strain of clinging to his scaled form, the chill of the wind biting through my cloak.Had Aaric not successfully persuade his father to trust me, the kingdom might have been plunged into chaos with an untested ruler on the throne.

As we soared through the sky, a heavy pall hung over us, the dragons sensing the approach of the Dark Wielders with an eerie intuition that prickled at my skin. It hadn’t been long since my arrival, yet already the atmosphere crackled with tension. Instead of convening with King Tauri to strategize, an urgent edict had been issued: protect the city at all costs. High above, with Garrick, Bodhi, Brennan, and Violet by my side, we hovered, scanning the horizon for any sign of him.

I was taken aback when we left to see Tairn willingly alongside us, his massive wings cutting through the air with a grace that belied his size. Violet had shared with me the heart-wrenching news of his bond with Sgaeyl fracturing during my lost twelve hours, and my heart ached for the dragons, their shared pain palpable even at this distance. Tairn, who had not been seen for weeks, now glided silently, his sorrow evident in every powerful stroke of his wings.

Suddenly, Ríogh’s voice broke through my reverie. “Sgaeyl nears.” The words resonated with urgency, and I turned to Violet, who nodded in understanding.

Moments later, the majestic navy blue silhouette of Sgaeyl emerged from the clouds, a dark shadow against the sunlit sky, but there was something unsettling about her presence—she bore no rider.

“Tell her I need to speak to him,” I urged Ríogh, my heart pounding as Sgaeyl approached us with a grace that felt both regal and mournful. Ríogh scoffed at my command.

I felt the connection between Sgaeyl and Tairn, a profound sadness swirling in the air around them. Gathering my resolve, I broke tradition and shouted, “Tell the Duke his Duchess requires an audience.”

After a tense moment, Ríogh relayed her message. Violet and I were to follow, the others had to keep their distance.

“Tell the others, and don’t lose her, please,” I instructed, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. As Ríogh and Tairn took the lead, I felt a strange calm wash over me, a stillness amidst the chaos that enveloped Calldyr City.

We descended into a tranquil field to the east, the sound of battle faintly echoing from the city, contrasting sharply with the peaceful serenity of our surroundings.

“Briar,” Violet called, pointing ahead. When my feet met the earth, I looked ahead. There, standing before Sgaeyl, was him.

“Stay here, be ready in case this goes wrong,” I instructed Violet firmly, but my heart raced with hope and trepidation. Ríogh's growl vibrated beside me as I began my approach. “He won’t hurt me,” I reassured him, though his huff conveyed his doubts.

“Quiet the venue for a meeting, Your Grace.” His voice sliced through the heavy air, resonating with authority yet laced with a fragility that echoed the distance between us. I halted mid-step, the tension thick as I stood roughly ten feet from him, yet I could feel the magnetic pull towards Ríogh, who fidgeted behind me, his wings slightly unfurling as if sensing the charged atmosphere.

“You’re a hard man to nail down, Your Grace.” I matched his tone, defiance cloaking my emotions like a shield, even as I took in the sight of him.

My heart ached, and I fought to mask the tumult within. The man who stood before me was a shadow of the one I had known. The once-familiar onyx depths of his eyes now held a tempest of turmoil, rimmed in red, and deep red veins at his temples. The only trace of familiarity was the intricate relic winding up his left arm and creeping over his neck. But the moment he stood before me, my heart betrayed me, skipping a beat at the sheer presence of him.

“Xaden,” I breathed, the name falling from my lips like a tender sigh.

“You shouldn’t have come, my stillpoint.” His voice was devoid of the softness that once enveloped our conversations, each word striking me like a knife to the chest. I steeled myself against the ache of familiarity that felt foreign now, a haunting reminder of the love that felt so distant.

“I had to see you—needed to see you. Considering I don’t remember our last moments together.” The words slipped out, edged with a growl that I could not suppress. “Including our wedding.” I watched him flinch, the shadow of pain flickering across his face.

“It was for the best.” His response was hollow, a sentiment that did little to assuage the storm raging within me.

I took a step closer, determined to bridge the chasm between us. “Why’d you turn?” I demanded, the question a relentless echo in my mind since that fateful night.

“It's what I had to do.” His voice was strained, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air.

“Why?” I pressed, the urgency in my voice flaring.

“Briar!” Bodhi’s warning cut through the tension, but I paid it no mind.

“Little Foot.”

“You told me once that your love for me was strong enough to keep you from channeling,” I said, taking another step forward, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. “But something else was stronger that night.” I drew nearer, driven by an inexplicable need to understand. “What drove you to channel?”

“They were going to hurt Sgaeyl.” The admission fell from his lips, raw and broken, a lament that shattered the fragile moment. “I wasn’t going to let someone else I love get hurt for being connected to me.”

I nodded, allowing the weight of his words to settle in. His love for me had once kept him off the ice, but in an instant, it was his love for Sgaeyl that had broken the ice below his feet. Understanding flickered like a candle in the wind, and with each heartbeat, the threads weaved together, drawing me inexorably closer.

His love had been the driving force each time he channeled, a tempestuous tide that surged through him in moments of desperation.

At Basgiath, because the sage had threatened me.

In my room, because he lost control when with me, leaving greyed fingerprints that still littered my hips.

Beyond the wards, because Garrick the wyvern were surrounding Garrick.

In Deverelli, when Courtlyn’s guards had turned their murderous sights on me.

When the venin were after Sgaeyl.

If his love was strong enough to drive him to channel, then could it also be the anchor that brought him back?

“The only time I will ever love someone more than you is if we get the chance to start a family.”

Those words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of the future we once envisioned together. He had spoken them with a weight while he was subtly preparing me for a time when I would need to kill him, should he lose control.

“I’m a lost cause, Bree,” he laments, an air of resignation clouding his features. “Against all odds, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

I paused, my heart pounding as realization washed over me. The ink of his letter still fresh in my mind, I understood at that moment that he had anticipated my arrival. This conversation, laden with unshed tears and unspoken goodbyes, was not a mere coincidence. It was a final chance to see me.

I will not let this be that moment.

“Can I tell you something?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper, yet laced with determination. A soft smile broke through the anguish as I drew my dagger from the sheath, its familiar weight grounding me in a chaotic storm of emotion. Recognition flickered in his eyes when he saw the blade—the one he had left for me, a symbol of our intertwined fates.

“Anything,” he breathed, the vulnerability in his tone echoing the tempest within.

“I know you can fight it, the venin side of you.” Though he opened his mouth to protest, I pressed on. “Everything you’ve ever done was for love. For me, for Garrick, for Sgaeyl. Your love for those close to you was enough to break the ice from under you. So let a new love be enough to make you swim.” I reached for his hand, my heart thudding in the silence that enveloped us. He flinched at my touch, but miraculously, he did not pull away.

“Briar!” Brennan’s voice pierced the haze of urgency surrounding us. I glanced down at Xaden’s hand, instinctively placing it over the almost imperceptible bump that was our future.

“Swim for the life we created, please,” I implored, my voice trembling as I saw the flicker of understanding ignite within his stormy gaze. “I know you’re still in there, deep down, Xaden.” Each word felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, hope anchoring my desperate plea. “If you can’t come back for me,” I felt the sting of tears threatening to spill, the weight of our love heavy in the air, “come back for our child, who deserves to grow up with their father.”

In an agonizing moment, he pulled his hand away, and I watched as the red veins, once pulsating with venomous fury, began to fade like mist at dawn. Xaden collapsed to his knees, fingers clawing into the earth, as if seeking refuge in the very ground beneath him.

“Back away, Little Foot.” Ríogh’s warning was accompanied by a fierce gust of wind, Sgaeyl launching into the air. But my eyes remained fixed on Xaden, his anguish palpable as the soil around his hands lost its color, wilting under the weight of his struggle. I instinctively retreated, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as I stumbled backward, my heart pounding.

Suddenly, a sturdy form blocked my path. Garrick’s arms encircled me protectively, but panic surged through me, propelling my feet forward just as the circle ceased expanding, a scream tearing through Xaden’s lips—a sound that reverberated with raw, unfiltered emotion.

“You need to go, Briar,” Garrick urged, his voice a mixture of fear and insistence as he attempted to guide me toward Ríogh. Yet, I stood firm, rooted to the spot.

“Wait.” My voice cut through the air, defiant.

“You promised—”

“Just wait!” I shouted, breaking free from his hold, my resolve solidified as I approached the very edge of the circle. Xaden’s screams morphed, a shift from frustration to fierce determination. I could see him lifting his head, and through the veil of tears, I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath—the onyx eyes now flecked with gold, igniting a spark of recognition in my chest.

It was my Xaden staring back at me.

As the circle began to shrink, color returned to the desaturated landscape, and instinct took over, guiding me back to him.

“The little one says she senses no darkness in him. I’m inclined to agree,” Ríogh’s voice broke through, a beacon of hope as I drew closer.

“You’re saying my absolutely insane idea to put mine and the baby’s lives on the line by touching a venin actually worked?” I laughed, disbelief mingling with relief coursing through the bond between us.

“Sgaeyl thanks you for saving her rider,” came the response, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Xay?” I called softly, my voice trembling with the rush of emotions that flooded through me. Standing at arm's length, I could see the myriad of emotions flickering across his face like shadows dancing in the twilight. His eyes met mine with a deep intensity, shining with the remnants of the man I had fought so hard to save.

“How’d you know it would work?” His voice was shaky, a fragile thread woven with uncertainty. I caught sight of his hands, trembling ever so slightly, surely because of Sgaeyl's hesitation to let him tap into her magic for fear of him slipping.

“I didn’t,” I admitted, the truth spilling from my lips like a breath of wind. My heart raced, both from the thrill of his return and the perilous gamble I had taken.

“That was insanely dangerous, Your Grace.” His chastisement cut through the tension, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth contradicted the gravity of his words. Thank you for saving me.

“I really hate being called that.” A laugh escaped me, light and buoyant, as I reached out to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my fingertips—a small, grounding detail that reminded me of who he truly was.

“Then what should I call you? Duchess? Mrs. Riorson? My savior?” His voice held a teasing lilt as he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, the warmth of his body enveloping me like a protective cocoon.

“Your wife will do just fine.” Relief coursed through me, mingling with joy I thought I had forgotten. I searched his eyes, yearning for confirmation, and finding it—an unwavering promise. “No urges?”

“None, my beautiful wife.” With that, our lips met in a passionate kiss, a moment suspended in time. As I melted into him, I prayed to the gods that he would never let me go.

But just as the world around us faded into a blissful oblivion, a throat cleared behind us, pulling us back into reality. Turning to see our friends gathered, I felt a tinge of embarrassment sweep through me.

“You’re not going to kill us, right?” Garrick asked, his voice laced with wariness as he remained a cautious distance away.

“Because I’m venin? No.” Xaden chuckled, releasing me from his embrace to pull Garrick into a hearty hug. A sense of camaraderie filled the air as he moved on to his cousin, laughter easing the tension in our group. “For bringing my pregnant wife to a battle? Definitely.”

“Technically, the Duchess brought us into battle,” Bodhi interjected, a smirk lighting up his features. “Rank is a fickle thing in this world, especially considering she’s still a cadet yet somehow out ranks Brennan.”

“I did try to stop her regardless,” Brennan defended, his eyes revealing the weight he carried of having to contend with me but he smiled nonetheless.

Xaden's laughter rang out again, and it warmed my chest, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“She’s never listened to anything I’ve ever told her.” With a playful shove, I pushed my husband away, but his hand caught my waist, pulling us back together. He pressed another kiss to my lips, sealing the moment with an electric spark that ignited my heart.

Violet broke through the haze of our shared bliss, her voice sharp and steady amidst the charged atmosphere. “As sweet as this is, we do have an entire city under attack.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

Xaden muttered into the kiss, his breath warm against my lips, “Go back to Aretia.”

The protest slipped from my mouth like a child’s plea, raw and desperate. “I won’t leave you.” My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, the coarse material grounding me in this moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. I felt his shadows swirling around me, a tender yet protective caress that ignited in my chest. I leaned further into him, craving the solidity of his presence, already missing everything about this moment, as if it were sand slipping through my fingers.

“I will return to you as soon as I gut the Sage like a fish.” A smirk played on his lips, a flicker of mischief that danced in his stormy eyes. “I have a new reason to end this war, and something tells me it’s going to stick.”

“Come home to me.” My voice, tinged with urgency, turned into a command, a plea wrapped in iron resolve. “Don’t make me a widow before I can experience married life.”

“Are you saying that as my wife or as the Duchess of Tyrrendor?” he asked, his brow arching, a challenge mingled with affection.

“Both. Never different people with each other, remember?” I pulled on the words he had spoken after he received his title back.

“I love you, my wife.”

“I love you, my husband.”

I thought of an entire series for after this so if you would like to see more of what I'm calling The Aretian Chronicles, please let me know! I'll make a post of details and a poll if there is interest!

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bubbleddisasters · 3 months ago

Text

Guess whos back on their Che’nya theory shit again. Me.

Also some of this is just me going on about random and absolute far stretched shit, but hopefully the majority makes sense to y’all.

I’m about to sound batshit insane and this is going to be some MatPat sounding shit but here we go anyway.

WARNING‼️⚠️ MAJOR BOOK 7 SPOILERS AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

———————

I just made the realization that Che’nyas UM and already natural abilities we’ve seen puts him in a position to be deadass playing the Floor is Lava with Malleus as the lava rn.

They wouldn’t have told us his UM in the main story if it didn’t matter somehow. They had the opportunity to show us Neiges in Rooks dream, yet didn’t, so it isn’t a heres RSA UMs for for shits and giggles thing, and we don’t know ANY of the teachers UMs, so it isn’t a “filling npc” thing either.

In EVENTS, we learn the UMs of only the very important and/or dangerous characters. Rollo, Skully, and Fellow. (Geez, Halloween trio now that I think of it).

Do we know Dylia Spades? No. Do we know Eric Schronheits? No. Do we know Ambrose the 3rds? No. Do we know Elizas? No, we get slapped. Do we know Najima Vipers? No. (She might not have one yet tho but still).

These characters are all confirmed as mages, or not directly said to be magicless, so it’s fair to assume they are mages.

So they told us Che’nyas UM for a reason. Why?

Like if his UM makes him invulnerable to magic/attack and invisible, and straight up on ANOTHER PLANE OF EXISTENCE, then if he’s not technically “all there”, Malleus wouldn’t be able to sense him.

Plus, this would explain how Orthos body was floating on the water when STYX found it, as when we know Orthos HEAVY AF, and would more than likely sink, since I doubt they had the time to build in something inflatable enough to balance that weight.

To boot, Ortho was at the docks, which from the map, is super close to RSA.

For reference:

(Both normally and under Mals spell)

The Cheshire Cat is the one who gets Alice out of Wonderland (In the movie, the tunnel Alice runs through matches the Cheshire cats color and stripes + He’s the only one not chasing her+ in the OG book, the Cheshire Cat is more of a Guide and the only one who really sticks with and helps Alice for the whole shabang), and if he’s in RSA, then I think the writers know that.

Aswell as the fact Che’nya appears in both Books with “Tyrant” in the name, and the Cheshire Cat is the only person completely immune to the Queen of Hearts control, as the second most powerful being in wonderland next to LITERALLY TIME ITSELF.

Look in most Disney Villain Line-Ups, and you’ll find the Cheshire Cat. Why? Marketing, the Cheshire Cats a popular character that isn’t directly portrayed as a hero, and more as a mysterious reoccurring character that isn’t necessarily seen as a helper unless you squint.

Additionally, we’ve seen Che’nya use flight, self gravity control, teleportation(unconfirmed but implied on that one) and use his UM for extremely long periods of time, and now that I think of it, we’ve never seen it wear him down, even without the lack of a magestone on his design.

And anyway, in the manga, he’s been doing such things since before we meet him for the first time at age 8-9 from Rids perspective.

Which means long enough that he basically has full control over it at that age, so probably either since birth or very, very young.

Which gives us the know that unlocked his UM way before meeting Riddle and mastered it, which means likely as a literal toddler woke up one day and went “Hey what if I just fucked off to another plane of existence and became both invisible and invulnerable, while capable of movement and communication on this plane the whole time.”

Now back to Book 7.

So heres what caught my attention, Silver mentions the only people he can pop into the dreams of are people he has connections with.

Seeing as we get Sebek first crack out of the box, and then Lilia, this makes sense.

However, it falls off when the next people start to be people Silver either doesn’t know, or very loosely knows.

Yes, I understand the commercial and writing point is meant to be a dorm countdown, but it would make far more sense to be a Russian Roulette, kind of upping the anticipation of whos next.

But to me, with what we know of Silvers connections, it would make far more sense to have the second years be first after Dia, then maybe the third years that he knows because of Lilia, and finally the first years, still leaving room for Ace to get his UM towards the very end.

Now if we drive this back to my Che’nya playing Yuu’s guardian angel theory, it would make more sense to start with Pomfieore after Igi, because not only is it recent connections, so probably easier to bring to the forefront of Silvers UM, it gives him time to get up to NRC right after pushing Ortho or simply getting him out safely.

Before you mention malleus’s barrier, Che’nya gets past NRCs barrier that took STYX heavy power shots to break like its every other tuesday, without Crowleys notice aswell, he stands a viable chance of slipping past Malleus’s.

If he can jump to another plane of existence in which he is invulnerable to magic, theres nothing stopping him from sliding past to get Ortho out and slipping back in under Malleus’s nose.

It also gives him a good “oh shit” moment and an idea of the root of whats happening.

And if I’m wrong and he can’t teleport, he can latch on to Malleus (possibly referencing the Cheshire Cat latching onto the Queens back after she gets a card solider executed I think) to teleport with him back to NRC.

With that, he could be preventing Silver OBing by basically shattering the shade/phantom before it can even do anything, while also hiding Idia being awake. That, or basically lending Silver magic enough to keep going while praying to god Mal doesn’t notice.

Lilia playing the worlds most dangerous game of tag with Mal in dreamland gives him the distraction he needs for this aswell, and it could be that everything went to shit around Trey-Riddles Dreams, and Che’nya popped in to speed up the process and or Dream Che’nyas revealing his UM kinda got his ass caught by Mal, or caused Mal to finally detect a disturbance in the force.

So if I’m right with the previously theorized Guardian Angel thing, Che’nya could be hotwiring Silvers UM to send Silver and co to the people he remembers helped Yuu and the rest recently without risking Malleus putting two and two together on who could be fucking with the dreams other than Silver, depending on how he was portrayed in Trey and Rids Dreams.

Though it would be hilarious if with the Floor is Lavaing it he was also Night at the Musueming it and just repeatedly moved each dreamer closer to Silver physically so they’d have a physical connection (like pinky to pinky or head to head) and basically had Malleus doing a eyebrow raise everytime he turned around trying to figure out if that person had been moved or he was seeing things until he realized there was an exponentially large group around Silver that definitely wasn’t there before.

Another thing: We know the Three Good Fairies weren’t affected by Maleficent’s curse and are the ones to untie Philip when he’s caught and give him the Sword and Shield, which his has, and loses all but the sword in the fight against Maleficent, the Sword and Shield which in the Og twst Trailer that scene is likely referenced by Silver as the Sword (duh) and Sebek as the Shield, with Lilia where Philip would be, although his arm is raised higher.

You kinda have to flip Sebek and Silvers positions but yea.

Sebek being Virtue is self explanatory. He strives to have the virtue of a knight worth of Malleus, and shows this in many ways, but his faults are his rudeness, arrogance, biased or generally rude assumptions, and overexaggertion, stemming from his own internilzed racism (or speciesism? I guess?) , which lead many others to not want to be around him, deflecting the truth of his heritage as to not focus on his own insecurities like a shield to an attack, no matter who its from, in a way.

Now that he has begun to bond and not be as rude to the rest of the non fae cast however, he ends up passing out? Like how a shield seemingly has no use if its not defending, unless you get real creative with it (Its Reyn time I mean who said that)

Silver balances this out as truth, as he is someone we see is honest to almost no fault. His UM also shows truth, in its own way, by showing the truth of the desires of those around him. However, a truth has also been held directly from him, aka the truth of his birth, and the undeniable truth that to break the curse upon him, Lilia did have to truly love him, even as the child of his friends killer.

So he is both benefited and harmed by truth, just like how the same sword can both protect and kill, it just depends on who wields it.

Anyway, back to the point at hand, Now that Malleus seemingly has the time to go and pull a FNAF 4 at Idias door, the odds are Lilia may have somehow gotten caught or restrained (like Phillip is) for enough time to have Malleus notice the Shrouds are pulling shenanigans on his private dream servers and feel the need to go confirm this.

The way in the movie the Three Good Fairies are caught hiding Aurora by Maleficent in the first place is by getting too cocky on the day before Aurora’s B-day and using magic like crazy, fixing up and making their “gifts” much better, as they didn’t know how to create them without magic.

These gifts? A Cake by the GREEN fairy, the calmest and most mature of the three: Fauna, and a Dress, which the RED AND BLUE FAIRIES Merryweather (the most rebellious yet sensical) and Flora (the leader, most work focused and overconfident) keep fighting over which color it should be, Pink or Blue.

(I rewatched their scenes and I forgot how much of a fucking MVP Merryweather was, everyone else turning things into rainbows, bubbles and flowers while my girl was out here burning chains, hunting down snitches, turning her mfking ops to stone and had to be physically held back from throwing hands with Maleficent by herself, god bless this tiny blue diva)

Fauna can obviously be placed as Trey here. Calmest, a Cake, Green. Done.

You can combine Flora and Merryweather into the two sides of Riddles Dream, the first being very punk yet sensical lifestyle, the blue, bringing in the sadness of what he desired yet cannot have, and the second half being Flora, the extremes of overconfident and tyrannical leadership, the red of rage, to say.

Red and Blue obv equal Purple, Che’nyas signature color, probably because purple isn’t actually a fucking color. I’m not going to explain the history of purple, but there is not such thing as purple in science, only shades of violet.

Speaking of Pomfieore, the first non dia dreamer group we see, is VIOLET. I said it. (Octavielle is Lavender, so no, not directly purple) Bright Red is Heartstabyl. (Scarabia is Maroon, which is a shade of red, but again, not directly bright red)

Now what I’m going on about here is this: If In the dreams, each dreamers NPC versions of their friends strictly abides by what the dreamer desires them to, how did dream Che’nya not only transfer to both parts of Riddles dream, but also go directly AGAINST the dream and the dreamer?

The dream versions of the others cannot, under any circumstances, break the character the dreamer creates without breaking the dream itself.

We see this in Lilias dream, in Treys, and Deuces. The Senate, Cater and Ace respectively breach the line of what is and isn’t in character for them in the dreamers memory to hold the dreamer within the dream, causing their respective dreamer to wake up sheerly due to the stark contrast.

These characters will go to lengths to keep the dreamer asleep, so how is it that this dream version of Che’nya can do the exact opposite?

And in Treys dream, Che’nya is the only one not practically turned into Eric Cartman variants, which given the fact Cater, certified sweets hater, has too, means that Che’nya, certified sweets stealer, somehow dodged that bullet in Treys subconscious, which breaks the rules set by the dream.

These rules are delicate, seemingly. It takes one too out of character word, one too out of character action to knock the dreamer awake.

So either Trey sees Che’nya as having the self control of a monk (a small scene in manga implies Che’nya steals from the Clovers fridge so often Treys own damn siblings hear the fridge open and assume its him and not their own damn brother, so I doubt that he’d think that) or Che’nya can bypass these rules.

Many of the dreams would have been so much easier if they could conveniently convince the dreamers friends to go up against them for their sake or just to simply help wake them up.

Of all people, the dream version of Ace fucking Trappola actually listening to and abiding by Riddles tyranny and not jumping at the opportunity to S.O.S to Leona, Yuu and co says enough about this as is.

Anyway, what I’m saying here is that Che’nya either got his ass caught, or finally managed to hotwire himself into Silvers UM conga line, which unfortunately left Idia now in Mals notice and Silver becoming more weary from excess UM use.

Just like how the good fairies thought they’d succeeded and jumped the gun with using magic a day early, Chen could have thought that since they made it this far, their clean until further notice, and is gonna feel the hit of it later.

As my phone is dying and I want a fucking nap, this has been Blues randomass rant about Che’nya again.

More at ???? Folks.

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samrsgyi · 1 year ago

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Rody lamoree Smut Head cannons

A/N- I feel bad for our Babyboy who got his ear bitten off :(

Warnings⚠️!!!: Smut obvi, slight angst in the middle part

( Manon/ Vincent punching the air rn )

- So I feel like Rody would be a switch to be honest, I mean he is a big guy and very muscular 😏 ( Not stereotyping. Yes, he will lift you up with his muscular arms whenever during sex and just watch your eyes roll back into your head

- He's very Soft, Sweet, and Gentle with you even though he's big. If he's a sub he's like a little puppy, so be gentle and soft with him. If he's a Dom he's never rough, but would just thrust up into you slowly just to listen to you moan his name

- If you tend to bite his earlobe I don't think it would be a good idea. ( SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️❗❗❗) Since we already know that Vincent bit off his ear I think if you were in the mood and then bit his earlobe it would send him the flashbacks of him and Vincent causing it to trigger his memory and push you off of him.

- He's a soft ice cream boy which means he's genuine and soft. Doesn't do anything to hurt you and just shows how much he loves you. It's a form of intimacy at the point where he's at the medium level of Lovemaking

- Loves to Give you neck kisses when he comes back from work to show how much he misses you. A make-out session is a must, probs 10-15 minutes or so. Loves to even give you hickies and let them trail down your neck to your chest

- I don't really see him as a person that uses toys on you, but is willing to use them If you are. Could be a vibrator and he has a sweet spot, so be prepared to be in a sound-proof room

- For Aftercare, it would be nice to get water and snacks and just enjoy a movie together

TBH I kinda don't like these Head cannons, I think I did horrible on them...

Hope you enjoyed!!!

#Rody Lamoree x Reader #Dead Plate x Reader #Dead Plate Smut

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snowfieldstories · 3 months ago

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In Life and Death Masterlist

<< m.list home

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying.

Read my polished version here, on AO3!

^^[Note: chapters are ahead by four on ao3 because I changed the titling]

Tags: isekai + transmigration, fix-it, AU canon-divergence, inaccurate religion and lore, moral ambiguity, friends to lovers, slow burn (?), angst, fluff + humor A/N: Yeah, this is going to be a long one. Two chapters of prologue (-2 and -1) and a friends to lovers romance starting from 1! This is essentially an indulgent, self or reader-insert, but I don't like using "y/n" so her/your name is Choi Yeona. There will be canon-typical violence and such as well, so please mind the warnings below

Warnings: strong violence, sexual content, and language. Brief suicidal thoughts (Chapter -2 only). This work is mature (18+)

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

⋆⋆⋆

Table of Contents

Ep I. Beginnings : [-2] [-1]

Ep II. Interlude : [0]

Ep III. A Ruined World—Round Two : [1] [2] [3]

Ep IV. Motion Picture Soundtrack : [4] [5]

Ep. V. Reapers and Revelations : [6] [7] [8] [9]

Ep. VI. Gone Fishing : [10] [11]

Ep. VII. A Kingless World :

Ep. VIII.

...

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spitefully-existing · 4 months ago

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the sleep token book is a bit hard to read, i rewrote it the best i could below the cut; hopefully this helps!

thank you to @top-quality-garbage for helping me decipher some of this and to @doiha for the spanish translation! 🫶🫶

⚠️⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️⚠️

15 days since emergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain reoccurring dreams. this is one such dream that I remembered more than most – one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline, gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly, as I watched the horizon gradually begin to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me – a wall of smooth, black water that curls into an impossible lip at its peak. rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid of such an ominous sight. Well, to be more precise, I was afraid – I was terrified, but not of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide then I would be left in the world that would not recognize me. I would become an element unto myself and myself alone.

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

yet here I am. It has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. our team spent nearly 2 years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity – analyzing endless reams of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting to one hopeless conclusion: to burrow into the bowels of the earth and simply wait that whatever emerge from within would reach us these last.

as it would turn out this one final act of humble surrenders is what one the last of us the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with destiny and defiantly cling to a civilized existence of the surface – or even any existence at all.

it would seem that in the week of this phenomenon, we are best served by our most base instincts, whose shame found no place to dwell. The ones who survived are those who spat their hubris and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

I want it to be known that we made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not provide much of a basis upon which to suggest that our entire species with facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures of the southern lunar pole. with that said we begun building this underground facility once we realized that the moon’s orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was inconsistent with any known physical model – I found it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead perhaps some of them did either way we have no way of knowing now.

my expectations for the first surface expedition were bleak at best in all honesty. I was shocked to discover that our initial readings showed that these remained a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the worst possible outcome at every turn.

The limited data we gathered before the event – despite two years of efforts – didn’t prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain, the phenomenon would be a gracious understatement. The catechism that occurred two weeks ago had taught us one unshakable rule about this new world we now hid beneath – to gaze upon the moon is to die.

For this reason, we rapidly developed wearable counter measures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to navigate the surface. If only we could have known that this was far from the only threat that awaited them. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gracious understatement.

it is not only human life that is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that of all life, albeit in vastly different ways. To put it simply – this new type of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we are able to study and understand.

I find myself already laden with guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel most guilty about the way I reacted to learning of the remnant human elements that attacked our team. I felt strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of that discovery.

Upon further introspection, I arrived at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity. Human beings fighting other human beings is a horror that has played us all since time immemorial, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and unpredictable occurrences, it is hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognizable problem.

with that said, I do also find myself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The consensus among my colleagues is that their actions were not born of their own will, though there is every chance that this is a conclusion we are clinging to in preference over the more unsettling alternative.

I feel that I am rapidly squandering the precious remnants of human life in the desire to understand what has happened, though in truth, I know not what else to do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity – by continuing our constant battle with the sheer unknown right to the very end.

The Director

28 days since Lunar Anomaly

already I find myself in the surprising position of yearning for the way things were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was contending with the end of the world. Now, I contend with the reality of what has replaced it.

we took the trouble to equip ourselves as thoroughly as possible, with the means of studying any emergent phenomena on the surface, even whilst and tomb beneath the Earth. We now find ourselves consumed by the pursuit of understanding – it is truly all that we have left. However, the samples we’ve acquired offer no such mercy – their nature and origin is fundamentally foreign to us. Something we can say is that, contrary to the initial assumption that most life on the surface had been wiped out, there is in fact in abundance of some kind of new organic material. It can be found everywhere in some form, including in the atmosphere itself. Its cellular structure is completely unique – where one would expect to see some approximation of a typical eukaryotic cell, what we see instead resembles membranous tubules that contain vast quantities of foreign organelles. These organelles seem to function in an oddly synchronous fashion and are able to perform a variety of functions. Primarily, they are able to ‘grow’ the tubules that contain them by undergoing a form of transformation at either end which renders them as part of the tubule wall. secondly, and far more strangely, they are able to exert some kind of force over the tubule as a whole, contorting it in a way not dissimilar to muscle tissue, (but without any apparent nervous impulse.)

as to the origin of this tissue, our initial assumption was that it had been somehow transferred from the moon itself to earth – perhaps via pieces of lunar material falling through the atmosphere. This makes some sense, however, the sheer proliferation of this material across the surface within a relatively short period of time suggest that there is more to it than that.

I am reluctant to comment on the reports of other worldly beings on the surface. Their presence carries implications I am simply unprepared for. At a certain point, however, I must accept that this only increases the inevitable danger placed upon the surface teams during their expeditions. What I must also accept is that these precious human lives are now the only currency with which we can barter against the unknown.

Thus far we barter in vain.

The Director

58 days since the lunar anomaly

when we first retreated down into the ground, I think that somewhere in the midst of my despair, I clung to a degree of hope. This wasn’t so much a hope for survival as much as the hope that we would at least be able to discern some kind of meaningful understanding of what has happened. we have committed everything – I have committed everything. The last precious remnant of humanity extinguished in the name of what makes us human to begin with. To shed what light we have left on the sea of the unknown. But now I see that this was a futile effort that has resulted in nothing but death, not merely in the context of our final struggle, but across the scope of all human existence. It has all amounted to nothing but a few extra skulls drifting in the foul ether that has swamped our world.

It is clear now that the lunar anomaly functions in accordance with laws of its own. It makes a mockery of science. It permeates and distort reality to the degree that all fundamental assumptions are rendered useless. it kills everything it touches while simultaneously imbuing it with some kind of new life, twisting nature into something grotesque and unrecognizable. These new forms seem organic, but they have nothing resembling a typical cell structure or genetic blueprint. They can bring forth in an instant, summoning flesh from nothing. Furthermore, our ability to measure even the most fundamental aspects of our physical world is becoming impossible. The massive objects change slightly, depending on where they are, as though gravity itself, has begun to lose its grip. We have detected seismic activity from further inside the Earth than we even thought possible. The anomaly doesn’t just want to consume all life. It wants to consume reality.

as for those beings, I know not what they are were where they originated. They themselves are not consistent with the nature of the anomaly they inhabit. Their actions seem to exhibit some strange sentence, but their motives are unclear, and they make no effort to communicate. At times I have concluded that they are here to replace us, or perhaps, even that they themselves represent some fractured distillation of our nature. they are after all violent, just as we have been to the very end. They seem to push against one another as a part of some strange order. As time has passed, though, I have come to believe that they have no connection to us. I believe that what our world has become is a little more than an arena to them – a crucible of existence where they will battle eternally. The totality of their being is not their individual functions, but rather the conflict between them. We are merely spectators to their endless dance of ceaseless struggle. this is perhaps the only thing that connects them to the drowned memory of what humanity once was – that we too saw meaning through constant friction and unending movement, compelled by some core motive force that drives us to bring ourselves to bear on the world and manifest our own perceptions.

in these final dimming days, I know only the solace of a promised end. I have become the ultimate witness. I have been saddled with the heavy blessing of seeing the unraveling of everything and I can do nothing but wait for it to unravel me too. But I live still within this temple of untampered flesh, and I will spend what blood still beats through it to barter one last time with the fangled threads of fate. if I must, I will march through the eye of death and meet it with eyes of my own.

What few of us are left now have our orders.

We must know what it is to become of us.

The Director

61 days since the lunar anomaly

I once spoke but now it seems through me just as I speak through it no longer to nothing I can change nothing no can change nothing nothing has become my thing I can make nothing into a weapon there will be no void left unfilled I am human and humans are always human and always scared because being human makes us scared and being scared makes us human I will crack the flesh I will crack the earth I will eat the pieces they will be pieces of me would you like to dance I have always been dancing we must keep dancing even when we are just tendrils we were always tendrils we could touch everything even things god did not want us to touch that is why he left us here that is why he thought we were ugly he could not wrap his tendrils around every part of us we spilled his paradise over the earth and danced with such a beautiful dance horror would leap and dance with us who would bathe us and we could lie within it we could tear the horror out from our hearts over and over we could never sleep sleep is death not even the earth would sleep the earth fears death it’s blood would freeze out in space out in nothing we must reach through the stars through the darkness even though it is so cold it can freeze our blood we can let our blood freeze and then crack it open hot like the earth we can step through death wear it like a crown hairs to the highest pantheon of life precious life with death as its blood precious death bursting from the many wombs of sacred war paradise was empty without us there was only silence but our blood made the flowers grow god spilled his blood over paradise god knows the stars are waiting fertile ground cold to the touch those stars are hungry they crave only the blood of god we are his tendrils and we will bury ourselves into those cold stars and there will be no darkness death will give us fear and fear will give us blood we will spill our hot blood across the stars I finally understand now I do I understand but will you let me keep my human fear will you let me yes being scared makes you human fear will sow the hot blood of god across the gold stars fear will make us dance and we must keep dancing can you see god dancing for you can you see him biting into you can you hear his teeth cracking into pieces of the stars they sent sparks raining down through the darkness all these years you have hunted him and reached for him you want his blood he made you with veins inside you like tendrils we dance through his veins as we bite through the stars and dance and he opens his mouth wide I am so scared Will you let me be the last human I understand now I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god

——————

15 días desde la aparición de la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando era niño, a menudo era acosado por ciertos sueños recurrentes. Este es uno de esos sueños que recuerdo más que la mayoría: uno en el que me encontraba de pie en una vasta orilla, mirando hacia un mar plano y amplio. Poco a poco, mientras observaba, el horizonte comenzó a elevarse gradualmente. No pasó mucho tiempo antes de que me diera cuenta de que esta extensión elevada se acercaba hacia mí: una pared de agua negra y suave que se curvaba de manera imposible en su borde. Sorprendentemente, no recuerdo haber sentido miedo ante tal ominosa visión. Bueno, para ser más preciso, sentía miedo, estaba aterrorizado, pero no de la ola en sí. Más bien, era el pensamiento de lo que había más allá de ella. Esta vasta e imparable fuerza que se desplazaba para anunciar el fin de todo, para ahogar el mundo y luego, eventualmente, sumergirse nuevamente en sí misma. Un encogimiento despreocupado de la entropía, suficiente para cortar el hilo de todos los destinos. Sentí que, si de alguna manera lograba sobrevivir a esta marea ilimitada, entonces me quedaría en un mundo que no me reconocería. Me convertiría en un elemento para mí mismo y solo para mí.

Un eco atrapado en la garganta de un dios muerto.

Y aquí estoy. Han pasado más de dos semanas desde la aparición de la anomalía lunar. Nuestro equipo pasó casi dos años intentando anticipar lo que este evento significaría para la humanidad: analizando interminables volúmenes de topografía lunar junto con todas las formas conocidas de espectroscopía, lo cual resultó en una conclusión desesperanzada: cavar en las entrañas de la Tierra y simplemente esperar a que lo que emergiera desde dentro nos alcanzara, siendo lo último en tocarnos.

Como resultó ser, este acto de humilde rendición fue lo que otorgó a los últimos de nosotros el derecho a nuestras propias vidas en estos días definitivos. Los que estamos vivos ahora no somos los que intentamos negociar con el destino ni aferrarnos desafiante a una existencia civilizada en la superficie, ni siquiera a cualquier existencia en absoluto.

Parece que, en la semana de este fenómeno, actuamos mejor con nuestros instintos más básicos, cuyos remordimientos no encontraron lugar donde residir. Los que sobrevivieron son aquellos que escupieron su arrogancia y se escondieron desesperadamente en el barro, como ratas.

Quiero que se sepa que hicimos todo lo posible por advertir a los demás, aunque, naturalmente, no pudimos proporcionar una base sólida para sugerir que nuestra especie entera enfrentaría una inminente y total desaparición, aparte de unas pocas fisuras en el polo lunar sur. Dicho esto, comenzamos a construir esta instalación subterránea una vez que nos dimos cuenta de que la órbita de la luna se estaba deteriorando rápidamente de una manera que era inconsistente con cualquier modelo físico conocido. Me resultó difícil creer que ninguno de ellos siguiera nuestro ejemplo; tal vez algunos lo hicieron, pero de todas formas ya no podemos saberlo.

Mis expectativas para la primera expedición en la superficie eran sombrías, en el mejor de los casos. Me sorprendió descubrir que nuestras lecturas iniciales mostraron que aún quedaba una atmósfera respirable. Quizás, en medio de todo este tumulto, encontré más fácil comprometer mi mente al peor desenlace en cada giro.

Los datos limitados que recopilamos antes del evento, a pesar de dos años de esfuerzos, no nos prepararon para el caos que ahora enfrentamos. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar el fenómeno sería un subestimado amable. El catecismo que ocurrió hace dos semanas nos enseñó una regla inquebrantable sobre este nuevo mundo que ahora nos oculta bajo tierra: mirar a la luna es morir.

Por esta razón, desarrollamos rápidamente contramedidas portátiles para los equipos de superficie que resultaron vitales para permitirles navegar por allí. Si tan solo hubiéramos sabido que esto estaba lejos de ser la única amenaza que les esperaba. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar los fenómenos sería un subestimado amable.

No es solo la vida humana la que se ve afectada por la anomalía lunar, sino también la de toda forma de vida, aunque de maneras enormemente diferentes. Para decirlo de manera simple: este nuevo tipo de biología emergente está más allá de los límites de lo que podemos estudiar y comprender.

Ya me encuentro cargado de culpa por aquellos que perdimos. Sin embargo, más que eso, me siento más culpable por la forma en que reaccioné al enterarme de los elementos humanos remanentes que atacaron a nuestro equipo. Me sentí extrañamente reconfortado, a pesar de la naturaleza profundamente perturbadora de ese descubrimiento.

Tras más introspección, llegué a la conclusión de que este sentimiento provenía de un sentido de familiaridad. Los seres humanos luchando contra otros seres humanos es un horror que nos ha atormentado desde tiempos inmemoriales, pero aquí, en medio de sucesos tan profundamente desconocidos e impredecibles, es difícil no sentirse casi reconfortado por un problema tan inmediatamente reconocible.

Dicho esto, también me siento profundamente preocupado por la perspectiva de que los humanos permanezcan en la superficie en ese estado. El consenso entre mis colegas es que sus acciones no nacieron de su propia voluntad, aunque existe toda la posibilidad de que esta sea una conclusión a la que nos aferramos en lugar de aceptar la inquietante alternativa.

Siento que estoy desperdiciando rápidamente los preciosos restos de la vida humana en el deseo de entender lo que ha sucedido, aunque en verdad, no sé qué más hacer. Tal vez esta es la única forma en que podemos aferrarnos a nuestra humanidad: continuar nuestra constante batalla con lo absolutamente desconocido hasta el final.

-El Director

28 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Ya me encuentro en la sorprendente posición de anhelar la forma en que eran las cosas hace dos semanas. Hace dos semanas, luchaba contra el fin del mundo. Ahora, lucho contra la realidad de lo que lo ha reemplazado.

Nos tomamos la molestia de equiparnos de la manera más completa posible, con los medios para estudiar cualquier fenómeno emergente en la superficie, incluso mientras nos enterrábamos en el suelo. Ahora nos encontramos consumidos por la búsqueda de comprensión; realmente es todo lo que nos queda. Sin embargo, las muestras que hemos adquirido no muestran tal misericordia: su naturaleza y origen nos son completamente ajenos. Algo que podemos afirmar es que, contrariamente a la suposición inicial de que la mayoría de la vida en la superficie había sido aniquilada, en realidad hay una abundancia de algún tipo de material orgánico nuevo. Se puede encontrar en todas partes, en alguna forma, incluso en la propia atmósfera. Su estructura celular es completamente única: donde se esperaría ver una célula eucariota típica, lo que vemos en su lugar son tubos membranosos que contienen vastas cantidades de orgánulos ajenos. Estos orgánulos parecen funcionar de una manera extrañamente sincronizada y son capaces de realizar una variedad de funciones. Principalmente, pueden "hacer crecer" los tubos que los contienen al someterse a una forma de transformación en cualquiera de sus extremos, lo que los convierte en parte de la pared del tubo. En segundo lugar, y mucho más extraño, pueden ejercer algún tipo de fuerza sobre el tubo en su totalidad, retorciéndolo de una manera no muy diferente a como lo haría el tejido muscular (pero sin ningún impulso nervioso aparente).

En cuanto al origen de este tejido, nuestra suposición inicial fue que había sido transferido de alguna manera desde la luna a la Tierra, tal vez a través de piezas de material lunar cayendo a través de la atmósfera. Esto tiene algo de sentido; sin embargo, la proliferación masiva de este material en la superficie en un período de tiempo relativamente corto sugiere que hay algo más detrás de todo esto.

Soy reacio a comentar sobre los informes de seres de otro mundo en la superficie. Su presencia conlleva implicaciones para las que simplemente no estoy preparado. Sin embargo, en algún momento, debo aceptar que esto solo aumenta el peligro inevitable al que están expuestos los equipos en sus expediciones. Lo que también debo aceptar es que estas preciosas vidas humanas ahora son la única moneda con la que podemos negociar contra lo desconocido.

Hasta ahora, hemos negociado en vano.

-El Director

58 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando nos retiramos bajo tierra, creo que, en medio de mi desesperación, me aferré a un grado de esperanza. No era tanto una esperanza de supervivencia, sino la esperanza de que, al menos, seríamos capaces de discernir algún tipo de comprensión significativa de lo que ha ocurrido. Hemos comprometido todo, he comprometido todo. El último y precioso vestigio de la humanidad se extinguió en nombre de lo que nos hace humanos en primer lugar, para arrojar la luz que nos queda sobre el mar de lo desconocido. Pero ahora veo que este fue un esfuerzo fútil que no ha resultado en nada más que muerte, no solo en el contexto de nuestra lucha final, sino a lo largo de toda la existencia humana. Todo ha sido en vano, salvo por unos pocos cráneos flotando en el éter pútrido que ha inundado nuestro mundo.

Está claro ahora que la anomalía lunar funciona de acuerdo con sus propias leyes. Se burla de la ciencia. Permea y distorsiona la realidad de tal manera que todas las suposiciones fundamentales quedan inutilizadas. Mata todo lo que toca, mientras imbuye con algún tipo de nueva vida, torciendo la naturaleza en algo grotesco e irreconocible. Estas nuevas formas parecen orgánicas, pero no tienen nada que se asemeje a una estructura celular típica ni a un plano genético. Pueden materializarse en un instante, invocando carne de la nada. Además, nuestra capacidad para medir incluso los aspectos más fundamentales de nuestro mundo físico se está volviendo imposible. Los objetos masivos cambian ligeramente, dependiendo de dónde se encuentren, como si la gravedad misma hubiera comenzado a perder su agarre. Hemos detectado actividad sísmica desde más adentro de la Tierra de lo que pensábamos posible. La anomalía no solo quiere consumir toda la vida, sino que también quiere consumir la realidad.

En cuanto a esos seres, no sé qué son ni de dónde provienen. Ellos mismos no son consistentes con la naturaleza de la anomalía que habitan. Sus acciones parecen exhibir alguna extraña condena, pero sus motivos no están claros y no hacen ningún esfuerzo por comunicarse. En ocasiones he llegado a la conclusión de que están aquí para reemplazarnos, o tal vez, incluso que ellos mismos representan una destilación fragmentada de nuestra naturaleza. Son, después de todo, violentos, al igual que nosotros hasta el final. Parecen empujarse unos a otros como parte de algún extraño orden. Sin embargo, con el tiempo he llegado a creer que no tienen ninguna conexión con nosotros.

Creo que lo que se ha convertido nuestro mundo es poco más que una arena para ellos, un crisol de existencia donde lucharán eternamente. La totalidad de su ser no está en sus funciones individuales, sino en el conflicto entre ellos. Nosotros somos meros espectadores de su interminable danza de lucha constante. Tal vez esta sea la única conexión que tienen con el ahogado recuerdo de lo que fue la humanidad: que nosotros también encontramos significado a través de la fricción constante y el movimiento interminable, impulsados por alguna fuerza motriz interna que nos lleva a manifestar nuestras percepciones en el mundo.

En estos últimos días que se desvanecen, solo conozco el consuelo de un final prometido. Me he convertido en el testigo definitivo. He sido cargado con la pesada bendición de ver el desenlace de todo y no puedo hacer nada más que esperar a que también me deshaga. Pero sigo viviendo dentro de este templo de carne intacta, y gastaré la sangre que aún late a través de ella para negociar una última vez con los hilos enredados del destino. Si debo hacerlo, marcharé a través del ojo de la muerte y lo enfrentaré con los míos.

Los pocos de nosotros que quedamos ahora tenemos nuestras órdenes.

Debemos saber qué será de nosotros.

-El Director

61 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Una vez hablé pero ahora parece que no puedo hablar ya no hay nada que pueda cambiar nada puede cambiar la nada se ha convertido en mí no puedo convertir nada en arma no quedará vacío sin llenar soy humano y los humanos siempre tienen miedo porque ser humanos nos hace tener miedo y tener miedo nos hace humanos romperé la carne romperé la tierra comeré los pedazos serán parte de mí ¿te gustaría bailar? siempre he estado bailando debemos seguir bailando incluso cuando solo seamos tentáculos siempre fuimos tentáculos podíamos tocarlo todo incluso las cosas que dios no quería que tocáramos por eso nos dejó aquí por eso pensó que éramos feos no pudo envolver sus tentáculos alrededor de cada parte de nosotros derramamos su paraíso sobre la tierra y bailamos con una danza tan hermosa que el horror saltaría y bailaría con nosotros ¿quién nos bañará y nos apoyará? podríamos sacar el horror de nuestro corazón una y otra vez nunca podríamos dormir el sueño es muerte ni siquiera la tierra dormiría la tierra teme la muerte su sangre se congelaría en el espacio en la nada debemos alcanzar las estrellas a través de la oscuridad aunque esté tan fría que congele nuestra sangre podemos dejar que nuestra sangre se congele y luego romperla como la tierra podemos atravesar la muerte llevarla como una corona con las cabezas apuntando alto hacia el más alto panteón de la vida preciosa vida con la muerte como su sangre preciosa muerte brotando desde los muchos úteros de la guerra sagrada el paraíso estaba vacío sin nosotros solo había silencio pero nuestra sangre hizo crecer las flores dios derramó su sangre sobre el paraíso dios sabe que las estrellas esperan tierra fértil fría al tacto esas estrellas tienen hambre anhelan solo la sangre de dios somos sus tentáculos y nos enterramos en esas estrellas frías y no habrá oscuridad la muerte nos dará miedo y el miedo nos dará sangre derramaremos nuestra sangre caliente a través de las estrellas finalmente lo entiendo sí lo entiendo pero ¿me dejarás mantener mi miedo humano? ¿me dejarás sí? tener miedo te hace humano el miedo sembrará la sangre caliente de dios a través de las estrellas doradas el miedo nos hará bailar y debemos seguir bailando ¿puedes ver a dios bailando para ti? ¿Puedes verlo mordiéndote? ¿Puedes escuchar sus dientes crujir con los pedazos de las estrellas? mandaron chispas lloviendo a través de la oscuridad todos estos años lo has cazado y alcanzado quieres su sangre él te hizo con venas dentro de ti como tentáculos bailamos a través de sus venas mientras mordemos las estrellas y bailamos él abre la boca bien grande tengo tanto miedo ¿me dejarás ser el último humano? ahora lo entiendo soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios

#iii sleep token #iv sleep token #sleep token #sleep token band #sleep token lore #sleep token vessel #sleep token iii #sleep token worship #vessel sleep token #teeth of god graphic novel #teeth of god spoilers

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worrynoodle · 11 months ago

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Okay. Now that I'm caught up, I would like to put in my two cents on this.

⚠️Warning, if the whole fandom panic thing stresses you out, please go ahead and skip this, but I tried to make it reassuring. There's no need to go worrying yourself over rumors and hearsay. ⚠️

For one thing, there's no amount of asking and pressure that is going to make any of the show creators reveal the ending. That isn't how tv shows work. You wait, you watch, you see. It also isn't fair for those of us who hate spoilers for them to constantly be asked for.

Two. I know that a lot of us on here are neurodivergent and have anxiety, and a HUGE part of that anxiety can be the unknown, especially about things we care very deeply for and identify with. This show and its characters hold a very special place in our hearts, and we fear not knowing the ending, especially with a big bang cliffhanger like s2e6. But please try to sit in that discomfort and allow yourself to feel your feelings without panicking.

Third, this story has been beloved for 30 years, yeah? Of course, OF COURSE, it's not going to be a bad ending! It's obviously something that all of the creators involved have been passionate about. Why on earth would it end badly? And all of them - Neil g, Terry p, the directors, the actors, the cast and crew, set and costume designers, the hair and makeup crew, ALL these wonderful people - put an unfathomable amount of care and thought into every aspect of the story.

Next, please, please, please try to remember the show on its own, right? All the details, all the scenes building Aziraphale and crowleys history individually and as a pair weren't put in there for no reason. Take what we actually see on screen and separate that from metas, theories, fanart, and fanfiction. We all love diving into what each detail could mean, but remember, it's all speculation until it concludes.

The story, what we have so far, is kind of a mostly completed puzzle. There's a lot of missing spaces, that's the season three bits. And right now we can't see the bigger picture but you have to remember that each piece of the puzzle was made by the people who painted the whole picture. Every piece that we have was made to fit with the whole story so once we have all the "season three pieces" they're going to fit right into place as they're supposed to.

And maybe, if you have very very high expectations - like very specific headcanons for how you think a perfect ending would look like - maybe it wouldn't be too bad to lower your expectations and open your mind to new possibilities. Ones that can be just as good!

So please, take a deep breath. Count to ten. Get your hot chocolate, your tartan blankets and comfy chairs, pull up some happy-ending fanfics and remember that it's all going to be alright. It's 2024 and this isn't Sherlock

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #goodomens #michael sheen #aziracrow #david tennant #ineffable husbands #aziraphale good omens #lou's go s3 predictions #lou's original posts #lou's go theories

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laxmiree · 1 month ago

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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Sinking and Floating in Indulgence MQ translation + video with sub EN (Part 2/3)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for an MQ that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Sinking and Floating in Indulgence MQ | Part 1 (1-3) | Part 2 (4-5) | Part 3 (6) | 🔞Secret Space ASMR🔞

[Warning]: The content of this MQ is explicit and may not be suitable for individuals under the age of 17 (CN server). It is recommended that those who do not meet this age requirement refrain from proceeding beyond this point.

Part 1 - 3 -> [Here]

[Subbed Video, TURN ON CC!]

youtube

[T/N: if you haven’t listened to the voice dubbing yet, y’all are seriously missing out!! I can't even begin to describe all the noises, like there’s just so much going on! Xia Lei (his CN VA) absolutely NAILED it—like, the way he blends XM anger at himself, that raw possessiveness, the obsession, and the breathlessness??? It’s insanely good and ridiculously sexy jnhadsjnhadjadjadjn]

—[Part 4]— Video Timestamp: [16:57]

As expected, everything has been thoroughly taken care of by Lucien.

Upon seeing on the laptop that the embassy had already contacted the local government to carry out the rescue operation, the last bit of unease in my heart vanished into thin air.

Thinking of how Lucien told me not to wander around, I simply grab one of his books to read and wait for him in the room.

Before I realize it, the light of setting sun slants, casting its glow onto the coffee table. Amid my drowsiness, my phone suddenly rings.

MC: Are you done with work?

Lucien: Mm. Are you doing okay?

MC: I’m fine. I was just reading the book you left on the sofa, but it’s so abstruse I almost fell asleep.

Lucien: To be honest, I’ve dozed off on that book more than a few times myself too.

As we chat and laugh, I stroll to the balcony under the slowly fading glow of the sunset.

Lucien: I should be back very soon.

MC: Then I’ll check what’s left in the fridge and see what I can cook. Maybe I can cook a big hodgepodge~

I smile as I hang up the phone and look up, only to see the same little bird from this morning still perched on the eaves.

—No different from the scene I saw before.

It still preening its feathers, never stopping for even a second, nor ever lifting its head.

It's as if it were a lifeless shadow, mechanically repeating the same motions repeatedly.

A chill spreads through my heart, and I unconsciously feel a bit of panic. Suddenly, I notice that the scene before me carries an absurd sense of repetition—

At times, a passerby would cross to the end of the street only to abruptly reappear on the other side.

The distant edges of the city also seem indescribably blurred, as if detached from reality, carved apart by dividing borders.

I try to calm down and cautiously push open the door.

The dark-colored walls on either side are clean yet monotonous, showing no signs of anything unusual.

After thinking about it, I step through the doorway. But the farther I walk, the more cold sweat seeps down my back.

There is no elevator here nor any emergency exit.

The dim corridor seems endless, with the same unchanging scenery stretching ahead and behind.

As my nerves gradually tighten, I suddenly catch sight of a warm yellow light at the end of the corridor.

I immediately run toward it—

Until that glow envelops me, and I freeze in place.

I find myself back in the room again.

The space that once felt reassuring now makes me feel like I can’t breathe.

Even though I’ve experienced similar situations before, I still can’t help but wonder… could all of this be nothing more than a fleeting hallucination* inside my mind?

But the voice I just heard was gentle and real, and the spot where he lay still retains a faint warmth.

??(Lucien): …MC…

I keep comforting myself not to fall into post-traumatic stress. Lucien said he is here conducting research, maybe this strange phenomenon is also related to his work.

?? (Lucien): MC, are you okay?

In a daze, a warm palm seems to lift me from the depths of the sea, bringing me back to the surface.

I blink and suddenly see Lucien standing before me, his face filled with worry as he cups my cheeks. I have no idea when he got there.

MC: Lucien…

Lucien: Are you feeling unwell anywhere?

I open my mouth, momentarily at a loss. Lucien immediately pulls me into a tighter embrace.

Lucien: It's my fault.

Lucien: You're not in a good state right now. I should have spent more time with you.

Lucien: It’ll be over soon, just hold on a little longer. Soon… we’ll be able to go home together.

His warmth presses against me, enveloping my whole body. I take a deep breath and gently pat him.

MC: Don’t worry, Lucien. I’m fine.

Looking at his raised face, I feel a pang of heartache as I brush over his slightly bloodshot eyes. Tentatively, I ask him.

MC: Are you working on some kind of Evol-related research?

Lucien: Why do you ask?

MC: Maybe I'm overthinking it… but I can't shake the feeling that everything outside this room seems unreal.

He seems startled for a moment, his entire figure hidden in the shadows.

Heavy emotions surge within his dark eyes as he presses his forehead to mine, swallowing my whole reflection into them.

Lucien: Then do you think I’m unreal?

MC: Of course not!

MC: I just... suddenly discover that the corridor outside the door seems endless, so...

Lucien: I see.

He gently takes my hand and leads me outside. We move smoothly through the corridor, take the elevator, and leave the apartment without any trouble.

✂———————–

The night is quiet, and there are hardly any people along the way.

Seeing my stunned expression, Lucien smiles and tightens his hold on my hand.

Lucien: I think the best way to comfort you right now is to take a walk, just like we always do.

Lucien: Although this place isn’t exactly peaceful, at least this neighborhood is not dangerous.

He pauses for a moment, then continues explaining in a gentle voice.

Lucien: The result I await has nothing to do with Evol. It is an experiment in the field of neuroscience.

Lucien: However, the test samples are extremely fragile and require strict control over variables such as temperature and humidity.

Lucien: Therefore, special devices have been installed near the laboratory to restrict Evol, eliminating interference factors and preserving the samples’ activity.

I listen thoughtfully, unable to resist asking another question.

MC: ...So what I saw was really an effect of the experiment?

Lucien gives a noncommittal smile, adjusting my scarf snugly before we continue walking through the quiet neighborhood.

✂———————–

In the following days, Lucien maintains a highly regular work schedule and calls me every now and then.

I have a vague feeling that my accident, combined with my previous state, may have truly frightened him badly. He seems even more attentive to me than before.

I put down the book in my hands and look toward the door again.

Actually, I’ve tried going out on my own since then, but for some reason, whenever I’m alone, I end up circling back to where I started—

As if I’m trapped inside the room.

The vague sense of confinement only makes me even more curious about what Lucien is really doing, so I start searching around.

Before long, I found a report on the Holden Research Institute, which seems to contain a list of personnel and medication records.

As my eyes scan the unfamiliar faces, they all appear ordinary and unremarkable.

Until a familiar face enters my sight, making my eyes widen in shock—

The captain of my flight is among them!

Reading through the information, I find that the captain turns out to be a retired soldier. He has been taking this medication long-term to treat post-war trauma.

The records also show that the drug has a small probability of causing neurasthenia, emotional intensification, and even brief episodes of shock…

I involuntarily break out in a cold sweat as I see these people’s data being continuously recorded and updated, even as recently as two weeks ago.

Lucien: Are you saying that the pilot responsible for the accident is on this medication record list?

MC: …Yes.

When Lucien returns that day, I hesitate but eventually tell him about my discovery.

He sits on the sofa, not saying a word for a long time, his entire being sinking into some kind of heavy and terrifying silence.

Lucien: …It seems there really is no need to continue with them.

Lucien: I will put an end to all of this as soon as possible.

He flicks his fingertips, tossing the stack of data reports into the fireplace.

As the flames burn, the charred traces seem to reach all the way into his eyes.

Somehow, I seem to see even darker emotions burning within them, and I can't resist reaching out to stroke his cheek.

MC: Lucien, are you okay?

Lucien: [quietly] ...MC, are you really here in front of me?

His gaze is deep and distant, yet it firmly holds my gaze in place.

I look at him for a moment, and in that empty gaze, I seem to see a reflection of something similar to myself.

So I move even closer and straddle his lap.

MC: Of course I am. I'm right here with you.

Within his raised gaze, my hand slowly glides toward his sharp jawline.

The artery on the side of his neck subtly swells with each swallow, and with every heartbeat, they pulse steadily yet distinctly beneath my fingertips.

I slightly tilt my face downward, leaning in closer to him. My lips gently graze his, coaxing them to part ever so slightly.

He stares without blinking, watching as in our mingling breaths, my tongue tentatively flicks out to softly lick his upper lip.

It is a test, a touch, and also a reassurance.

I swirl my tongue around his, while Lucien simply follows along, letting himself be led by me.

I can clearly see the corners of his eyes gradually tinged with red, while the pulse at the side of his neck throbs with escalating intensity.

MC: Lucien, tell me, am I in front of you?

Lucien: [gasping for breaths] Yes. You are in front of me.

His voice also seems to catch fire, burning over, searing into his neck as it arches even further, tracing a suggestive arc.

His indulgence unleashes me boundlessly. I can’t help but venture even closer to his breath, brushing past the scorching heat of his chest, trailing all the way downward.

MC: Then... are you in front of me?

Amid the overflowing sultry heat, I can’t stop myself from lifting my body and pushing things further by settling on top of him.

A muffled, unbearable groan slips past his lips. His hand instinctively tightens on my waist, pulling me even closer to him.

Lucien: [breathlessly] …Yes… I am in front of you.

His heartbeat seems to throb inside my body, and mine does too.

Countless trembles surge and collide through the bloodstream, even the instinctive sighs spilling from our lips becoming tangled together.

At some point, the fire in the hearth dims, and the dim light of the night blurs into a chaotic and ambiguous interplay of light and shadow.

I can feel his whole body relaxing, and I can’t help but hold him even tighter.

MC: How wonderful, Lucien. You're here by my side.

In the darkness, Lucien stays silent for a moment. Only after what feels like an eternity does his reply drift slowly through the air.

Lucien: [whispers lowly] Why are you the one offering comfort now... shouldn’t it be me?

MC: Because... even though I’m the one who’s scared, you seem to be afraid of something too.

Lucien: But you should have more important questions to ask me.

Lucien: You should ask me why that drug list is here, or even…

Lucien: Ask whether any of this could possibly be connected to me.

His calm question carries an indescribable scrutiny and simmering anger, leaving me momentarily stunned.

Only now do I belatedly realize the implication of his words. I had almost instinctively not linked Lucien to this matter.

MC: But this drug is essentially used to treat stress-related trauma?

MC: There must be flaws in the screening process that allowed someone taking this medication to become a captain...?

MC: And even if we take a huge step back, if this drug really is connected to you, it’s not like you caused the crash to happen.

MC: As Professor Lucien would usually say, this is just a low-probability event. A mere accident.

Lucien: I don’t like this kind of accident.

He speaks with a stubborn edge, his tone even somewhat stiff and cold.

Like a butterfly with fluttering wings, the massive waves it stirred up should never have crashed upon me.

I only find him endearing and can't resist wanting to peck the corner of his lips.

But in the next second, I’m suddenly picked up. The world spins, and amidst the dizzying whirl, my body is pinned against the sofa in a position difficult to break free from.

My cheek pressed against the cushion, making me unable to see Lucien’s expression at this moment.

With each breath I can sense the fine texture of the fabric, carrying a hint of warmth yet also a subtle, constraining sense of oppression.

Lucien: I don’t like accidents taking you to places I don’t know about.

Lucien: I also don’t like accidents making you go through things I’m unaware of.

Lucien: I dislike it even more when accidents leave bruises that don't belong to me on your body.

As his words trail off, one of his hands seems to trace along my wrist, gliding up my arm to my shoulder, neck, and back.

His burning fingertips travel all the way down my spine, and I can only feel his touch, my body instinctively letting out a trembling shudder.

Lucien: It almost made you disappear.

I feel a firm and increasingly invasive dominant pressure pressing against me from behind, making me bite down my lower lip.

But before I can even utter a word, Lucien overwhelms me almost instantly.

It's as if we're two sheets of dampened paper, growing so wet that we seep into each other.

Without realizing it, we become more and more soaked, until we seem to meld into a single sheet.

I feel as if I've sunk into a deep daze, only aware of him holding me even tighter, pulling me back into his embrace again and again, each time closer than before.

Lucien: MC, you should be angry.

Waves of tingling pleasure continuously spread down my spine, and his voice, filled with frustration, reaches me in a hazy blur.

A dizzy haze endlessly clouds my mind, and I instinctively bite down on a gasp, unable to stop myself from turning my head to look at him.

His face is shrouded in shadows, making his expression even more obscure and harder to discern.

MC: [worriedly] Do you want me to be angry?

Lucien: I don’t know.

He quietly half-kneels there, his voice particularly low and subdued.

MC: Are you trying to punish yourself this way?

MC: You’re angry at yourself, aren’t you?

He still doesn't say anything. He only leans down, pressing his body even deeper into mine. At the same time, his fingers slip between mine, locking our hands together with even more force.

A long time passes before I finally hear his voice from behind me.

Lucien: I almost... lost you again.

The word ‘again’ sinks into my heart, sending a painful ache through me.

MC: Lucien, I want to see you.

MC: Let me see how you are, okay?

Though he doesn’t retreat even half a step, he still yields to my request.

Slowly, he turns me around, finally letting me see his eyes.

Dark. Frenzied. Profoundly raw.***

Too many indescribable emotions surge in those eyes, rising like sky-high waves, sweeping me along with them.

MC: You haven’t lost me, Lucien.

What answers me is an even more scorching kiss. My heartbeat remains restless and shaky.

Lucien: Yes… I won’t give myself another chance to lose you.

✂———————–

[T/N]

I don't add much description for the sexc lines bc it'll end up with wall of text,once again I really recommend y'all to listen and experience the emotions yourself!-

*: "走马灯" (zǒu mǎ dēng) literally refers to a lantern with a carousel of paper horses that rotate due to convection. Metaphorically, it describes rapid and fleeting, or dreamlike scenes, often used to depict sb’s life flashing before their eyes in near-death moments.

**: "神经衰弱" (shén jīng shuāi ruò) is literally translated to "weak nerves"/ "neurasthenia" in English. While uncommon in the West, it remains recognized in some Asian countries. It’s considered a persistent mental disorder characterized by symptoms such as weakness, emotional disturbances, excitement, tension-induced pain, and sleep disturbances caused by ‘nerve weakness’.

***: They use three words to describe the emotions in his eyes: 晦暗 (huì àn), 疯狂 (fēng kuáng), and 深切 (shēn qiè).

晦暗 (huì àn) isn’t just "dark" but also shadowed and obscure, like he is trying to conceal the intense depth of his emotions rather than express them outright.

疯狂 (fēng kuáng) is an unrestrained madness, distinct from his usual 偏执 (piān zhí/obsessive fixation). 疯狂 (fēng kuáng) combines two words, 疯 (fēng) which means ‘’crazy’ or ‘insane’; and 狂 (kuáng), which means ‘unrestrained’ or ‘frantic.' so this word is the more chaotic and uncontrolled madness compared to 偏执 (piān zhí) which is more about his controlled madness from his fixation/obsession (whether about his research or mc-).

深切 (shēn qiè) combines "深" (deep) and "切" (cut/slice), usually used to convey the most sincere emotions. The way I interpret it is that his profound, raw emotions and vulnerabilities are fully exposed, like his heart being laid bare after getting cut open.

✂———————–

—[Heartfelt Reverie]— Video Timestamp: [31:37]

3:00 AM.

Monochrome liquid flows through a blood-collecting device into the vacuum tube as Lucien slightly loosens his tightly clenched fingers.

High-speed metal instruments hum without pause while the surrounding screens flash with streams of data—shifting graphs and numbers reflected in pairs of focused and urgent eyes.

Lucien shifts his gaze to the clock on the wall and speaks in a cold voice.

Lucien: We still need to make up eight hours.

After speaking, he tosses the cotton swab used to press against his vein into the trash. He removes his clothes and, assisted by the researchers, puts on monitoring equipment and a respirator before lying down in the experimental chamber.

According to his calculations, the data samples were originally expected to reach No. 58 today, leaving at most 39 hours until the No. 63 that he needed.

But an accident still happened. In his anxiety, he used space folding to bring the girl back to his room from the ruins.

Rationality told him he shouldn’t have done it. But he was desperate to confirm her real existence, to wash away the dirt and wounds that had tainted her.

Or rather, he had truly felt a certain fear, one that made it impossible for him to calmly leave her in any situation where another accident could occur.

However, the price was that the Evol fluctuations affected the experimental environment, briefly stalling the data progress.

Even the slightest deviation is something Lucien refuses to accept.

If the purpose of accelerating his pace before was to safely obtain the special sample and return to her as soon as possible…

…then now, he has an even stronger reason to race against time.

Lucien: If any abnormal fluctuations occur during the process, as long as the values don’t reach their peak, there’s no need to pause.

Lucien: Begin the experiment.

Lucien closes his eyes, letting the liquid engulf him.

In a trance, the complicated emotions from moments ago rise even faster than the water, suddenly making it hard for him to breathe.

The moment he realized he hadn’t received a message from her reporting her safety, the moment he saw that her flight had lost communication on trending—

—only then did he discover that a heart could contract this severely in an instant.

The stabbing pain in his chest spread along his nerves, making him instinctively furrow his brows and inexplicably take a step forward.

He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he even know why he was moving forward.

Perhaps he just didn't want to stay in place, or perhaps it was just a subconscious reflex of self-deception.

Broken pavement carried the lingering charred scent, and severed electrical wires hung down, scraping eerie marks onto the ground.

The world remained as monotonous and colorless as ever, as if this had always been its true color.

After walking aimlessly past several street corners, a streak of bright color crashed into his vision without warning.

She appeared so abruptly, like a grand hallucination, catching him completely off guard.

Lucien instinctively stopped in his tracks.

Suddenly, he recalled a moment from long ago. Beneath the camphor tree in early spring, he had seen that streak of a phantom that seemed almost real.*

Lucien: [gasps] ….

Lucien: It shouldn’t be like this.

Even though reason told him that there were countless possibilities that she wouldn't be here, an unreasonable certainty drove Lucien towards his only color.

Beep-beep

Somewhat distant sounds from the equipment scratch at his eardrums, and Lucien knows that the experiment is going smoothly.

It seems he can return to her side soon.

Not much time has passed. She probably won’t notice anything.

But she has always been sharper than he thought. If she picks up on something, what then?

In truth, he dislikes this kind of wavering irresolution and, even more so, the feeling of losing control to accidents.

Accidents are supposed to be challenges and abundant possibilities, not something that leaves him helpless and in a flustered mess like this.

But to ensure the experiment goes smoothly, he has no choice but to accelerate the process. This means he cannot be by her side all the time.

So, he chose the safest method at this stage.

Before leaving his room, he locked her inside a dream.

✂———————–

*: SOBBING at the every Not Planned On R&S/S1 Chapter 25 reference—I did not need to be reminded of his hallucination of her after her death every five seconds!! 😭 Also, oh my god, the constant mentions of his colorblindness and how she's the only color in his world… PG really loves twisting the knife for us XM stans huh😭💔

✂———————–

—[Part 5]—

Sure enough, by the next night, Lucien pushes open the door of his room and walks in, calmly picking up the duffel bag he had packed at noon.

Lucien: MC, we should go.

MC: ...Go home? So soon?

Lucien: Yes, but... there might be some complications along the way.

As he speaks, the air outside hums loudly, as if the aftershocks of distant artillery fire continuously ripple through the atmosphere.

Meanwhile, this trembling persisted for almost the entire afternoon, making me slightly uneasy.

Lucien: MC, although I know this is putting you in a bit of a tough spot...

Lucien: But the only way we can evacuate now is by helicopter.

MC: …!

My body nearly trembles on instinct.

But Lucien reacts even faster. He wraps an arm around my waist, his long, narrow eyes gazing deeply at me.

Lucien: I don’t want to make you afraid.

Lucien: If there were any better solution, I would never allow something like this to happen.

As he speaks, he holds out his palm toward me. On it lies a single white pill.

Lucien: MC, do you trust me?

Lucien: This is a sedative, and it has a safe composition. When you wake up, the first thing you see will be a safer place.

Boom—!

An even more intense blast slams through layers of air. This time, even the floor beneath my feet begins to shake faintly.

Looking into those unwavering eyes, I take a deep breath then pick up the pill and the water bottle.

MC: Have you got what you wanted?

Seemingly not expecting that I still have the mind to care about this matter, he freezes briefly, then his eyes crinkle into a smile.

Lucien: Of course, I never break my word.

MC: So, the state I’ll be in after taking it is also within your calculations, right?

Lucien: Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.

I feel relieved and swallow the white pill in one gulp.

In my dazed state, I suddenly feel a violent tremor—

At the same time, bursts of explosions ring out one after another, near and far. It’s as if the entire world is roaring, clamoring to rush toward me.

MC: …Ah!

I abruptly open my eyes, but my consciousness stays foggy, feeling nothing but the world spinning around me.

Until my vision slowly comes into focus, and I suddenly meet a pair of startled, slightly panicked eyes. My mind blanks out in an instant.

Lucien sits across from me, his face pale. Fresh blood seeps through his tattered shirt, snaking down his body in rivulets.

Each blast of distant artillery fire is carried by the raging wind, thrashing wildly inside the aircraft cabin. In the almost suffocating air pressure, my entire body trembles uncontrollably.

MC: Lucien!

I shout at him, my voice choked as all the unease and pain in my heart burst out at once.

His dark pupils shrink for a split second, but he immediately smiles reassuringly at me. He reaches out his hand toward me as if wanting to caress my cheek.

Brownish blood seeps from the bandaged wound on that well-defined hand, mingled with tiny grains of sand and grit.

Everything happens too suddenly. I stare blankly at the IV tube secured to his arm. As it sways and tugs, I catch a glimpse of faint bloodstains around the needle site on his hand.

Lucien: [comfortingly] MC, I'm fine.

Lucien: Close your eyes...

The howling wind and rain instantly swallow up his voice. I bite my lip hard, fighting to push words through

However, the helicopter suddenly tilts sharply to one side. I instinctively grip my seatbelt tightly, but the intense pulling force nearly overwhelms my shoulders and back.

Every bone in my body feels as if being torn apart, and my brain seems vacuumed of air.

My entire body is deathly stiff in my seat, only my heart pounding violently in my chest.

I can't help but shout at Lucien in front of me.

MC: Lucien! You Big Liar!!!

The person across from me freezes for a moment, as if struck by a sudden thought, then immediately shows a faint, particularly conceding smile.

Lucien: [why man sounds so thrilled-] Yes, I'm a big liar. It's all my fault.

MC: You even said it was all within your calculations. Was your injury part of that too?!

Lucien: I don’t mean to upset you on purpose, but none of these are serious wounds, so yes, they fall within my calculations.

MC: ...Y-you, stop talking! Don’t make me mad!

Lucien: Then just be angry. As long as you’re only mad at me, that’s fine.

MC: You bad guy!!

As he unintentionally or intentionally fans the flames, those crushing fears are unknowingly pushed out by anger.

By the time I regain my senses, I realize we’ve come to a stop on the deck of a cargo ship—

A foreign man stands not far away, greeting us with a friendly smile.

The cabin's guest room isn’t large, but it has all the essentials. Devoted medical personnel even come in to treat Lucien’s wounds.

Until they leave with the medical kit, I continue to stand not far away, watching him with a pained heart and furrowing my brows.

MC: Does it hurt?

Lucien: Are you still afraid?

The words we speak come out simultaneously, causing us to freeze in the same instant and then share a tacit smile.

Lucien: Hurts a lot, so come hug me, okay?

He knows I can never do anything about him.

I walk up to him, and he wraps his arms around my waist. His fluffy head leans against my chest, and for a moment, it feels like the tension melts away.

MC: …So now you realize you still have me.

Lucien: I can’t do it alone, after all. But I can’t always rely on you either.

Lucien: Even though I really want to.

Hearing the slightly aggrieved tone in his voice, I feel both exasperated and amused.

MC: If I had stayed asleep, were you planning to hide your injuries?

Lucien: Maybe. I'm sorry, MC.

MC: You big fool, it’s not like I’m blaming you for getting hurt.

Lucien: I know. I’m just really sorry for making you wake up early.

Lucien: The dosage of the sedative was precisely calculated by me. You were supposed to wake up only after we landed.

Lucien: But… we encountered an unexpected attack during the retreat, which delayed us for a bit.

He explains with excessive seriousness and caution, making my heart ache faintly.

While I've suffered trauma, he seems to have been wounded as well.

Those wounds are hidden in corners I can’t see, leaving me with nothing to do but press silent kisses onto his calm face, one after another.

Remembering the foreign man on the deck earlier, I can’t help but gently stroke his brows with some concern.

MC: Lucien, can we really trust these people and make it back to Loveland City without any problems?

Lucien: When the helicopter landed, I noticed the Holden Institute’s insignia on the ship’s stern.

Lucien: On the path from the deck to the guest rooms, a section of the wooden floorboards makes a subtly different sound when stepped on compared to the rest.

Lucien: It is highly possible that he used such a design to transport things he didn't want others to discover easily.

Lucien: Moreover, a considerable amount of this institute's funding comes from underground deals that can’t see the light of day.

Lucien: So I deduce that Holden uses this ship to transport collectibles for trade. Of course, the possibility of smuggling weapons can’t be ruled out either.

Lucien seems to notice my nervousness and gently places his palm on the back of my hand.

Lucien: More importantly, after the helicopter landed, I discovered an Evol-suppressing device that’s difficult to detect.

Lucien: Based on my past observations in the lab, I think there’s a high probability that this ship also carries research samples.

MC: ...Could it be that they also made an emergency transfer while evacuating?

Lucien: We can’t be certain yet, but I think they must’ve set quite a few backup plans in place.

MC: …Will what they're doing affect your objectives?

Lucien: It will have some impact, but it doesn’t matter.

Lucien: I won’t give them the chance. I’ll either find the item or no one will.*

Hearing him say that, I can’t help but feel a little worried and instinctively hold his hand.

MC: Let me help you too, okay?

Lucien: [gently whispers] Of course I need your help.

Lucien: I need you to keep staying well by my side and embracing me just like this.

His gentle whispers brush past my fingertips, but I feel a silent rejection and purse my lips a bit unhappily.

MC: Are you still afraid?

MC: Because of what happened before, you just want to put me in the safest place.

He doesn’t speak, as if this is yet another form of silent acknowledgment.

Relief and dread are intertwined. I’ve known for a long time that he buries his emotions even deeper than I do, which is why I need to embrace him tighter and for longer.

MC: I admit that the airplane incident scared me out of my mind, and even now, I’m still shaking.

MC: But I'm also worried that you'll be in danger, though I trust you, believe you can accomplish anything...

MC: Lucien, I want you safely by my side too.

His profound eyes are filled with my reflection. He simply gazes at me for a long time, as if this way he could lock me within them forever.

In the end, Lucien only tilts his head up and kisses me even deeper.

✂———————–

[T/N]

*: The literal translation of that line is “I will either find the item or take care of/dispose of (it/him/them).” After discussing with Ivi, we decided to take some artistic liberties to capture this vagueness kskssk. The phrase "处理掉" (chǔ lǐ diào) is intentionally vague, literally meaning to dispose/take care of something. It's often used when something is taken care of through destruction, removal, or getting rid of something. It could mean he’s simply going to dispose of the item or eliminate the people involved or… both 👁️👁️

✂———————–

Part 6-> [Here]

#XU MO YOU BIG FOOL BIG BAD GUY *SOBBING*#that mix of vulnerability possessiveness obsessiveness desperation and self guilt is *chef kiss*#10/10 voice acting and writing—absolutely losing it over the sheer angst and h-word hnghhh #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers #Youtube

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oops-all-concrete · 1 year ago

Text

BG3 fandom! I have more headcanons- but first!!

I must issue a very loud

⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️

For The Dark Urge playthrough of Baldurs Gate 3! There is no further warning below the cut, so if you care not to be spoiled, do not continue to read!

For those of you interested- ahead lies: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, blood, mentions of death, no MCD or any perma-death anyway, and lots of love. Greif and pain and emotional hurt are heavy themes as well!

Last warning! ⚠️Spoilers ahead⚠️

I've just gotten to this point in the Dark Urge run (where you reject Bhaal and fucking) DIE, and DUDE- I am stunned companions say NOTHING to your LITERAL DEATH after rejecting Bhaals gift or whatever. (Not in the scenes anyway) So, I'm writing how I think they'd respond cinematically, because your lively Durges deserve to be mourned and loved.

(Of course in-game this would be limited to the dialogue, but I've describes how they would be animated anyhow)

Lae'zel -

She's running to Durge the moment they start lifting from the ground, but pauses once their eyes start rolling back and blackening. There's something beyond her control happening, and she needs it to stop- and it does. With Tav hitting the floor eyes black, soul gone. She's immediately yelling at the others to do something, hand her a scroll, something- but nothing is working. Her shoulder slump after a good few minutes. And finally her voice breaks. She holds a hand to her chest as she wails in agony, holding her Tavs body like it's the last time- because to her- it is. "My angel, my moon. My great protector. I have failed you" She hisses, eyes scrunched shut.

Shadowheart -

She's been afraid her whole life. But even in the face of Bhaal, she will not be afraid if it means Tav will be safer. She immediately casts warding bond, if they're in danger, she'll halve it. If you're going to get hurt, so shall she- and she's okay with that. "Hang on-!" And then it all goes black, she falls without a word or scream, but she's content. If she dies protecting Durge, she cannot ask for better.

(After cutscene convo) Once Durge has been revived by Withers, it's up to them to get a scroll and revive her from the bloodied mess on the floor. She's stunned and confused, but the moment she sees Tav okay she couldn't care less. Why did you do that? "It might sound silly, but I was scared that you would be alone through whatever was about to happen. I don't regret it, if you're wondering"

Wyll -

"Gods- NO!" He shouts, a hand reaching out for them as they hit the ground. He's over them in a flash, holding their head in his arms, trying desperately to wake them, find a pulse, wake up himself and have this all be some sick nightmare. But of course, no such thing happens. The Tav he knows and loves just ceased living before his eyes. There's blood soaking into his every apparel and he's crying his eye out. It crosses his mind. Mizora is powerful- even if she can't fix this, she will know someone or something that can. He'd give anything- his whole life, he'd gladly be a lemure if it gave Tav back. He almost calls for her- until Withers starts his speech. (During the 'your rejection of Bhaal has earned you a place among heroes' section of his dialogue, he'll turn to Wyll and add: 'No devil's, demons or feinds required, I assure you')

Karlach -

If she wasn't raging before, she is now. A tomb-rocking scream echoes around the chamber, eyes wide with horror, body shaking and burning all over, engine out of control but she couldn't care less. One of the others will tell her to calm down. "FUCK THAT! FUCK EVERYTHING! FUCK THE GODS ABOVE AND THE HELLS BELOW." She roars. It goes on, swearing, screaming, swinging- and then, finally- collapse. She drops to her knees and punches the hard ground next to Tavs body, sobbing and exhausted. Withers walks in the the most gut-wrenching agonised scream of why

Gale -

He's frozen as it happens. His hands crackle with weave but he can't move. He needs to do something- anything, but time moves without him. All he knows is he can't breathe, all he can smell is blood and he thinks he's going to be sick. He can hear invisible bones cracking, distant blood dripping and their last choke. The wizard stumbles forward, barely making it to their body before collapsing beside them, on his knees and positively glowing from the mark on his chest. The orb can sense his distress and buzzes within him, as though it can smell the death. He pulls and hand to his mouth, kissing it gently- unable to comprehend a kiss goodbye. "Oh- Gods. Oh my love" he sobs, brows furrowed in what looks like physical pain. "I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." He wheezes out, scarcely finding breath.

Astarion -

He doesn't let their head hit the ground. He's swift as he catches them, but frantic as he sets their head on his thighs as a pillow. He pulls open their eyelids only to find a blackened core beneath, animalistic and distinctly unfamiliar. "Wake up, damn you...not after all this! You don't get to go!" He yells sounding genuinely furious- like he was going to get violent. If any of the others approach he doesn't notice. "We still have a cult to cull, we have a brain to control- I need you!" He yells, voice raw and eyes wet, the anger melting into greif. He makes a sheild of himself over Durge when Withers walks in, dagger/shortsword in hand, teeth bared, despite his damp face.

(Withers greets Astarion: 'Cry no more Spawn of sanguine- the universe is finally in your favour')

(Only Halsin is romanced for obvious reasons, but closeness is still implied for Minsc and Jaheira)

Halsin -

He catches Durge on the way down, their head on his chest as he lays them down over himself. "My heart? Can you hear me? Please say something" He begs hands glowing with healing magic, eyes aglow as well. He tries for a little, but then his breathing changes entirely, a small hushed gasp sounds from him, his he starts shaking his head, eyes wide. "Oh- oh Gods- Silvannus, please- I cannot bear to lose- oh Gods" He gasps, breath becoming harsher- finally letting tears fall. "Oak Father- please, wherever they go- keep them safe" he prays, teeth gritted in agony.

Jaheira -

She looks away as Tavs life is sapped away, unable to watch another Bhaalspawn friend suffer. When all falls still and silent, she looks among the other companions, shocked and frozen. "They're at peace now. Take comfort in knowing they chose to keep you all safe." She says with a proud nod- but her eyes are wet and her nose scrunched a little with a sniff.

Minsc -

There's small squeaking in the berserkers ear, before he sighs, almost a sob and speaks with a tired voice. "Wise words, Boo. I only wish our friend could hear you" Before he turns away, unable to look at them on the floor. "I am proud to have called them our friend. We should make them proud in return"

Hope you enjoyed! To the lovely people who have made requests, I will get to them as soon as I can!! Thank you for the requests, and please feel free to send me more!

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bones4thecats · 8 months ago

Note

Tfa Autobots fearing J reader, would be Optimus, Bee, Starscream and Jazz, also J reader is part of the elite guard

TFA Fearing the Murder Drones J! Reader

Characters: Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Starscream, and Jazz (Transformers Animated) Requester: @zinnia1506 A/N: These are short due to lack of many ideas, but I do hope you like it otherwise. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Nothing bad ⚠️

Disclaimer: This contains zero spoilers for the show Murder Drones

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Optimus Prime ══════════════════════════╝

⚔️ You scared this guy a lot. No other words.

⚔️ Known for your slight arrogance and obvious workaholic nature, all that had energon flowing through their cables knew that you were not someone to mess with under any circumstances

⚔️ Optimus was surprised to see you come out of the Steelhaven with your two fellow Elite Guard members, Velocity and Nickel, and the other two guards, Sentinel Prime and Jazz, along with your leader, Ultra Magnus

⚔️ It was when Starscream lunged at Ultra Magnus that you merely blasted him away, a cocky smile appearing on your face as you criticized him

"You're pathetic. Going at someone from behind? Just shows how much weaker the Decepticon cause has gotten in the past many cycles."

⚔️ Now he understood Sari when they first showed up on Earth...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Bumblebee ═════════════════════════════╝

🐝 Bee admired, yet was scared of you, when you came in during one of his classes with your fellow teammates, Velocity and Nickel, behind you. You tried teaching them fighting skills, only to fail with Bee's idiocy

🐝 You glared at him as he tried stinging Nickel, he may be a weaker member of the Elite Guard, but he could be useful. Sometimes...

🐝 Nodding at Velocity, she smiled sadistically, jumping in with her servos transformed into multiple spinning-blades. She then attacked Bee, making him panic and run

🐝 Sentinel scoffed as you looked at him, your head tilted slightly to ask him what was wrong

"This Guard is getting weaker by the cycle... I swear..."

"Completely agree with you there, Sent'."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Starscream ════════════════════════════╝

💫 You were one of the best Autobot fighters, and when you saw Starscream aim his blasters at Ultra Magnus, you just snapped into work-mode

💫 Jumping up, you spread your wings, flapping them to push you towards the Decepticon as he looked at you in shock

💫 Your long tail emerged and wrapped around his neck, causing him to fly into the air with you while the others observed. Sentinel, Jazz, and Ultra Magnus just sighed as you inserted your tail's tip in the 'Bots neck, injecting him with acid

💫 He wailed in pain as you scoffed and kicked him away. Starscream then stood up shakily whilst yelling about how he'd find you and make you pay sometime

"Go ahead, 'Screamy. I'd love to hear that squeaky voice of yours scream in pain as I tear your wings apart."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Jazz ═════════════════════════════════╝

🎷 Jazz liked being around you, but he had to admit, you could be quite scary despite your seemingly-polite front

🎷 This was proven when you grew tired of listening to Velocity and Sentinel argue. You slammed your servo against the panel, wrapping your tail around the two 'Bots before slamming them into the nearby desktop

"If you two don't shut your intakes, I'll shut them for you. Capiche?"

🎷 The two nodded erratically as you let them go, throwing a datapad at Nickel before walking out of the control room. No doubt you were going to train your heart out against a dummy

🎷 The white mech just watched with slightly widened optics and a nervous demeanor as you walked away, thankful that he wasn't the center of your anger

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dragonridersandhighlords · 5 days ago

Note

Hey gurllll....can I request a fic of Aaric x reader where his father finds out their relationship and tries to kill the reader (the ending is upto you though)

Heyyyyyy! Thank you for requesting! I really hope you don't hate this because I TOTALLY went off the rails a little but it took a mind of its own🤣😅

⚠️ONYX STORM SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️

It All Ends Now | Aaric Graycastle

Summary: When you entered the Rider’s Quadrant, you didn’t think you’d see Aaric again. Then he got placed in your Squad and you were overjoyed and angry at the same time. Ever since Conscription Day, you’re had a weekly aassanation attempt thanks to the King who was convinced you kidnapped his son. When Halden shows up as Basgiath and the attacks increase, Halden even putting his friends in danger, Aaric is slowly losing all composure.

Pairing: Aaric Graycastle x f!reader

Warnings: Major Onyx Storm spoilers, fluffy angst?, mentions of blood and assasination attempts, reader is protective of Aaric, Aaric is protective of reader, Halden Tauri is his own warning lol

Word Count: 3.9k

Masterlist | FW Masterlist

"Again?!" Aaric’s voice cut through the tense silence of the dimly lit room, echoing his frustration. His green eyes, usually so warm when looking at me, now blazed with a frantic intensity.

"Aaric, I'm fine," you insist, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

"You're literally bleeding, y/n," he shot back, his concern etched into every line on his face. You could see the pulse of fear thrumming beneath his skin, a reminder that we were constantly teetering on the edge of chaos.

“Bleeding. Not bleeding out,” You replied, forcing a lightness into your tone even as you winced while adjusting the makeshift bandage wrapped around your arm. The crimson splotch seeping through the fabric was a stark reminder of the last assassination attempt that could have been so much worse.

“I should just go home. That will put an end to all of this,” Aaric muttered, burying his face in his hands, the weight of his despair palpable in the air between the two of you.

"Your father will forever blame me for your disappearance,” You countered softly, moving closer to him, your heart aching as you stood beside where he sat on the desk. “Going home will just hurt you more than anything.”

His shoulders sagged, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. “They target you when you’re alone.” His voice cracked, revealing the rawness of his emotions. “I can’t protect you here, but I can at home.”

"Aaric, I hate to break it to you, but Camlaen Tauri is dead. Aaric Graycastle though?” You smiled gently, your fingers lifting his chin with a tenderness that countered the turmoil you faced. “You are alive. Bonded to the coolest dragon and so much happier than you ever were in that castle. Plus, I’m here. Do you really want to go back to a life without me?"

He shook his head. Leaning forward, he rested his head against your stomach, a fragile moment of vulnerability where the world outside faded into insignificance. “I love you, y/n. I just don’t want you to get killed because of me.”

“If I die because of an assassination attempt, at least we’ll know I fought till the end,” You whispered, running your fingers through his tousled hair, the strands soft and warm beneath your touch. “And I love you too. Now let’s go to class, okay?”

You felt the gentle rise and fall of his breath against me. He finally nodded, a small, reluctant smile breaking through the storm cloud that had settled over you.

Ever since Violet got a hold of her father's journal, a relic infused with memories and secrets, thanks to Dain sneaking into his father's quarters, everyone has been working tirelessly to decipher the cryptic riddle keeping it locked.

First loves are irreplaceable.

Ridoc, perched between you and Violet on the first row of seats, had taken it upon himself to pry into Violet's family history and their love lives.

"Who's Mira's first love?" Ridoc questioned.

Violet's fingers fidgeted with her conduit band, her brows knitting together in thought as she replied, "I’m not sure she’s ever really been in love. Or if she has, she’s never said anything to me about it.”

"You hadn’t even seen Xaden when your dad met Malek—” Ridoc trailed off, his tone shifting from interrogative to contemplative, and then he snapped up like he had the best idea. “Hello, who is your first love?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Violet freeze, her demeanor shifting as if she had been struck by an unseen force. "My father couldn’t stand the first guy I really dated and never knew about the second.” Her voice was steady, but the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes betrayed a deeper complexity.

Aaric and you exchanged glances, both of you understanding exactly who she was alluding to. The past lingered between you like an uninvited guest. "How many letters?" Aaric ventured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet imbued with a knowing urgency.

"Six," she shot back, her glare directed at you with a fierceness that threatened us if we spoke his name.

"It fits." You shrugged. "It could very well be—"

"Absolutely not," Violet interrupted with an indignant shake of her head, her resolve firm as she attempted to close the door on that chapter.

“Hold on.” Ridoc’s expression morphed into a blend of confusion and intrigue, his eyes darting between the three of you as if you were all harboring a secret beyond comprehension. “Are the first-years entitled to information we don’t have—”

"Good afternoon," Xaden—Professor Riorson— greets as he enters the Infantry amphitheater with Garrick.

"Ooh, Imogen is going to love having class today— Ow!" Ridoc's playful remark was abruptly cut short as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Riders, if you’ll take your positions as you did last class. Hopefully no one gets performance anxiety, because as you can see, we have a full house today.” Xaden’s voice rang out, steady and authoritative, and we all turned to behold the sea of Infantry blue uniforms that filled the amphitheater.

"Lieutenant Tavis here is an incredible Wind Wielder and has agreed to let you try your best to bring him--" Xaden's voice faltered slightly, a sudden cough catching him off guard. You exchanged a knowing glance with Violet, her smirk hinting at her mental mischief in her and Xaden's mental bond.

Bonded dragons, you thought with an eye roll, a mixture of admiration and annoyance coursing through you.

“--down. Lieutenant Tavis will be your sparring dummy.” His declaration hung in the air, a mixture of excitement and anxiety washing over the group as they prepared to face the imposing figure.

As each cadet stepped into the circle, the atmosphere thickened with anticipation. Ridoc’s voice broke through the tension, “That’s... unnerving,” he muttered, his eyes wide as he witnessed a fire wielder struggle against her own flames, thrown back towards her thanks to Garrick's signet. The thought of standing in her place sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"We go as a team," Rhiannon whispered, her voice a soothing balm against the nerves.

"Good idea," Violet nodded, her eyes glinting with determination.

"You ready to join in, Second Squad?" Garrick's voice cut through the air, taunting yet encouraging. Together, you, Violet, Rhiannon, Cat, Quinn, and Ridoc stepped into the circle.

"How exactly is this fair?" Garrick questions, getting into position.

"We're never alone on a battlefield, are we?" Violet points out, her smile never faltering.

"Fair point." Xaden agrees before instructing the challenge to begin.

With a shared nod, Quinn, Cat, and you sprang into action, causing a distraction while Ridoc built an ice wall. Meanwhile, Violet and Rhiannon worked together for the final take down, their movements synchronized. You focused on dodging your flames that were inevitably thrown back at you. You ducked and rolled, narrowly escaping as the flames washed over you like a wave of blistering heat.

Then, a lightning bolt crackled through the air, splitting the sky and illuminating the ring in a blinding flash. The world seemed to hold its breath, the chaos momentarily stilled, and you felt time stretch as everyone froze, eyes wide with disbelief.

“You really did it,” Garrick’s voice broke through the silence, awe etched across his features as gasps and murmurs rippled through the audience.

“I did,” Violet replied, her voice steady, but it was the unwavering gaze that accompanied her words that sent chills down your spine.

"Hate to tell you, Sorrengail," Garrick smirked, "but not only did you leave yourself exposed, you also missed."

"Did I?" Violet’s finger pointed defiantly at the smoking dagger embedded in the ground just behind Garrick. The collective gaze shifted, fixating on the destruction she had wrought. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. And if I'm exposed, fine. The rest of my squad is alive."

Garrick’s shock mirrored your own, eyes wide, as you caught a glimpse of the fiery determination sparking within Violet. Just then, a slow clap resonated from the back of the arena, a mocking rhythm that drew attention and stole the moment's tension.

Your heart sank, dread coiling in your stomach as you turned to see who was at the center of this unwelcome applause. Your eyes searched for Aaric, but he was nowhere in sight. Thank Amari, you thought, relief mingling with unease.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Halden,” the herald proclaimed, his voice booming through the amphitheater, pulling every head to turn in reverence. The crowd rose as one, a sea of blue and black uniforms standing in respect.

"Sit," Halden commanded, feigning annoyance at the fanfare, yet the smirk on his lips told a different story—he was reveling in it. "Impressive," he said, stepping into the fray, his gaze holding Violet's before sweeping to meet yours.

As he made eye contact with you, a chill raced down your spine. You felt the weight of his gaze, sharp and knowing, and instinctively, both you and Violet surged forward, a whirlwind of determination now aimed at the infantry-clad prince.

“What are you doing here?” Violet’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, her sharp gaze locking onto the prince, a storm brewing beneath her calm exterior.

“Learning, of course, like everyone else in this arena.” Halden’s tone dripped with sarcasm as he scanned Violet from head to toe, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Never figured you for rider black, but power looks good on you.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, as if he were inspecting a rare piece of art, yet his gaze held a hint of condescension.

"Don't." Violet's voice hardened, her back now turned as she returned her focus to the match unfolding before them. "I don't mean in the Arena. What are you doing at Basgiath? It's not exactly Alumni Weekend."

“Straight to business? You aren't even going to ask how I've been? My brother is missing, you know.” Halden’s demeanor shifted, the joviality fading as he turned his attention toward you. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” His fingers reached toward your chin, an attempt at intimacy, but you swiftly snatched his wrist, halting him mid-motion.

“Despite what your father seems to think with his assassination attempts, I don’t know where Cam is.” The firmness in your voice echoed your determination. You dropped his hand, letting it fall back to his side like a discarded weapon. “And don’t touch me if you want to keep your hand.”

“Is he really missing?” Violet interjected, her brow furrowed. “Or did Cam just need some space from your ego?”

Garrick began to instruct on your groups strategies, but your focus remained fixed on Halden, the air thickening with tension as he scoffed, turning back to Violet. “Seriously, though. No hello? Not even a compliment on the tailoring of my uniform? Or my fresh haircut? I’m heartbroken, Vi.”

“You’d have to own a heart to break it.” Violet’s retort was swift, and a laugh bubbled up from within you, drawing a sharp glare from Halden. “And the only hair I remember is your professor’s covering your face when I walked in on her riding you. It was auburn, right?”

“That's what happened?” You whispered, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation, your curiosity piqued as neither you nor Aaric knew the full story.

“Ouch. You wound me. Yes, I cheated, but you have to remember, I was still suffering from the loss of my twin. I was...”

“A dick?” You quipped, as Violet continued to unleash a few far kinder insults.

“Grief doesn’t excuse any of that. Never did,” Violet added, her expression fierce.

“And here I thought you’d thank me for offering to step in and agree with you regarding your upcoming mission, including my brother’s kidnapper as you continuously request.” Halden sighed, his tone shifting back to a businesslike demeanor.

“I’m gonna say it again, Halden. I. Don’t. Know. Where. Cam. Is.” Your voice was strained, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

Halden then pulled a missive with a broken wax seal from Viscount Tecarus, handing it to Violet. “Here. Grady is taking too long and has yet to present a clear path that satisfies my father. I like this option.”

Violet leaned closer, pulling you aside, whispering urgently, “Go check on him. I have Halden.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, concern etching your features as she nodded resolutely. You walked over to where your bag rested, Xaden not far from the seats.

“He's around the back, should be headed back to the Quadrant, but you know how protective he is.” Xaden’s words were a lifeline, and you quietly thanked him before sprinting off to find Aaric, the pulse of uncertainty quickening in your chest.

Halden, in fact, did not get you on the squad for Violet's mission. Instead, his presence had escalated the tension in Basgiath, bringing with it an increased wave of assassination attempts that had plagued you for the past month. Then when Violet finally relayed the news of Halden's actions in Deverelli, you could see the fury ignite within Aaric.

"I have to do something," Aaric declared, his voice resolute, yet tinged with desperation. He had been pacing the length of your room for hours.

"What can you do, Aaric? She needs a royal representative to appease the island royals," you countered. You watched as realization dawned in his eyes, a flicker of hope amidst the chaos. But as soon as it sparked, you immediately fought it. "No. Nope. Not an option."

“It could work,” he argued, his voice lifting with a brightness that illuminated the gloom of the past month. For a moment, he wore a smile that felt like sunshine breaking through heavy clouds. “It would get Halden away from Violet, and I could put you on the squad like you should’ve been. No one can try to kill you then.”

"What if they drag you back? What then?" The thought unsettled you, a dark cloud overshadowing the bright idea he presented.

"I'll negotiate like the prince I am." His tone was playful, but the determination in his eyes gave it weight. There was something inherently charming about his confidence, an unwavering belief that made your heart race. “Your safety comes first, and once I finish my three years, I’ll return to Calldyr without complaint.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he silenced you with a look. “I’d burn the entire continent to keep you safe. Let me do this one thing.”

With a heavy heart, you nodded, a mixture of fear and trust coursing through you as you moved toward the flight field, each step echoing the weight of the choices ahead.

Dain had found you both in the dimly lit hall. He walked beside you, each step resonating with unspoken understanding as you both turned your gaze toward the sky watching Molvic and Neim land beside the squad. The fog was thick and wrapped around you and your dragons, shielding you from the prying eyes.

“No!” Violet's voice sliced through the quiet morning, sharp and urgent, as she sprinted toward you, her features contorted with concern. “Don't do this!”

Aaric's brows furrowed, his expression resolute as he adjusted the collar of his flight jacket, the leather creaking softly against the mounting pressure. “I’m not going to sit aside and watch while Halden gets you all killed,” he defended, his tone laced with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“This isn't what you want,” Violet pressed, her desperation palpable. She pivoted, gesturing toward Dain. “Don’t let your brother's actions force your hand—and don’t let him do it!”

Dain threw his hands up in exasperation, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. “How in all that is holy am I to blame for this?”

“He’s a first-year, and you are the Wingleader!” Violet shot back, her frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Vi, Aaric outranks Dain right now,” you interjected, your voice steady as you jumped to Dain’s defense.

“And you!” Violet retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at you now. “You know how much he needed his freedom from them. Everyone will know if he does this.”

“It’s his choice, Violet. I’m not a royal. I can't stop him even if I wanted to.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Xaden's voice floated in from behind Violet, a calm counterpoint to the tempest of emotions swirling around you.

“Want? No,” Aaric sighed deeply, the weight of his resolve heavy in the air. “But I need to. And as much as I don’t mind Halden making your life fucking miserable, I do mind him condemning the Continent to death by dark wielder because he can’t take a deep breath and count to three when he gets mad. Plus, I'm mostly negotiating for y/n's safety. She doesn't deserve to be targeted for my choices.”

With a reluctant nod, Violet turned, leading you both back toward the rest of the group, the gravity of your decisions looming over you like a storm on the horizon.

“Looks like you won't be needing that basket after all.” Xaden smirks, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he takes in the scene. “We found another prince.”

Halden’s jaw drops as he locks eyes with his little brother, clad in a black flight uniform.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Aaric rolls his eyes.

“Don’t look…” Halden shakes his head slowly, frustration pouring from him like an overfilled cup. “You’ve let us run all over this kingdom searching brothels and gaming houses for you, and all the while, you’ve been here?” The accusation hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of betrayal.

“The fact that you went searching your favorite haunts for me is just the start of where you went wrong,” Aaric replies, his annoyance lingering off his words.

“You’re a Rider?” Halden’s incredulous shout pierces the air.

“As the dragon would imply.” Ridoc gestures toward Molvic, his massive form looming like a sentinel, wings folded against the morning mist.

“He could have let you think he was dead,” Mira mutters from her spot next to Teine.

“He’s going to be when our father hears—” Halden begins but you interject.

"Then go fucking tell him.” Your voice cuts through the escalating chaos, firm and unyielding.

“While you're at it, tell him to cut it out with the assassination attempts. I made my choice, so leave her out of it!" Aaric, defends but Halden maintains his focus on you.

"You said you didn't know where Cam was! You lied to a royal!" Halden practically screeches, the indignation echoing off the mountains.

"I didn't lie." You shrug, a smirk playing on your lips as you gesture toward Aaric. "You asked where Cam was. I don't; I know where Aaric is."

Aaric’s presence radiates strength, and as he steps forward, you can’t help but feel pride swell within you. “I crossed the parapet because I was sick of sitting by knowing you and Dad weren’t going to do shit about the dark wielders, and I’m not going to sit by now and watch you run our only hope into the ground. I’ll be going as the royal representative.” His voice is steady, firm and you’ve never looked at him with a brighter face.

Halden stiffens, disbelief etched in his features. “Absolutely not, Cam.”

"It's Aaric." You step closer, standing toe to toe with the older prince, the determination in your stance unwavering. “And frankly, he’s more adept to be the representative than you. Not only have I watched him grow as a leader, even as a first-year, but he doesn’t have the emotional range of a two-year-old. He keeps his head on during stressful and important situations. Can you say the same?”

“It was you who breached the total vault.” Halden's glare shifts from you to Aaric, who meets it without flinching, a fierce light in his eyes. “Father blamed me.” He attempts to step toward his brother, but you quickly position yourself between them, unwilling to let him near Aaric. “Did you stay in Basgiath? Or fly with the rebels?”

“You already know the answer.” Aaric replies, his gaze locked on Halden, a silent challenge lingering in the air.

“Go back to the quadrant. I’ll be the only royal—”

“Good luck getting another gryphon to carry your basket.” Aaric laughs under his breath, the sound unexpectedly light, a brief respite from the tension, before he strides toward Molvic.

Halden's gaze, a mixture of sorrow and resignation, shifts back to you. “Y/n,” he begins, his voice surprisingly gentle, a tone you've never heard from him.

You can see it in his eyes—the sadness welling deep. The weight of expectations hangs heavy on his shoulders, and you wonder if, just for a heartbeat, he wishes to escape the royal constraints, just as Aaric had done.

“If you can promise that we’ll both be safe from your father’s assassins and carry on with our lives,” you say, your voice unwavering, each word solidifying your resolve like steel forging in fire, “I can promise you I won’t let anything happen to him.” Your heart races, fueled by a mixture of fear and fierce protectiveness, as you draw in a breath, the words spilling out with conviction. “But I don’t need your promises to know that I’d die for him.”

At those words, a flicker of surprise dances across Halden's features, his brow furrowing as if he’s grappling with the gravity of your devotion. “I’ll speak with my father,” he finally replies, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. “You’re good for him, you know.” The unexpected kindness leaves you momentarily stunned, the shadows of the past lifting slightly as you shake your head at the improbability of it all. “Thank you for looking out for him.”

“It all ends now, Halden,” you assert, the weight of your words resonating with the clarity of truth. “You’d never get him back if your father succeeds in killing me.” The finality in your tone is unmistakable, like the tolling of a bell, marking a line drawn in the sand. With a nod, Halden retreats from the flight field, his figure gradually swallowed by the mist that clings to the ground, leaving you standing amidst the chaos, a pulse of determination coursing through your veins.

Turning back, you move toward Neim, heart racing as you prepared to climb. Glancing behind you, Aaric stands beside Molvic following your every move. “You okay?” you call out to him, your concern weaving through the air.

“Never better,” he replies, a smile breaking through the tension, illuminating his features as he climbs onto Molvic. You climb onto Neim, whose scales shimmer like emeralds in the rising sunlight.

As you settle in, your heart swells with a fierce pride for the man beside you. Aaric is not just a prince; he is a beacon of hope in these dark times. The wind picks up, swirling around you, as if echoing the tempest of emotions within. He meets your gaze, and in that moment, you can see it—the unspoken connection that binds you.

Aaric’s own thoughts bubble to the surface, a whirlwind of determination intertwined with a flicker of admiration as he quietly said, “She’d make a great queen.”

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