#and even helped Pit through various chapters

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒊𝒙

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: My favourite chapter thus far. Really hope you enjoy this one... I feel like it's been a long-time coming lol. Make sure to let me know your thoughts, etc... Any questions are greatly appreciated! I like interacting with you all, even if I do take a minute to reply hehe. Enjoy!

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup

(let me know if you want to be tagged in future Roman fics)

Nate stood at the base of her Tribeca high-rise, the cool evening breeze doing little to soothe the heat around her neck. Pure tension. Stress. She was a tough cookie, sure, but the constant vigilance required in the Volkov family took its toll.

Tonight, she needed a break, a moment to herself before she had to put on her mask again at the auction this weekend. She craved the solace her apartment usually provided, a minimalistic refuge from… well, from everything else.

The lobby was quiet, the only sound being her heels echoing against the floor. Acknowledging the doorman with a curt nod, heading towards the elevators near the back. It was always in her best interest to not form any kind of relationship with the staff in the building. This was her time to be alone. The more obscure she was, the better.

Then again, forming a connection with someone like Natalka Volkov was synonymous with signing off on your own death warrant.

Even though the apartment was technically hers, and under her name legally, it was still a Volkov property in essence, acquired only through Dimitri’s permission when she turned 21. And when a property is associated with the most powerful mob boss in New York City… personal touches are out of the question.

Don’t leave anything that could help anyone trace it back to you.

Don’t let yourself be known.

Don’t give it away.

Don’t… be your own person.

Years of meticulous planning and cautious maneuvering, however, had taught Nate how to live under the radar of her family’s scrutiny.

She was acutely aware that the Volkovs had co-opted the building’s security, ensuring they had constant access to CCTV footage and details of all residents. But Nate was no amateur. She’d grown up in this life, for God’s sake. She knew how to navigate such… constraints.

At one point, she managed to reroute the security cameras in her apartment, looping the same few hours of footage. But she eventually had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t foolproof, and someone would figure out what she was doing. So she ended up enlisting the help of two people who knew her deal, knew her family, and knew her. A quick word to her close friend, Lana, and her husband, and she was in business.

They had painstakingly compiled a convincing collection of footage from her apartment at various times of the day, creating a realistic feed to fool even the most watchful eye. Boom. Problem solved.

As Nate stepped out of the elevator and made her way down the hallway, an unease instantly settled in the pit of her stomach when she clocked the view of the door to her penthouse apartment.

It was ajar.

Her senses sharpened immediately, and she paused. Of course, the one moment I get to just chill the fuck out for a minute, and this shit happens…

She reached into her black jeans, fingers wrapping around the handle of her pocket knife. Flipping it open with precise motion, she held it behind her back as she cautiously approached the door.

Step 1: Analyse the break-in.

Upon initial inspection, it was clear that whoever had made their way into her apartment knew how to pick a lock. And well. Nate had never seen such a clean pick before. Not only that, but a small nudge with her foot revealed the chain behind the door had been cut. A sleek, sharp, precise job. Right down the middle.

Step 2: Touch as little as possible upon entry.

She slipped inside, refraining from opening the door entirely, and scanned the apartment with her eyes.

Step 3: Figure out the nature of the intrusion.

Everything was in place. No sign of struggle, or theft. The PS5 under the 52” TV mounted on the wall in the living room was in the same place as she left it. The priceless family heirlooms dotted around on shelves and walls in the hallways were untouched. Almost like… nobody had been there at all.

The silence was unnerving. Each second stretched out.

Step 4: There isn’t a step fucking 4, what is this, an instruction class?

Thanks, Dad, that one was really helpful…

“Whoever is in here, make yourself known in the next 5 seconds, or I swear to God I’ll cut out your fucking tongue!” she took the risk of calling out, stripping her voice of emotion and taking on the well-rehearsed tone of Dimitri.

The apartment, however, remained silent, tension thickening with every breath. 

It all came to a head when Nate stepped through into the kitchen, her heart jolting, and damn near giving her a heart attack.

“What the fuck?!” 

Rhea turned slowly, her lips curling into a little smirk. “Seriously?” she glanced down. “A fucking pocket knife?”

“Who are you, the fucking boogeyman—why’d you have to be so fucking creepy?!” Nate’s voice came out sharper than she intended as she slammed the knife down on the kitchen island.

“I needed to see you.”

“What, and you couldn’t just text me? You had to break into my apartment like a fucking serial killer?”

“Do serial killers break into people’s apartments?” Rhea raised an eyebrow, turning fully on her heel with her hands tucked into her front pockets.

“Wh—I don’t bloody know, Rhea, why are you here? And how did you know I was gonna be here?” Nate sighed, taking a deep breath from the scare.

Rhea’s smirk widened. “Nate… it may have been a long time, but I still know you better than you know yourself.” She began to move around the room, her gaze sweeping over the minimalistic decor. “You always did need your space from time to time… You’ve always been a recluse.” She paused at the counter beside the oven, spinning and leaning back against it. Her arms folded, and her perfect brows narrowed slightly.

“What I didn’t peg you as, though, was a fucking traitor.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly as Nate felt the meaning behind Rhea’s words sink in. “Rhea, I d–”

“I don’t need any bullshit right now, Volkov,” she snapped icily. “My right-hand, my confidante, my best friend, is dead because of someone in that bloody warehouse.”

Rhea was never one to openly communicate such raw emotion. Vulnerability wasn’t her forte, as some would say. Nate was potentially one of the few people in Rhea’s life that had seen it, which also meant she knew when she was withholding it. And the way Rhea’s mouth twitched and her nostrils flared a fraction… God, it was chilling.

“It’s torn us apart,” the Australian continued. “Finn, JD… they’ve been going off at night. Come back in the morning smashed out their gourds. Dom Dom’s become a-a fuckin’... I don’t know, a child. Disinterested in figuring this shit out, avoiding any confrontation.”

Nate pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, well, Mysterio’s never had balls big enough for that, has h–”

“Don’t you start on my Dom, alright?” Rhea’s blue eyes locked onto Nate’s; a kind of warning sign to shut the fuck up… Mami is not in the mood, it seems…

“Rhea, I had nothing to do with Damian’s death,” she said sternly. 

The stare-off was intense. Long. It wasn’t in the books to be blamed for Damian’s death, let alone by Rhea Ripley herself.

“I… am not ruling out the possibility that it was your family,” she said finally. “If I find out it was you,” her jaw tightened, “or if you had… any part in this, I swear…”

“You swear you’ll do what?” Nate’s response was automatic, a defensive reflex. She squared up, straightening her posture and lifting her chin in provocation.

Rhea’s eyes hardened, mirroring Nate’s stance. “I will make sure, on the soul of Priest, that you… and everyone you have ever cared about pays.” She placed her hands on the kitchen island and leaned in. “I won’t stop until I’ve torn your world to pieces. Starting with little Katerina.”

Nate clenched her jaw, swallowing harshly as she felt her own muscles twitch—telling her, commanding her, to raise her hand, to slap Rhea into next week. But she remained still.

“Very scary, Rhea,” she managed to calmly utter. “But it wasn’t us. We’re not that stupid.”

Rhea’s gaze bored into her, searching for any hint of deception. Slowly, she seemed to relax, though the mistrust didn’t completely leave her eyes. “Alright, Nate. I’ll take your word for now. But know this,” she pointed her index and middle finger towards her face. “I’ll be watching.”

“Good,” Nate replied, accompanied with a sour smile. “Now can you get the fuck out of my apartment?”

The eradicator’s smirk returned as she headed for the door. “You know, I always liked that spunk, Natalka,” she commented, winking at Nate over her shoulder.

Despite herself, Nate felt a small smile tugging at her lips. But she was very swift to push it back into her face, running her tongue over her teeth.

Complicated histories induce complicated feelings.

Just before Rhea left entirely, Nate did call after her with a slightly softer resolve. “I really am sorry… about Damian.”

Rhea paused at the doorway, her back to Nate. She didn’t turn around, but she nodded slightly. “Thanks,” she murmured, and then she was gone.

Rubbing her temples, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to keep her wits about her, stay sharp, dump the self-pity she had a history of wallowing in. 

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Other things she needed to put her energy into. Sure, it stung to be suspected of such betrayal, especially by someone she had such a rich history with, but she really did need to focus. Review plans for the auction. Make a headstart on bringing justice for her mother.

Look into the man she swore to bring down.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

There was a promise of rain in the Manhattan sky as Nate sat in tense silence, eyes fixed on the cityscape gliding past the window of the SUV. Boris was seated next to her, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit, and casting her sidelong glances every now and then. His attempts at small talk had been met with cold indifference, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Prekrasnoye plat’ye,” he hummed with a slight lean. “Brings out your eyes.”

Nate didn’t bother to reply, only to deposit a glance of her own down at her dress. Her mind was elsewhere. She knew this auction was important, but it really was just another chore for her. Dimitri’s reiteration of his orders before Boris arrived at the house were clear—acquire the weapons, keep an eye on Boris, and most importantly, don’t cause a scene. That little defiant streak in her bristled at the final order. Wanted to defy the notion of not causing a scene. But it wasn’t an option—not when there were such tensions mounting between her family, The Judgement Day, and The Bloodline. It kept repeating in her head: let Reigns announce we took the shipment. He knows they did it, and they’ll pay for it…

The car came to a halt outside Grand Central Terminal. Boris was quick to step out, offering Nate his hand. She ignored it, slipping out of the road-side of the vehicle and adjusting the deep green silk dress that clung to her curves. The slit running up her thigh allowed for much easier movement, though she hated how it made her feel like a display item at one of these auctions.

“Natalka?” Boris said, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice.

Nodding curtly, Nate followed him through the grand entrance of the terminal. The main concourse was as busy as ever, but their destination was far from the prying eyes of tourists and commuters. They made their way to a hidden entrance near The Campbell Bar, a restored 1920s-era cocktail lounge that served as a front for tonight’s event.

The bar’s luxurious interior—dark wood panelling, vintage leather chairs, and dim lighting—set the tone for the evening. They were greeted by a tall, stern-looking man who eyed them both before nodding and stepping aside to reveal a stairwell leading down to the auction room.

The room below was a stark contrast to the opulence above. It was an intimate, dimly lit space, with the rich and powerful of New York’s underworld already seated around a series of tables, discussing the illicit goods that would soon be up for bid. 

Nate’s eyes swept across the room, assessing each figure. She recognised some of them—arms dealers, drug lords, and corrupt politicians. Others were new faces, potential threats she needed to keep in mind.

Boris loved to play up to the people—to play the part of the doting gentleman. He guided Nate to their reserved seats right near the front. Eyes landed on her as they passed through the crowd, men noting her presence, women sizing her up. But she was used to this—the scrutiny, the judgement. It all slid off her like water off a duck’s back.

The auctioneer, a slim man with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit, took his place on the small stage at the front of the room, tapping the microphone to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began with a smoothly practised cadence, “we have some exceptional items up for bid tonight. But first, let’s start with something a little closer to home…”

The first few items were standard fare—high-end jewellery, rare art pieces, a couple of luxury vehicles. All of them stolen goods with tampered mileage and licence plates, of course. Nothing that caught Nate’s interest. She waited patiently, though, knowing the real reason for their presence was still to come.

Finally, the auctioneer reached the point of the evening that had everyone leaning forward in their seats.

“And now, for those of you with more… unique tastes,” he said with a knowing smile, “we present a collection of belt-buckle knives and sword canes, custom-made and perfect for those unexpected moments when a more subtle touch is required.”

Nate felt Boris shift next to her, a greedy glint in his eyes. This was what they were here for. She watched as the auctioneer’s assistants brought out the weapons, displaying them with care. The room buzzed with mumbles and murmurs as the bidding began.

Her mind was sharp, calculating each move. She noted who was bidding, how high they were willing to go, and when it seemed as if the bid couldn’t go higher, that was when they’d sweep in. Whenever Boris raised his paddle to bid, she shot him a quick glance, subtly signalling her validation. He nodded, understanding her cue. They usually had limits, but that wasn’t the case tonight. Dimitri wanted those knives, and he would get them.

As the bids climbed higher, nearing six digits, Nate took a moment to survey the room again. She wanted to know who had given up on their bids and who still had the money to continue. But that’s when she saw it. Noticed it. The familiar face in the crowd—tall, imposing, and stood towards the back. In the shadows.

Roman Reigns.

Her heart skipped a beat, her crossed legs stiffening under the mask of her dress. What the hell is he doing here?

The golden-green of her eyes shot through the darkness in which he presided, when his own gaze landed on her, the recognition in them too stark not to notice. He knew the Volkovs would be there. Had to—why else wouldn’t he react similarly to how she was? Or maybe he was and he was just fucking good at hiding it. At least she was wearing a dress to cover up how tense her muscles became.

“195,000!”

As the bidding war intensified, Nate’s focus snapped back to the auction. Boris was still in the game, thank God, his hand raised as the numbers climbed higher and higher. But her mind was now divided, half on the auction, and half on Roman.

“205,000!”

Why is he here? What is he after? Why isn’t he bidding?

“Sold! For $230,000 to bidder number 13!”

Boris won the bid just as Nate’s thoughts began to spiral. The gavel came down with a resounding thud, and a smattering of spiteful applause broke out in the room. Boris turned to her with a smug grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“See? Easy,” he whispered, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

Nate forced a little smile, but she was already thinking ahead. The auction wasn’t over, but her attention was no longer on the weapons they’d just won for Dimitri. She needed to know what Roman was doing there, and more importantly, if it had anything to do with the shipment.

As the next item was brought to the stage, she glanced back to where Roman had been standing, but he was gone. Her pulse quickened. The unease settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even care about the additional illicit items that were put up for bid. Boris was completely oblivious to her almost frantic scan of the room, probably taking a moment to stroke his own ego at the win. Even if it was a given, and money bore no issue.

Suddenly, the lights flickered—a brief pulse of darkness that sent a murmur through the crowd. Nate stiffened once again, her instincts screaming at her that something was seriously wrong.

And then it happened.

The room plunged into darkness, the auctioneer’s voice cutting off mid-sentence. The dim emergency lights kicked on, casting an eerie red glow over the room. People began shifting uneasily in their seats, some even rising to leave.

“Uh—apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer tried to project his voice over the switched-off microphone. He leaned back to talk to someone, presumably asking what the fuck was going on. “It seems there’s been a bit of a technical difficulty, just bear with us…”

“Stay here,” Nate hissed at Boris, already pushing up from her chair.

“But—” Boris began, but Nate was already moving, slipping through the crowd during their none-the-wiser confusion. Some people were clogged near the exit, their natural instincts telling them they had to leave, but Nate wasn’t heading that way.

“You!” Nate spun to see another man in a perfect suit. “You’ve been here before, right?”

She raised an eyebrow, and nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

“You know where the fuse box is? I gotta keep everyone under control.”

“What do I look like, a janitor?”

“Will you just go check on it?”

Nate sighed, realising that doing this simple, tedious favour for a stranger would be synonymous with Dimitri’s order of not causing a scene.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

She did, in fact, know exactly where the fuse box was. It wasn’t too many years ago where she was instructed to switch the damn thing off in order to secure an item without bidding for it. Play the role of a ditsy woman who didn’t know any better once someone saw her standing near it.

As she navigated the darkened corridors towards the fuse box, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Being alone down here, in such strange circumstances. None of it just seemed right to her.

She turned a corner and nearly collided with someone in the narrow hallway. As the faint, red emergency lights flickered, she found herself face-to-face with none other than the exact man she was so unnerved seeing earlier on.

They froze, staring at each other for a moment that felt like an eternity. Neither of them had met in person before, but they knew each other by reputation. God, did they know of each other… Roman’s family may have been less familiar with the Volkov family, minus Tamina who literally knew everything, but he knew as much as he needed to. Research and all.

For Nate, the anger was instant. Being this close to the man responsible for not only Damian’s death, but for her family missing out on a prime shipment of goods. Words evaded her momentarily, and she took an instinctual step backwards.

“What are you doing here?” Nate snapped sharply.

He smirked a little, rocking back on his heels. “Thought I’d check out this wonderful place y’all got here—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Reigns, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Whatever was left of the smile on Roman’s face instantly faltered, and his eyes became icy, cold, narrowed with frustration. “Listen, Princess, I ain’t here to pull shit… Unlike your family, I have some con—”

“Unlike my family?” Nate huffed, pointing to herself. “What, the family that your family fucked over?”

“Think I’m just gon’ spill my business to you, Volkov?” He let out a rueful chuckle, running his hand over his beard. 

“Yes, actually,” Nate folded her arms, pursing her lips. “When it involves getting screwed by some sloppy amateurs, yeah…” She squinted her eyes slightly up at the over 6ft Samoan. “...I think you should spill your business.”

Roman’s eyebrows raised a little, slightly taken aback at how bold this… little girl in front of him seemed to be. How she just carelessly called The Bloodline sloppy amateurs. Impressed wouldn’t be the correct word here, but the correct one was floating nearby it. It still pissed him off to no end that she thought she could speak to him like that.

“You got some fuckin’ nerve,” he grumbled, jaw clenching.

Nate smirked, amused at the fact she clearly managed to creep under his skin, even if only a little bit. “Y’know, people speak, Reigns. I’ve heard a lot about you, and not only from my father.”

Tilting his head to the side, Roman gauged her tone. Smug. Provocative in all the wrong ways. “Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean, Princess?”

“It means I didn’t expect to be able to anger you so easily, Mr Head of the Table…” The smirk on her face turned pitiful. It almost bordered on a pout, mocking his very existence through the red hue of the corridor.

She watched with great interest as his features twisted, neck craning through an attempt to subdue the inevitable outburst that bubbled up within his chest. He couldn’t make a move on her. Couldn’t bash her pretty little head against the breeze block wall inches to their left. It would be the stupidest decision he’d ever make. He would be dealt with… irreparably.

She chuckled, stepping back again to lean against the wall opposite him. “So let’s cut the shit,” she started, her face dropping neutrally. “I think we both know why you’re really at an underground auction. And it’s not to admire the architecture.”

Okay, she’s good, she’s good… Roman found himself stunned—for a microsecond, but it still happened nonetheless. The last thing he expected was to confront Natalka Volkov tonight; Tamina was very thorough with what the best cause of action would be. As much as he desperately wanted to take the abduction route, to use Dimitri Volkov’s precious daughter as a pawn to get his half of the shipment back… He had to trust that Tamina knew enough about the Volkovs to know that taking Natalka hostage would be the least helpful solution.

He just didn’t expect the girl to square up to him verbally.

But as encumbered as his thoughts were in that moment, they were fleeting, and he was able to respond almost immediately.

“Damn right it ain’t to admire the architecture—I came to take back what’s mine.”

“And what exactly is it that you claim is yours?”

Seriously? “You gon’ ask me that? You really gon’ stand there in front of me, and ask me a dumb fuckin’ question when you know exactly what I’m talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Well, maybe you should tell me what you’re talking ab–”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout my half of that damn shipment!” He hissed through gritted teeth.

Nate scrunched her brows up, pushing herself up from the wall. “Oh, the shipment that you took?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Volkov, if I had that shit, do you really think I’d be stood here talkin’ to your ass right now?”

“And if I had it, do you think I’d be down here, looking for a fucking fuse box so I can get the fuck out of here, let alone talking to you?”

“Oh, so it’s just a coincidence that you’re here with your fiancé, at a fuckin’ auction, right after a whole ass shipment disappears—you people really need to work on your stories, ‘cus they suck.”

“You people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you people,” he finally took a hefty step towards her, “you, your daddy, your uncles, and whoever else the Russians fuck with these days.”

Nate refused to back down. She wasn’t about to be ridiculed, talked down to, accused, by someone like Roman fucking Reigns.

“Okay, big man, let’s say we did take the shipment and kill off The Judgement Day’s VP—we didn’t—but let’s just say we did for a second…” her voice dropped to a confident, patronising hum. “The last thing I’d be doing is wandering around New York with little to no protection, present at an auction if a shipment of weapons we stole was being put up.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Ugh,” she groaned, running her hand over her face. “My dad wanted this collection of knives, Reigns, we aren’t here to sell a shipment of heavy-duty weaponry. Y’know… the weapons you stole.” She added through a mumble.

“We didn’t steal shit, Volkov,” he barked.

“Well if you didn’t, then who the fuck did?!” Nate flung her arms up. “It sure as fuck wasn’t us, it had to have been you!” Alright, rein it in a little, Nate, don’t let your emotions get the better of you…

Roman’s fists clenched at his sides, rolling his shoulders. “You really expect me to believe you had nothin’ to do with it?”

“We’re not that stupid.” Four words, each punctuated like a stab in the ribs. “I cannot think of a single reason why we would ambush our own shipment and take out an ally.”

Roman then took a smaller step towards Nate, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. “Maybe you wanted more than what was agreed.”

Nate’s heart pounded in her chest. “Maybe you were looking for an excuse to clean house. Blame us, take over… Call it retribution.”

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t born of hostility. It was the silence of two people realising that the pieces of the puzzle they’d been trying to force together didn’t fit, no matter how hard they pushed. Nate’s gaze faltered for a fraction of a second, a moment of hesitation that she immediately regretted.

Finally, needing to break the tension and get away from the confusing mess of thoughts swirling around in her head, Nate took a step back. “I’m checking the fuse box,” she said, the words coming out sharper than the words that started the conversation. “If you want to keep playing detective, be my fucking guest, Reigns.”

She turned on her heel without waiting for a response, leaving Roman alone with his own puzzled thoughts on who was to blame.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman was expecting—no, hoping—to come home to a silent house. Too much had happened over the past few hours, he really needed time to just… exist. Try to regain composure, a semblance of cognitive power, to figure out what the fuck he was going to do.

It wasn’t that he believed Natalka Volkov when she insisted her family had nothing to do with Priest’s assassination, or the disappearing shipment. As she loved to remind him, one could not be so stupid. But he’d be a liar if he said some of her points didn’t… make sense.

When Roman stepped inside, he was met with the muffled sound of voices coming from the living room. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before heading in. The sight that greeted him wasn’t what he wanted after the night he’d had. Tamina was in the kitchen, packing up her laptop, looking more frustrated than he’d ever seen her.

“You’re still here?” he asked, the edge in his voice suggesting it was more of a lament than a question.

Tamina looked up with tired eyes. “It’s like tryin’ to find a needle in a stack of fucking needles.” She closed her laptop with a soft thud, rubbing her temples. “Closest I got is a fucking liquor store’s CCTV across from the Volkov’s warehouse in Queens. Not much to go on, though.”

Roman sighed, running a hand over his face. “I appreciate it… but if there’s nothin’ solid, we’ll just… regroup tomorrow or somethin’.”

She gave him a curt nod, gathering her things. “Alright. Just don’t do anything rash, we still don’t know who’s pullin’ the strings here.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, though his thoughts were already a tangled mess of plans, suspicions, and dead ends. “Thanks, ‘Mina.”

Just as Tamina was packing up, the unmistakable sound of boisterous laughter erupted from the next room. Roman’s shoulders slumped in exasperation. Of course, they’re still here too…

He found them sprawled out on his sectional, their energy levels somehow still through the roof, even at this hour. Jey was flipping through channels like he was searching for something he’d never find, while Jimmy was narrating some ridiculous plan about how they should handle the Volkovs.

“Bruh, I’m tellin’ you, we gotta roll up on ‘em, catch ‘em slippin’!” Jimmy grinned, throwing an uppercut in the air.

Roman leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, exhaustion dripping from every pore. “Y’all ever go home?” he grumbled, though it was clear the question was nothing short of rhetorical.

“Home? Uce, you know this is home,” Jey replied with a wide grin, finally landing on some late-night talk show that neither of them would actually watch.

Roman gave him a flat look. “Funny. Real funny.” He walked further into the room, lowering himself onto the opposite end of the couch with a weary grunt.

“You find out what went down at that auction?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Roman resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing his attempt to deter wouldn’t be enough.

“Come on, man, you know we gotta know!” Jimmy chimed in, sitting up and looking at his cousin eagerly. “We can help, you know we got your back.”

Roman huffed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck. He knew they meant well, but right now, their relentless energy level was the last thing he needed.

“Fine,” he relented sharply. “Natalka Volkov swears they didn’t take the shipment–”

“Damn, you actually talked to he–”

“She claims they’re just as in the dark as we are. And she was pretty damn convincing…”

Jey whistled low, exchanging a look with Jimmy. “So what, you think someone else is playin’ both sides?”

“Could be,” Roman replied, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. “But I don’t trust her. Could just be another angle she’s working.”

Jimmy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Man, we should just storm their warehouse, make ‘em talk. They can’t hide from us. You need–”

“What I need is quiet. Not a couple of hyperactive idiots who think they can solve everything with some half-baked, adrenaline-fuelled idea.”

“Okay, but hear me out–”

Roman cut him off with a sharp glare. “Enough.”

The room went silent, the energy dampening as Roman’s tone shifted from annoyed to outright deadly. “You think I haven’t thought of it all already? You think I’m playin’ with some amateurs here?”

“Chill, Uce,” Jey said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We just tryna help.”

“I don’t need help. I need you both to leave,” Roman snapped, the fatigue in his voice barely masking the anger simmering underneath. “Now.”

The Usos exchanged another look, this one less amused. They could tell Roman was done, and for once, they didn’t push back.

“Alright, alright, we’re gone,” Jimmy said, getting up. “But just say the word, and we’re there.”

“Yeah,” Jey added, grabbing his phone from the table and patting Roman on the shoulder. “We got your back, Uce.”

Roman didn’t respond, just watched as they finally made their way to the door, their presence a lingering buzz in his already overworked mind.

As the door clicked shut behind them, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. The silence in the house settled around him like a blanket, but instead of comfort, all he felt was the weight of everything that happened—and everything that still needed to be done.

Finally, he allowed himself to sink into the couch, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the world for just a few minutes. But even in the quiet, all he could think about was how… wrong everything felt. He wasn’t sure who was telling the truth, wasn’t sure who was lying to his face, or who might already have a knife aimed at his back.

He just knew he was too damn tired to figure it out tonight.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d sort this shit out. But tonight… The man just needed a few hours of sleep.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 7 | S.R

Not my gif

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A/N - sorry it has been so long since I updated this, I have not have the impetus to write this fic but I am trying to restart it. Massive thank you to @reidselle for encouraging me to start writing this again and for reading chapters and discussing ideas with me, you are an angel 🖤

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s still reeling from the aftermath of his drunken mistake. With Luke’s words playing on his mind, he starts to realise his feelings towards his broken marriage aren’t as black and white as he thought.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - mentions of affairs, Spencer questions everything, swearing.

WC - 5.1k

Chapter 7 - All At Once

And all at once the crowd begins to sing,

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.

Maybe you want her, maybe you need her,

Maybe you started to compare to someone not there. 

The weekend's events had taken so much out of Spencer he didn’t have a chance to call you and apologise for his drunken behaviour. 

In fact, if he was perfectly honest, with everything else going on he’d completely pushed it to the back of his mind. 

On Sunday he spent the day at the mall with the girls in an attempt to cheer Daisy up. 

Spencer loathed shopping. He only went shopping when he absolutely had to. Malls were too busy for his liking and most things were overpriced. But Daisy and Lily loved to shop, mostly because it wasn’t their hard earned money they were spending. 

He spent the day traipsing after them, lugging bags full of their hauls around while they ran from shop to shop excitedly. 

He practically brought Daisy a whole new wardrobe while Lily damn near put the toy store out of business. 

They ate pretzels in the food court while Spencer rested his aching arms from being their designated bag carrier. 

Lily fell asleep on the car ride home surrounded by all her new toys while Daisy excitedly looked over her new clothes. 

He spent hundreds of dollars trying to make up for the way Maeve had hurt her. He even let the girls talk him into buying an even bigger, plusher and more expensive bed for a dog he hated who never slept in his own bed anyway. 

By the time they made it home he was exhausted. He was too tired to cook so he ordered pizza which they ate in the living room while they rewatched Encanto for what had to be the fiftieth time. 

When he put them to bed they were both singing We Don’t Talk About Bruno, which Spencer also had stuck in his head when he crawled into his own bed. 

He also found himself humming it absent-mindedly in the shower the next morning, mentally cursing his girls for making him sit through that movie again. 

It was still whirring its way around his brain while he made the girls breakfast. 

He drove them to school after breakfast and dropped Taco off at the kennel and it was only after he was finally alone, his thoughts fell back to his monumentally stupid drunken mistake. 

Checking his watch and seeing he had time before he had to be on campus he made a pit stop at the florists. 

It was a good job he had time to spare because he spent an unfathomable amount of time staring at a wide variety of flowers in various colours.

He must have looked utterly lost as a young girl soon came over and asked if he needed help. 

Yes, he most certainly did. 

“I uh…I need something that says I’m sorry.” He toyed awkwardly with the strap of his satchel. 

The girl gave him a slightly playful smile. 

“You wouldn’t believe how often we get people in here looking for the exact same thing.” 

“What would you recommend?” 

“Well, lilies are great for apologising as they can express a new chapter. But roses are really romantic. White orchids are also good as they represent sincerity. And blue hyacinths look stunning in an apology bouquet.” She motioned around the various flowers she was describing while Spencer stared wide eyed in confusion. 

“Uh…” he scratched the back of his neck. “All of them. Just put all of them in a bouquet. A huge one. It doesn’t matter what it costs.” 

“Sure.” She looked a little startled by his choice, most guys just went for whatever was cheapest. 

She admired his decision. 

Spencer tapped his foot in the ground while the girl went about fashioning a giant bouquet of whites and blues and reds and yellows. 

She tied them all off in a big red ribbon and looked proud by her creation. 

Admittedly it did look beautiful and Spencer knew next to nothing about flower arranging. 

He paid two hundred dollars for the privilege and thanked the young girl before hurrying out of the store barely able to see over the large array. 

He quickly stopped at a coffee house and ordered an extra large cinnamon latte which was your favourite. 

The flowers took up the whole front seat of the car and the smell was overwhelming so he had to drive with the windows open. 

He felt heads turning and eyebrows furrowed into frowns as he got out of his car with the huge bouquet. It was like a large flashing beacon that he’d fucked up. 

He tried to ignore all the eyes on him as he waited for you outside the psychology building, flowers in one hand, coffee in the other. 

The weather was desperately trying to warm up and was slowly succeeding and the morning sun beating down on him made sweat gather at his temples. 

The nerves didn’t help. 

You couldn’t have looked any less amused when you spotted him, only just able to see him over the almost comically large bunch of flowers. 

If he wasn’t standing right outside the building you needed access to, you would have walked any other direction to avoid him. 

You clenched your jaw tightly and hugged your purse close to your body as you approached him. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke the second you were in earshot. “I am so, so sorry. I was drunk, not that that’s an excuse but I was. I had a bad day and I was a fucking idiot. I am so, so sorry Y/N.” 

You didn’t say anything. Not a word. Honestly you didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t either be fuck you or go to hell. 

He proffered the flowers towards you. 

“I’m really, really sorry.” He pouted a little.

He did look apologetic, almost pathetically so and there was a part of you that felt sorry for him. 

Not a big enough part to forgive him though. 

You took the flowers from his hand and Spencer momentarily believed things were going to be ok. 

But then you dropped the bouquet on the floor and stamped heavily on them with your heeled boot.

You didn’t stop there. 

You took the coffee out of his hand, removed the lid and poured the scalding liquid all over the crushed pile of flowers.

Spencer’s face fell.

“Oh come on, that was two hundred dollars worth of flowers.” He groaned, shoulders slumping. 

“You think coffee and flowers are going to make up for what you did?” You spat at him. 

“Not entirely. But I thought it might be a start.” He shrugged meekly, toying with his satchel. 

“Well it isn’t.” You stomped on the flowers again. “You were a world class asshole, Spencer. You do not get to show up at my apartment drunk in the middle of night and try to force me into bed! And the things you said to me…I am not a fling. I am not looking to be a casual hook up and if that’s all you want then you should find someone else.” 

“Y/N, I didn’t mean for you to-“

“Go to hell, Doctor Reid.” You cut him off, stamping on the flowers one more time for good measure. “Respectfully, go to hell.” 

He watched you storm past him inside the building, knowing nothing he could say was going to make this better. 

He’d really fucked this one up. And he had no idea how to fix it.

***

He left a cinnamon latte for you every single day for the next week in Monroe’s classroom. 

He left post it notes on your car that told you how sorry he was. 

He tried at every available opportunity to tell you to your face how sorry he was but every time you caught a glimpse of him, you would turn and walk in the opposite direction. 

He didn’t blame you. But he wished you would give him a chance to explain. 

Not that there was much to explain. He was drunk and he’d been forceful. He’d said horrible things to you. 

An explanation wasn’t really warranted. 

But that didn’t mean he was going to give up. He wasn’t giving you up without a fight. 

It didn’t matter that the two of you had only been on one date, you were all he could think about. You’d left a lasting impression in his heart and he wasn’t letting you just walk away. 

But he knew he couldn’t keep pushing you. You had to want to talk to him. If he kept trying to force you forgive him, he would end up pushing you away. 

He had to give it time and hope that you would come to forgive him on your own. 

In lieu of making things up with you, he had made up with Luke, even if slightly begrudgingly. 

They’d talked on the phone for the best part of a whole evening after the girls were asleep. Luke apologised for the way things had come out. He hadn’t meant them quite as they sounded 

Spencer in turn apologised for reacting the way he had, even though he still felt he was completely justified. 

Luke surprised him somewhat when he asked him, “did you ever really deal with Maeve’s affair?” 

“What do you mean?” Spencer frowned, putting his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair. 

“When you talk about it, you always talk about the effect it had on your kids but never how it affected you.” Luke was in full on profiler mode. Spencer had heard that voice countless times. 

“The fact that it affected my kids, affected me.” Spencer’s frown deepened. 

“I know you say it was a marriage of convenience but you were together a long time, Reid. You must have had some kind of feelings for her. It must have hurt.” Luke’s tone was soft yet held a hind of accusation. 

“Not especially.” Spencer shrugged. 

“Spencer,” Luke’s timbre shifted. “The woman you spent a large portion of your life with cheated on you. Your house is still like a goddamn shrine to the life you used to have. And you’ve never gotten over your anger towards her. I think that’s because she hurt you more than you want to admit. You like to pretend you didn’t love her and that you’re unaffected by what happened because you think it’s easier to deal with if you pretend it doesn’t hurt. But sometimes, pain needs to be felt.” 

“Have you ever thought about being a therapist?” Spencer rolled his eyes and sat up in the chair. “I’m fine Luke. I’m angry because she tore my family apart. I’m angry because my kids now only get to see their mother twice a month. I’m angry because I had to reevaluate my whole life after she left. 

But I’m not hurt, I’m not heartbroken. And my house is not a shrine. I work and when I’m not working I’m taking care of my daughters and now some stupid dog too. I’ve been meaning to call Morgan to help me renovate it. I just haven’t had time.” 

“If you insist.” Luke sighed. “I won’t keep pushing it. But just know I’m here if you ever need to talk.” 

“I know. Thanks. But I really am fine.” Spencer stood up and stretched his back. “I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah no worries. Talk soon.” Luke replied and then hung up. 

Spencer kept his phone in his hand and typed out a quick text to you, almost identical to the ones he’d sent you every night this week. 

📲 Y/N Y/L/N: I’m still so sorry. I miss you. Please talk to me. Goodnight, beautiful. 

He checked in on the girls who were both sleeping soundly before having a quick shower and crawling into his own bed. 

And once again, he dreamt of you. 

***

It was probably for the best that you weren’t talking to him and that he hadn’t made plans with you for his child free weekend because he didn’t get a child free weekend. 

He picked Lily and Daisy up from school on Friday and drove them to Maeve’s only for Daisy to refuse to get out of the car. 

“Pumpkin, it’s your weekend with your mom, you have to go.” Spencer turned in his seat to face her. 

“No.” She spoke stubbornly. “I don’t want to see her.”

“You can’t stay mad at her forever.” Spencer leaned over the centre console and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Yes I can.” She huffed. 

“Why don’t you want to see mommy?” Lily spoke up from the backseat. 

“Because I hate her.” Daisy stomped her foot on the floor. 

“Daisy, please don’t say that in front of your sister.” 

“Why? It’s true.” 

Spencer sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“What about if Taco comes to mommy’s with you?” It would be doing him a favour too. 

“Yes! Let’s go get Taco!” Lily beamed. 

“No!” Daisy raised her voice. “I’m not going in there and you can’t make me!” 

She was right, he couldn’t. 

So in the end Lily had stayed at Maeve’s and Daisy had come home with Spencer. 

It was strange just having one of the girls, it wasn’t often the two were apart. It was almost like the days before Lily was born. 

He cooked dinner for the two of them and they ate ice cream for dessert. 

Daisy sat in Spencer’s office with him, laying on the floor with Taco while he graded papers. 

Usually Spencer liked to work alone, the kids rarely came in his office. But he found the sounds of Daisy cooing over the dog relaxing and every now and again when he heard her giggle over the mutt it made his heart swell in his chest. 

“Are you having fun there, pumpkin?” He asked her with an amused smile as he scrawled some notes on one of his students papers.

“Yeah, Taco is the best.” She giggled, giving Taco a belly scratch which he adored. “And it’s nice and quiet, like before Lily was born.” 

Spencer’s pen dropped from his hand as he looked at the back of his daughter's head where she laid on her front on the floor, her thick dark hair tied up on the back of her head. 

“What?” He frowned a little, thinking he must have misunderstood her. 

She rolled over onto her back and propped herself up on her one good arm. 

“I miss it sometimes. Before Lily was born and it was just you, me and mom. Did mom have an affair because of Lily?” She asked curiously. 

Spencer tried to hide his shock, knowing his daughter could read his features. 

He pushed himself up from his chair and rounded the desk, coming over to where Daisy and Taco laid. 

He lowered himself carefully to the floor, grimacing a little as an ache spread through the old injury in his leg. 

He sat next to her, stretching his legs out across the dark carpet. 

“What your mom did was neither of your faults. You know that, don’t you?” 

Daisy shrugged. 

“Why did you have Lily? I miss being an only child.” She changed the subject. 

“She’s your sister, don’t say that, please.” 

“We were happy before Lily.” Daisy shrugged again, crossing her legs and pulling Taco into her lap. 

“And we were happy after Lily too.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she instinctively leaned into her fathers body. 

“Do you think mom would have cheated on you if you didn’t have Lily?” 

“I don’t know, pumpkin.” He sighed, pulling her closer. “But Lily isn’t the reason she cheated. And neither are you. I guess…I guess I just couldn’t make her happy.” 

“It’s not that I don’t love Lily.” Daisy tugged at Taco’s ear. “I just miss having all of your love.” 

Spencer felt his heart tear in half. He moved his hand from around her shoulder and cupped her jaw gently, guiding her to look at him. 

“Daisy,” he spoke seriously. “Just because I love your sister, it didn’t for a second make me love you any less, ok? You’re my baby girl, the first time I held you in my arms I felt like I could breathe properly for the first time in my life. The first time you looked at me, I finally knew the reason I was put on this Earth. And that was to love you and be your father. Please never think I could love you any less. You are my whole world ok, pumpkin?”

He felt choked up by the end of his speech and he noticed Daisy had tears in her eyes. 

She was quick to sit back and wipe her eyes on her sleeve. 

“God, mushy much dad?” She scoffed and Spencer chucked. 

He leaned in and placed another kiss at her temple. 

“Love you too, pumpkin.” He laughed against her skin. 

***

Spencer found Luke’s words were taking up too much space in his brain. 

When he awoke Saturday morning he laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and just enjoying a moment of peace before Daisy woke up. 

Although it wasn’t all that peaceful.

He was ruminating on Luke’s implications of him living in a shrine. 

It wasn’t as though Spencer meant to do that. He really hadn’t had the time to even think about redecorating. 

Ok, maybe that wasn’t true. He had thought about it, quite often in fact. But there was always some kind of blocker between the thought and the action. For whatever reason, he’d never gotten over that hurdle of actually making a change. 

But it wasn’t because he was clinging to his old life. He didn’t pine over his broken marriage, he didn’t wish for Maeve to see sense and come home. 

But maybe there was a small chance that the reason he’d held off for so long was partly due to the fact that once he changed the house, there was no going back. 

If he decorated it was effectively shattering his dreams of the future he’d planned even though, really, those dreams had been destroyed over a year ago. 

Had he really been grasping at his old life so hard and not even realised? 

Something had to change. 

After breakfast he and Daisy went to the hardware store and he let her pick out a new paint for the living room. 

It wasn’t much but it was a start. It was something to prove he wasn’t living in a shrine to his ex-wife. 

Initially she’d chosen a gawdy bright green shade but thankfully Spencer had talked her down to a much more eye pleasing sage.  

The two of them spent the day painting the room, well Spencer did most of it while Daisy kept getting distracted by Taco. And Daisy did only have one good arm, which she kept reminding him. 

But by the time he was finished he felt accomplished. The new colour was much more his style than the buttermilk yellow Maeve had painted the walls when they moved in. 

The only room he’d really aided in decorating was his office with its dark walls, leather desk chair and dark oak desk and bookshelves. 

He’d still be working at the BAU when they moved in and as such wasn’t around much to help make decorating decisions. 

He’d never disliked the way she’d designed the house but maybe it never quite felt like home as it should have. 

The sage green walls felt more cosy. It was reminiscent of his old apartment, the apartment he’d loved so much. He felt comfortable with a darker aesthetic, which was probably strange but to Spencer it felt more homely. 

Spencer always felt more at ease in darkness, he decided not to dwell too long on that thought and what that meant about his mental state. 

He should call Morgan and have him gut this place and start again from scratch. But he wasn’t quite ready to take that step. And not because he was pining over his old life. 

He didn’t know why. But not everything needed to have a reason. 

Once the painting was done and feeling much more satisfied with his living situation, he cooked dinner for the two of them and after he let Daisy choose a movie which he fell asleep halfway through. 

The closing credits woke him and he rubbed his eyes before focusing on Daisy who had her smartphone pointing at him. 

“What are you doing?” He grumbled, feeling the weight of the dog was laying on his chest. 

“Taking pictures.” She giggled. 

“Why?” He shuffled up the couch a little. 

“You look funny.” She snapped one more picture before her dad got mad. 

“How do I look funny?” He scooted the dog off of him and sat up properly, rubbing his eyes again. 

“See for yourself.” She handed him her phone and he stared at the photograph of his sleeping form, mangy dog sleeping soundly on him. 

But that’s not what he was looking at. 

“For the love of god!” He groaned, jumping up and dashing to the mirror by the door. 

“The paint must still have been wet.” Daisy giggled again. 

Spencer had two very distinctive sage coloured doggy paw prints on his face and many more covering his shirt. 

He glanced around and saw a spot on the wall near the TV where the idiotic mutt had put his front paws in the wet paint. 

There was a trail of the sage prints in the carpet from the wall to the couch. 

“This is why I didn’t want a freaking dog.” Spencer huffed as he made his way to the kitchen to clean his face. “What time is it?” 

“Uh…eight?” Daisy sounded unsure of herself. 

“Which means it’s actually later than that and you don’t want to tell me because you don’t want to go to bed.” He chuckled, wiping his face with some kitchen paper. 

“No.” Daisy whined. “Not true.” 

“You know I’m wearing a watch, right?” As he said this he glanced at it and saw it was a little after ten. “Bedtime missy.” 

“Boo!” Daisy sulked. 

He finished up cleaning his face, thankful the paint seemed to come off easily and came back through to the living room where his stubborn daughter sat vigil on the couch. 

“Come on, pumpkin. I can read to you if you like? We haven’t done that in a while.” 

She pulled a face like she was contemplating this for a moment or two. 

“Can Taco come to bed with me?” 

“Sure, why not. It’s not like I’ve brought him two dog beds or anything.” He sighed. 

Daisy happily picked up the little dog and carried him upstairs where she set him on her bed. 

Spencer sat with him while she went through to the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. 

He tucked her in and Taco curled up by her side. 

Spencer slotted himself on the small part of the empty mattress that was left and Daisy handed him a book. 

He read to her until she was sound asleep, snoring a little. She got that from her mother. 

He kissed her forehead and switched off the light before creeping from the room. 

He thought about having a drink but he was still ashamed of his actions the last time he drank so he decided against it. 

He pulled out his phone as he flopped to the couch and sent you a text. 

📲 Y/N Y/L/N: I really am so sorry. Please can we talk? I miss your voice. Goodnight, beautiful. 

Spencer stared at the freshly painted wall and the paw prints left in it, still having Luke’s words swirling around his brain. 

He didn’t love Maeve. He wasn’t heartbroken over her infidelity. He didn’t need to deal with what she’d done because he hadn’t affected him. Had it? 

Somehow he found himself on his feet and moving books aside on the bookshelf that shielded his gun safe. 

He hadn’t actually kept a gun in it for years, not since he left the bureau. But old habits die hard. 

He entered the combination and opened the thick metal door. His hand shook a little as he pulled out the photo album kept hidden inside. 

It was white once but was dirtied from fingerprints over the years. It was a little scuffed around the edges but that was probably from him stuffing it inside the safe that was just a little too small for it. 

Spencer didn’t know why he kept in there. He supposed it was because he didn’t want the kids stumbling across it and having to look at it before he was ready, before he had the capacity to take this particular trip down memory lane. 

He hadn’t even thought about the album in the year since he’d put it in there. He’d physically locked it away whilst mentally locking away the memories that went with the photographs. 

He took it back over to the couch and tentatively flipped to the first page. 

The first photograph depicted an unusually sunny fall day outside of DC city hall. Spencer wore a suit from his closet and Maeve wore a simple white summer dress, her pregnant belly very noticeable with the slim fitting nature of the dress. 

They both smiled brightly while Morgan snapped the photograph of them showing off their matching gold wedding bands, Spencer’s free hand cupping her stomach that housed baby Daisy. 

He saw no doubts in his eyes, no hint that he was only marrying this woman because he’d gotten her pregnant. He looked genuinely elated to be married. He didn’t remember ever feeling that happy. 

On the next page was a series of photos with the backdrop of a hospital room. 

Images of Spencer fussing over Maeve while she was in labour, a slightly fretful look on his features. 

There was a photo of Maeve with the newborn on her chest, seconds after she was born and Daisy was held by her mother for the first time. 

Another of Spencer in the worn leather chair next to the bed with the tiny seven pound baby cradled in his arms as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

There were a couple more of the three of them together in the hospital room and as they left the hospital the following day, Spencer and Maeve held hands while his free one carried Daisy in her rocker. 

The look on Spencer’s face in each one could only be described as pure bliss. 

There were pictures of Daisy with each member of her new family, with her Aunties Emily, JJ and Penelope and her Uncles Derek and Aaron and grandpa Dave. 

There were photographs from a few weeks later when they’d travelled to Vegas so Diana could meet her granddaughter. 

Diana’s smile when she held Daisy for the first time was the brightest he’d ever seen on his mother. She’d been lucid that day, thank god, and had cried and cooed over the gorgeous little bundle her son had created. 

Other photographs of Daisy’s first steps, her first time on the potty, her first Christmas and birthdays littered the pages. 

Birthday cakes and presents wrapped for a child too young to understand what they were. 

Gaudy Christmas jumpers set against the backdrop of an overly decorated tree. Paper hats from crackers adorned on heads. A small child overstimulated by a holiday she couldn’t comprehend. 

And in every single one he and Maeve looked so happy. The images showed them sharing loving looks, exchanging soft touches. 

If the photos didn’t exist, Spencer wouldn’t have believed it. His memories didn’t allow him to recall the joyful moments, only the hurt and the anger. 

Even as he looked at them he struggled to remember ever feeling the way the man in the photographs looked. 

The further into the album he got showed Maeve’s belly growing for the second time and more hospital photographs with Lily featuring Aunty Tara, and Uncles Luke and Matt. 

More holiday photos lined the pages, this time with Daisy helping her sister open her presents. 

Lots of photos of the two girls together riddled the pages. Daisy holding Lily’s hand while she learnt to walk, Daisy reading to her little sister. Daisy cuddling her new little sister and beaming proudly. 

They looked like the perfect family, smiling for the camera. But what was hiding beneath? Were they ever really happy at all? 

About a year after Lily’s birth, the photographs just stopped. The empty pages at the end of the album taunted Spencer. 

They just stopped. Ended with no warning. It was as though all the happy, smiling faces of the pages before had died. 

Maybe they had. 

Tensions had been high between him and Maeve after Spencer gave up the BAU. He resented Maeve and to a certain extent his beautiful daughter, for having to give up a job he adored. 

He was frustrated and exhausted all the time. He was making less money at Georgetown, which didn’t matter so much in the present as he had a substantial amount of savings, but not enough to send two kids to college. His future problems crossed over into his present day. 

It took its toll on Spencer. He went to work, came home and doted on his daughters and barely said two words to Maeve. 

He had a quick temper. His exhaustion manifested in anger and when he did talk to Maeve it was usually to argue with her about something. 

He’d been distant, far away even when he was at home, and she’d been lonely. So she met Bobby who made her feel wanted. 

Could he blame her for that? Was Luke right? He hadn’t been attentive to his wife and so she’d sought comfort elsewhere. Was it his fault she’d strayed? Had he pushed her to it? 

He flipped the album back to the first page to their wedding photo. Was he to blame in all of this? 

He was so wrapped up in his self pity, the knock at the door startled him. 

He frowned to himself as he pushed himself to his feet and padded over to the door. 

Who was knocking at his house so late at night? 

He unlocked the door and cautiously it opened a fraction so he could see who was on the other side before he committed to opening it. 

His frown only deepened when he looked into a familiar pair of eyes staring back at him from the dark. 

He opened the door fully and braced himself against the door jamb. 

“Y/N,” he swallowed. “What are you doing here?” 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @its-yagirl-raelynn

[hoonieyun]

ritual chapter four: let me go

ritual chapter four: let me go

ʚ⁺˖↪ masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, terror, murder, horror, violence, near death experiences, manipulation, home invasion, sadism, suicide attempt, depression, overall 18+

word count: 6113

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sim jaeyun, jake, iron grip, searing pain, ribbon of death, and sinister sadist.

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it has been a month since you had moved into your new home and you thought that by now you would’ve fallen into a routine but everyday that passes by it seems that it only gets harder and harder to get through it all. you weren’t sure where this wave of depression came from but it just hit you like a truck one day and has lasted for almost a week now.

you weren’t sure what to do to shake this feeling away. it was moments like this that you really wished that your parents were still around. your mom had a way with words that just instantly pulled you away from under any gray cloud that seemed to storm over you and your dad had a way of making you laugh so hard your jaw would begin to hurt as tears fell from your eyes. 

it wasn’t until a tear drop landed on the framed photo of you and your parents did you notice that you were crying. you felt like you had been crying almost every day since you moved into this new place. it was surprisingly a beautiful day outside so you fought through the sadness that has shrouded you to enjoy the warm feeling of the sun on your skin. you remembered that your apartment offered a rooftop amenity for its residents to lounge and hang out whenever they pleased. 

as you stepped into the elevator and pressed the rooftop button, a cold chill washes over you and that all familiar feeling of being watched comes back. you hadn’t felt like you were being watched lately but whenever you’ve had to step out of your apartment to grab the mail or take out the trash or really late at night when you wander to your kitchen for a glass of water in the dark, it feels like there is a pair of eyes burning a whole into the back of your head. you had even begun doing yoga and journaling to help soothe your worries and troubles but that only lasted a few days. 

the elevator dings once you’ve arrived at the rooftop, you take a deep breath. ready to accept the warm air and sunshine but you’re met with gray clouds that have hidden the sun away. you were confused on how the weather could instantly change in just the last few minutes but you figured that since you were there already you might as well take a gander at what the rooftop had and see if this was a place you could go to when you needed to clear your mind. the rooftop layout was simple but it offered a lot of space, enough to throw a party for a large group of people or to host the number of residents that lived in your building. 

wandering around the rooftop and touching the miscellaneous things that served as decor, the weather only seemed to get chillier the longer you were up there. several throw pillows were laid out across the various couches and chairs with tacky patterns, tables with plastic floral centerpieces that softly blew with the cold wind, and a fire pit in the center of the rooftop that offered a temporary warmth. you thought to yourself why anyone would spend time up here in the cold over a fire pit when they could just be in the comfort of their home under a blanket. something you wished you were doing right now after the failure of coming to the rooftop for some sun. 

the longer you spent up on the roof the more you felt drained, you weren’t sure if it was the complete 180 the weather did or the elevation or what but it seemed like it only made you feel more depressed. you looked up at the sky, hoping that the clouds would miraculously move and the sun would start to peek through but nothing. it even felt like the clouds got darker. 

you began to walk towards the rooftop entrance and back to the elevator when a whisper that sounded awfully similar to your mother’s voice passed by. you whipped your head around at the voice but found nothing. the rooftop still had no other people, it was just you, the tacky furniture, and the cold stale air that seemed to get colder the longer you lingered. just as you were about to continue walking back inside, you heard the voice once again and this time it was a lot louder than before. you swore you weren’t going crazy so you decided to do a lap around the rooftop as if that was going to help you find the owner of the voice that was playing tricks on you when there wasn’t necessarily anywhere to hide. 

the longer you waited for the voice to reappear, the more it felt like you were actually going crazy, calling out to it as if it’ll respond but everytime you did the only thing you heard was the soft whistling of the wind. you find yourself hunched over the railing of the rooftop, your vision directed to the ground that was 10 stories down. an intrusive thought swims its way into your mind as you weigh the outcome if you were to dive and plunge into the solid concrete below. you didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from but the longer you thought about them the stronger the urge became. 

you didn’t even realize it but you had climbed over the railing and were now just holding onto the railing from behind. had you let go and took one step forward you would be plummeting to the ground. just as your fingers slip off the railing, a soft pair of hands find themselves on your wrists, pulling you back over and onto the right and safe side of the railing. away from impending doom. 

the abrupt action causes you to snap out of your depressive trance and you lock eyes with the person who just saved your life. his hands that were once grasping your arms, were now snaked around your waist as he turned you around to face him. your breathing stabilizes and in a second you are brushing yourself off and pulling yourself out of the stranger’s grasp. 

“are you okay? it looked like you were going to jump-” the stranger began to say but you cut him off. “and what about it? it’s none of your business.” you say as you storm off, brushing past him as you shake your head and rub your temples. although you were grateful that the fateful stranger saved you, you weren’t completely sure why you lashed out at him. you enter the building once again and the man enters behind you as you wait for the elevator, the air between the two of you is awkward and you can tell the man was itching to say something. 

just as the man opens his mouth to speak, the elevator dings, interrupting him. the two of you file into the elevator and when you press the button for your apartment, you realize that he hadn’t done the same. “what floor?” you mumble and he seems to beam at the interaction like he was glad that you had said something to him even if it was just two words. “3 please and thank you!” the man says, laying the politeness on thick, maybe as a way to get on your good side after you had let him have it outside. 

the elevator ride seems to go on longer than usual and the awkward tension in the enclosed metal space seems to get thicker. “sorry for what i said out there. i’m kind of going through it right now…” you mutter softly without making eye contact with the stranger, afraid of the embarrassment and shame of lashing out on someone, let alone someone you didn’t even know. when he doesn’t respond right away you look over at him and he’s just smiling at you. “it’s alright. i’m just glad i stopped you from making a horrible decision, is all.” he says and it warms your heart that although you had initially been rude to him he only met you with kindness. your small smile spreads on your face as the elevator dings, indicating it has arrived on your floor. 

when the elevator doors open and you step out, you quickly turn around when he calls out to you, “it’s nice to meet you y/n! my name is jake by the way. i’ll see you around!” jake says in a rushed tone as the elevator doors close at him. you smile at him and for once this whole week, the smile was genuine and you had forgotten all the reasons why you were so ready to end it all just moments ago. you were so focused on this new found “relationship” with jake that you hadn’t even realized he knew your name before you had even told him. 

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as jake saunters into his apartment, while closing his front door, his two brothers, heeseung and jay, appear behind him. “that’s not like you.” jay says, suspicion in his eyes as he watches the younger. jake turns around and looks at his two brothers staring at him with their arms crossed. “what isn’t like me?” jake asks, playing dumb.

“trying to get closer to our sacrifice by being… kind.” jay elaborates and jake snorts at his comment. “i’m nice… just when i want to be.” jake says walking past his two older brother’s and plopping onto his couch. “just make sure you get the job done.” heeseung says before turning into a cloud of black smoke and fading away. jake shimmies into the couch, trying to get comfortable, closing his eyes to get a nap in, but jay’s stare is enough to make him uncomfortable even if he wasn’t human. 

“do you mind?” jake says, eyes still closed as he’s found a comfortable position on his couch to take a nap. jay somehow appears right beside jake, looking down at his brother, gaze on him only intensifying. “i’m watching you.” jay says and jake opens one eye with a brow raise. “you’re always watching.” jake retorts at his brother's statement which wasn’t anything new as jay had the ability of being omniscient. jay suddenly yanks jake up from his position by the collar of his shirt, “don’t test me.” jay says, threatening his younger brother. jake doesn’t respond but as his hand wraps around jays arm that was hoisting him up by the collar, a searing pain begins to burn on jay’s skin; causing him to drop jake back onto the couch. a smirk spread on the younger’s face like he was proud of the pain he had caused his older brother. 

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after returning to your apartment, you decide to call it a night earlier than usual. you had no energy after the events on the rooftop but your thoughts were soon occupied with jake rather than another near death experience. you were starting to believe this place was bad luck with all the times you almost died but after meeting jake you genuinely thought things were going to start turning around. oh, how wrong you were. 

observing yourself in the mirror after a quick shower was something you had avoided recently. if not because you constantly felt like you were being watched, you avoided looking at yourself in the mirror because you hated the way you looked. the bags under your eyes seemed to sink deeper and have grown darker, your skin had become dull in color, and you could just tell that your body was starting to reflect the neglectful way you had been treating it. 

as you stretched your body around you soon realized red marks spread across your arms and waist. after giving the bathroom mirror a wipe to remove the condensation and to get a better look, it seemed like the marks resembled burns; even though you hadn’t burnt yourself. like most nights, you chose to ignore your insecurities and brushed off the marks on your skin. choosing to believe that maybe it was just a small rash from stress or your skin reacting a weird way to your clothes. any reason you could find so that your mind would stop thinking about it.

pulling your blanket all the way up to your chin and releasing a shiver, you soon found yourself drifting off to sleep, a smile on your face as thoughts of jake blend into your dreams. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

you wake up gasping for air in the middle of the night. a dream that started out normal had suddenly turned into you fighting for your life as an unknown assailant wraps their hands around your throat in hopes of crushing your windpipes and omitting you from breathing in any oxygen. a mixture of coughs and heavy breathing fill your bedroom as you sit up, your hands instantly fly to your neck as a source of safety to ensure that no one was actually choking you. 

looking around the room in a frantic frenzy, you find no one as you rub your neck softly, the feeling of the person’s hands tightening around your throat felt so real. you close your eyes as your breath stabilizes. you try to fall back asleep but you fail as all you have on your mind is the image of the unknown figure who tried to kill you in your dreams. 

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with your eyelids getting heavy, you were finally settling back into a slumber, but it was soon interrupted as the sunlight found its way through the smallest crack within your curtains. you tried to ignore the light and block it by pulling your blanket over your hair but the action itself takes you out of the comfort of your slumber and your mind is now too proactive to even think about the state of sleep you were on the cusp of. 

after closing your eyes and hoping that the sleep would find its way back in, you chose to just get out of bed, the lack of sleep and exhaustian somehow being the only thing keeping you up. your feet, heavy with exhaustian, dragged across your floor as you made your way into the bathroom. you passed the mirror, eyes barely open, as you hop in the shower. the scalding hot water burning your skin in the best way possible. 

you didn’t want to leave the shower because of the warmth and as you expected, as soon as you stepped out of the shower; the cold air nipped at your skin. you would typically walk by the mirror without even giving it a glance but something compelled you. as your gaze fell onto the fogged up mirror, you swiped the moisture away and realized the red marks on your arms from the night before had further progressed. going from a bright red blemish to a deeper more purple red. 

like it was a bruise. 

your eyes trail from the bruises on your arms to its reflection in the mirror, then to the dark bruises around your waist, and to your shock, bruises that had spread over your neck and throat. your hands instantly fly to your neck and although the bruises aren’t necessarily painful when you touch them; there’s a lingering sensation. 

like when someone grips your skin a little too hard and the skin in that area starts to feel like it’s being poked by pins and needles. the bruises were all the same color but different shapes and sizes. if someone saw you it would look like you had just gotten into a fight with someone or maybe even hit by a car. 

or perhaps like you had just fallen from a heightened point. 

you weren’t sure what to do with the new additions that now adorned your skin so you chose to cover up. deciding to wear a long sleever turtleneck to hide away even though you weren’t going to be seen by anyone. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

you set out for the day, it felt like you haven’t left your apartment or went past the building’s dumpster since you had gotten in town. you ran a few errands, getting groceries, checking out restaurants and cafes in the neigborhood, and overall trying to get familiar with the city. something you should’ve done a while ago. 

the city was surprisingly busy, filled with people who made the same decision as you, to run errands in hopes that because it was a weekday in the middle of the week, everyone else would be too busy with work or other responsibilities. you had finished your errands fairly quickly, your day in the town became a quick one after you decided that grabbing groceries and other necessities would be all that you needed to do. you’d check out all of the different restaurants and cafes another day when it wasn’t so busy. 

after putting your groceries in your trunk, a store comes into view as you close your trunk shut, a bright purple led sign that seemed to glow brightly even though it was midday. a fortune teller. you didn’t really believe in these things but you also didn’t not believe in them. something inside of you ushered you to the direction of the small storefront. the entrance being an old wooden door that fit perfectly for an establishment that did fortune telling. a small bell dings above the door as you enter and an old lady peers from the corner. you weren’t sure what to expect but this lady is exactly who you would think of as the person running the place. 

she had various patterened fabrics draped around her and a colorful skirt that had little gems and jewels that would reflect the light. she greeted you, but not with a normal greeting. 

“there’s someone trying to contact you child…” she says, annpuncing her observation even though you haven't even said anything to her. you gave her a confused look and she waved you over to sit across from her. as you take your seat she unsheathes a crystal ball that was previously hidden by a dark velvet fabric. the crystal ball seemed to lure you in, like it was calling out to you, she snaps her fingers and you break out of your trance. 

the lady shut her eyes and began to wave her hands in a rhythmic motion over the ball. you weren’t sure if you should just sit there in silence or say something but before you could even form a sentence, she began to speak again. “your future is clouded, you must watch out for what ties you to this earth, for it can easily cut you away from it.” she says, eyes slowly opening so she could see your reaction. you didn’t know what to make of her words so you stood up and muttered a small thank you. before you could turn away and leave, she grabs your wrist and puts something in your hands. you didn’t bother to look at the object in your hands until you got back into your car. a small dagger, no longer than 5 inches, with a snake wrapped around it. the snake's eyes were a red gem and it glistened in the sunlight. a part of you was a bit creeped out by it but you chose to just stash it away in your pocket. 

it begins to rain just as you’re parking your car. you quickly grab your groceries from the trunk and tiptoe to the lobby and just as you’re about to enter the building, you slip on a puddle. you quickly shut your eyes and brace for impact but suddenly a pair of toned arms are wrapped around you. when you slowly open your eyes, you’re met with a soft pair of smiling eyes, jake is looking at you with a warm smile. 

“i’ve got you.” jake says as he hauls you back up onto your feet. he picks up your groceries that have fell out of the bag and makes sure you’re alright. you give him a tighlipped smile and mutter a small thank you. too embarrassed to prolong the moment so you quickly shuffle into the elevator so you could hide away in your apartment. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

it seemed like every time you were in a small moment of distress, jake was there to save the day. 

when you almost fell off the roof.

when you slipped in the lobby.

another time when you were taking out the trash in the middle of the night and a person speeding by on their motorcycle almost hit you but jake suddenly appeared and pulled you off the street and into his arms, like a safety net.

the most recent moment being the incident in the elevator. you were making your way down to the lobby when the elevator stops at jake’s floor. as the door opens and you’re greeted with jake, the elevator suddenly drops a few inches and the lights flicker. you look at jake with a concerned look and when the elevator shakes again, you become frightful at the idea that the elevator would soon plummet to the first floor. 

jake, almost instantly, extends out his hand and you quickly grab it. he pulls you out of the elevator and as soon as you’re completely out of the metal box, the elevator falls to the ground floor. 

you fall on top of jake as he saves you. his arm around your waist to make sure you’re secure and safe as the two of you make contact with the floor. both of you out of breath and shaken up from the near death experience. 

you and jake stare into one another’s eyes and a smile spreads across his face. “you alright?” he asks, his thick australian accent causing butterflies in your stomach. you pull yourself off of him and the two of you get back onto your feet. “this is so embarrassing.” you say, brushing yourself off and jake chuckles at you. 

“don’t worry about it, love. happy to be your knight in shining arm.” jake says jokingly. you smile at his joke, not taking it seriously but you soon think about all the instances that he was your knight in shining armor. 

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you’re in bed, once again trying to fall asleep, but the tingling feeling on your skin is keeping you up. the bruises on your skin eventually disappeared but every other few days they reappeared and seemed to just become more painful every time they returned. you angrily tore off your blanket to head to the bathroom and observe the marks on your skin that felt like they were burning you. 

you stumble into the bathroom, sloppily switching the lights on, and standing in front of the mirror. you felt like your skin was beginning to burn and the pain was becoming unbearable. you tore off your clothes to get a better view of the marks and your eyes widened at the sight of your body. deep red bruises scattered across your body, much worse than the first time you noticed them, only now it left a burning sensation. if you even touched them in the slightest or blew onto it, it burned even more. 

your bottom lip quivered at the pain and you stood there staring at yourself unsure of what to do next. you frantically looked for oinment in your medicine cabinet and lathered it all over your skin. occasionally letting out grunts of pain as your hands grazed over the blistering bruise marks on your skin. you quickly put your clothes back on and grabbed your keys and jacket, deciding to rush over to the nearest emergency room in your city. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

the drive to the e.r. was quick. good news, you were able to be seen by a medical professional as soon as you got there. bad news, they didn’t have an answer as to why or where the blemishes came from. they offered you a topical cream and some antibiotics in hopes that it would help with the pain, leaving you with advice and to just hope that it’ll go away on its own. 

you were only at the e.r. for about an hour and a half when the doctor dismissed you with well regards and a speedy recovery. you walked back to your car, skin feeling less irritated, but the sensation of pins and needles still remained on your skin. with a slam of your car door, you sat down in the driver���s seat with a huff. a mixture of anger, pain, and exhaustian taking over your body as you settle into your seat and put the key into the ignition. you didn’t know what to do or what to think but your mind suddenly goes to the exact moment you first noticed the marks.

and the next time.

and the next.

and the next.

all of which all had a similar and reoccuring factor. it was all after you had a bout of vulnerability that would’ve led to a great amount of pain. and each time; jake miraculously appeared and saved you. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake watched you creep towards the ledge of the roof. legs climbing over the railing and he smiled at the sight. excitement bubbling inside of him at the thought of you being so vulnerable and that he would be able to witness you in such a weak state. 

as he sees your fingers leave the metal railing, he charges towards you and pulls you to safety.

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake watched you, an adoring smile on his face as you tried your best to balance the groceries in your arms while trying to run inside and away from the run. he watched intently as you slipped on the puddle at the front of the lobby. just moments before, he left the front door open for a few moments to give the rain the opportunity to find its way inside and create the puddle. laughing to himself as he imagined you falling to the ground after slipping. 

just as he sees your body become parralel to the ground and the quick moment you are off your feet, jake materializes and catches you. offering you a warm smile that held something more sinister behind it. 

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jake was surprised to see you out so late at night. he watched you from his bedroom window as you took out the trash. although it wasn’t a part of his plan, jake wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to mess with you and strike fear inside of that pretty little head of yours. 

he watches, eyes following a man on a motorcycle just up the street and in the exact moment right before he collides with your unsuspecting body, jake appears and pulls you into his arms. once again saving you from danger. a smile spreads onto his face as you make your way back inside, amused at the idea of you being so naive and clueless. every vulnerable moment you’ve had was like entertainment to him. 

when he got back inside, heeseung was also walking in; a helmet in his arms as he arrived. jake scoffs and laughs at him. “thanks man.” jake says and heeseung shoots him a confused glare. unaware that he just helped him create a bit of chaos that would surely traumatize you. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

the elevator almost killing you also wasn’t a part of his plan and quite frankly he was very glad to have been there to save you or else their plans for the ritual wouldn’t have come to fruition. everytime he has saved you, jake embraces every moment of it. every moment that he touched you, he savored, and would crave. thinking about the next time he would get to do it again. 

each traumatic moment you endured through a shroud of vulnerability was all a part of jake’s plan to contribute to the brother’s plan to break you down. each time he touched you, it would leave a mark on your skin and the longer and more traumatic the event, the worse the burns and bruises would progress. 

like the marks on your body caused by jake were a physical representation of the trauma he was inflicting onto you. and he loved every second of it. 

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆☾ ☆ ☽‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊‧⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊☆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ☆ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆₊⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊

jake found his way into your apartment as soon as you ran out. he assumed that in your frantic and urgent state, you forgot to lock the door, so he helped himself inside. 

he tried to recall jay’s words of how your apartment looked and where to dig through to try and find the diary. the object that the brother’s have been looking for since you had moved it but have failed to obtain. 

jake sifted through every part of your apartment that jay suggested and even in areas that weren’t on that list. just before he was about to give up, jake’s eyes just so happened to trail over your bookshelf and there he found the leather bound diary amongst all of your books. his usual smile now plastered onto his face as he grabs the book from your shelf. jake taps his fingers on the cold leather but halts in his spot when he turns around and is faced with you. 

he hadn’t heard you come in and he mentally scolds himself for not locking the door much like you did. a surprised but fearful expression on your face as you find jake in your living room. 

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you trudged towards your apartment as you exited the elevator and when you go to reach for your keys in your bag, you find that your door is ajar. you crept inside and a gasp escapes your mouth as you seen jake turn around in the middle of your apartment; holding the diary that you had seen so many other times before. 

“wh- what are you doing in here?” you ask, voice slightly trembling as you recall all of the moments with jake before. now realizing that there was a strong possibility that he may be the cause of the burns and bruises that covered your skin.

you slowly make your way around the living room, afraid of what jake might do, but all he does is watch you from his spot in your living room. his once soft eyes now a deep shade of red, similar to the color of the marks on your skin. jake seems to be watching you like a preator and you were his prey. waiting for you to make your first move so he can pounce onto you. 

with a quick movement to your shelf, you grab a flower vase and throw it at him but he instantly dodges it. leaping over the couch and landing on top of you. his hands were now gripping your wrist with so much strength and soon the familiar feeling of your skin burning came back; proving your assumptions to be correct that jake was the cause of the burns and bruises as you watch the deep red color spread across your arms and darken the veins under your skin. 

you shriek in pain as jake smiles at your agony, his grip only getting tighter. he switches from holding each of your hands with both of his and now holds them above your hand with just one of his hands as he reaches for something in his pocket. he pulls out a white ribbon and admires you for a second.

“i love seeing you like this. so vulnerable and suffering.” he says, his face now merely inches from yours. you jolt your head forward, making contact with jake’s nose with your forehead and he winces at the pain. he shakes off the pain and begins to wrap your wrists with the white ribbon, now angry at your abrupt action. “you shouldn’t have done that, love.” jake says as he finishes tying your hands together. 

he sits you up once he’s done tying your hands and goes back to where he previously stood and bent over to pick up the diary. “you know y/n, you shouldn’t fight us off so much. just give in.” jake says as he picks up the broken pieces of the vase. “fuck, that’s sharp.” jake says as he brings his thumb up to his mouth to suck the blood after he cut himself on a shard of the vase. 

sharp.

you remember that the fortune teller had given you a knife so you reached for your jacket pocket as best as you could without alarming jake. he glances over at you and stop, thinking he has caught you but he turns away and you return to the knife. you flipped open the blade and began to cut at the ribbon but the more friction your skin felt against the ribbon, the more it seemed to burn you. you bit your lip to surpress the painful grunts and once the ribbon had finally torn, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

jake had his back facing you as he threw away the shards of glass into your trashbin. unaware that you had freed yourself and were now creeping up behind him. just as you raised your hand that had the knife in it, jay materializes into the room and tackles you to the ground. causing jake to stumble forward at the sudden commotion. 

jay was now atop of you and you feel a sense of deja vu, like you had been in the position before. he grabs a hold of your face and forces your eyes to bore into his. “sleep.” jay simply says and you become limp in his grasp as slumber quickly takes over your body. 

he sighs and gets to work on erasing your memory of the altercation, all the while scolding jake for not being more observant of your actions. “she really is a feisty one.” jake says, walking over to jay and helping him up. 

“i can see why you like her.” he adds and jay just rolls his eyes at his brother, not bothering to respond. 

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the boys were now all gathered inside of your apartment. heeseung, jay, and jake stand around your coffee table staring down at the diary. the three of them glad to have finally gotten their hands on it. 

“we should burn it.” jake says and heeseung rolls his eyes at him after reminding him what happened when you tried that when you first got there. 

“let’s just lock it away where no one can find it.” jay says, picking up the diary. when he tried to flip through the pages, the book begins to burn brightly and suddenly disintegrates into ash.

the boys, dumbfounded, begin to bicker amongst themselves. jake blaming jay for ruining the diary, jay retorting that it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t do anything, and heeseung trying to get his two brothers to stop arguing. 

sunghoon saunters into your living room, briefly looking around as he’s had the least amount of time in there in comparison to his brothers. “alright!” he says, voicing booming into the room, catching the attention of his three older brothers. 

he walks past his brothers and picks you up from the couch. your limp and unconscious body now in his arms, “i’ll take care of the rest. go prepare the ritual site.” he says. he begins to walk away and athough he was the youngest of the four of them; they all followed his order, like he had some authority over them. 

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sunghoon softly lays you down onto your bed. adjusting your pillow and pulling the covers over you to make sure you’re comfortable.

he brushes a few stray hairs off of your face and takes in your beauty. “soon.” he says with a pause. 

“soon, you’ll be ours.” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

a kiss that doesn’t go unseen by jay as he watches it all happen through his omnicient vision. 

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copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 25

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24

Chapter 25 summary: The squad copes with the discovery of the missing clones, and Crosshair learns more of Dara's backstory.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: blood/injury; grief; corpses/mass grave

Crosshair couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot where Dara was rooted to the ground, kneeling over a pit containing the remains of the clone prisoners. He couldn’t see what she was looking at from this angle, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

“I—I think you should take Omega back to the ship,” she told Hunter over the comms. “She shouldn’t see this.”

The Sergeant sighed, a tired, defeated sound. “Understood. Come on, kid—we’ll go get the Marauder for a pick-up while the rest of the squad finishes up here.”

If Omega had any objections, she wasn’t voicing them over the comm line as she and Hunter made their way through the forest in the direction of their ship. It would be a few hours before they could return with the Marauder, hopefully arriving around the time of the planet’s early sunset.

Dara still hadn’t moved. “Can the rest of you find some shovels and come to my position?” she requested weakly. “Kriffing Imperials just tossed them in the garbage pit. They didn’t even have the decency—” She cut off suddenly, clearing her throat.

“Affirmative. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Echo let her know. Through his scope, Crosshair saw Dara finally get to her feet, staggering over to a nearby tree. She held herself propped against it for a minute, then—with a sudden violence that made him flinch—crashed her fist against the bark, over and over, until her blows steadily grew weaker and stopped. Then she was motionless again, fist still clenched, breathing heavily. Her shoulders remained tense, but her face was turned away from him—he couldn’t help but think that it felt deliberate, like she was guarding her expression from his gaze.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker arrived just as Crosshair climbed down off the roof. Dara took one of the shovels, picked a spot a sufficient distance away, and started digging without a word as the rest of them leaned over the pit. There were bones scattered around its edges, no doubt the result of animal activity; in the pit itself, skulls, femurs, and rib cages were all easily identifiable, emerging from corpses in various states of decomposition, all mixed in with the facility’s other refuse. Wrecker lifted his helmet off for barely a second before he gagged and slammed it back on his head; Dara had pulled off her soiled poncho and wrapped a scarf from her pack around her face and nose. While Tech and Echo worked on disinterring the bodies from the pit, separating them from trash and giving the loose bones some semblance of order, Wrecker and Crosshair joined Dara and set to digging. They were silent for over an hour, interrupted only by the occasional grunt.

“Dara,” Tech called suddenly. He was standing by the pit, holding a small bone, entirely cleared of flesh. “Will you pass me your glow rod?”

She took a break from digging and dug it out of her pack, tossing it to him before returning, without comment, to her task.

Tech disappeared into the facility for a few minutes, returning with a look of grim satisfaction.

“It is just as I suspected,” he informed them. “The remains also glow in the ultraviolet spectrum. We can infer that the substance that we discovered was being tested on the clones.”

The rest of the men straightened up from their tasks and climbed out of the pit and the new grave they were in the process of digging, taking advantage of the distraction to take a few sips from their canteens and open ration bars at a distance from the stench of decay. Dara, however, didn’t even turn to look, just continued to remove dirt by the shovelful.

“So was it the chemical that killed them, or did the Empire just dispose of them when they decided they’d served their purpose?” Echo wondered darkly.

“It is difficult to tell,” Tech admitted. “So far I have not identified any injuries to the bodies consistent with violent deaths, although the advanced state of decomposition makes that challenging to determine. I have, however, scanned several samples and should be able to analyze them later to find out more.”

“How many are there?” Wrecker asked, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

Echo shook his head sadly. “Dozens. Probably everyone on the list that we found.”

As the three continued their discussion, Crosshair watched Dara, who was still digging at an incessant, even punishing pace. Sighing, he dropped back down into the wide, deep grave they’d managed to carve out of the soft earth. They had made good progress, although they still had a while to go before it would be sufficient for a burial.

Crosshair approached her cautiously, like a wild animal. His earlier avoidance no longer mattered to him, his resentment all but forgotten. There was something off about her, a palpable tension that threatened to uncoil at any moment.

“Burk’yc,” he said, as gently as he could. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Crosshair insisted. “At least get something to drink.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dara snapped back, finally turning to look at him for the first time all day, only to shoot him as venomous a glare as he’d ever seen from her. She dragged the back of one hand against her forehead, wiping away sweat and dirt. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her palm: a long gash leaked a trail of blood that smeared along the handle of her shovel. The skin around it was already blistered and broken, red and raw, and her knuckles where she had hit the tree were bruised and bloody.

At the sight of her injuries, Crosshair felt his stomach drop. It was obvious, from the moment she had found the pit, that she was distressed—none of them were pleased, this was a worst-case scenario for what they expected to find—but he hadn’t realized how far she would push. Somehow, against all logic, he was more worried for her safety now than he had been when she was shot. Did she even realize she was hurt? Couldn’t she feel it?

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled, crowding closer to her and grasping at her hands. He turned them palms up, trying to get a better look past the blood and dirt. Her other hand didn’t look much better, and he winced when he noticed tiny shards of transparisteel still clinging to the skin. “Did this happen when you fell?”

Dara stared dumbly at her wounds for a moment before trying to shake him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

Crosshair only gripped her more firmly by the wrists. “This can wait. You need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything,” she interrupted, pulling away violently. “I’m fine, just— just let me keep digging.” She grabbed her shovel from where it had dropped at her feet and made to continue.

“Just stop!” Crosshair commanded, temper boiling over. “You’re not a clone. They’re not your brothers, they’re ours, so don’t pretend like it’s your job to bury them. Take a kriffing break so I can fix your hands, now!”

Dara did stop at that, fingers flexing around the handle of the shovel as she glared straight back at him. She looked like she was deciding whether to yell at Crosshair or punch him. Finally, she threw down her shovel and shoved past him, scrambling out of the hole. She grabbed her pack on her way past and stalked into the forest without a backwards glance.

Crosshair turned to where his brothers were staring down at him disapprovingly and crossed his arms.

“What?” he barked. “I was trying to be nice!”

Wrecker frowned. “Well, ya did a terrible job.”

Crosshair threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what her problem is!”

“Ah,” Tech began matter-of-factly. “It is likely that she is experiencing some acute psychological distress. Her discovery of this mass grave has, in all probability, reminded her of the Empire’s massacre of her home village.”

The others blinked at him, stunned. “Tech, how was I supposed to know about that?” Crosshair finally demanded.

Tech tilted his head. “Oh—yes. I forgot to inform you all of what I had discovered of Dara’s biography once we learned her birth name.” He cleared his throat and frowned down at his datapad as he pulled up the relevant file and began reading. “Keranji Daranjal, born on Onderon, childhood friend of Steela and Saw Gerrera. Attended university in Onderon’s capital city, where she began advanced graduate training in linguistics, specializing in non-human, primitive cultures. She has published some quite fascinating studies, in fact—”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Echo interjected.

“Ah, of course,” Tech acknowledged. “Apologies. Dara’s research was interrupted during the Clone Wars when her mentor, the linguist Palo Bragus, was gunned down by Separatist droids during a public demonstration. She then abandoned her studies to join the Gerreras in the formation of their insurgent group. After they succeeded in reinstating the former king, she left Onderon; a little over a year ago the Empire sought her out as a means to track down Saw. The village where she and the Gerreras grew up was burned down in the attempt to locate her. Many of the villagers were killed…including Dara’s only family: a brother, sister-in-law, and their two children.”

He cleared his throat again, glancing up at his brothers. “The Empire now has Keranji Daranjal listed as deceased, so I can only presume that she faked her death shortly afterward. As far as I know, Dara has never been back to Onderon. She never had the chance to bury her dead.”

There it was, then: everything Dara had built all those careful walls to protect, the origins of her rage and her grief, what Crosshair had been so eager to see exposed. A war she had fought in and survived, only for more utter violence and destruction to come when she thought it was all over. Death upon death upon death, and at the center of it all, Dara, still alive, but alone.

Her story was a lot like that of the clones, in fact. And he had somehow managed to rub it in that these weren’t even her corpses to bury. 

The men avoided eye contact. Tech and Echo had done the best they could with removing the bodies from the garbage pit and had stacked them reverently to the side of the grave, awaiting their new resting place. They joined the others as they returned to digging, though Crosshair kept glancing out towards the forest, where Dara had disappeared.

Wrecker laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be alright,” he murmured.

The sun was setting and they could hear the Marauder’s approach by the time Dara returned, carrying a wide, flat stone. Though the hole they’d managed to dig was no monument to wealth, the bodies of the clones were now safely blanketed in soil, deep enough to protect them from further disturbances, animal or otherwise. The squad stood quietly by the grave as she approached and knelt, gently laying the stone at its center.

Her hands somehow managed to have gotten worse, Crosshair noticed. Still, she didn’t seem to feel the pain, only clenched her fists, rose, and went to the ship without a word. On the stone, she had painstakingly carved a one-word epitaph for the clones, the Aurebesh letters rustic and clumsy. It read:

Brothers

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog @flaming-dumpster

Thanks again to @cloneflo99 for the amazing banner!!!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter two

well it's love, make it hurt series

two: watch you hang on every word

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: The Mandalorian teases you on a hunt, and you get your revenge.

Warnings: established d/s relationship but only undertones present here, dirty talk, teasing, bounty hunting, reference to alcohol, mild canon-typical violence, sometimes reader can have a turn being a menace as a treat

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 11: Exhibitionism/Teasing, inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on ao3

3 ABY - Summer

“Got eyes on the quarry yet?” you murmur into your drink, taking a tiny sip to keep up appearances. The cantina is a small, but airy, wooden dome. The heavy tarps had been rolled up to let the breeze through the windows, unfortunately also allowing the swollen afternoon sun to shine in right in your line of sight, unable to see more than black shapes at the entrance.

“No, but I’ve got eyes on something else,” Mando says from on the roof across the path, sniper rifle poised and the sun at his back.

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly, knowing he had a good enough view of your profile to catch the movement.

It was your third day staking out the target's alleged watering hole, and coming back another day would be pushing it. Nobody stayed here for long without a reason, and you were running out of them. It was bad enough that you’d had to actually make notes about the local flora to keep up appearances.

“This is, like, my least sexy disguise,” you say. It was also one of your usuals. Nerds, as it turned out, were on the same page as hunters about practical clothing with plenty of storage. You had the requisites for your cover: binocs, glass tubes, tissue samples from various bushes and sprouts, small clippers, and an assortment of tools for gathering specimen. The less obvious pockets had explosives, a switchblade, smoke grenades, and more.

The rusty orange vest and dark olive shirt hung loose enough around your torso to conceal the blaster tucked into your waistband. A commlink is nestled in the ear facing the wall, behind a curtain of your hair.

“I don’t know,” he muses. “Those shorts are pretty short.”

“What has gotten into you today?” You already know the answer. You don’t fuck on hunts, too wary of getting distracted. But the two bounties before this were on the same planet, and now it’s been over a week since you had touched him. And maybe you had left the fresher door open this morning, hoping he would come in, but he didn’t.

He definitely watched, though.

You, at least, had your drink and your datapad. He had nothing to do but watch, and his mind kept replaying filthy memories from between your thighs.

“Like you aren’t thinking about it too,” he says, voice low and rumbling. “I bet you’re starting to soak through those little shorts.”

You don’t respond, swirling the drink idly in the cup and trying to focus on the botanical database.

“I can see your nipples through your shirt, cyar’ika,” he says. “Is it cold in there?”

“Shut up,” you groan. Every time you responded, you had to take a little sip as a cover. At this rate, you were going to end up actually getting drunk.

“So you’re not thinking about what I’m going to do to you when we get back to the Crest?”

“No, I’m thinking about getting off this damp ass pit of a planet.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad.” He wasn’t actually lingering on you through the scope. He was doing his job, keeping watch, and fastidiously ignoring his half-hard cock. “I was going to help myself to something sweet before we left.”

You cursed through gritted teeth. “Behave,” you hiss.

“That’s my line.”

You could hear the smirk through the crackle of the commlink, so you stretch a hand up to scratch the back of your head, middle finger extended.

He laughs, and even through the double distortion of his helmet and the line, it makes you smile.

“Hey, shit, here—” he cuts off, static buzzing.

Your smile wilts as fast as it had sprouted, but you hold your body in the relaxed slouch over the datapad, still idly twirling the cocktail in one hand and annotating something in meaningless shorthand.

The line clicks twice, and you move to stand. Another being comes around the corner of your booth, and you stumble right into them, knocking the violently green remains of your drink over their tan shawl.

“What the hell?” they begin to unwrap it from their neck.

“I’m so sorry, here; please, let me help,” you tell the tall Pantoran woman. You reach for your little napkin on the table and grab for her shawl with the other, tugging her to you with it. The hand that went for the napkin comes back with a blaster, pressed between her shoulder blades where the shawl hung down.

She freezes.

“C’mon, let’s go,” you murmur in her ear.

She turns her head side to side, looking with pleading eyes to see if any of the other patrons had noticed her predicament. If they do, they know better than to care.

“I can pay.” She still isn’t moving.

You nudge her with the nose of the blaster. “Outside.”

In the alley behind the cantina, Mando leans casually against a wall. He has one leg bent, foot against the wall, arms crossed. “Took you long enough,” he says when you shove the bounty toward him.

She stumbles and screams when she sees him.

You cover her mouth with your hand, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a big, scary Mandalorian. Shut up about it.”

Mando forces her arms behind her back and claps the binders on tight, magnetizing them to the side of a stack of crates.

“What’re you doing?” You try to ask, but he crowds you against the wall in seconds, gloved hands running down your sides.

“Need you,” he huffs.

“Are you kriffing kidding me?” the quarry yells.

Mando puts one hand on the holster facing her, and she falls silent.

“C’mon, baby, please.”

You go to push him off and roll your eyes, but at the last minute, decide to wrap your fingers into the cowl of his cape instead. “You need me now, huh? Got yourself worked up?”

He squeezes your waist in warning, but lets you move him so your positions were switched. Well. He cooperates when you tug on his cowl. You aren’t stupid enough to think you could actually move him when he was in full beskar. He was like a broken repulsortank.

His head falls back against the wall when you sink down to your knees in the filthy alley. The quarry tries very hard to look anywhere else. You palm him through his trousers, and he groans, clenching a gloved hand in your hair.

You nuzzle your face against him, pressing kisses through the fabric. He reaches down to pull his cock out, but you wrap a hand around his wrist and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

“Where’re you going, sweetheart?” He tries to pull you closer, and you duck out of his reach, laughing.

“We’re on a job, Mando, where do you think I’m going?” You call over your shoulder, already walking out of the alley and leaving him to grab the woman.

“Gonna pay for that,” he warn.

You spin around and grin. “No, I’m not. We’re not home, sweetheart.”

You turn and keep going, missing the way he stops for a moment, jerking the bounty in the process.

Home. It rings in his head, ricocheting off the helmet and his boner-addled brain.

“Should have just shot me. Then I wouldn’t have had to see that,” the bounty grumbles.

He snaps, “Shut up,” and gives her a harsh shove forward, following your leisurely path back to the Crest.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 5. THE RESULTS ARE IN

❝We know what we are, but not what we may be.❞

Vespertilio M.List

Previous | Next

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The hum of machinery and quiet murmur of voices filled UA's faculty room as teachers gathered to review footage from the entrance exam.

Large screens lined the walls, each one displaying a different examinees from various angles with their quirks on full display.

And in the center of it all sat Principal Nezu: the mutant rodent's sharp gaze drifting, his paws tapping rhythmically against the chair as he intently watch the clips.

"Hmmm, very peculiar," Nezu mused, his eyes glinting with interest as he watched one particular feed. The camera zoomed in on a figure darting through the simulated city, dodging and weaving through the city.

Following his gaze, the other teachers' attention turned to the screen.

"She's... not fightin'?" Snipe was the first to break the silence, scratching his head beneath his cowboy hat. "Most kids dive straight into the action, but she's just...skirtin' around."

"She's not even going for the robots," Cementoss added, "More like avoiding them completely."

"Hold on...OH YEAH!!" Present Mic's booming voice cut through the air, making a few teachers jump in their seats. He leaned forward with a wide grin. "THAT'S THE LITTLE LISTENER WHO YELLED 'HEY!' DURING MY INTRODUCTION!"

Nezu's expression remained calm, a twinkle gleaming in his eyes.

"Indeed. Examinee #9948..." he announced. At that moment, small drones whizzed through the air, dropping thin folders onto each teacher's desk.

The sound of fluttering paper filled the room as each teacher picked up the document in front of them, opening it to reveal a student profile....your student profile.

Looking back at them was your smiling face. Subtle crinkles formed at the corner of your eyes from the soft smile you had as a pair of fangs peeked out from your lips.

Scattered through your [hair color] were clusters of delicate urn-shaped highbush blueberry flowers, a mark of your quirk's botanical side.

Nezu's voice carried over the hum of murmurs. "...also known as Akashiya ____."

An audible, dramatic gasp broke the room. Turning towards the source, Present Mic was there, mouth covered in shock as recognition dawned on his face. "AKASHIYA, YOU SAY?! PRESIDENT NEZU, YOU SURE THAT'S THE AKASHIYA?"

Practically bouncing in his seat, Mic whipped his head to his left. "SHOUTA! DID YA HEAR THAT?! YOU DON'T THINK THAT'S THE SAME AKASHIYA FROM—"

"Enough." Aizawa cut him off in his usual flat, deadpan tone. Leaning back in his seat, tired and disinterested eyes watch as you help a pair of students avoid the zero-pointer.

A flicker of recognition crossed his eyes at the sight of you, but nothing else was expressed.

It wasn't until the sudden color change of your hair to an almost eerie white and the your eyes glowed red, did his mask break with a raised brow.

More gasps and murmurs erupted around the room as the teachers watched in awe.

"OH WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT?!" Present Mic screamed as the footage showed you stomping down on the zero-pointer's arm, completely severing it with a single move. "SHE JUST—WHAM! THAT'S SOME REAL POWER, RIGHT THERE!"

Midnight smirked from her seat, twirling a lock of her dark hair between her fingers. "Well she certainly knows how to make an impression," she commented, eyes glued to the screen.

Ectoplasm, usually calm, chimed in. "For someone who didn't seem interested in fighting at first... she's got real combat potential."

As the faculty members buzzed with amazement at your display of strength, Aizawa's gaze drifted back to Nezu, who was already watching him with a knowing smile.

════════════════*˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚*═════════════════

𝑻𝑾𝑶 𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑲𝑺 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹...

The next few days passed in a blur, and the tension around the UA exam results grew. You spent most of your time pacing your room, a pit of dread sitting deep in your stomach.

Your phone suddenly buzzed, startling you. It was Izuku.

 "____! I made it!" His voice was practically shaking with joy. "I got into the hero course!"

You forced a smile. "That's amazing, Zuki! I'm so happy for you!"

 "What about you? Did you get your letter yet?"

"...N-no, not yet. I haven't checked."

"Ah, well, let me know as soon as you do, okay? We'll hang out to celebrate later!" he said before hanging up. As soon as the call ended, your smile dropped, face falling into a grim expression.

"Let's hope I failed..." you muttered under your breath.

Your eyes drift over to where the unopened UA letter had been sitting, waiting until you knew of Izuku's fate before you found yours.

Approaching the desk, you eye the envelope as if it was about to bite you.

You didn't want to end up in the hero course. You never did. As much as the world loved heroes, as much as Izuku dreamed of becoming one—the idea never quite sat right with you.

General studies was where you wanted to be. Less attention. Less pressure.

 'I did the bare minimum,' you remind yourself. 'I should at least land in General Studies...'

With trembling fingers you rip open the envelope. A small device slid out, lighting up as it activated and a hologram of All Might himself appeared before you.

"Congratulations, young Akashiya!" His booming voice filled the room. "You've made it into UA's Hero Course!"

Your stomach drop.

"...Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

You slump down onto the floor and clutch your hair in frustration with a racing heart and spinning mind.

"B-but how?" you stammered, your hands trembling. "I don't remember doing any of that..."

Almost as if hearing your confusion, the hologram continued, this time showing footage of the exam.

Your eyes widened as you watched various clips of yourself saving random students from tedious accidents and falls, even showing where you saved a pair of students—Kirishima and another unknown girl—from the zero-pointer.

'THEY FUCKING SCORED ME HELPING?!'

Then the image of Moka appeared; your hair shifting to a bright white before you kicked the massive robot away with terrifying strength and precision.

Your eyes remained glued to the display as you weakly let out a small "Oh..."

*˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚*

You trudge down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. The reason for you being accepted was still pressing in your mind, the weight of it suffocating.

Your parents were seated on the couch chatting away, but quickly stop upon hearing your footsteps. Turning, your mother's face brightened at the sight of you.

"Honey! I-what's wrong?" The blank expression on your face makes her pause.

You stared at her, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to get the words out. Then suddenly, without warning, the dam burst.

"I... I got in..." tears stream down your face as you stood at the bottom of the stairs. "I got into the hero course..."

Your voice cracked at the confession, but your parents didn't notice the dread laced in your words.

Instead, they both lit up with pride and joy.

"Oh, sweetheart!" your mother exclaimed, rising from the couch and rushing over to you. "That's incredible! You did it!"

Your father follow close behind, pride gleaming in his blood red irises as he clasp a hand on your shoulder. "Looks like you're finally on your way to become a hero."

Their words hit you like a punch in the gut making your tears flow harder. Mistaking the breakdown for tears of joy, they pull you into a tight embrace.

"There, there," your mother coos, rubbing your back as she held you close. "I know it's overwhelming, but this is what you've been working so hard for."

You shook your head in denial, but the sobs kept coming.

You wanted to tell them. To explain that this wasn't what you wanted at all. But you couldn't.

You couldn't bring yourself to ruin the pride they felt for you.

And so, you cried as they held you with smiles, oblivious to the truth.

════════════════*˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚*═════════════════

You solemnly walk alongside Izuku on the way to U.A. High, dragging your feet a little. The sky is clear and bright, but you can't seem to find it in yourself to enjoy it.

 It was like walking to your own doom, even though the greenette looked excited—too excited, if you're being honest.

"Isn't it amazing, ____?! We're finally starting at U.A.!" his voice was filled with joy, almost making you wince.

"Yeah... amazing," you muttered, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just...can't wait."

'I did the bare minimum. I shouldn't even be here.'

When you both entered the building, Izuku was already muttering up a storm. Normally you would've consoled him, offered some words of encouragement to ease his nerves.

But today? Today you were too bummed.

U.A. Hero Course...

How did you get stuck in this mess? You wanted to lay low, go unnoticed. And yet here you are, walking toward a future you never asked for. 

Opening the door to Class 1-A, noise hit you like a tidal wave.

The sight before you was all too familiar: Bakugo Katsuki, mid-scream, yelling at the blue-haired guy from the exam who had called out both you and Izuku. "WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME, FOUR EYES?!"

Kirishima saw you the moment you walked in. His face lit up and he raised a hand to call your name.

But his excitement falters once he spots your quiet, almost defeated demeanor. Instead he lowers his hand, deciding to speak to you later when he has the chance.

"Oh, that curly hair!"

You and Izuku turn to see a girl at the room's entrance. You recognize her from before the exam, who saved you two from a nasty fall.

"You passed! Just like Present Mic said you would!" Her short brown hair bounced with her bubbly movements. Her grin was bright, big eyes shining with excitement. "I mean of course you did! Your punch was amazing!!"

Izuku's face turned bright red as he stumbled over his words. "I-I was? I mean, I was just trying to do my best—"

When she glanced at you, however, her confident demeanor shifted. "Oh! Um... h-hi!" she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between you and Izuku.

You noticed she was wearing the flower you'd given her weeks ago—except now it was decorated in her hair.

"Is that the flower I gave you?" you asked, pointing to it.

The brunette furiously blushed, subconsciously brushing her fingers against it. "Y-yeah... I, um, made it into a hairpin because... well, it's...nice." she mumbled, ending the statement in a quiet voice.

You blink in surprise, warmth flooding your chest. You hadn't expected her to cherish it like that. "You made that? Wow...looks pretty."

She malfunctions at your compliment, words tangle up in her throat. "T-thanks! Y-you're really p-pretty too!"

Before the situation could get any more awkward, 'Four Eyes' strode over with a serious face, as rigid as ever.

"Greetings! I am Iida Tenya from the Somei Private Academy! Midoriya, I see you've made it into the Hero Course. It seems you were aware that there was more to the entrance exam than just combat! That takes foresight and strategic thinking. I misjudged you!" He bowed stiffly.

And of course, the freckled boy panicked under pressure of the sudden praise.

"N-no, I didn't! I mean, I wasn't—It was just—!" He fumbled over his words while you subtly rolled your eyes, not bothering to acknowledge Iida's over-the-top demeanor.

Just then, a tired voice cut through the room. "If you're here to socialize, get out."

Everyone froze, including you. Slowly you turned around, looking for the source of the voice. At first, you didn't see anyone—then, you heard shuffling and looked down.

There on the floor, was a man in a raggedy yellow sleeping bag, sipping on a juice pouch like he had all the time in the world. His tired eyes barely opened as he took another sip.

He stood up sluggishly, as though he had just woken up from a particularly bad nap. "My name is Shota Aizawa. I'll be your homeroom teacher," he muttered.

Already you didn't like him. Interrupting Zuki's chance to make friends and social connections? Not cool.

Not to mention he seemed very uninterested in being there, which annoyed you for some reason.

"It's kind of sudden, but we're going straight into it: Quirk assessment test," his eyes lazily scan the room, but you could feel they were sharp.

The entire class tensed up, sensing the weight of his words.

Aizawa pulls out a stack of gym clothes out the sleeping bag and throws it on top of his desk. "Get dressed and meet up outside."

*˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚*

Herded outside, Aizawa stood in front of the class, arms crossed and face blank.

You half-listened as he began to explain what was happening, that you'd be performing various physical tests using your quirks.

"This is a serious evaluation of your abilities. Don't screw around. And so, for a little motivator, the person who came in last would be kicked out ."

You perk up at that.

Izuku's face drained of color. You could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him, and for once you couldn't blame him.

He turns to you, clearly worried. "W-what are we going to do ____?! We can't get kicked out already!"

"Don't worry, I'm going to sit this one out. You just make sure to do your best, okay?"

"But—! You can't just—"

"I'll be fine, Zuki. Can't use my advanced abilities anyway unless this is taken off." Giving a sad smile, you tug at the rosary around your neck. "Besides, I need to know if I can handle myself without it."

That was a lie. You weren't doing this for practice.

You had no plans of staying at U.A., and this was your perfect way out. If you placed last, you'd be expelled. You'd gladly sacrifice yourself so he could stay.

The tests began, and true to your word, you barely tried.

50-meter dash? You jogged at a leisure pace. Grip strength test? You squeezed just enough to move the needle a few inches. Long jump? Just a  lil hop as a kid would when playing hopscotch.

When it came to Izuku's turn for the throw, you watched in confusion as he managed to hurl the ball incredibly far.

Your brows furrowed 'How the hell did he just do that? '

Something about it didn't add up. But you shook your head, deciding to worry about that later. 'Focus on getting kicked out first.'

Aizawa watched you the whole time, sharp eyes narrowing with every test. Kirishima, on the other hand, looked genuinely confused.

He had seen what you could do during the entrance exam—the way you'd saved people and destroyed the Zero Pointer with a single kick. Now, you were acting like you couldn't care less.

Finally the scores were displayed. And as expected, you were dead last.

"Well dang!" You clap your hands together as you jump up with a wide grin on your face. "Really wanted to stay, but it looks like I GOTS to go!"

With a pep in your step, you began to walk to the nearest exit. 

"W-wait! You can't just go! You... you don't have to do this!" Izuku's voice cracked as he shouted with tears brimming his eyes.

"She wasn't using her full quirk!" He reached for your rosary, his hand shaking as he tried to grab it. "If you just take this off, you can still—"

You jumped back before his fingers could touch the necklace, holding your hands up defensively.

"Whoa there!" You let out a nervous laugh, giving the greenette a light pat on the head. "You know I can't Zuki. I'd feel like a total cheater if I used my quirk now. That wouldn't be fair."

Izuku stared at you with quivering lips, clearly on the verge of begging Aizawa to let you retake the test with your vampire quirk side active.

He couldn't do this, not without you.

You rub his back, keeping up your fake disappointed smile. And though you hated seeing him like this, you had to stick to your plan.

Aizawa watched the scene unfold in silence, his tired eyes taking in everything as he processed everything. Then, he sighed.

Just as you were about to give Izuku another consoling pat on the back, Aizawa's monotone voice cut through the air. "Oh, and about the last person getting kicked out—"

You whipped your head up, glancing at him in confusion. Why was he dragging this out?

Catching the strange glint in his dark eyes, your face drops. 'No...no way...'

 He wasn't serious...was he? 

Aizawa's lips curved into a dark smirk as the panic spread across your face.

You glared at him. 'You wouldn't dare,' your eyes said.

Aizawa's grin widened as if to say, 'Oh, I would,' before delivering the finishing blow: "I lied."

For a second, everything was still. The the words finally sunk in.

"____'s not getting expelled?!" Izuku lets out a cry of happiness. Aizawa gave a nod in response, barely sparing a glance as you dropped to your knees with a wail.

You weren't getting kicked out....you weren't leaving. There was no getting out of this.

Tears began streaming down your face, you try to cover them to hide how distraught you were. Not that it mattered, to others it looked like tears of joy.

Izuku immediately knelt beside you, pulling your hands away from your face. "Hey, ____. Look at me! It's okay... it's alright... No need to cry," he said, voice soft and gentle.

You calmed down with a sniffle, managing a shaky and hesitant grin. "R-really?"

Your bestfriend nodded vigorously, his grin lighting up the entire field. "Yes! We can finally become heroes together!"

That fake grin you had crumbled and you couldn't hold back the loud ugly sobs that followed.

You were stuck here. You had to be a hero now.

Misunderstanding your feelings Izuku continued to console you thinking you were crying of happiness. "It's okay! We're gonna be heroes!" he repeated, voice filled with excitement for the future.

One by one the other classmates began to gather around, offering words of encouragement and patting you on the shoulder with words of "You've got this!" or "We're a team!"

Bakugo could only stand off to the side, arms crossed and looking thoroughly unimpressed. "What a bunch of extras," he grumbled under his breath. Todoroki, equally unamused, kept his distance.

Through all of this, Aizawa watched, munching on a bag of popcorn. Where he got the popcorn? No one knew, but he was clearly enjoying himself.

And so, your new life at U.A. had officially begun. Whether you liked it or not.

[heqvenlymoons]

The Fragile Threads of Time [0]

It's called chapter 0 but it's really just the prologue.

The Fragile Threads of Time Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 0: The Keystone Event

It had been a few months since the enigma known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng wreaked havoc in Damian’s life through living at Wayne Manor because of the exchange program. 

According to her words, she moved to Gotham of all places to study fashion at Gotham Academy. 

It made no sense because wasn’t Paris the best place to study fashion due to its rich history in the industry? 

So why Marinette would move from a city with adequate fashion schools to Gotham was something Damian could never understand. 

(A voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Todd was saying “You could understand it if you talked to her like a normal person would instead of creepily observing her from afar.”) 

Because of her vague explanations, Damian found her suspicious at first, opting to glare at her and watch her every move like a hawk. 

His father hadn’t even conducted the usual thorough background checks, justifying that Marinette was the niece of an old friend of his and insisting they respect her privacy. 

For some reason, Marinette seemed to be immune to his glares. She kept their conversations short and to the point every time they interacted.

After around a week of closely observing her, Damian was left with more questions than answers. 

Marinette was just too… nice. She regularly whipped up baked goods for his family and she could handle his imbecile brothers like a pro. 

She practised trapeze with Grayson, occasionally sparred and, much to his Father’s dismay, learned how to shoot various types of guns with Todd.

She also solved cold cases with Drake while working on her designs during their late-night insomniac hangouts. 

Damian found himself at times discussing art mediums and his pets with her. 

She engaged in conversations with his extended family members tailored to their interests and hobbies, fearlessly called out Father on his ‘Brucie’ act, and remained persistent in offering help to Alfred in preparation for meals despite his pseudo grandfather’s refusals. 

His adopted siblings had been immediately charmed by her, even Father and Alfred were impressed. 

Within a few months of Marinette living in Wayne Manor, she had managed to warm her way through the hearts of his family, and though he would never admit it out loud, his as well.

Marinette might not have realized it but her presence seemed to be what his dysfunctional family had been lacking. 

Damian noticed Todd’s madness caused by the Lazarus Pits had calmed down a tad since her arrival. 

So when his father Bruce Wayne received a ransom call from the Joker and video proof showcasing Marinette’s capture, Damian didn’t hesitate in suiting up and making his way to the warehouse in record speed to rescue her.

Facing off with Joker without a plan was a terrible idea but Damian hadn’t thought that far. The fear of seeing Marinette dead at the hands of the psychopathic clown was enough to send him over the edge and throw his common sense out the window.

All he could think of was how he couldn’t lose her, not when she was the most tolerable person in the manor, making her in league with Alfred. 

Joker had kidnapped Marinette for associating with the Waynes⸺ for associating with him. 

The bomb was going to go off soon, he didn’t know when and he didn’t care, he was going to rescue her. He had to. 

Robin could vaguely hear Batman through the comm in his ear, putting together a plan and ordering him not to do anything impulsive. 

Ignoring his father’s orders and earning him surprised shouts from his siblings, Robin burst into the warehouse just as he heard Batman instructing Nightwing, “Go after him and do damage control, he’s already broken into the warehouse where Marinette is being held.” 

Strolling through the warehouse with a sense of calmness he did not feel, he was met with Joker’s manic smile.

Marinette’s eyes darted to him from where her hands were bound to the chair and her expression turned desperate, seemingly trying to convey something without saying it out loud and alert the crazy clown. 

“Hm, just the little bird alone today? No Batsy and his other sidekicks?” Joker’s tone was cheerful, in a deceptive and creepy way, the detonator he waved tauntingly in greeting filled Robin with anger. 

Marinette hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t deserve to be manhandled and kidnapped by Joker because he was sadistic and wanted money. 

Robin then noticed Joker’s choice of attire was unusual, different from the signature purple three-piece suit with a green shirt, orange tie and white gloves.

Joker’s new attire wasn’t any much different from his signature attire. 

Except for the fact that it now had a twisted and warped appearance about it, while also adorned with jagged edges and swirling patterns that seemed to shift and dance like it had a life of their own. 

The new look paired with the wide grin on the psychotic clown’s face, which revealed the razor-sharp teeth, filled Robin with a sense of foreboding. 

Joker’s new attire shouldn’t elicit such apprehension but Robin knew something was missing, and Joker’s warped suit was the centre of it. 

At the prolonged silence, Joker took it as a sign to continue. “You know, I would let this little doll go after Mr. Wayne pays the ransom. There’s no need to play it the hard way.” 

Fat chance of that. Joker was the last villain to let a victim go after the ransom had been paid. 

Though the spoken words were soft, Robin heard the underlying threat for what it was.

The Joker might have enjoyed the theatrics but he was also sadistic, and when push comes to shove, he would absolutely go through with the implied threat. 

Jason Todd had been proof of that. Although his second eldest brother had come back to life through the Lazarus Pits, Robin sure as hell wasn’t going to let Marinette suffer the same fate. 

His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists, the nails digging into his palms. 

“Mr. Wayne won’t pay the ransom,” Robin said coldly, his watchful eyes following the detonator Joker was still waving around. 

His gaze then swivelled to Marinette, who looked… resigned? 

He felt a flash of panic, wondering why she would look so resigned and exhausted for some reason.

Joker laughed but it wasn’t out of joy. The laugh was cruel, echoing through the vast warehouse, and sounded like it was out of his darkest nightmares. 

It made Robin’s skin crawl as he fought against the instinct to shiver. 

When he thought back to the moment, Robin would’ve sworn he hadn’t seen Joker press the button on his detonator. 

But in that moment right after the laugh, Robin heard the faint music of a ‘happy birthday’ tune and within this context, he wasn’t sure if he could ever hear his siblings sing happy birthday to him without thinking back to this moment. 

His eyes went to Marinette and he rushed towards her, determined to reach her before the bomb went off. 

In his peripheral, he thought he saw Joker’s confused expression but his full focus was on the wide-eyed girl in front of him. 

Despite the unlikely odds of surviving the explosion, he intended to shield her with his own form in a desperate attempt to minimize her injuries.  

But his hand barely brushed hers before the bomb went off with a huge bang, taking down everyone within a ten-metre radius of the warehouse. 

The last thing he saw was a bright flash of white light. He thought he heard panic shouts from his comm, and then…

Nothing. 

Next Ch 1

[plzfeedmebread]

The Lie of Providence - Chapter 5 - Paths

word count: 2698

Pairing: Recom Miles Quaritch x Female! Sully! Na'vi Reader Tags/Warnings: family bonding

“blue text” is spoken Na'vi. ‘Italics’ are thoughts.

[previous chapter] | 5 | [next chapter]

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

When you and father return to the village, you find Mo’at already awake and preparing for her duties of the day.

“Mo’at, I must speak with you urgently.” Jake addresses her almost immediately.

“Good morning to you too ma Jake, ma [Y/N].” She chides him playfully, unawares of how serious he is. You greet her softly.

“Good morning Grandmother…” Her focus is immediately on you. She studies your face; that downcast gaze, the faint streaks left by tears.

“Come.” She commands and you two follow her into an unoccupied healer tent. She gestures you two to sit and she secures the entrance closed.

“Speak of your troubles.”

Once again you go through the motions of your nightmare. Again your tongue is held steadfast against mentions of the Human. You do not cry this time, far too drained now. When you are finished speaking you exhale deeply. Grandmother is quiet as she sits in front of you, studying you. Your father nervously shifts his gaze from you to her and back. He opens his mouth to speak but she swiftly lifts a hand to silence him, gaze never faltering from you.

Without a word she rises from her spot and swiftly leaves the tent. You look to your father confused, but he merely shrugs; equally baffled. Quickly she returns though, bringing with her a bowls, tools, and a satchel no doubt filled with various powders and plants.

She works without uttering a single word. She alights the small fire pit in the center of the tent space. You welcome the gentle heat as it washes away the morning chill. Your father moves to sit closer to you, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder as the two of you watch Mo’at work.

You watch with keen interest as she grinds dried plants into fine powders, quietly chanting as she does. She pulls the bone from her necklace and holds out her free hand expectantly to you. You understand immediately and offer a hand. She pricks a finger, putting a drop of your blood into her concoction. She grabs a handful of the powder and throws it upon the fire.

The flames roar to life suddenly, a dazzling dance of reds and purples awash the tent. You look at your arms and marvel as the colours are reflected perfectly in your pale tones. You wonder if other colours would dance so wonderfully on your skin too. Mo’at’s prayers are louder now as she gestures this way and that, a dance known only to her as Tsahik. Suddenly the fire burns dark red, bolder than fire should be, and immediately dies without warning. Mo’at gasps and inhales deeply.

She sits back on her haunches, hands folded in her lap.

“The Great Mother has spoken. She speaks of fire and brimstone. Of great shadows darkening the sky. The seas painted red with spilt blood. Of villages burning, our people dying. Of betrayal, vengeance, wrath…”

She looks up from the dead flames to meet your eyes.

“She speaks of you. A warning. Many paths lay before you. She did not reveal them to me. Only that you must choose the right one.”

You gulp. All of that sounded more ominous than helpful. In fact, the right path? What does that even mean? How are you supposed to know? What if you choose wrong? What then? Will you be the reason people die and villages burn?? Your suddenly filled with anxiety, such thoughts becoming too taxing for a 12-year-old girl.

“Hey Mo’at that’s enough! You’re scaring her!” Your father yells when he notices your laboured breath. There words become heated but you do not hear. Static fills your ears as you stare at your open palms.

You’re suddenly filled with a desire to see the Human. That cold gruff man. He’s been a constant in your life for many years now. Oh, you left him on that cliff. You hope he finds his way back to the waking world or where ever he comes from.

And before any of you realise it, you unwillingly fall into the embrace of darkness.

---

Miles Quaritch considers himself a sensible sort. Tough on his men, tougher on his opponents. Values loyalty above all else. Does not question authority, and does himself expect not to be questioned. That first day on Pandora, she made one thing very clear; this is not your home, and you do not make the rules here.

He wears his scars proudly, a reminder of what’s out there. Not just the animals and plants, but those savages too. Anything with a pulse is trying to kill you. Anything without a pulse can kill you too. But they have a job to do. Orders are orders and one way or another, they are going to get to that damn deposit of unobtainium.

The Avatar Program. What a fucking joke. Waste of time as far as he is concerned. Would be easier just to smoke out all the natives by force and blow the damn tree up. Minimal casualties of course, but such things are unavoidable. He suddenly wonders if you live in that big tree.

Urgh. He hates that he suddenly thought of you. Some native kid inhabiting a dream. He doesn’t like the lucid dreams. They feel far too real for his liking. He’d really like Jake to hurry the fuck up so he can be done with this planet and be on the next shuttle outta here. He can’t help his mind however, recalling the first time he had seen you. Jesus Christ you scared the shit outta him, looking like a damn ghost what with that pale skin and all. Turns out you were just a bratty kid who followed him everytime he dreamt these past few months.

He wonders then though, if his mind was playing tricks on him last time he dreamt of you. You looked, almost bigger? He’s not sure anymore. The low gravity of this planet must be fucking with his head and he can’t stand it. He sighs as he rubs a hand down his face. He’d love nothing more than to leave right now. Paz looks ready to pop anytime soon and he’d prefer if the boy was born on his real home planet, not this God forsaken moon. This was no place to raise a son.

Although he and Paz weren’t in a relationship per say, he knows he needs to do right by her and their son. So begrudgingly here he stays, following through with orders to the best of his ability, to ensure a future for his son, and to ensure he has a home to go back to once this is all over.

---

 Months pass and yet still you do not return to the shared dream. For this you are grateful as you have yet to experience another nightmare. You would be saddened to have not seen your human companion were this not the norm though; to go so long without another shared dream.

It might even take another year before he makes an appearance. But that is a worry for future you. Present day you has thought long and hard about Eywa’s less than straight forward answers. But as luck would have it, you have come up with a sort of plan.

As you recall, Eywa spoke of many paths to be laid before you, choosing the right one a crucial step toward the future. You wondered then, if perhaps this was hence tied to your future place in the clan; something not yet set in stone either.

Being the first born of Olo'eyktan, you had many choices in your future role to the clan, Leader of course being one of them. Alternatively, you could tutelage under Grandmother to become future Tsahik. This was once your mother’s destiny, but the war with the Sky People passed lead her instead down the path of the Warrior, to which she has since thrived. She is a remarkable huntress too, and you would be honoured to learn from her; another path you could choose.

There were also the Gatherers, experts in cultivating the land and foraging, making sure to take only what is needed to never upset the great balance. You could study craftmanship – becoming an expert in textiles, or one day having the privilege of using the Mother Loom. You could become a Clan Singer, studying under Ninat and learning the songs to bring joy around the cooking fires, or the prayers that are sung to honour the dead.

With so many ways you could fit into the clan, your genius idea was then to do it all.

Oh yes. You were going to study everything. Every last job afforded to you, you would give everything that you are and then some. Surely there could be no wrong path if you took EVERY path!

With this in mind you approach your parents and grandparent with the idea. Mo’at is apprehensive, becoming Tsakarem was a life long commitment. But as it would stand she doesn’t currently have anyone under her tutelage, so she relents. She places a condition though; were she to see a sign from Eywa regarding your future as Tsahik, she would end the training were it not to please the Great Mother. You agree wholeheartedly.

And so begins your training under dearest Grandmother.

And by the Great Mother is it exhausting. But equally as exhilarating. There is a thought in the back of your mind too, that if you can become one who interprets the Will of Eywa, there is the chance that your own future, and the dreams that may yet lie within, could become clearer to you. You could gain a better understanding of it all. Maybe.

Every morning then, you awaken before majority of the clan, and listen dutifully as Mo’at explains everything she does, and the reasons therein. She speaks of Eywa’s influence in the world around you, look for signs, the things others may not yet see. How she interprets these things. The rites that a Tsahik must perform for her people, the plants you use, the painting patterns, which paints to use and the colours and their meanings. There is even order in the burning powders for rituals and rites alike. It is a lot to take in. But you drink it up as though you are starved.

And when the sun approaches its zenith, you spend your time with Mother, she teaches you the ways of hunting. How to track the great beasts of Pandora, how to stealth through the forest but leave no trace behind. She begins teaching you to use a bow, and you and her are surprised to find you are remarkably proficient. She praises you greatly, and the two of you laugh over stories of how much she struggled to teach your father the very same weapon.

When the sun first kisses the horizon, you then spend time with Ninat, learning how to control your voice. Breathing exercise. How to hold notes and expanding your range. She tells you that you have a good voice, and will no doubt sing beautifully with time; if your own mother’s voice is anything to go by. With that in mind, you practice your singing in the evenings when Neytiri sings her personal songcord.

Your days are never the same though. Though each morning will always be spent with Tsahik, some afternoons you spend with father, he appoints himself to teach you the way of the Warrior. How to fight. And more importantly, how to wield a knife. Though he’s not ready to give you a proper blade yet, you are given a blunt wooden carving of one. Technique is of the most importance. The stances and body movements he teaches you, are Human techniques.

He appoints Tarsem, a young but extremely wise Warrior to teach you the native style of the clan. He hopes a broaden fighting style with multiple perspectives will keep you that much safer in the future.

Other evenings are spent with some of the Gatherers as they prepare food for the clan with the Hunters. You learn how to carve meat from bone, which parts of animals are for eating, the rest for healing or craftsmanship. There are some days where you join them out the forest, learning which plants are safe and which to avoid wholeheartedly. Which herbs mix well together, and which when combined make absolute and utter chaos.

The only downside to this sudden busy schedule, is you find yourself with far less time than before to spend with your siblings. It weighs heavy on your heart; especially when you have to refuse their offers to play when you have lessons.

You do the best you can to make time here and there. You are free though, well after the evening meal, when the sky is dark and full of stars. You sit with them and tell them stories of your day, the struggles of your training, the joys of doing things right. There is a big smile that spreads upon your face, ear to ear, as you regale them, almost nary stopping to breathe.

Then there are your days of Rest. One must allow oneself to replenish the energy that is borrowed from Eywa. These are the days you visit Hells Gate to spend time with Uncle Norm and Max catching up on your goings on. Spider is of course there too, eating up everything you see, wishing he too could be a part of your training.  By the Great Mother if you somehow become Clan Leader you will make sure he becomes an official member, and anyone who disagrees will answer to you.

---

2 Years pass. You are 15 now, almost a young adult. Your training still continues, though only to hone your skills. One development however, is that at some point you ceased your training as future Tsahik. Instead, Mo’at has appointed Kiri to be her new Tsakarem. And at 11 years old Kiri is more than excited. Any chance she can commune with the Great Mother she takes it. It means she get so communicate with her Birth Mother, Grace; a surprising thing to learn.

Your parents had waited until the older children, everyone except Tuk, were old enough to understand the story. How they found Grace’s avatar body pregnant without explanation, in its stasis pod. And how Kiri came into the world a little miracle, one they graciously took into their family to raise as their own. Now Kiri sometimes visits Hells Gate with Lo’ak in tow, the two of them growing closer to Spider as the years passed. But also it gives her a chance to see her other Mother, to watch videos of her talking about her love for Eywa and this world.

---

Hold your breath. Steady aim. Do not pull too tightly. Exhale on release. No sudden movements. Aim carefully and—the yerik just so happens to look up and immediately spots you, instantly scurrying off before you can let loose an arrow.

You cuss, growly in frustration of it all. This is not the first time something like this has happened. You are sure of it now. Being this pale against the backdrop of the forest’s deep greens and blues, you must stand out something fierce.

“Calm, [Y/N]. These things happen.” Your mother says and puts a comforting hand upon your shoulder.

“Sorry. I know. It’s just—incredibly frustrating.”

“What is, my sweet atokirina?”

You gesture vaguely up and down your whole body.

“This. This is. It makes me stand out. I can’t hunt like this Mama. They see me so fast…”

“Then we must try other techniques. From higher in the trees, or—”

“It’s not just the animals Mother…”

The words slip out before you even think. Damn. This wasn’t something you wanted to necessarily talk about. At least not yet. It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. And most of all, heart breaking. Neytiri scowls, not liking the implication behind those words.

“What do you mean, [Y/N]?”

You sigh deeply. ‘Eywa give me strength’. And so you decide to tell your mother, about your first heartbreak.

----------

A/N: Once again I'd like to give thanks to everyone that has liked and or reblogged this story. It really means a lot and is great motivation to keep going! I know you all must be frothing for the promised quaritch x reader content and I thank you for your patience. I promise it is coming! I just really wanted to get some world building in there; really delve into you as the reader and where you come from. I am eager to hear your thoughts. Let me know how ya'll feel about pacing and whatever else have you!

Also once again I apologies for any grammatical errors.

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Tag List: @mynameisbaby9 @nissilou @d4rno @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @perseny

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[previous chapter] | 5 | [next chapter]

[kit-williams]

Barn Anon. Thank you but I think I'm more comfortable being Anon. Just how I am I suppose? Either ways, I tried again to make something happier.

It's been a few days now since you left your parent's house. This is easily the longest sleepover you've ever had! Best day ever! or maybe best week ever would be more appropriate? You had never seen so many Salamanders before. You had seen other Space Marines before when your Salamander brought you along with him to what looked like a Space Marine hangout?

That place was so interesting, their armours all so different and colourful. You told your Salamander that they remind you of power rangers, getting a loud laugh in return. He had told you of the various legions and chapters, though you can't remember them all. Though it seems like they're all nice people! Or maybe it's because that particular hangout was frequented by those with fondness for humans.

Now however you find yourself following one of the other Salamanders through the large building. You had left your jacket in your room, you wouldn't need it here. the Salamanders keep their building nice and warm. He reaches down and picks you up, setting you on a tabletop that would give you a good view of a training pit.

There you see your Salamander out of armour fighting with another unarmoured Salamander. He and his opponent move so fast, it was almost a blur at some points. A large hand is carefully wrapped around your waist to make sure you don't fall. Your Salamander had told you how they train with each other and you were quick to ask if you could watch.

You swing your feet as you sit at the table's edge, you watch and cheer your Salamander on. Best sleepover ever.

You know what Barn Anon I can respect that and if you're more comfortable doing this then I wont stop you

this is gonna kinda long

Yes Sunny is a Terran born Night Lord you wanna fight about it?

Officer Riley looked over the missing child case though it looked like it was turning into a case of Astarte's linked abduction but all their parents knew was the Astartes in question was green. That didn't help... if it was a Dark Angel the kid could still be alive unless the feral astartes got a case of paranoia then that kid was as good as dead... if it was a death guard another case of they would have to find a body.

He sighs putting his head on the desk hearing the door open up and his space marine sits in his reinforced chair. Officer Riley was very aware of the Irony that was Suul... or as he called him Sunny to piss him off. He looked at the Night Lord sitting in the chair. Though he was what was called an "Old Breed" or "Old Stock" or even as Sunny said "Terran born". But still the Irony wasn't lost on him... a cop getting a Night Lord... but Sunny was stubborn to let the officer know that he was his charge and he was there to keep him safe.

"Something feels wrong Sunny. Did you learn anything from the Space Marines in the area?" He looked up at the Space Marine.

What left the Night Lord wasn't the typical Slavic accent that most others had but some weird what Officer Riley would call a Metropolitian accent, "Salamanda'" He said looking at his servos like he was looking at nails.

"A Salamander took them?"

"Ye' Left during the wolf's midnight patrol." Sunny had managed to get one Space Marine to at least talk with him. "Ya know there's a compound of them a bit of a trek away."

"Why would a Salamander take a child? They normally don't."

Sunny hums and nods before looking at him, "Why don't we go ask him."

----------

You were having so much fun! Only time that was boring was when your Salamander went and did his forge time but you would play on a tablet that the tech marine of the group gave you. You were starting to learn more and more.

BLARE

You jump at the alarm blare as suddenly you were picked up by a Salamander before you were given to your Salamander and then he and a few others moved you to a safe location. "What's happening?" You ask as your Salamander looks down at you.

"A feral space marine is in the area. The alarm wouldn't normally go off but since you are here... precaution." He says with a smile.

You lean against his arm just worried.

-------

"Sunny stop following me." Officer Riley said looking back at the Night Lord

"Fat chance. Ya might get yerself killed." Suul said he had little to fear from the Salamander's hurting his charge but he didn't know what else was around and that made the Night Lord paranoid because who knew what they knew.

"You just want to come along to translate for me don't you." Officer Riley says just looking at his large shadow just shrug.

"I've got big ears and Salamanders are big boys with big mouths... always useful to-" Suul started before he put himself in front of the officer as suddenly they were surrounded.

He holds his breath wondering how he didn't hear them approach but then again the snow did wonders to hide the noise but... he looks over their disrupted outlines of the large green giants. He looks over his shoulder at their massive weapons and on either side he sees two with flamethrowers aimed right at Sunny. Sunny was slowly putting his arms up and his hands behind his head getting to a knee to try and minimize the chance of his human getting hurt.

"My- my name is Officer Riley," He shows his badge out towards the most decorated looking Salamander, "We're looking for a kid. Their parents said they were grabbed by a feral Astartes and we were wondering if you knew of anything? Perhaps you found them?"

Sunny starts to translate before a gauntleted hand is held up, "I understand and speak their language."

"Well fuck me I guess." Sunny mumbles.

"Why don't you two come with us." The Salamander says as Riley hears the snow crunch behind him as they close in. "It is cold out."

"Alright thank you. Come on Sunny." Officer Riley says swallowing the sinking feeling in his gut. This was always the danger of dealing with "feral" Astartes they tended to group up into warbands or companies.

"We will not hesitate to kill the Night Lord." The Salamander speaks with finality in his voice.

"I will be on my best behavior on the Emperor's word." Suul promises causing the Salamander to hum.

[phantommaws]

Chapter Snippet - Fear

The overhead light buzzed in some irritating pattern as their grip on the sink basin tightened until their knuckles began to turn white. The nerves that churned away in their insides were a near-physical presence, and Hange was fighting to stop themselves from emptying the contents of their stomach as they looked at themself in the mirror. The person staring back at her was someone who she was struggling to recognise, and no matter how much they tried, they couldn’t take their eyes away from the scars that stretched across parts of their body.

Hange sighed deeply as their hands roamed over the skin, feeling every pit and ripple that they now knew like the palms of their hands. It had taken a long while for her to be able to accept that this was how her body looked now. They had grown accustomed to the various scars from their battles over the years – the welts from the straps of their ODM gear, the star-shaped mark where the anchor of the anti-personnel gear had sunk its way into their flesh and torn her asunder, even the line that stretched from their waist to the top of their thigh where they had accidentally sliced themself open during a training exercise mishap whilst they were still a cadet.

But these scars were different in ways that they didn’t necessarily know how to put into words. Although healing incredibly quickly, the pink hue still stood out against the paleness of their skin in a very obvious way. Despite this, they couldn’t help but feel somewhat proud of just how they had gotten those scars. Hange sucked in a deep breath as they squeezed themself into their binder, taking care to adjust until it sat on their chest just right. It had been a gift from Levi, lovingly hand-sewn with help from Mikasa and given to them with the request of a promise to never use the bandages again that they used to. Picking up the white shirt from where it was hung up on the back of the door, they pulled the white garment on and quickly buttoned it up, hiding their multiple scars and blemishes from view.

“Hange?”

The knock at the door was incredibly gentle, and Hange turned to look at Mikasa as the young woman peered around the wooden door.

“Hange, are you alright?”

Mikasa’s voice was soft yet thick with worry, and Hange couldn’t help their sigh as they dragged the brush through the tangled strands of their freshly washed auburn-hued hair. Today was finally the day of the wedding and, although Hange was beyond excited, and yet a feeling of dread that they felt so deep inside of them. So many of their relationships through the years had ended in tragedy – Rosie had been devoured by a titan on their third expedition outside of the walls; Moblit had sacrificed his own life to save theirs in Shiganshina, and there were others that were far too painful for them to recall. How could she know if this too would end in such a way?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Tag List - @youre-ackermine

[futureslaps]

The Captive - Chapter 28

Chapter 27     Chapter 29

Finally done! I’ve been Uber-busy with various personal stuff the last week, but I managed to get this writing done when I had time. Thanks to everyone being patient in advance!

Enjoy 💙

Kiri knew something was wrong the moment she woke up. The world seemed peaceful, with a warm breeze blowing across the skin she hadn’t covered with a blanket. The ocean lapped at the tree’s roots quietly. Everything seemed fine, but something was missing.

Spider wasn’t next to her.

Kiri opened her eyes the moment she realized it, any sleepiness quickly leaving her as she sat up, instinctively looking through the early light around for the boy.

Could she have somehow missed him completely? Had Spider arrived after she’d fallen asleep, and then woken up before her? She turned to the blankets she’d brought him, but to her dismay, they were in the same place she’d put them. A thin layer of dew on the top confirmed they hadn’t been touched.

Kiri felt a pit forming in her stomach.

Had Spider seen her sleeping next to where he would be, and walked away? Was he still uncomfortable around her?

Spider had seemed…better after she’d talked to him yesterday with her father. Had she missed something…?

Quickly, she jumped down from the sleeping spot, already trying to think of how she could apologize to Spider.

But first, she had to find him.

As Alpha Centauri slowly crept higher, she began to walk through the Metkayina village. Although her mind was fixed on finding her brother, she couldn’t help but notice the way the Metkayina were behaving. Usually, at such an early hour few of them would had stirred, but the village already seemed wide awake. Many of the adults were speaking quietly in groups, serious expressions on their faces.

Something to ask about later…

Kiri kept her eyes peeled, looking for any sign of Spider. As she neared the edge of the village, she did spot a familiar figure in the distance, seated on the edge of a pad. But it wasn’t Spider. It was her dad.

Kiri smiled a little in relief. He could help her find Spider. Maybe he’d even seen the boy if he was already awake.

She approached her father from the side, still trying to think of where Spider could be. Finally, when she was close enough not to need to yell, she called out to him.

“Hey, dad! Have…you…”

Kiri lost her voice as Jake turned to face her, and she got a look at him up close. He was covered in blood, especially around his hands. Multiple deep cuts crossed her dad’s arms, and chest, with one even going up the side of his face. She was silent for a moment, shocked by the sight before her.

Jake looked back at her with eyes red from exhaustion, but his expression looked almost…fearful.

“Dad…what…?” Kiri finally managed to muster the word, unsure of what else to even say.

“There was a…fight.” Jake spoke quietly, mumbling the words like he was embarrassed to say then. “A fight with Quaritch.”

Kiri was stunned.

“But how…?”

Jake predicted the question, and answered before Kiri could finish.

“He got out. Somehow, he got out.” When he saw Kiri’s shocked expression, Jake added “Don’t worry, he’s back in captivity. We’re safe.”

Kiri was quiet again, trying to process the new information.

Quaritch escaped.

And, judging from the serious wounds her dad had sustained, he had been armed.

But he had been recaptured. He had failed.

So why did her dad look so sullen?

Thinking about the possibilities, Kiri recalled her own secret conversation with Quaritch. It felt like ages ago, but she still remembered it clearly.

He means the world to me.

Quaritch had made it clear he would do anything to protect Spider, much to Kiri’s shock. He’d even tried to take the blame for Spider visiting him, knowing it could cause his death if it got out.

Anything…

“Dad?” Kiri spoke shakily, the sinking feeling she’d felt all morning growing deeper. “Where’s Spider?”

Her father closed his eyes when she asked the question and held his head in his hands.

Kiri’s heart sank yet lower. She could feel the tears forming in her eyes, but she repeated the question.

“Where…where is he? Is he okay?”

Jake took a deep breath, then finally answered, almost choking out the words.

“He’s … hurt.”

Kiri’s heart began to beat faster.

“Hurt? What do you mean? How?”

“He’s in the infirmary.” Jake replied, looking down.

Without waiting to see if her dad said anything more, Kiri raced for the large Marui that housed those with the most serious injuries.

Please let it be okay.

Please let it be okay.

Eywa please…

She finally crossed the threshold into the building, and quickly spotted Ronal hunched over a patient. A sky-person arm with blue stripes hung off the side of the table…

“Spider!” Kiri couldn’t help but call out loud, but she saw no movement, and heard no response, she quickly covered the distance to Spider’s side. Ronal turned to her, attempting to stop her.

“Be careful, this is not…”

Kiri ignored whatever the Tsahik had said, her panic suddenly overwhelming her. Finally, she pushed past Ronal, and saw Spider. She gasped at the sight.

Spider’s once-tan skin was pale. He was unconscious, lying limply on the bedroll. And, worst of all, his right shoulder was covered with thick bandages all around. But, even though the dark, fibrous covering, she could see the way his right arm was laying, no…hanging…wrong. And his shoulder. The shape…

Kiri let out a cry of horror.  

How could…

What…

Seeing Spider’s condition, Kiri couldn’t hold the tears back, and they came out in a stream. She started letting out sobs as she fell to her knees next to the boy’s unconscious figure. Her entire world seemed to fade into darkness, consumed by the sudden grief. She had felt the same way with Neteyam, but the pain was still unimaginable.

She should have been there. Whatever happened, she should have stopped it. She knew she could have talked to Spider, talked to her father, even talked to Quaritch. Maybe if she had, then…

“S…Spider…” Kiri croaked . “I’m…so…s-s-sorry…”

She pressed her face into the bedroll, muffling her sobs.

Kiri couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but eventually she heard someone approaching across the infirmary. A hand was laid on her shoulder.

“Kiri…I’m sorry.”

Kiri tried to stifle her crying for a bit, lifting her now tear-stained face to look up at her father.

“What…happened…?”

“He lost a lot of blood.” Jake explained, trying to sound as gentle as possible despite the subject. “and his shoulder’s…hurt. It’s hurt bad. Shattered.”

“Can it be fixed?” Kiri dared to ask the question, and the look on her dad’s face told her the answer.

“It…it doesn’t look like we can. We’re probably going to have to amputate…”

“What about Norm?” Kiri asked quickly.

“Already called him.” Jake explained. “He said he’ll take a look at it, but…it’s bad.”

“You can’t take Spider’s arm. You can’t.” Kiri pleaded. “How would he climb…shoot a bow…swim…”

“We’ll do everything we can, I promise.” Jake cupped Kiri’s face with a hand as he spoke, gently wiping away some tears. “Whatever is best for Spider, that’s what we will do. Sometimes, that choice might be tough, but we have to do the right thing.”

Kiri nodded slowly, although tears still rolled down her cheeks. She turned to look at Spider again, laying a hand on his chest. Father and daughter stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of their breaths the only audible noise.

“How?”

The sudden bluntness of Kiri’s question took Jake aback. When he didn’t respond, Kiri spoke again.

“What happened? How could he get hurt like this?”

Jake stared at his feet when the question was asked, taking a shaky breath.

“Dad?”

“It’s like I said...Quaritch…there was a fight…”

Another shaky breath.

“Spider was there…and…” Jake hesitated, but after a few seconds, he let the truth out.

“He got hit by an arrow.”

Kiri looked back to her father.

An arrow?

How could it be an arrow? The Metkayina didn’t use arrows, and her father had clearly been fighting hand to hand, judging from the cuts. That would mean…

Kiri’s eyes narrowed.

“Who’s arrow?”

No answer.

“Who’s arrow was it dad?”

Her father didn’t look up at her, failing to meet her eyes as he remained silent, his ears lowered in clear shame. It was all Kiri needed to know.

“It was mom, wasn’t it?”

Jake again didn’t answer, only making the sudden rage Kiri was feeling flare even more.

“How...how could she?” She started to raise her voice.

“It was a mistake.” Jake responded quietly, the pain in his own voice evident. But the excuse only made Kiri grow angrier.

“A mistake?” She repeated it sarcastically. “She tried to kill Spider by mistake?”

“Kiri…it wasn’t like that. Your mom would never…”

“She just did! Stop defending her!” Kiri interrupted. “She tried to kill him on the ship, and now here!”

“She was trying to kill Quaritch!” Jake tried to explain, raising his voice.

“And she didn’t care if she hit Spider!”

“We had to stop Quaritch, he was trying to kidnap Spider. We needed to…”

“THEN I WISH HE SUCCEEDED!”

Jake grew silent at the words Kiri yelled. He faced his daughter, half shocked, half devastated. Kiri stared back at him, tears running down her face. But her eyes were hard. After a moment of silence, she continued.

“I wish Quaritch could have taken Spider far away from here! Far away from the people who want to MURDER him! ” The words were half yelled, half choked. It was painful to say, but she couldn’t hide her true thoughts.

“Kiri, it’s not…I…” Jake stumbled over his words, still too shocked to properly respond.

“Stop…just…sto…” Kiri’s sentence was interrupted by another sob as everything started to sink in. The sense of betrayal, and devastation were overwhelming. She fell to her knees next to Spider again, this time making no effort to stifle the loud, body-shaking sobs. She was too hurt to care.

Behind her, Jake watched in silence, his own eyes moist. He wanted to say something, but he knew nothing could make things better this time.

(…)

Quaritch tried to adjust the position he was in, growling quietly as every injury on his body seemed to flare up in pain with the effort. But the binds were strong, and he was kept in the same upright position against the post, hands and legs tied together so tight they almost cut off circulation.

Finally, he gave up, taking a few deep breathes as the razor-sharp pain he was feeling slowly faded into a constant, painful throbbing.

It hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the other pain he was feeling. The one that had started the moment an arrow 7 feet long hit his son right in front of him. The sight had hurt him so much, he might as well have been hit by the arrow himself, directly in his heart.

When it happened, he’d been angry. He’d been shocked. But, more than anything else, Quaritch had been afraid.

It was a new feeling for him. Quaritch had dealt with injuries before. He’d been injured himself countless times during his years of being a soldier, and he couldn’t even imagine the number of people he’d seen take all manner of hits. But nothing compared to the way he felt when he saw Spider hit. The sight of his son’s bloodcovering his hands had made Quaritch feel sick. In a way nothing else ever had.

For that moment, nothing else had mattered. The moment he was sure Sully was trying to help Spider, Quaritch hadn’t hesitated to turn his full attention to his son. He had completely let his guard down. Any notion of trying to fight, or of trying to hide how much he cared had gone out the window.  

It hadn’t been until he’d handed Spider off to the natives’ healer that the events of the night had actually started to sink in.

Sully knew.

Not only had Sully caught him with Spider, but his enemy had seen the way he reacted when Spider was hurt.

And, for some reason, he was still alive.

Once Spider was out of his hands, and he’d been dragged off, surrounded by warriors, Quaritch had started making peace with the fact that he was about to die. But Sully had kept him alive. Was the man really that committed to going through with his so-called “trial”?

Quaritch scoffed quietly, and started to take in his surroundings, clearer now that it was morning. He was out in the open now, tied tightly to a post. There was no chance of escape this time. He couldn’t even move his hands.

At least I have fresh air. He thought bitterly.

As he scanned his surroundings, his mind went back to Spider. The last time he’d seen his son, he’d still been unconscious. Pale and weak. Quaritch was by no means an expert in treating injuries, but he knew his son had come very close to death.

Was he still unconscious? Was he okay?

Was Spider calling for him right now? The way he had when Sully had dragged him away?

The thought renewed the tight feeling in Quaritch’s chest. Now more than ever, he wanted to be by his son’s side. But he couldn’t.

He’d probably never see Spider again.

For now, all he could do was hope Spider could pull through, and that Sully wouldn’t react to badly to everything.

The recom tried to relax in his binds, letting his exhaustion overcome him. As he fell asleep, he thought of Spider. He tried to think of their time together, before the battle, but the image of Spider being carried away, pale and unconscious was frozen in his mind.

If only he could talk to Spider and know he’s alright. See him alive and well. Just one more time.  

Will Jake ever truly come to his senses?

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @yesthisismycurrenthyperfixation, @onlyreadz @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @buzzing-honeybee, @babyymeme

[wolven91]

Rats in Hats - Chapter 4

While Keest began her flight back to safety, Bruno was tinkering.

The other two fiks had begun to busy themselves. Krahl had started to meticulously unwrap and rewrap her arms and legs with the grubby bandages that remained after she had donated a few to Bruno, or ‘Runt’ as they were calling him offhandedly now. SAM had assured him that accepting this new name would do well for remaining undetected by the fiks as their ignorance of his true biology would keep him as safe as possible. He couldn’t really argue with the fact, plus when he had tried to get Krahl to say ‘Bruno’ she had also struggled like Keest had until both of them gave up.

SAM was still monitoring the pod topside and using its suite, had found that so far, the space buoys hadn't received any signal or sign that rescue was nearby or even on its way. Survival and subtly was the play the human was to rely on for now. SAM didn’t like the idea of Bruno tinkering, but they had calculated that his current project would assist in his survival.

The tinkering in question was due to Bruno being essentially abandoned as the other two went about their business. He had wandered and explored the various alcoves that made up the majority of the cave's walls. One was obviously a sleeping pit. A couple of depressions in the dirt that was covered in furs of various creatures that Bruno couldn't identify. There were two depressions on the ground, one larger, likely Keest's bed and one smaller. At first Bruno wondered which of the other two used it, until he noticed the hammock hanging above the others which had the feeling of 'Tahr' as the owner. She did seem to be ‘off-step’ when compared to the other two.

In another corner, was a bench and another piece of wood, jutting out of the wall. Unlike the table in the middle, this one was not pristine and had the appearance of it being scored, stained, and used heavily. The various tools that were spread across the old wood told Bruno that it was a workbench of sorts.

In the centre was an oddly shaped crossbow. He picked it up, gently removed the bolt and pulled the trigger. The resulting ‘crack’ told him that it at least worked, but it seemed weak, he’d need to pull the wire back himself too. If they got a stronger draw on it, the weapon would be stronger, but the user would need a mechanism for readying the weapon. The fact he was capable of moving the wire without cutting his fingers told him that.

With nothing better to do, he sat at the table, and began to meddle. He was supposed to be an engineer back on the transport before it exploded. He had been following a few aliens about, watching them work, listening to their explanations and wasn’t a slouch when it came to being technically minded. He had classes and lessons to go through, but the practical stuff came naturally to him. SAM also was immeasurably helpful. They had access to not only huge databases worth of mechanical knowledge, but could scan, break down and explain how to improve the device far beyond what Bruno could do on his own. In the end he and SAM had attempted to recreate a ‘Da Vinci’ design with moderate success.

It had been an hour or so when Keest stumbled back into the den. Bruno was still fiddling with the device which had changed shape rapidly as the AI was able to walk him through the fastest and most efficient steps without need for trial and error. Tahr had initially retrieved a knife to throw at the runt when she saw what he was doing to her project. She had spent weeks attempting to build something she dreamt of.

The dark assassin had wanted something to throw her knife further or harder than she could, but discovered that whilst good at spinning in the air, knives generally weren’t suited for being launched. When she stood, eyes wide and furious, a gentle hand grasped her elbow. Krahl. That niggling voice that had started doubting her surety that the world was simple spoke up once more. In an act so rare it was akin to a second sun rising, Tahr walked over to the runt and observed. She said nothing, but peered down her snout with her arms crossed. 

What she discovered was her personal design was still there, to a degree, but the runt had refined it. He plucked the bolt she had been practising with, placed it in the groove, aimed at the soft mud that had the holes of her previous attempts and pulled the trigger. The resulting snap echoed briefly. Looking for the bolt, Tahr couldn’t see it? Had it failed to launch? It took a moment before she saw that not only had a new hole appeared in the soft mud, but the bolt had driven itself so far down that it had disappeared from view.

After briefly touching her fingers over the new hole, Tahr looked down at Runt with a new level of respect. She had watched him modify the weapon towards the end, she may be able to reverse engineer it if she worked hard enough, or even ask him to help her make one for herself.

That was when the runt simply turned the weapon around and offered it to her. Krahl watched silently as Tahr gently, with reverence, took the weapon from the newest member of her clan and looked it over. Tahr was silent, it was strange to have her dumbfounded. She rarely was *given* anything though, she was used to *taking*.

As for Krahl during all of this, the den was awash with the tides of fate. It blinded her to the outside world, beyond their own haven. She found that she was swaying in time with the vast changes to her clan’s fate, happening right here in front of her. It was the *smell* of Keest that brought her back down to reality. The smell of her blood.

"Sah! Keest?!"

Tahr's head whipped round and ran across the room, the weapon clattering onto the table in the middle leaving Krahl’s rough earthen mug rattling and spinning.

"The chief has gone mad." Keest gasped, leaning against the entrance to the cavern with a bloodied forearm.

Tahr tried to support Keest who's arms and body ran red with her blood, but the towering fik brushed her off, trying to assure her two 'family' members that she was fine. She took a step forward before her knee visibly buckled and she fell forwards. Her two fik sisters crouching down either side to offer reassurance, but unsure of how to help. Injuries were always dangerous to fiks, there were no tinkerers who could fix the flesh, not anymore. Keest had been injured plenty of times in the past, but never this grievously.

Krahl hated the fact that she felt fate's icy grip reaching for her Keest and saw no path that could change it.

Bruno had joined them at this point, Keest could see that beneath the mask, his eyes were wide and worried. He didn't really know these aliens, but Bruno was never one to be cold or uncaring. The idea that one of the three that had taken him into their home was hurt, did not sit well with him, not to mention he had a soft spot for the, so far, gentle giant. ‘Survival’ he thought to himself, deciding how to help and his justification at the same time.

He pushed past the other two fiks and reached out to Keest's hand, her hand seemed to dwarf his. His own grasped only a few of her fingers, but she didn't pull away, rather; she stared at him, curious as to his actions. When he gently pulled her towards the table, she forced herself to move, standing and stomping forwards without resistance. She allowed herself to be led and sat when indicated as the other two fiks watched.

Krahl and Tahr shared a glance before joining them at the table. Gods and Runts, fate and the shattering of expectations, what was the small creature’s plan? Krahl tried not to show it, but she was fearful, she could not see another path of Keest, her path was one that ended, and soon.

Keest breathed heavily, the gouges that were raked across her arms, parted the flesh in alarmingly large swaths. They wept openly, small rivulets of the bright red blood dribbling down her arms, dripping onto the floor below, a significant trail had followed her. Her tail was also ruined; the end was completely gone with only ruined threads of flesh dragging along in the dirt.

The air stank of copper.

Bruno reached under the cloak, past the small survival knife concealed there and toward the first aid kit. SAM immediately warned him against showing the alien's this; not only would this immediately break any illusion that he was one of them, but may irrevocably adjust the course of their development as a species.

“The greatest chance for survival is the protection of an established ally.” He whispered quietly to himself and SAM, frozen in his action of kneeling by the grey giant. In his opinion, it was the moment of truth, of placing his trust in these creatures and the hope that they wouldn't betray him. SAM didn’t respond, there were too many variables, there would be consequences for his actions, depending on how much it affected these primitive’s development he could be considered a criminal. But the logic was sound, whatever creature did this, it was near and could theoretically follow the trail back to their home. SAM remained silent as Bruno revealed it to the surrounding fiks.

From the group’s perspective, Runt had pulled Keest to sit by the table and had knelt by her. For a time he was still, but all three heard him murmuring to himself. Keest, Tahr and Krahl all immediately recognised a prayer when they saw one, it could have even been a blessing even. It was when he produced a small metal item that drew their attention further, but deepened their confusion.

The kit itself was a small round cylinder, gun metal grey, except for the white circle and the thick, bold, red cross in the centre, a human symbol, but adopted by the wider community amongst the stars. The canister contained 5 doses of the deep blue emergency medical nanites. One jab into the bloodstream near the site of a physical wound would, over the course of a few minutes to an hour, depending on the severity, close and heal the injury in short order. Their introduction was a miracle to some. To humanity, it was science fiction, to the rest of the Galactic Community it was no different than a common light bulb.

From the gathered fik’s point of view... It was magic. From the moment the needle pierced Keest’s flesh, Krahl’s map of the future was suddenly awash with countless other possibilities. It was if in a flash a great tree with unending branching paths had grown from a dead stump.  

There were more paths than Krahl had ever seen before… 

It was well known that magic existed, at least in one form or another. Most fiks merely bore witness to it with their role in their society. Fiks tended to gravitate towards certain careers within their society. Keest had begun as the runt of her mother's brood but had grown swiftly and evenly as she hit puberty and found her disposition suited guardian work. Eventually her ability to simply charge into frays with little concern had gained her a reputation as a berserker, but she had always remained in control unlike those who lost themselves to a frenzy. Tahr had always had an innate ability to remain undetected and quiet, assassination and reconnaissance had suited her well. It was unusual for one of her kind to work so closely with Keest’s. Meanwhile Krahl was born an ermin and would die an ermin. They were the guides or those who dipped their whiskers into the unseen world of the gods and while Ermins didn't cast magic, they listened to it.

It was the only reason they were not killed alongside those that had used magic in the past.

Strange creatures that could cure the sick, create light from liquids and braved the storms with metal rods with wires dragging after them. Tinkerers. Tinkerers of the dirt, body and machines.

The Chief had announced years ago, with the help of his seer, that these creatures would lead the clan to their doom, so he led the massacre on them all those years ago when he came to power.

Now Keest was watching as Runt gently jabbed her with a small strange looking needle. She had thought that he was going to stitch her wounds up, but without touching it himself, the three brutal gouges in her arms began to seal. It wasn’t instant, to Keest; at first it just tingled before the bleeding stopped and darkened rapidly. Keest was no stranger to wounds, her flesh held hundreds of scars and she had watched all of them heal over time with morbid curiosity, up to and including being told off for picking at the scabs. But now, as if time was running quicker for her, her flesh scabbed, healed, and scarred in no more than twenty minutes.

Krahl glanced at Keest, who’s eyes flicked to Tahr. They had a magic user; a tinkerer and a powerful one too.

There hadn’t been a tinkerer since the slaughter and ‘magic’ in any form had stagnated. Sure, fiks had used what was already known, but nothing new had appeared since their wholesale destruction.

Keest stood, already trying to form a plan, before lurching and toppling over. She found she was suddenly lightheaded, and unbelievably tired. All three of the other occupants of the room rushed to her side, Runt, having no hope as to actually holding her up despite a valiant effort on his part.

Her muscles felt weak, shaky, it reminded her of her childhood and a time of little food. She grimaced at the memory of bitter roots that she ate to stave off starvation.

"Heal. Need sleep." Runt said, surprising all of them. His voice was odd, muffled, yet not. It was as if he spoke with two voices, one within his mask and another, different voice of the mask itself.

"You use magic?" She asked, being helped towards the beds.

He shook his head from left to right, a strange faulty mimic of a fik shaking their head in frustration or boredom. It didn't feel like he was frustrated or bored by any stretch. Thankfully, the small runt spoke as Keest collapsed into the furs.

"No, just smarts. Flesh with blood." His words weren't right, he was speaking, but reaching for the wrong words.

"Sah, what happened? The Chief did this?" Asked Tahr, reattaching her knife sheath. Her tail lashed from left to right as she paced. She was agitated, ready for a fight.

"His seer has given a prophecy." Keest stated, flexing her hand, turning her arm to and fro, watching the new scars pull and twist. They were deep, muscle deep and yet looked years old now. She had skipped past the whole healing process, but was left feeling weak.

Krahl sighed at the news, her brow furrowing with worry, but she remained silent and Keest continued.

"She has seen his end; he is now seeing shadows move. Demands a spy’s head."

"An assassin?" Tahr asked, even more animated now, checking and triple checking her blades were pulling free from their sheaths with ease. Bruno leaned back and watched her long tail hook one of her belts that was filled with blades and bring it over into her arm's reach. ‘A useful appendage’ he mused.

"He thinks so, he will-"

"Ha!" Krahl started and glanced at the door. "Tahr." the albino started, but the dark blur was already running towards the door, snatching one last belt from the table. The tip of her tail was the last thing to be seen before it too was swallowed by the shadows. Krahl had sensed something, something important was moving nearby, but needed to be observed.

Keest was nervous, she had been wounded, but not killed, once more fate being shattered. She dwelled on this, her wounds, if they had not stopped bleeding, may have taken her life. At the very least she would have been at a disadvantage with fresh openings in her flesh, but the runt's magic had cured her. But as with all miracles, it was not without its cost. She was drained completely. She felt weak, if the Chief walked in now, they wouldn’t stand a chance. By Tarquin’s Dark Dreams, even if a runt walked in right now she’d struggle to fight them off.

Keest caught herself drifting to sleep, her head bobbing backwards, waiting for Tahr to return from Krahl's alert. The ermin often foresaw events in the warren, but without one of the trio actually going to see what was happening, they would miss whatever the excitement was.

Keest's tail languidly flopped from one side to the other. The tip was missing, what was now the end, was a blunt stump, shortened by a foot, but it too was completely healed over. Damage like that would have been evident for months without the runt’s magic…

She simply couldn’t get past it in her mind. Everyone had heard the stories and formed their own opinion as to whether the tinkerers and their magic was good or bad, but now Keest had been directly subjected to it.

Runt crouched down next to her and placed a hand against her arm. It was warm, gentle, and calming, a far cry from most fiks that twitched and rarely stayed still for long. She reached up and clasped his hand with hers, gave it a squeeze and fell backwards to lie across her bed. Her eyelids drooped as the sound of pattering feet brought her back. Tahr had returned.

"A speech. The Chief has called a gathering." She declared to the group, she had simply listened in the darkness as other fiks ran past towards the main cavern of the warren.

Keest began to rise, but Runt reached out and stopped her by putting hands against either shoulder. She stopped moving at the gesture. It wasn't that he was strong enough to stop her, it was the concept that he'd try.

"Tahr and I will go. You stay with Runt; we will return with information." Krahl stated with finality, brokering no argument.

Keest glanced from Krahl, to Tahr before side eyeing Runt who was quivering but still resisting her. He could have been actually trying to push her back down, but she neither noticed nor cared; she'd lie down when she wanted to. She considered the plan, she didn’t like Krahl going out, but with Tahr, the danger to either of her family should be lessened.

"Fine. Be safe." Keest said firmly, before flopping back down, with Runt falling forwards. He had apparently been pushing against her with everything he had and now, with the resistance suddenly gone, had fallen on top of her in a pile. The other two left with separate chuckles while Keest grinned to herself as she felt Runt scramble up and off of her. He reminded her of other males, of those that were nervous around her. She had mated before, but it was with other fiks that had similar traits and personalities to her, she didn’t like that. They always had something to prove, fought her at every turn, never seemingly needing her as they could provide for themselves for everything. She had liked the other, smaller fiks, though. The idea of protecting them, of looking after them; it appealed to her at a fundamental level.

But fiks, as they were at the moment, would never trust her, or anyone, enough to be protected by someone else, and likewise she’d be foolish to trust other fiks. For one to trust her or allow her to defend them? To sleep deeply and soundly while she watched over them? No matter how much she desired it, it simply was the wrong time in their history for it to be.

She looked up at the runt with half lidded eyes, still wrapped in bandages with his strange legs, he was displaced, he was not one of the clan and did not act like one of them either.

It had been only a few hours but it already felt as if he was one of them, despite his strange origins. She thought briefly to those, how he fell from the twinkling lights. How his legs weren't like theirs, how his hands and fingers looked nothing like any fik she had seen before, runt or otherwise.

And she didn't care.

He knelt at her side, his covered arms and hands limp in his lap as he returned her gaze. As her own eyes began to close, blinking slowly, he yawned. The mask obscured his whole face, bar the exposed furless skin where the mask ended and the shawl began, but it seemed to be universal as he raised a wrist to where his mouth would be, as if to cover it while his chest expanded.

She reached out, snatched his arm and pulled him down onto the furs with her. Whether he wasn't expecting it or she once again underestimated her strength, Keest wasn't sure, but he barely had a moment to register before the runt fell forwards, rolled over his shoulders and landed against her front, his back pressing into her, squeaking a tiny muffled yelp.

Her left arm was underneath his body, compressed into the furs while her right she draped over his ribs and curled it around him. She lifted a leg and placed it over his, protecting him, in her own way.

He panicked at first, as she expected. The smaller ones tended to panic around her and often apologised to Keest even if they weren't at fault. Honestly, it was a source of amusement and a warm feeling within her chest when they were flustered. She loved it when the skinny ones were flustered. But she didn't want him to be panicking or worried, so she whispered to him quietly.

"Saaah, it's okay... Rest little one. Tomorrow will be a day of days... yes yes..." She promised, and as if on cue, he began to settle. Quietening his excuses and, although it was not instant, as she was drifting away, he too physically relaxed in her arms, his body uncoiling and pressing against her front. They lay there together for a time, both breathing as one, although Keest's mighty bellows took in longer, deeper breaths while runt's were smaller and far more shallow. He was warm to her skin, despite the bandages muting her touch against him. Her claws gently raked up and down his arm and she rubbed the soft fur of her cheek against the back of his neck and head as they both drifted.

As she lost consciousness Keest had the goofiest grin on her face.

===*===

It was only a short time later from Keest losing consciousness with Runt held against her that Krahl and Tahr arrived at the upper corridors to the central chamber that housed the sea of fiks that made up the entire nest or 'clan'. It was a truly cosmopolitan mix of types. Fiks of every shade of fur, or every height and size, all come together to hear the Chieftain speak. Tahr didn't like the crowds, so insisted on reaching the upper balconies rather than go down into the crowd itself.

Oh sure, no drinks would be available up here, nor any food unlike the huge market at the bottom, but, as Tahr planned, if anything went wrong down in the crush of fiks, they would not be included and have a better than good opportunity to escape. Krahl hadn't been privy to these plans but hadn't questioned the quiet assassin when she felt them go along a different path. She felt no major trouble with following the enigmatic fik, even with her threads of fate so quiet.

To Krahl, her lack of sight was made up by the scents of each living person's threads. Animals and creatures that could not think did not have them, but fiks and the runt, had a stream of... something, following them and flowing around them. This is what Krahl sensed when she gave advice or instruction of what path to follow. The threads were not clear, but often gave a hint as to what would happen if Krahl or the owner followed a particular future.

Krahl had crossed paths with Keest early and had seen herself far happier than she had ever seen herself before while standing next to Keest. Selfishly, she had involved herself with Keest without her input and ensured that the ermin had been useful in the short term so that Keest would not chase her off.

With Tahr however, her threads were thin and almost imperceptible. It was as if Krahl was sensing Tahr's threads hours after she had walked past, like a scent lost on the wind. Maybe it was her low-profile nature, or perhaps it was Tahr's certainty that Krahl was simply guessing. Tahr had made her opinions of gods and signs very clear in the past, in that they didn't exist. The world was the world, the dirt beneath one's claws was as it was and scents were merely bits of the owner, left behind and perceived by the tracker.

Keest and Krahl often laughed at some of Tahr's theories. It wouldn't surprise the ermin if Tahr was right though; she was incredibly intelligent and often spent her free time tinkering and inventing things, if she had more successes, she could have passed *for* a tinkerer. Recently she had been working on an arm mounted thrower, that could fire small spears over short distances, she was quite proud if not frustrated that she had stalled in its development. After Runt’s involvement, Krahl wondered how Tahr found him now.

Tahr leaned on the edge of a wall that overlooked the expansive cavern, the rolling mass of bodies down in the depths looked more like a writhing beehive than a nest of fiks. The body heat shimmered upwards and the walls sweated. To Krahl, she stood with Tahr but needed no reason to look out the opening. She could feel the heartbeat of the nest, even from up here where only a few of the like minded fiks had joined them. She closed her eyes, the darkness she lived in didn’t change but she sensed the thrum of her clan.

Tahr considered the Chief’s tower across the empty expanse, the den at the top held up by a thick central column with a spiral ramp all the way up made it a defensible home. Despite wanting to hear what the chief had to say, no one ventured up the ramp itself. More often than not, those who went up came back no longer whole, a clipped ear, a rent eyebrow. ‘A missing tail’ Tahr thought grimly. Besides Keest, The Baron was the last one to climb it and had descended shortly after in a foul mood.

Keest had been a known favoured soldier of the Chief for the longest time, famous in her own right. Now that the Chief had tried to kill her, both Tahr and Krahl had come to the same conclusion that he had to die or they would die in his place. If he was as paranoid as Keest had said, he may even seek her death if only to prevent her from seeking revenge. Quite rightly if any of them were to be honest.

A figure appeared at the top of the Chief's ramp, even at this distance, the sheer bulk of the beast as a sight to behold and the low level hissing of conversation below quietened.

He had addressed the warren like this once before, bellowing his mighty voice out to all to hear as if he himself were a god. After he had slain the previous chief for being weak, he had addressed the nest to alert them that the greatest danger was from within. He had built the clan up into a feverous pitch, with his words of betrayal by those within the clan itself.

In the end he had identified the tinkerers as the perpetrators to all that had befallen the clan, that they had meddled in works that had angered the gods and if they continued to live would only cause strife, misery and death. He had led the charge, had barrelled down the ramp and into the crowd to show he was one of the fiks rather than separate. He had never mingled with the fik after that day, instead sequestering himself in his tower.

Tahr considered now if that had been the right path saying how he was acting now.

“My clan! I speak to you now with grave news! When we began this new prosperous era, we slew those who would have led us astray! Now, a new threat stalks our home. It will snatch your children from their beds, steal the food from your very mouths and has already stuck at the heart of our clan!”

His voice echoed off the walls, his words clear and powerful. He had lost some of his charisma from years ago, but he still was the largest fik and still was capable of demanding attention in sheer brute strength; more than enough to control the clan as it was. They were aimless, they needed this strength.

“Earlier this evening, before the storm, the Baron sent several agents into our home. Despite our strength, they slinked into my own den and slew the Seer.”

He paused to allow a ripple of shock and murmuring to bounce around the cavern. Even Tahr and Krahl were taken aback. Thanks to Keest’s connection with the chief, even those two had met the old Seer who had offered blessing and boons to the two of them in supporting Keest and the Chief.

“I fought bravely and savaged the creature, she was severely wounded; her tail…” The figure atop the column, held something aloft before throwing it down into the masses. “Was removed before she fled. Seek the wounded one, seek the bandaged female. Bring her to me, break her limbs if you must, but bring her alive. Those that succeed will be rewarded like nothing you have witnessed before!”

Again he paused to let the words sink in. ‘At least Keest is healed’ thought Tahr as she considered the ramifications. ‘Thank the gods for Runt.’ She rapidly gained a new appreciation for him at this point, Keest meant everything to Tahr, she had given the assassin a new life after sparing her. They’d never discussed it, but it meant more than Tahr had ever let on.

“Next, is the spy. It is a creature not of us. This is more than just tinkerer or ermin. This *thing* is not fik. It is a demon, an imp, an unclean rot that will kill us all if it is not killed first. I do not care if it is brought to me alive, its body is all I need, so that I may sleep soundly with the knowledge that our young will not be consumed.” He roared into the crowd.

“He lays it on thick, yes?” Krahl said humorlessly, all respect for the leader, long gone, her arms were crossed as she leant against a nearby wall.

Regardless of the Chief’s acting, his message was received and the cavern below became a hive of activity. The fiks were visibly surging up the various paths, seemingly taking the call for the clan to protect its own very seriously. They flooded the lower tunnels in an alarming display.

“We should return…” Krahl said quietly, frowning. Tahr was already there, nodding absently and beginning to trek back towards the secret cavern. Krahl tried to sense forward, to see if danger would find the den before they returned, but could not reach that far. It was foolish to try, but her hands itched in worry.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Eclipse: Chapter 1

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace According to the prophecy, Will has to go to on a quest to Tartarus.  According to Apollo, that isn’t going to happen, even if it means he has to break the Ancient Laws. It's finally here - this fic was conceived in February 2022 and after fourteen months it's finally finished and ready to share! At its core, this fic is a response to the upcoming novel The Sun and The Star, specifically the plot I would love to see but know for a fact won't happen for reasons that hopefully will be obvious very quickly - so I wrote my own version! I have specifically avoided any TSATS spoilers so any similarities are completely unintentional. After today, updates will be biweekly on Tuesdays and Fridays. This is the longest story I've ever completed at over 130k words, and I hope you enjoy the ride! There are blanket warnings for various degrees of injuries and similar nasties throughout the fic.

HADES I Not Another Blasted Prophecy

“No.”

Apollo could be dramatic when he wanted to be, which was more often than not, and this was no exception.  How his nephew had barged his way down into the Underworld – and specifically his own palace – Hades was not quite certain, but he knew he didn’t approve.  Apollo’s current temperament was not helping any thoughts of endearment, either.

“Absolutely not,” his nephew ranted, inconsiderate enough of his surroundings to glow as brightly as his chariot, freezing several skeletons in place and going so far as to immolate the ones that didn’t manage to escape his immediate sphere of influence.  The sun was not supposed to materialise in the realm of the dead, and it was certainly not supposed to be in the heart of his palace, ranting about something Hades had yet to make heads or tails of.

“Leave,” he ordered, cutting through Apollo’s next nonsensical words.  “You do not have my permission to be here.”

Apollo, all blindingly painful energy and movement, stilled and his eyes met Hades’ own.  All of them had eyes like fire, a window to the true godly energy concealed beneath the forms they favoured, and Apollo was always the brightest, the most vibrant.  Usually, those flames were gold, dancing more in amusement as he went about his business.  Sometimes, they flickered blue, into the territory of white-hot and dangerous when he couldn’t quite smother the rage that occasionally flared up inside of him.

Today, they were neither golden nor blue-verging-on-white.  Today, they were orange, and mortals might think that orange was a weak flame, but mortals had never stood on the bank of the Phlegethon and felt its frigid heat soaring through their essence.  Hades could not recall seeing the exact shade of fire water in Apollo’s eyes before, and he could not say he was pleased to see it now.

The river of healing and fire suited his nephew better than he cared to admit, at his most volatile, and Hades did not need that same nephew’s domain of prophecy and foresight to conclude that something drastic was about to occur.

Why did Apollo have to come to the Underworld in this mood?

“I am not letting this happen,” his nephew all but hissed, solar flares cascading off of him in waves and dousing Hades’ throne room in colours it had never seen before.

Colours it was never supposed to see.

“Get out,” he snapped, drawing the shadows in tighter and snuffing out the vestigial edges of the light.  Whatever it was Apollo was having a fit about, Hades was not having that behaviour in his palace.  His nephew didn’t even flinch as the outer edges of his light faded away, instead having the gall to continue to approach his throne.  The souls of his robe writhed against the encroaching light.  “Apollo-”

“They’re going to the Pit,” Apollo growled.  “And I will not let that happen.”

In theory, there were any number of candidates that could be encompassed by the word they.  Six billion living souls above them, a large minority with some level of godly legacy from various pantheons, left for a large degree of interpretation.

In practicality, there was only one they his nephew would ever bother to talk to him about, only one they both of them had any level of investment in, and Hades had always been cold, ever since taking on the domain of the Underworld, but that did not stop the icy realisation curling up inside his essence.

He gave no sign of this to the younger god in front of him.  “I told you to leave, Apollo,” he ordered, rising to his feet and drawing upon his domain to evict the unwelcome interloper.

Apollo was powerful, yes, but despite his brother’s paranoid fears, he was not at the level of an elder god – certainly not in the heart of Hades’ domain, so far from any of his own.  Fire water eyes widened a fraction, not enough to be a chink in Apollo’s armour and betray what he was truly thinking but enough to prove which of the two was more powerful, as the blazing sun was muffled and stifled into a dying star.

“And next time you decide to offend me with your obnoxious presence, leave the dramatics at the door.”

With one last heave of his powers, the sun god vanished, expelled from the realm of the dead and deposited back in the Overworld, where he belonged.

Hades was under no illusions that Apollo would stay there, however.  His time as a mortal had changed something inside him – nothing so dramatic it had altered the core of the god, but enough that he was now apparently willing to consider and do things that before he would have brushed off.

And, truly, Hades could not in honesty say that he did not understand his nephew’s protectiveness of the demigods.  That was not to say Hades cared about the half-bloods running about on the husk that had once been his grandmother as a whole, but his own child – one, single living child – had done much to worm his way into his attention.

In fact, he had done it by being so obnoxious it was difficult to dismiss him, rather like a certain sun god.  Perhaps there was some logic behind his decision to couple with one of Apollo’s myriad of offspring, after all.

Regardless of the hows and whys, Hades had found himself wanting Nico to be happy, a feat all but impossible for one of his own children (and, secretly, a reason why it had been so easy for him to keep the pact his younger brothers had failed miserably at; there was little reason to bring demigods into the world if, even by the standards of heroes, their lives would be short and miserable).  Happy meant having friends, being accepted, even having a son of Apollo for a boyfriend, it transpired.  Happy did not mean returning to the depths of Tartarus, which was why Hades had explicitly forbidden it after learning of his last trek down there.

Perseus Jackson might no longer be the unwitting holder of his son’s heart, but he had certainly done plenty of damage while he’d had it.  Hades was certain this rebellious streak had more of Poseidon’s influence on it than his own, even if he knew that, truthfully, Maria had been just the same.  Of course she had, to have not one, but two children out of wedlock at a time when a woman’s reputation was solely dependent on her marriage status.

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, either, Hades wished she had taken his offer of a palace by the Styx.

Apollo’s children, by contrast, were less mired in tragedy.  As far as demigods went, they were weaker, not bright beacons for monsters and quests despite their parentage, and thrived in the modern world just the same as they had across the millennia.  No matter how much society changed, there were always calls for healers and music, and Apollo seemed particularly gifted at not passing down his less favourable domains to his children.  Hades could not recall the last time he’d heard of a Plague Child.  There was no reason for Apollo to cling so tightly to his living offspring.

No reason except for the increased influx of demigod souls to Elysium over the past few years, with a far higher percentage of Apollo’s children compared to the rest.  Except for the six months Apollo had just spent as a mortal, bonding with demigods in a way no god – not even Dionysus, despite his current position as Camp Director of Camp Half-Blood – had done for millennia.  Except for the way Apollo had, ever so subtly, changed after his punishment.

That had been particularly cruel of Zeus, in Hades’ opinion.  The quests were one thing, and almost getting his son killed had been another, and Hades had approved of neither, not when he could see echoes in his brother of their father in the actions – a tyrant in the making that not he, not Poseidon, and not even their sisters could bear to see but equally had no idea how to stop it before it got too far – but the cruellest punishment of all had been giving Apollo, the god who loved so deeply and unapologetically, no choice but to make bonds with mortals who would all too soon pass beyond his reach.

Now his nephew was attached to his mortal offspring, and it was already making him do reckless things, barely a day after regaining his own godhood.  Hades couldn’t deny that he was glad for the warning his son was intending on finding a way to sneak into Tartarus despite being told explicitly that he was never to do so again, because that meant he knew to keep a closer eye on Nico’s actions, but he did not appreciate his palace being invaded without so much as a by-your-leave.

(His sister, no matter how much the pair of them disagreed on everything, at least pretended to ask permission before barging in to see her daughter.)

And yet, he had invited Apollo to come back, as much as he ever gave invitations, and his nephew was not stupid enough to miss the way he’d worded the last dismissal.  Knowing that Nico intended to go to Tartarus again – taking his boyfriend with him as though he’d lost any common sense he might have once had and failed to realise that a child of the sun, especially one as healing oriented as that one, would have no chance at surviving – was useful, yes, but it was not enough.  It did not tell him why, and that was important.  There had to be a reason why Nico would even consider returning there, especially against his own father’s orders, and there was a part of Hades that feared it was because he had no choice.

Therefore, he made sure to always keep one splinter of himself on his throne, even as the rest of him busied around with all the work that went into keeping the Underground functioning, and waited for Apollo’s inevitable return, knowing it would not be long.

Sure enough, it was barely a day before he felt the same unnatural light permeating through his realm, heading for his palace.  Hades was going to need to find which entrance his nephew was sneaking in through and do something about it before any of his other brethren decided to follow Apollo’s example (he suspected the doors of Orpheus, given their musical nature), but for the immediate present, he had other things to push to the forefront of his mind.  Chief amongst those was the information he was determined to glean from his nephew, no matter what Apollo was planning on telling him, and he gathered all of himself back together again, whole on his throne moments before there was a knock on his door.

A knock.  That was un-Apollo-like enough for him to harbour some sliver of hope that, just maybe, he could get through his conversation without getting so frustrated at his nephew’s dramatics that he threw him out again.

Of course, Apollo wasn’t so unlike himself that he’d follow the common courtesy of waiting to be permitted entry before pushing the door open and stepping in, matching Hades’ stature exactly as he strode towards the throne.

He was, at least, making some sort of effort not to immolate the dead this time, which was about as far as Hades could expect Apollo’s hold on his natural tendency for dramatics to extend.  His eyes betrayed him, however – still windows that seemed like they were offering a view of Phlegethon, rather than Apollo himself, and proving that he was no calmer than he had been on his previous visit.

Hades didn’t bother with small talk, pleasantries, or giving Apollo the chance to control the conversation.

“Why,” he demanded, leaning back on his throne and making sure he was still looking down at the younger god from his dais, “is my son planning to disobey me and return to the Pit?”

“Our sons,” Apollo corrected, but Hades waved him off.

“I never forbade your offspring entry,” he said.  “If William wants to dive into the Pit, I will not stop him, although I will question his sanity.”  His throne room brightened by a noticeable degree and Hades pulled on the shadows to dampen Apollo’s influence but otherwise ignored the minor – by Apollo’s standard – dramatics.  “That was not my question, Apollo.  Why is Nico planning to return there, against my explicit command?”

If it had anything to do with Apollo’s offspring, he was going to have to keep a closer eye on that relationship.

Apollo met his gaze firmly, unafraid.  “He believes something down there is calling him.”

“What.”

The word slipped out before Hades could consider if he wanted to give it voice or not, his throne room darkening further until the only light was what little Apollo was mustering against the shadows encroaching on the sun god.

Something in Tartarus was calling his son?  Hades’ thoughts leapt immediately to his giant bane, who would no doubt know of his son’s existence even if Nico had never directly interacted with him.  Alcyoneus was unfortunately intelligent, and it would not be beyond his schemes to attempt to lure Hades’ son down to him if he could not get to Nico himself.

Why Nico was listening was another matter entirely.

“I refuse to believe my son is so foolish as to listen to a voice from the Pit,” he said, narrowing his eyes at his nephew, “and despite his foolish father, surely William would not let him return there.”  If that son of Apollo was in any way encouraging it…

“He believes it is… Bob.”  Apollo’s tone was difficult to decipher, but Hades did not think he was particularly impressed, although whether by the name or the Titan’s real identity, he was not certain.  “Whom he believes he owes a debt.”

Perseus Jackson’s fatal flaw was not supposed to be infecting his son.

“He owes him no such debt.”  The memory-wiped Titan had never been the most comforting of individuals to have around his palace, no matter how much Persephone had enjoyed ordering him around.  Hades had no fond recollections of his uncle, or living in close proximity to Titans; while it was possible that returning to Tartarus had restored Iapetus’ memory, he was far more comfortable with the knowledge that the Titan was back where he belonged.

Still, now he knew that something was luring his son down there, there were preventative measures that could be taken.  Hades would not thank Apollo for bringing the information to his attention, because he was well aware his nephew had only done so in order to prevent his own son from dying in Tartarus, but he was, privately, glad that the younger god had opted to do so.

“Very well,” he said out loud, rising from his throne and making sure he remained taller than his nephew as he descended his dais.  “I will keep a closer eye on my son, and prevent him from returning.  You are dismissed, Apollo.”

The sun god startled, as though he hadn’t expected to be thrown out.  Or perhaps he had, and was surprised that Hades was not forcibly banishing him this time.  “But-”

“You are dismissed,” he repeated more insistently, walking past him without a backwards glance.  “Leave, before I make you.”

“No, you don’t-”

Hades gathered his shadows and sent them to swarm the younger god, ignoring his protests.  Apparently an eviction was required after all.  “Do not worry, I see no reason to inform my brother of your attempt at interfering with demigod lives,” he told him, considering that more than enough as a show of gratitude.  “Goodbye, Apollo.”

His power surged, preparing to hurtle his nephew back to the overworld.

“There’s a prophecy!” Apollo shrieked just as he disappeared, and Hades froze in place for a moment, before realising the other god was gone and reaching out his shadows to snatch him back.

“There’s.  A.  What?” he growled out as the sun god – the god of prophecy – reappeared, hair slightly dishevelled from the sudden transportation.

“A prophecy,” Apollo repeated, standing up straight and locking eyes with Hades.  The orange flames within flickered fiercely, and Hades couldn’t help but notice the vain god not even raising a single hand to fix his hair.  “It was spoken yesterday.”

Just before Apollo appeared in his realm in a flurry of drama and Phlegethon-eyes, desperate to find a way to stop it, Hades realised in hindsight.

He was not Zeus; he knew that Apollo did not choose the prophecies that were spoken by his oracles, and nor did he have any control over their timing.  Unlike his little brother, he would not torment Apollo over an aspect of his domain he did not actually control.

That did not stop him from covering the distance between them in a single step and grasping his nephew by the throat.  “And this prophecy says that my son will return to the Pit?” he demanded, his nails digging into the soft flesh of Apollo’s favourite form.

Being a god, Apollo did not actually need to breathe in order to be capable of speech, so Hades had no qualms about how tightly he gripped his throat.

“Our sons,” the younger god corrected.  “It was spoken to both of them.”  Apollo was carefully avoiding which Oracle had issued the prophecy, as though that would stop Hades from finding out and unleashing another curse – the odds were higher than even that it was once again that blasted Delphic prophecy, and if she was going to be the reason Hades lost the last of the di Angelos, she would not be spared.

Hades was no fool; he knew that, with the exception of Great Prophecies, they were spoken to one they were relevant to.  If Apollo was certain that it had been issued to the two demigods specifically, then it was inevitable that somehow, no matter what evasions anyone – mortal or god – tried to make, they would be the subject of it.  Still, he could at least try to hope that there was something else at play.

If he lost Nico, his last child, to a prophecy…

The Pythia would only be the start of his retaliation.

“What did it say?” he demanded.

Apollo had not looked away despite Hades’ aggression; his eyes remained that burning fire water as he stood stock still, head tilted upwards partially because of Hades’ own hand, and partially because his nephew refused to back down.  It backfired slightly on the younger god, however, because it meant Hades could see the barest glimmer of fear within his expression.

Despite that, the god of prophecy’s voice was perfectly steady as he spoke.

Sunshine and darkness go deeper than earth Topaz and silver search for rebirth Gold passes through the shadow of death A fading light to take one final breath

Chapter 2>>

[doorplays]

Door Reviews: Delicious in Dungeon (2014)

There has been a lot of discussion recently about the new Delicious in Dungeon (2024) anime. At the recommendation of some friends, I decided to watch it. And I enjoyed it very much! It’s a great cooking anime and unexpectedly adorable and funny. I found myself craving more of it, so I decided to read the manga it was based on. Two days later, I finished the entire thing!! And now I am here to talk about this amazing manga!!!

But Doors, you may find yourself saying, this isn’t a game! Why are you reviewing this? And to that, reader, I say: I have decided to review whatever kinda thing I wanna review now! So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride!!

What’s it about?

An adventuring group gets pitted against a dragon that overwhelms them. Their cleric saves them by teleporting them out of the dungeon. Laios, the party leader, now seeks to save the cleric Falin, his sister, before it’s too late. Without much coin and resources, Laios decided to make do by cooking and eating the monsters of the dungeon, much to the chagrin of the remaining party members Marcille and Chilchuck. With the timely assistance of Senshi, an expert on monster cuisine, they will eat their way through the dungeon in an effort to save Falin!

STYLE (Art, Character Design, Backgrounds)

The art is nice. It has this cuteness to it. It also gets so expansive, being that it is a fantasy setting with its fair share of fantasy races. You see forests, castles, caves, and other areas. A lot of variety to see!

Coming from the anime, it is nice to see the panels and enjoy them properly. There are a fair amount of wide shots to see, and it feels so nice to take them in.

I like the variety of monsters. Ranging from the cute to the deadly, the designs are all very interesting and are given much thought so that they make sense within the world. There is a lot of thought given to the various designs and I appreciate that.

The characters are all so distinctive as well. They have varying designs and their profiles are easy to recognize, even silhouetted. I especially love Senshi’s design. His mouth isn’t drawn, but his expressions can be seen in his eyes. In general, there are a lot of amusing expressions in the manga. It’s fun seeing Laios’s wacky hijinks and Marcille’s protestations!

All the foods look SO GOOD. It’s also fun to see how Senshi and the party cook the monsters. The similarities to real world food, the way they extract the ingredients from the monsters, it tickles me to see their processes. And I love seeing the party enjoy the food!

Overall, I love this manga’s art. It looks great, is understandable, and tells what it wants to tell really well.

SUBSTANCE (Story, Characters, Impact)

This manga starts out as a typical DnD story. You have your party leader, your rogue, your mage, and your dungeon. You even see a dragon first thing! As the manga goes on though, its world unfurls before you, as if a flower blossoming.

Delicious in Dungeon may have monster cuisine as its main draw, but where it shines is its worldbuilding. It builds upon its DnD base and introduces various things and concepts to make its world be its own unique thing. From monster biology to racial politics, this manga makes a lot of things matter for effective storytelling.

The main party characters all have different personalities. All of them shine through at different points. They all have their roles, and you see them play these roles in various chapters. And as time goes on, you see how their journey changes them. It feels natural, seeing them go through the dungeon.

It’s nice seeing Laios’s comprehensive knowledge of monsters. Seeing Senshi talking about cooking is nice to see too. Chilchuck is serious, but you can see he really cares about his job. And it’s fun seeing Marcille trying to help in her own way.

Delicious in Dungeon is a cooking manga, and its themes center more around food and consumption more deeply than I expected. Food is something that we tend to take for granted, but it really is something we need to survive. The manga makes a point of malnutrition being dangerous in dungeon delving, so you have to make sure you have a balanced diet. And there’s also the act of enjoying said food, savoring them and enjoying them with others.

I have a newfound appreciation for food because of this manga, and I am thankful that it gave me that. I enjoyed the journey of reading this very much!

VERDICT

Delicious in Dungeon is a wonderful manga that goes surprisingly deep. It is funny, exciting, sad, and hopeful. I encourage you all to read it when you can! And go and watch the anime too while you’re at it!!

Door Rates Delicious in Dungeon: 5/5!

[missr3n3]

Ctda is so fun I love it.. is there any details/ hcs you have about the characters you wanna share?

sorry for taking so long to respond, but you've activated my trap card and i needed to be at my computer so i could write this essay of a response lol

im gonna do one for each character:

jonah: though he used be be more into psychedelics as a teenager, ever since the events of vol. 2 and cdta he's entirely stopped using them. there's just to much fuel for a potential bad trip. he's also stopped drinking (though he was never did it that often in the first place) and doesn't smoke weed as often bc sarah and evelin don't want him stinking up their apartment.

adam: his black hoodie (not the BPS one) has become a comfort item for him. because he didn't have it on while he was in the Nightmare Sand Pit and was at his most vulnerable, he associates not wearing it with being in danger. since he's wearing it basically all the time though, it's gotten really worse for wear and has quite a few holes in it, which jonah helpfully fixed with various patches (you'll see them when i drop the 2011 cdta designs lol)

thatcher: since he's now a certified Old Ass Man (in his early 50s), he's fully stopped trying to look profession or trendy and has gone back to his old grunge fashion sense from the 90s. luckily, most people think this is cool af, and in particular it entertains some of the kids that ride his bus route bc they think he's an old Kurt Cobain lol

evelin: i kind of alluded to this in clear the stone chapter 3, but she and jonah didn't get along at first because she's very straight edge and he's very not. since their re-introduction in clear the stone and the events of cdta, she's a bit more understanding of his drug use (though still not entirely comfortable with it). nowadays she considers jonah to be just as close a friend to her as sarah <3

sarah: mandela getting blown tf up has actually significantly helped her with regards to moving on from her brother's death. though she can't quite put her finger on why, she as a general sense that his soul is at peace now. as a result, she intends to rebrand BPS from a paranormal investigation group to more of a horror webseries thing. she even renames the youtube channel to the bythorne paranormal show!

alt!gabriel: as far as the cdta timeline goes, he created the alternates for the sole purpose of furthering his takeover plan. alternates in this story are straight-up demons as a result, and this might come into play in an interesting way in the sequel... 👀

six: so i've mentioned before that he's an entirely separate alien in the cdta timeline that started working with alt!gabriel as a means to an end since they have similar goals (also dropped in dms that this happened in the 1920s). the reason for this is that his species feeds on pain, and alternates are really good at causing a lot of mental and sometimes physical pain. though with the alternates gone and type 6s doing a shit job at killing humans, his kind are now looking into other avenues for a food supply :)

sam: if he were voiced, i imagine he'd sound like steven as he sounds in steven universe future. pretty nerdy but with a little bit of rasp to it and a hint of theater kid lol. also! he's 6'4 and is the tallest human in cdta!

delilah: before her reversion (official temporal phenomena term for the changes type 6s went through), her alternate instincts would mainly come out in her being an obnoxious know-it-all. the type to "well AKSHUALLY 🤓" everyone around her over the slightest inaccuracies. also never admitting when she was wrong and assuming the people calling her out were just too stupid to understand her genius. basically what i'm saying is she would've love rick and morty before the reversion lol

and as a special bonus:

joel: he actually started mystifying oracle to try and prove that the paranormal didn't exist, but when he realized how many views he was getting from believers, he pivoted to over-the-top shows of the effects of the ouija board. of course it also helps that he has an actual demon in his house lol.

chloe: she met joel in college! they're both studying film, and thus shared a lot of the same classes together. joel ended up dropping out once youtube started making money for him, but they'll still meet up from time to time, especially if there's a new horror movie they want to see!

[sanvirtheobserver]

Taking Flight, Chapter 29: A Very Violent Shindig

Dawn breaks as the War Rig rolls across the Powdered Plains. Everybody else is getting ready for their arrival at the Fudge Pits while Uzi, Saturday, and Gummigoo look over what the away team found in Chewmaw's war room. There were various diagrams of esoteric patterns and procedures, with each step being outlined in excruciating detail.

Saturday: So Chewmaw's Bandits were helping the Darkfudge Cultists with a large-scale divine communion ritual.

Uzi: There appears to be a ley line convergence point within the Fudge Pits. An area with such little dimensional segregation is the perfect spot for a ritual of this scale.

Saturday: Such an event would still require them to tithe something of paracausal nature............ like the Syrup of a Sterling Arbor.

Uzi: Yep. Once the tithe is offered and a rift between planes is created, they'll be able to invoke the presence of whatever they're calling into the mortal realm.

Saturday: And unleash chaos on Sugar Canyon and the Sweetlands as a whole. Do we have any info on who they're trying to invoke?

Uzi flips through the scriptures, finding what sound like the being's various titles. The Fifth Scholar of Zalgo. The Sin Eater. Progenitor of Husks. The Hollowed Blade. Several titles later, she finds an actual name.

Uzi: Says here they're trying to invoke someone called........ Vais.

Saturday: Vais, huh? Been a while since I've heard that name.

Uzi: You know about him?

Saturday: I've encountered these Darkfudge cultists before. According to their old scriptures, Vais is supposedly an Archon of the Demiurge Zalgo. A being with even a fraction of his power can rain untold chaos.

Meggy: Great. Once again, a super-powered demon guy wants to destroy the world.

Max: Uh.........how often does that happen with you guys?

Meggy: *sighs* More often than not.

Meanwhile, we see a small warband traveling through the caves while carrying several barrels of syrup, while Chewmaw and the head Cultist are leading the way to the ritual site. They cross a cliff face hanging over the deep pools of tar-like fudge. One poor sap trips and falls in, his screams of agony muffled as he is consumed by the bittersweet purulence below.

Chewmaw: CAREFUL! You blokes lose ONE barrel and it's swimming lessons for everyone! How much longer?

Cultist: It's just around this corner, m'lord.

Following the Cultist, Chewmaw rounds the corner and sees their destination for the first time. Across the lake of Fudge laid a massive black Pyramid, surrounded by indescribably ancient ruins that form a path towards the entrance. He could sense the oppressive aura as the cultist looked on unfazed.

Cultist: At last......... we can begin.

Back on the surface we see the tankers forming a blockade around the entrance. One bandit is on a smoke break and looks out to the horizon, where he see's something in the distance.

Bandit 1: Oi. Are we expecting anybody else?

Bandit 2: Not to my knowledge. Why?

Bandit 1: Cuz' it looks like someone's coming up to say hi.

Before the others could respond, the blockade is run through by the war rig like a spear through a boar's hide, crushing the poor bandit beneath its front treads before grinding to a halt. The remaining bandits ready their guns, but are quickly mowed down by Meggy and Uzi on the trailer's mounted guns. Saturday is the first to disembark, followed by Jax, Gummigoo, and Mario as Meggy and Uzi hop off the guns.

Uzi: Yep, this is the place.

Meggy: Remember the standard protocol?

Uzi: Yeah. Shoot bandits repeatedly until they're unrecognizable.

Meggy: Damn straight.

Tari makes her way to the door with Saiko, Ragatha, and Pomni behind her.

Saiko: Are you certain you don't want us to come with you?

Pomni: There has to be something we can do. I want to help.

Ragatha: You are helping. We need someone to stay here and guard the Rig while we're gone. And the MOMENT you see those Gator Brothers try anything, you give them the business. That fair?

Pomni gives a sigh and nods.

Saiko: Just, please be careful.

Tari: Don't worry, I'll have Ragatha and Saturday watching my back.

Ragatha follows Tari outside and they meet up with the others.

Saturday: Alright, listen up. According to our intel, Chewmaw's boys are helping the Darkfudge Cultists with pulling something out of Heaven or Hell knows where. I expect each and every one of you to be on the highest alert and do whatever it takes to bring down Chewmaw, stop this ritual, and if necessary, send whatever hellspawn they dredge up screaming back into the abyss. Everybody clear?

Meggy: Transparently, Ma'am.

Jax: Never thought I'd be scratching Eldrich Deicide off my to-do list, but I'm game.

Mario: BRING IT ON!!!!!!

Saturday: Alright......

She draws her lance and leads the charge.

Saturday: Let's get this shindig started, shall we?

Within the Pyramid, the chantry echoes with the sound of infernal tongues. The cultists circle around the black metal slab, each in line with a gilded reliquary. The rosaries on the silk-swattled mass jingle with anticipation as the bandits open the Syrup barrels. The enraptured head Cultist speaks his sermon.

Cultist: Oh great Scholar, blessed with Demiurgent power. Oh great Scholar, who has scoured the sea of screams in pursuit of the all edged truth. Oh great Scholar, who's words echo the gospel of ascension. Take this act of charity, so that your heart may beat with your soul once more, and have the sky itself fall before the call of your name............ VAIS!

The Cultists chant the name in unison, an echoing rhapsody that can be heard from the ruins outside where the crew arrives. Meggy notices that Tari is tense in the presence of the Pyramid.

Meggy: You good?

Tari: Yeah, I just............ there's something completely wrong about this place.

Saturday: My father told me ghost stories about the Fudge Pits and how it was full of things that shouldn't be here.

Chewmaw: Just like you, Princess.

The group looks up to see Chewmaw gazing down at them from the Pyramid's peak.

Gummigoo: Howdy, boss! I hope you didn't mind me inviting some friends over to your little party.

Chewmaw: I always knew you were a snake, but you Princess? I thought you didn't need help leading a kingdom.

Saturday: I could say the same for you, Chewie. Always getting others to do your raids while you sit all safe and snug on that pile of rocks you call a throne.

Chewmaw: Says the lass who disappeared for two years and came back with a bunch of outsiders.

Saturday: In all fairness, I'm pretty sure you were out of commission when I took that eye of yours. Now you're skulking in the shadows with a bunch of madmen calling upon forces they don't understand.

Chewmaw eyes Uzi. He can smell her blasphemous aura, and she knows it.

Chewmaw: You're one to talk with the devil child by your side.

Meggy: Devil Child?

Uzi: COME DOWN HERE AND BITE ME YOU OVERGROWN GOLDFISH!!!!

She fires a flare shell directly at Chewmaw, who catches the flare with his claw before crushing it and giving a toothy grin.

Chewmaw: With pleasure.

With a mighty roar, he leaps down from the Pyramid and onto the platform. He breaks for Saturday, but is intercepted by a well timed punch from Jax. Gummigoo, Meggy, and Uzi open fire and chewmaw blocks the incoming gunfire with his claw. Machinery whirrs to life as a small turret pops up from his back and returns fire, but Tari manages to bring up a barrier just in time. Ragatha lunges in from behind with her cleavers. Chewmaw spins and parries her away before opening his claw and revealing a hidden barrel. With a flick of a gear, he unleashes a volley of explosive shells. Ragatha manages to dodge and lunges in again, right as Saturday does the same. He spins around, blocking Saturday's lances with the claw and batting away Ragatha with his tail. She would've landed in the Fudge if Jax hadn't caught her in his enlarged hand.

Jax: You good dollface?

Chewmaw's swings clash with Saturday and Tari's slashes. Meggy and Uzi strafe to his flanks, dodging his turret as they lay in to him with gunfire. A series of panels open along his tail, sending out a blitz of flares that carpets the surrounding area. Meggy and Uzi quickly dash to cover. Chewmaw bats Saturday aside and lunges towards Tari, trapping her in a vice like grip.

Chewmaw: You got heart, little bird. I wonder how it tastes.

He opens his mouth and bears all his rows of sharp teeth as he prepares to bite down on Tari's head. But before he can take a bite, Mario comes in and Goomba stomps Chewmaw's tail. He yowls in pain, his claw loosening its grip and allowing Tari to toss up a blinkblade. In a flash, she disappears out of his claw and right above him before plunging down with her glaive. While she narrowly misses the head, she manages to graze his scope and break it before dodging away. Chewmaw spins around and manages to grab Mario by the scruff of his shirt, now preparing to bite his head off instead. Right as he bites down though, he feels his teeth bounce off a rubbery fist that's been inflated to comical proportions

Jax: Ow! I'd say chew on this, but looks like you already beat me to the PUNCH.

Right on cue, Jax lands a spring-loaded punch right on Chewmaw's snout, allowing Gummigoo to dash in with a knife and slash at Chewmaw's hip, freeing Mario in the process. The turret locks on to Jax, but the bullets bounce harmlessly off his rubbery body. Meggy manages to land an explosive round on the turret and and blow it off. Chewmaw raises his claw to fire a point blank volley at Jax, but its suddenly jerks upwards as Ragatha yanks on it with her threads. From up high, Saturday plunges her lance right down the claw's barrel, disabling the gun permanently. Saturday, Ragatha and Jax fall back as Meggy, Uzi, and Gummigoo pepper Chewmaw with gunfire. The Warlord winces in pain with every shot before feeling something yank on his tail.

Mario: So long, fishy fishy.

Chew maw sees the world around him spin round and round as Mario swings Chewmaw like a mace. The speed of the spin reaches breakneck speeds before Mario lets go. Chewmaw yells in fear as he flies face first into the rocks, before finally dropping into the Fudge below. One last pained roar echoes out as he sinks beneath the Fudge.

Gummigoo: WOOOOOOO!!!! Have a nice swim, Chewie!

Saturday: Yeah! I hope you brought your bathing suit.

Without even thinking about it, the two give a high five. It was only when Saturday saw the amusement on Ragatha's face that she started acting more civilized again.

Saturday: *ahem* Thank you for the assistance, Germaine.

Gummigoo: Heh.... Anytime, Loo.

However, their celebration is interrupted by a sudden rumbling coming from within the Pyramid.

Uzi: Dammit, the ritual.

Saturday: Alright. Spletzer, Uzi, Gummigoo, you keep guard out here. Ragatha, Jax, Tari, you're with me. Mario........uh......you stay there until we're ready to leave.

Mario: Okie dokie.

And so Tari, Ragatha, and Jax follow Saturday into the depths of the Pyramid to face off against whatever the cultists are planning.