#chapter 4 and the last panel of ch 3

[areyouwell]

Heliophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of light. Children or adults with heliophobia experience an extreme aversion to sunlight and may seek darkness in response.

Ch.8

Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <–

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 15.8K

A/N: bejeezus this was a tough one to get through, crazy how i thought i might be able to fit these last two chapter in one it would have been like 30k words... insane behaviour from me. also i really like writing horror scenes :D

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

“Let me OUT!” Logan cringed as what he assumed was your foot collided with the oak door, thumping against the abused wood. You’d been at this ever since you’d woken up, throwing various objects at the door only for it to remain sealed shut, only succeeding in creating some kind of shattered glass trap after pelting a vase at the panels. Logan sighed heavily, checking his watch. Three hours. You’d been furiously screaming for three hours, trying every fucking trick in the book to get him or anyone else to open the door. Scott had to hold him back when you pretended to be hurt, whimpering and gasping behind the door as if you’d broken a bone. Only to scream in pure, unbridled rage when you realised it hadn’t worked. 

Devious motherfucker. 

You weren’t the only one either. They had Erin held in another room, only she was taking her isolation much better. It was the safest option whilst Charles worked on restoring each subject’s memories. They’d started with Morgana, and Logan didn’t think he’d ever be able to shake the image of crimson blood leaking from every orifice of that girl’s face as she writhed on the floor from his head. But the shift in personality hadn’t been too great. She was still pretty relaxed and unserious, but now she was a lot quieter. Subdued. Like she’d had the hope beaten out of her. 

It fucking terrified him. How much would you change after Charles restored your memories? Would you still smile the same? Laugh the same? Would you still want to be around him? With him?

Would you still love him?

Logan sighed. It was selfish of him, for that to be his most pressing concern, but he didn’t know what he’d do if, after all this, you never looked at him again. Not in the same way. His heart constricted in his chest, dread pooling in his gut. He needed to entertain these scenarios. He needed to prepare for every eventuality. Even if it broke him apart.

“She still at it?”

He’d been too wrapped up in his head to register the light footsteps from down the hall, curly red hair bouncing at Morgana’s shoulders as she approached with two cups of coffee. She’d cleaned herself up since her ordeal, even adding winged eyeliner on either side of her scarlet eyes. Logan bristled slightly, though he truly didn’t mean it. Instinct had his muscles tensing and his gaze narrowing, the night he lost you playing in his mind’s eye, Morgana’s blank expression as she slowed his heartbeat, her shining irises.

But he made himself relax. She’d proven herself a friend to you, her concern touching a part of him that recognised he could trust her with you. Releasing a breath, Logan nodded in answer to her question. “Yeah… Hasn’t stopped.” He tried in vain to keep the defeat from his voice, gratefully taking the coffee Morgana held out to him. “How’s the other one?”

“Erin? She’s… hollow, I guess. One of our friends we’d left behind, she was kinda seeing him but also kinda not. It was complicated between them…” Morgana slid down the wall to sit on the floor, crossing her legs at the knee. Logan joined her, exhaling as he took the weight off his feet. 

The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Logan was acutely aware of Morgana’s guilt. Having her memories restored, she now knew she played a critical role in your capture, and if it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened. She opened her mouth to speak, but Logan beat her to it. 

“Don’t. You don’t gotta apologise. You didn’t know what you were doin’.” An apology would mean nothing to him. Sure, she’d aided your capture, but she’d also helped your escape, and monitored your blood pressure on the flight back to the mansion. She’d taken care of you where Logan couldn’t, and he was grateful for that. 

Morgana simply nodded silently, unshed tears shining in her eyes as she tried to smile. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make remembering any easier though…” she paused, fiddling with the handle of her mug. “Don’t do this to her.”

Logan blinked. “What’dya mean?” He didn’t mean to growl, and felt a little bad when the girl tensed slightly, before taking a deep breath.

“Don’t do this. There’s shit Kreva did that wasn’t documented, Logan. Special assignments, he called them. She took the brunt of it, every fucking time,” Morgana took a breath, angrily wiping at a disobedient tear sliding down her face. Logan’s stomach hollowed. He thought everything was detailed in the file. He thought he knew everything other than the last two months… “She wanted to protect us. Where the rest of us would fight to get away, she’d fight to go. It was her way of making sure we were safe, or I guess, as safe as we could be.” Morgana drew her knees up to her chest, her arms hugging around her shins. 

He couldn’t breathe, the steel lump in his throat clogging his airways, making oxygen rare. Why did you always have to be a fucking martyr? Why did you always have to put yourself last? Did you not know how important you were? How loved you were? Did you not realise how much it fucking hurt to see you in pain? And now he knew he wasn’t the only one, Morgana’s tears solidifying the impact you made on her, too. “What happened?” he asked a little shakily, bracing himself for whatever horrors he was about to hear.

Morgana clenched her jaw, her eyes closing against the nightmarish memories of her own past. “Field experiments. No point in creating an army if you don’t know how effective they’d be, right? I… I only did a few, but they were the shit you’d read in hidden government documents, ya know? Send us to war-torn countries to tear apart their refugee camps and hospitals. Infiltrate rebellions and silence their leaders before the spark of change could fan into a flame. 

“And nobody was better than Phantom. Entire towns crumbled to dust in a night. Politicians were brought to their knees with nothing but a flick of her wrist. She was an instrument of chaos, Logan. Of death. It’s why Kreva fought so fucking hard to get her back. She was a scalpel he used to surgically remove anything he deemed a threat to his advances,” Morgana’s voice trembled slightly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. “You get it now? Remembering all that… what she was forced to do, the acts she was forced to perform, it would destroy her.”

Logan didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to think. None of that had been detailed in the file. How many layers of torment existed? How many secrets did he need to uncover to truly understand what you were put through? Was the cost of getting you back greater than the cost of leaving you untouched? If what Morgana said was true, would you even want to remember? You did before, but neither you nor him truly knew the depth of your torture. Fuck. 

“I– I don’t–” He began before Morgana cut him off.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know what to do either. We need her back to stop him. I sure as shit can’t beat Rowan, and neither can Erin. I don’t know everyone who lives here but I’ll bet you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who can. But her? She could. Theoretically…”

“Theoretically? Ya mean they’ve never been pitted against each other?” Logan asked, finding that hard to believe. Kreva put you through hell and back, performed every experiment under the goddamn sun on you, but never thought to match you against your brother? Maybe it was his own dark and twisted mind talking, but that would have been one of the first things he’d do.

“Nah. Even with Naji’s mutation, remnants of those experiments still stayed with us, usually affecting our mood. Pitting us against each other wouldn’t exactly build a good rapport since we were supposed to work together.” Morgana shrugged, her eyes now dry, having pushed past her initial flood of grief. “I just, can your Professor restore partial memories? I dunno, I just– she shouldn’t have to go through everything again. Shouldn’t have to remember everything she was forced to do.”

He could. Charles could. But Logan didn’t know if that would be enough. Even Kreva had said in your file you needed a certain number or specificity of memories to fully wield your mutation. He had no idea which ones they were, and whilst Charles was incredibly powerful, there was no way of him knowing either. But before he could respond, there was another cracking thump against the door and they both snapped their heads to where you’d once again tried to break through. 

Logan couldn’t help his little fond huff, despite the situation. You were as persistent as always, and he could feel your furious determination from the other side of the door. 

“Wow…” he shifted his attention back to Morgana who was looking at him with slight awe. “You really loved her, didn’t you?” 

He swallowed, her use of the past tense grating slightly in his chest. “Still do…” he murmured, dragging his gaze back to where you continued to try and break down the door. 

Morgana shifted next to him, her legs extending back in front of her, crossing at the ankle as she sipped her coffee. “So? Tell me everything. She’s my best friend and I know nothing about you, kinda unfair if you ask me.” She shrugged and Logan cast her a withering look. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask ya,” he sighed, before dragging his hands through his hair. He didn’t even know where to start when it came to you. “What’ya wanna know?”

Morgana clapped her hands excitedly, turning completely to face him, and he felt himself die a little on the inside, already regretting his agreement to this. 

“Where’dya meet? How long’ve you guys been together? Who said ‘I love you’ first, that kinda thing.” 

Logan raised a brow. Were these seriously the kinds of questions people wanted to know the answer to? He couldn’t help but think Morgana would get along well with both Marie and Kitty and considering this girl was apparently your best friend, it made a lot of sense. He rubbed at the back of his neck, all of a sudden feeling inadequate. 

“We uh, we met here, been together for somethin’ like eight months, last two not included and uh, I said it first.” His words came out a little jumbled, barely able to look Morgana in the eye as her grin widened.

“How long did it take the two of you to get together after you met?” She asked and Logan couldn’t help snorting a laugh. 

“‘Round three days, I think.”

The red-head choked on her coffee and Logan took a long, slightly smug sip of his own. Not quite as good as the ones you make, but it would do the job.

“Three days?! I thought us lesbians moved fast.” Her eyes were larger than saucers as she chuckled heartily, glancing between him and the door, where you’d finally gone quiet. “Though I guess your bond must have been strong if it could push past Naji’s mutation, she’d still dream about you. Did things just click between you? Just like, that instant connection kinda thing?”

The corners of his lips pulled up as he remembered seeing you for the first time. He’d never fucking admit it to anyone, but he was excited to meet you. He’d heard so damn much about you, never being able to put a face to the name was killing him. He’d sort of had an idea of what you looked like from listening to various conversations, but he wasn’t prepared for you to steal the breath from his damn lungs. You smiled so easily, laughed so brightly. You had a glimmer of wicked mischief in your eye that danced with each teasing comment you quipped. You were utterly mesmerising. Ethereal. Logan knew he was in trouble from the very start. 

“Somethin’ like that, yeah. She called me a son-of-a-bitch when we first met, I sorta stole her teaching position cuz she’d been away for two years and I didn’t think she even existed, to be honest with ya,” He too had noticed you’d gone silent on the other side of the door and he had a strong feeling you were listening. “Rest is history, but there’s very little I wouldn’t do to get her back…” he trailed off, swallowing around the lump reforming in his throat. He missed you. So fucking much. You were right there, on the other side of the door, but you looked at him with such unfamiliarity it broke him apart. You were right fucking there, but you’d never felt so far away. So out of his reach. 

A touch to his shoulder brought him back, Morgana’s hand resting atop his skin as she nodded to the door. “Go,” she mouthed, flicking her eyes back and forth between him and the wood, and he understood what she meant. Draining the remaining coffee from his mug, Logan stood to his feet, sending Morgana a wary glance behind him. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea, to be honest. You’d been so hellbent on escaping, what if this was just another one of your methods to free yourself from the room?

As if reading his mind, Morgana nodded encouragingly. “Her heart rate has settled and her blood pressure isn’t as high. Just go.” She whispered, snatching his mug from where he’d left it on the floor to return to the kitchen. She wasn’t needed for this next part and she knew it. From that one conversation, she seemed to know that he would be able to get through to you. He may be the only one who could. 

Logan took a breath, the metal of the bolt cool against his fingers before he pulled it across, twisting the doorknob and letting himself into an almost completely empty room. Before you’d woken up, Jean and Hank had set up a lighting system that didn’t cast extensive shadows. All the furniture had either been taken out or separated, each shadow on the ground completely isolated. Logan hated it. Hated that these were the lengths they had to go to in order to keep you safe. They were treating you no better than when you were a prisoner. 

It ate at his mind.

The lack of your presence however didn’t alarm him. He wasn’t expecting you to be standing waiting for him, especially if you could hear the conversation beyond the door. Taking a few slow steps into the room, Logan scanned the walls and floor, as if he could sense you in any of the various shadows. His own silhouette crossed through darkness cast by one of the tables, but it wasn’t until his back started to itch unbearably did he know where you were. Smart, he’d give you that, but you didn’t remember doing this to him before. You didn’t know he knew what it felt like. Logan rumbled a chuckle, turning to the light behind him and that itching shifted to his front. 

“You’re not as subtle as ya think, darlin’.” He mused, feeling you shift down his body and bleed through to his isolated shadow on the floor. His expression instantly softened as you rose from the ground, watching his every move warily, eyes flickering with every micromovement, nostrils flaring slightly as you prepared to make a break for it. Logan raised his hands like he’d done so many times before. “‘M’not gonna hurt ya. Never gonna hurt ya, firefly.”

“Stop calling me that.” You hissed, taking a step back from him. You’d finally learned his name, only thanks to eavesdropping on his conversation with Morgan. What the fuck had they done to her to make her so mellow? So willing to accept this. Rage flared in your gut at the thought of her being harmed. “What did you do to her? Morgana. What did you do?”

Logan almost winced at the way you hissed and snarled at him like a cornered animal, furious terror reeking off you in waves. “We helped her remember, like we’re gonna help you,” even if the idea still didn’t sit right with him. “You’re safe here. You both are.” He soothed, watching as you narrowed your eyes at him as if searching for deception. He let you look, knowing you’d find nothing but earnest truth. 

“Okay…” you breathed, though you still didn’t fully trust him. You kept your distance as he took a seat, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. Questions burned in your mind, but you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to divulge just how clueless you were about what was going on. 

Until it suddenly occurred to you. None of this was real. 

You’d seen reality glitch and phase around you. You watched your flat disappear to nothing, your friends fighting amongst themselves. Maybe there was some truth in Joes’ words. Maybe nothing you’d experienced was real, and maybe this was a part of it. You nodded to yourself, laughing bitterly.

Logan’s brows furrowed in confused concern. “What?”

“You’re not real, are you? You don’t exist.” You bit, gesturing savagely to where he was sitting. Logan hummed a tired, melancholy smile, his eyes sinking to the floor and you blinked in confusion. “What?”

You really were the reflection of his own soul, your brows pinching in exactly the same way, head tilting in the opposite direction to his own. In another time, he’d be feeling the same electric hum he always did in the moments before he kissed you, but the absence of love in your eyes kept him at bay.

“S’just funny… I said almost the exact same thing when we first met.” 

You shook your head furiously as if to clear your mind. “We’ve never met…” You whispered, though your voice faltered. Logan raised his gaze back to you, hope flickering in his chest.

“I don’t think you believe that.” He responded with equal hush, rising from the chair he’d just sat down upon, his hand still braced on the back of it. You shook your head again, eyes screwed shut as if to wall off whatever was going through your mind. 

“I– Even if I didn’t, I don’t remember you. I don’t know who you are.” The way your voice cracked was mirrored in his soul, spiderwebs of fragility snaking across his heart. You were almost pleading with him. With yourself. And to see you so fragile, so fucking scared, it made him want to shred Kreva apart.

“Morgana said you dreamt of me.”

“That’s just a coincidence…”

Logan took a step forward. “I don’t think you believe that either.”

All the tension in your body exploded, the fraying threads of your emotions finally snapping, and your maelstrom of fear and confusion stormed through your mental walls. “I don’t fucking know what I believe! I don’t! You can’t honestly stand there and expect me to believe you. Expect me to believe that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie. Because that’s fucking insane and you sound insane!

“But then you look at me… You look at me and I feel missed. And it fucking hurts because I don’t know why. I don’t know why you look at me like that and I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I don’t know what’s real and I’m really fucking scared.” You took a breath, hot tears burning your eyes as you finally confessed just how utterly petrified you were. You hated feeling vulnerable, even more so in front of people you didn’t know. Or you did know. Or you did know but didn’t remember. Or whatever the truth was.

Every other time Logan had stood to pull you into his embrace, you’d melted into him, willingly accepting his comfort and warmth. So to see you recoil from his sudden movement, flinch at the way he took a hasty step toward you, shining eyes wide with fear, he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop his own overwhelming sense of guilt from springing tears to his own eyes. He took a steadying breath, frantically searching his brain for something, anything, to convince you that this was real. He was real. He knew you were scared. Fuck, he felt your fear as his own, but losing you now simply wasn’t an option.

Then it came to him. 

Slowly, tentatively, Logan extended his hand for you to take. “Eight months ago, you taught me something. I want to show you if you’ll let me.”

He saw you hesitate, eyes flickering from his hand to his face, then back to his hand. This would be it. Irrefutable proof that he was real, and the time he’d shared with you was real. Time ticked by, the clock on the wall mocking him with each rhythmic click until you nodded infinitesimally, slipping your soft palm into his. 

“Okay…” you whispered, and he offered you a small smile. 

“I need you to promise you won’t run.” He slowly brought you closer to him, keeping himself open to your suspicious gaze with each uncertain step. You sucked in a breath, still incredibly unsure.

“Fine. But I can’t promise I won’t try…” your mouth quirked in a half-hearted smirk, and though he could tell it was forced, Logan couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, you were coming back to him, piece by piece, little by little. 

It was like nothing had changed, having you in the kitchen with him, the sun casting a firelike glow through the windows. Like clockwork, he’d chopped, diced, mixed and stirred. The sizzle of browning onions, the scent of searing meat, cooking like this was now simply muscle memory, his hands working with minds of their own. All the while you watched over his shoulder, suspicious recognition creasing your brows as he stripped a few leaves of basil from their stem, dropping them into the bubbling marinara sauce. This was your recipe. You’d know it anywhere. How the fuck did he know it? How did he know the exact timings? The perfect colour for the meat before adding the sauce? And how the fuck did he know about the basil…?

Your heart raced. What if he was telling the truth? How would you even handle that? How would you go about wrapping your head around the fact that the last god knows how many years of your life have been bullshit? He had to be wrong. He had to be lying. For the sake of your own mental wellbeing, this had to be some kind of fucked up prank. Or a set-up. Maybe by that weird fucker who had Naji. 

That was something else you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on. The fact that your entire fucking flat simply disappeared. That you hadn’t seen any of your family since Naji tried to invade your mind. 

Naji…

You clenched your jaw. You couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about any of them right now. You didn’t know where they were, how they were. If they were alright if they were safe. If they were alive…

Here you were feeling so fucking scared, but so far none of these people had done anything to try and hurt you. Were the rest of them in similar positions? Was Atlas okay?

Was Rowan…?

Logan spared a glance away from the bubbling sauce to gauge your headspace, his brows pinching when he saw your eyes slightly glazed, lost in a mental spiral. Removing the wooden spoon from the sauce, he held it up to your mouth, snapping you from your dissociated daze. “Here. Recognise it?”

You looked at him slightly warily, watching his hand shift to cup just beneath the spoon, preventing spillages. Logan noticed your hesitation, your trepidation, and understood.  Even though you’d watched every step, you were still mistrusting. He couldn’t blame you. His gaze softened slightly, before bringing the spoon to his own mouth and tasting the food, proving to you there was nothing in it that could harm you. 

As per usual, it was fucking delicious. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself for nailing it so well. The suspicion in your eyes faded slightly, and you nodded in consent as he offered it back to you, and you let him feed you your own recipe.

It was uncanny. 

“How did you…?”

Logan smiled slightly, placing the spoon back into the sauce. “I’d only known you for a day or so before we made this together. Actually, you made it and I just kinda watched.” The way he huffed fondly made your heart stutter and the realisation struck you like a punch to the gut. 

“This was real, wasn’t it…?” You asked quietly, and Logan stopped altogether to take a steadying breath. You were coming around. Finally, you were coming back. Not completely, he’d need Charles for that, but you were getting there. 

“Yeah. It was. I–” he paused, eyes trained solidly on the pan of spaghetti adjacent to the sauce. “It was my fault. I couldn’t keep you safe. I was fuckin’ helpless that night. I let them take you and couldn’t do anythin’ to stop it…” The memory still haunted him. Your bloodstained lips, your eyes fading before you dissolved, the way Kreva fucking laughed. It haunted every waking moment. 

A jolt of electricity bolted up his arm when your hand came to rest atop it. He thought it almost laughable. You comforting him whilst you didn’t even know who you were. Who he was. Managing to tear his eyes from the stove, his gaze met yours, finding only forgiveness. 

“What happened?” You asked quietly, finding warmth in the way his hand settled atop your own. 

“There was a raid here one night. That piece of shit Kreva came lookin’ for ya. Didn’t take you, but left somethin’ behind. You weren’t safe here, so I took you somewhere you were. Stayed there for six months before we had to come back. They ambushed us on the road. I was immobilised, and he took you from me and fuckin’ laughed as he did it.” He hissed, and your hand tightened on his arm. Not out of fear, he realised, but to ground him. To remind him you were there. It shattered and mended his heart at the same time. 

“Why you?” It was a loaded question. You knew that. But you needed confirmation. What you’d suspected from the moment he’d escorted you kicking and screaming into that room. From the moment you woke up. 

Logan drew in a breath. He didn’t know if telling you would make things better or worse. Whether it would help you or break you. He searched your face, finding nothing but gentle curiosity and settled on showing you instead. 

Turning back to the stove, he switched off the heat for both burners, before stepping from your touch and over to the radio. It had been a long time since you two had done this, but he couldn’t think of a better way to answer your question. 

Your head tilted in confusion as you watched him flip through the stations, pausing as if he’d seen a ghost when a song you knew crackled to life. You recognised this tune, but from when or where, you couldn’t tell. Logan turned back to you, his hand extended, vain hope glimmering in his hazel eyes. 

‘Pass me that lovely little gun My dear, my darling one’

With no small degree of hesitation, you slipped your hand into his, holding your breath as you stepped into his soft embrace. It felt familiar, like a smile from an old friend, or a spoken phrase lost to time. It felt nostalgic.

It felt like home. 

‘The cleaners are coming in, one by one You don’t even wanna let them start’

You let your arms snake around his neck, melting as his hands met your waist. Turning your head, you settled against the centre of his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear as you swayed with him.

“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

‘They’re knocking now upon your door They measure the room, they know the score They’re mopping up the butcher’s floor Of your broken little hearts’

Pieces of Logan’s soul started to slowly knit back together, his arms encircling your waist to hold you tight against him, settling his cheek atop your head. 

“Yeah. Long time ago, but yeah.” He answered, his eyes stinging as you nestled closer into the dip between his collar and neck.

‘Forgive us now for what we’ve done It started out as a bit of fun Here, take these before we run away The keys to the gulag’

Your eyes closed involuntarily, basking in the unfamiliar familiarity of his smell. The dreams you had, weren’t dreams at all. They were memories. You realise that now. You were remembering a life you didn’t know you had. You were remembering him the only way you could. 

‘Here comes Frank and poor old Jim They’re gathering ‘round with all my friends We’re older now the light is dim And you are only just beginning’

Logan let himself believe if only for a moment, you remembered him. He let himself sink into the alternate reality where nothing had happened. Where you were simply with him and you were safe. Where your brother wasn’t lost and you weren’t terrified anymore. Where he could hold you without being afraid it could be the last time. Where Jade wasn’t dead but just merely an ex of your past. Where you had complete control of your mutation and weren’t afraid of yourself. 

He let himself breathe you in, your distinct scent wrapping around his mind and heart. Fuck he’d missed you so fucking much.

‘We have the answers to all your fears It’s short, it's simple, it’s crystal clear It’s roundabout and it’s somewhere near Lost amongst our winnings’

“I know why it was you…” You murmured gently, raising your head from the home you’d made. Logan’s hand slid from your waist to cup the side of your neck, keeping you there. 

‘The cleaners have done their job on you They’re hip to it, man, they’re in the groove They’ve hosed you down, you’re good as new And they’re lining up to inspect you’

Logan didn’t dare ask. Didn’t dare prompt you to continue. Could barely whisper to you in fear of his voice cracking, the growing lump in his throat making breathing suddenly much more difficult. 

��Poor old Jim’s white as a ghost He’s found the answer that we lost We’re weeping now, weeping because There’s nothing we can do to protect you’

Your eyes flickered between his, the sting of unshed tears lining your lashes as you swallowed thickly. “I loved you. Didn’t I?”

O, children Lift up your voice, lift up your voice Children Rejoice, Rejoice

Logan closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to sink to his knees. The past tense speared his heart, but he nodded nonetheless, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah, you did.”

Your hand skirted from his neck to the side of his face, thumb gently smoothing over his cheekbone. “And you? Did you love me?”

His eyes fluttered open again to find slight, broken hope glittering in your irises, those windows he’d come to love so fucking much. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, bracing his forehead against your own. “I still do.” 

The moment his lips graced your own, you felt the tears in your eyes spill down your cheeks, a lost piece of your heart fixing back into place. You felt whole again, here in his arms, kissing him to the beat of the music.

‘Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun The train ain’t even left the station Hey little train, wait for me I once was blind but now I see Have you a seat for me Is that such a stretch of the imagination?’

Your breath caught in your throat as you tightened your arms around his neck, his hold around your waist responding in kind. You loved him. No. That didn’t feel right. 

You love him. 

Logan released the leash he had on his emotions, allowing liquid heartache to slide down his cheeks. All the fear, all the doubt, every single thought of losing you washed away as your tongue softly swiped at his lips, and he pulled you home. 

Home.  ‘Hey little train, wait for me Was bound in chains, but now I’m free I’m hanging in there, don’t you see? In this process of elimination Hey little train, we’re jumping on The train that goes to the kingdom We’re happy, Ma, we’re having fun Beyond my wildest expectation’

The music faded and you pulled back a little, eyes fluttering open to find him already gazing at you, longing dancing in his eyes, damp trails lining either side of his face. “What now…?” you queried softly, and Logan sighed slightly. 

“You gotta make a choice. Charles can help you remember everythin’ but… it won’t be easy for ya. I don’t know what you’ve gone through the last two months, but I know everythin’ you went through before. And Morgana filled me in on some shit Kreva didn’t note down…” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “Morgana? Is she alright?” 

Logan nodded, the relief on your face worth all the stars in the sky. “Yeah, she’s fine ‘n safe. Charles already helped her, so she remembers. Erin’s here too but uh… she’s less cooperative.” 

You snickered, and Logan thought he’d have to die before he heard that sound again. “Yeah, sounds like Erin. Is Rowan here? I should probably see him, let him know I’m alright.” 

Your heart dropped with the way Logan’s face fell, dread pooling in your gut. 

“We’re gonna get him back, ‘kay? All of them. We’re gonna get ‘em all back. I promise.” Not even the conviction in his voice, nor the way his hands smoothed your hair, brought you any comfort. 

“Where is he…?” You asked, though utterly terrified to know the answer. 

Logan sucked in a breath, bracing himself. “We’d managed to get you, Morgana, Erin and Rowan out before we had to bail. Kurt can teleport too, but his last trip was Rowan before it became too dangerous. We were already in the air, and we thought we were safe. But Joes came out of nowhere and took him back to Kreva.”

You gasped a sob, attempting to wrench yourself from his grip but he held you fast. “L– let me go! I– I have to get him. I can’t leave him.” You bit between stuttered breaths, panic rising in your throat. “I can’t– I can’t leave him there. He’s my brother. Logan let– let me go!” You fought against his hold and took every weak punch, every struggled pound against his chest.

“I know darlin’, I know.” he hushed as you went limp in his hold, your shoulders shaking with each strangled cry. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re gonna get him back, firefly. I promise,” he whispered into your hair as you fell to pieces in his embrace, sinking to the ground in his arms. He pulled you in tight, bracing you against his chest. “I promise. It’s okay, shh, shh, it’s okay.”

He held you as you cried, having the distinct feeling you weren’t just crying for Rowan. And he was right. Everything had hit you all at once. Your lost life. Your forgotten memories. The lies. So many fucking lies. And the one person who had told you the truth you didn’t fucking remember. 

How long you’d been sitting in his arms, crying into his chest whilst he whispered soothing nothings into your hair, you’d never know. But when your sobs reduced to nothing but hiccups, you raised your head, taking a long, shaky breath. 

Logan’s palms instantly cupped either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the stains of tears from your cheeks before he offered you a small, empathetic smile. You slowly blew out the breath you were holding, brows pinching against another wave of anguish. “You said I had a choice. What was the other option?”

“You stay like this,” he began, his thumbs still smoothing over your cheeks though the tears were long gone now. “We try help you with your mutation and you don’t remember everything you’ve endured. We tell you what you need to know and you start again.” Both options terrified him. There was no easy way forward, and he knew that. He knew you knew that too. 

“So, I’m spared of whatever shit I’ve been through but I won’t remember anything else?” you clarified and he nodded. “I won’t remember you?” Logan nodded again, though his time it was slight. “And you’re okay with that?”

No. He wasn’t. It was agony to think that you wouldn’t remember the last eight months you’d spent with him. “That doesn’t matter here–” He started before you cut him off. 

“It matters to me. I want to remember you, Logan.”

His jaw tensed, eyes lowering to the floor. “I don’t wanna be the reason you’re in pain. I don’t want you to remember for me just to regret it after you remember everythin’ else. Your past wasn’t kind to you, sweetheart.” He couldn’t help the way his chest inflated when your hand softly cupped the side of his bearded jaw, raising his head back to look into your eyes. 

“I’d want to remember anyway. I don’t wanna be some vacant shell who doesn’t know who she is. No matter how fucked up. No matter what I went through, it made me who I was. It made me who you fell in love with. I wanna be her again.” 

“You already are.” He murmured, before capturing your lips in another gentle kiss and you smiled against him. “There isn’t a version of you I won’t love. Whether you remember everythin’ or nothin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll always be right here.”

You rested your brow against his as if you could communicate everything you were feeling through touch alone. “I think we need to go and see Charles.”

You don’t think you’d ever been this nervous. Your heart beat like a freight train in your chest, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you stood outside Charles Xavier’s office alone. Logan had entered before you, telling you to wait whilst he spoke to the headmaster, about what you could only assume. 

Your breath came quick, unsteady. You’d already agreed to get your memories back before Logan even brought it up. You wanted to know who you were, but now you were standing outside Xavier’s office, you weren’t sure you made the right choice. What if restoring your memories made you a completely different person? You didn’t know if they’d been restored before, had they been restored when Logan met you? Is that who he fell in love with? Or were you just as clueless then as you were now? You had too many questions and too few answers to feel calm about what lay ahead of you. 

Your biggest fear was remembering that you agreed with Kreva, and whatever he was trying to do. From what you knew, he was pure fucking evil, running experiments on mutants for whatever sick and twisted gains he got out of it. You didn’t know his end goal, but what if you agreed with him? Surely that was how you wound up there in the first place, no?

Or were you taken? Or sold? You couldn’t even remember your parents. Did you have parents? Were you grown in that fucking facility?

Too many questions.

Your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip as you waited, savouring the slight bite of pain as you peeled a layer of skin into your mouth, sucking the blood from the hurt. This was taking too long. He’d been in there for too long. You didn’t know exactly how long, but it was only supposed to be a quick conversation, not whatever the fuck this was. Having just about enough of waiting, you’d resolved to knock on the door and not wait for an answer before heading in. That was until the door opened slowly, a dark-haired girl poking her head from the room inside. 

“You uh, you can come in. Sorry it took so long…” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. You tilted your head to the side. When the fuck had she arrived? You’d been standing outside this office since Logan went in and you hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit? She opened the door a little wider, revealing five other people, your eyes widened as you saw the familiar auburn curly hair of your best friend. 

“Morgo…” You breathed, before rushing through the door and past the makeshift bed to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight. Morgana reciprocated, her hands braced against your back as she squeezed you in her embrace. 

“Hey, freakshow. How’re you holding up?” She asked, pulling back slightly to give you a once over, making sure you weren’t hurt.

It warmed Logan’s heart to see you interact with your friends like this. The raw relief etched into your features brought him a kind of relief of his own. Morgana was safe, and that had somewhat set you at ease.

“Yeah, ‘m’okay. Upright and not crying.” You shrugged, and Morgana laughed slightly. Clearly, that must have been some kind of inside joke between the two of you. Logan didn’t fight to hide his smile, earning himself a sweet look from Ororo and a look of utter shock from Scott. He rolled his eyes at the latter.

“Sounds about right,” Morgana’s eyes fell to the floor as she thought about what she wanted to say next. “Look… if you’re gonna go ahead with this–”

“I am, Morgo. Why is everyone trying to convince me not to now? Surely the whole point in getting me back was to restore my memories, now you’re all questioning it?” 

Logan could understand why you were so irate. Everything was so fucking confusing right now. It was hard to know what the right thing to do was. But you’d chosen, and he needed to respect that. As did everyone else in the room.

“I get that. I just… you need to prepare yourself. Mine wasn’t exactly pretty and I didn’t go through half the shit you did,” she continued, empathy flooding her crimson eyes. “I just– you went through so fucking much. For our sake. You were… different to how you are now.”

Logan felt the blood drain from his face. “Different how?” he asked lowly, prepared to drag you away and hole up with you somewhere safe. 

Not that it had helped last time.

“Nothing bad! You never worked for Kreva willingly…” she paused, glancing at each mutant in the room. “You were just… scarier if that makes sense. You scared the shit out of us. Not because you did anything! Fuck I’m explaining this so badly…” she sucked in a breath, holding it for a beat before exhaling. “You were real good at sealing away your emotions. Most of the time we wondered if you had any at all. It was always Rowan who was the emotional one. You were just kinda… stony, about the whole thing. The only time you spoke out was when you volunteered yourself for certain things, and that was to protect us. You weren’t a bad person, you were just… yeah. Different.” She finished, leaving the room in stunned silence. 

It didn’t come as too much of a surprise to Logan. You didn’t want to share your emotions at the best of times, at least at the start of your relationship. And knowing you had to do that almost your whole life, not because of lack of option, but because of self-preservation? It burned him.

“Okay… but I wasn’t like, fucked up or anything. Like, I didn’t kill a bunch of people, right?”

The silence was so loud you could hear it echoing against the walls of the room. You refused to let it scare you. You weren’t about to be intimidated out of this. No matter what you’d done in your past, it would stay where it belonged. 

In the fucking past. 

“This is taking too fucking long. Can we just do it?” You grit, folding your arms in irritation. 

“You’re certain this is what you want?” Your head whipped around to who you assumed was Charles Xavier. Honestly, he wasn’t what you were expecting. You were expecting someone a little more intimidating to be the head of the school and the mutant everyone kept banging on about. Not just some older dude in a wheelchair. 

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.” You responded curtly, casting a glance at the others around the room. The girl with the brown hair stood close to Logan, her brows pinched in subdued fear. For you or of you, you couldn’t discern. Were you really that scary? 

Charles exhaled a sigh. “Very well then. If you could all leave the room.”

“I’m stayin’.” Logan wasn’t about to leave you alone with this. He’d seen what had happened to Morgana. Watched as she writhed and contorted on the ground, blood streaming from her ears and nose. He wasn’t about to wait in ignorance whilst you were in agonising pain in here. He didn’t think he had it in him. 

“Logan… this procedure is extremely difficult. Any distractions could cause further damage to her subconscious.”

“Then I won’t be distracting.” His tone left no room for argument, and you honestly felt a little better knowing he wasn’t going to leave you. He cast you a slight, encouraging smile and you nodded in gratitude as Charles huffed in defeat.

“Fine. If everyone else could leave the room.” He said pointedly, and Morgana enveloped you in another hug.

“I’ll see ya on the other side, girlie. You’ll be fine. You got your big strong dream man with ya.” She winked and you couldn’t help snorting a laugh, though you could tell by the look in her eye she was terrified for you. That one you could distinguish. 

The woman with white hair placed a hand on your shoulder as Morgana left through the door. Though you couldn’t recall a single time you’d ever met her, she looked at you as if you were an old friend, though said nothing. Her hand squeezed slightly before she too headed out. The man you knew to be Scott strode passed you wordlessly, refusing to even look up at you through his sunglasses.

What the fuck was his problem?

“Kitty?” Charles prompted, and you turned to look to where the girl was staying completely still, her sad eyes still trained on you. You raised a brow, and she winced slightly, before running to pull you into a crushing hug. 

“I don’t care who you are after this. I don’t hate you anymore. It wasn’t your fault, I truly understand that now. I’m so, so sorry for blaming you.” You held your hands up as her hold on you tightened, shooting Logan a panicked glance. 

“Kitty…” he started, and she took a step back from you, angrily wiping at the tears down her cheeks. 

“Yeah, right. Okay. You got this, yeah? Come find me after and we can have tea or something. We got a lot to catch up on…” She gave you one last hug before almost running from the room, closing the door behind her. You watched the closed door with complete confusion. Logan chuckled slightly behind you, placing both hands on either of your shoulders.

“She’s missed ya. We all have.” You leaned back, your head resting against the back of his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“You won’t have to for much longer, right?” You looked around Logan to where Charles had taken his place at the head-side of the bed. It looked like some kind of medical bed they’d dragged from a hospital. Did they have one here? You supposed it was useful if things were to go wrong. 

The thought had your gut twisting. Just how wrong could things go…?

“Hey,” Logan caught your attention, a hand guiding your face to look at him. It’s like he had a sixth sense for whenever you started to spiral, noticing the moment your eyes looked even a little distant. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here, yeah? Not gonna leave ya.” He soothed, slowly wrapping his arms around your shoulders, a broad hand cupping the back of your head as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, savouring the contact.

“Okay…” you breathed, steeling yourself before pushing back from him and turning to Charles. “Let’s just get this over with…”

Charles nodded finitely, patting the surface of the medical bed. “Just lie back and try to relax. I know it’s difficult considering the circumstances, but if you could keep your mind as clear as you can, it will greatly help the process.” 

You sucked in a breath, hopping up onto the bed and swinging your legs over, lying back against the hard surface. They really hadn’t tried to make it particularly comfortable, but you supposed they didn’t have time before they tried this with Morgana.

Morgana.

You concentrated on how she was even after this procedure. She hadn’t all changed that much. Maybe you’d be the same. Maybe you’d still be you but with very little noticeable change. Thinking of her filled you with courage, even more so when Logan took your hand and knelt by your bedside. 

“You ready?” He asked, trying his fucking best not to let his overwhelming concern leak through his voice. You nodded a little shakily as Charles’ hands came to rest on either side of your head.

“See you on the other side.” You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand slightly, before you felt a slight pressure inside your head, growing and pushing, rearranging, and your vision faded to black.

You were falling. Wind whipped your hair and face, arms flailing to catch yourself on something, anything, trying in vain to save yourself from the inevitable landing. Your stomach lurched up into your throat, guts writhing and flipping as you failed to control your descent. Mouth agape in a silent, wrenching scream, you plummeted down, down, down. Flashes of light burned against your closed eyes, colours singing your retinas as you clawed at nothing, deafening voices ringing in your ears, crashes of explosions, and bloodcurdling screams cut short. Your heart raced in your chest, your breathing ragged before everything stopped.

You plunged into an ocean of pitch black, lungs burning as you fought to breathe, only resulting in an intake of water, mocking bubbles rising from your mouth, legs kicking fruitlessly against the anchor wrapped around your feet. Cracking your eyes open, you looked down.

Not an anchor.

A hand.

A shadowy, skeletal hand gripped your ankle, seven more rising from the obsidian depths to grasp at your legs, your waist, scratching against your skin, tearing at your clothes as you struggled to free yourself, writhing and twitching to reach the surface. 

You screamed again, muffled, jagged, noiseless in the muted depths of your own mind. Your vision tunnelled, oxygen scarce as your brain started to shut down. This was it. This was where you died. Trapped in the sea of black, drowned by your own fears.

Until everything stopped. Your feet touched solid ground and the ocean started to drain away around you. After being so weightless, your body felt like lead as you lay on the surface, coughing up inky liquid, your chest heaving with every strangled breath. Taking just a moment to remind yourself you weren’t dead, you roughly swiped your soaking hair from your face, lifting your head to at least try and take a look at your surroundings. But your eyes were met with nothing. Absolutely nothing. You couldn’t tell where the floor ended and the sky began. There was no divide. You were completely lost and for the first time, you found yourself wishing there was some kind of light to guide you. 

As if on command, a flicker of white appeared ahead of you, illuminating the pit of nothingness and granting you the vision you sought. Shakily struggling to your feet, you looked down and froze slightly. What you were standing on wasn’t solid. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Ripples shifted beneath your feet like water, the light reflecting in irregular patterns with one small step forward. Taking one knee, you pressed your hand against the surface, pulling back as it shifted with your contact, your own reflection looking back at you quizzically. 

Releasing a determined huff, you wiped your wet hand on your soaking t-shirt, looking back to the pulsing light ahead of you, drawing you in. And you let it, your legs moving as if on their own, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Some kind of chamber, then, if your footsteps bounced back to you. 

Your eyes squinted the closer you got, your hand shielding your face from the light, before it dulled for you, as if understanding. You blinked away the spots behind your eyes, leaning closer to the orb, and tilting your head around it. Images flashed within the surface, faces you knew well, and faces you didn’t recognise. This was you, you realised. This was everything you were missing. Everything you’d been through, everything you didn’t remember was right here in front of you. Who you were. Who you are. 

Reaching up, you lightly tapped the surface of the glow with your finger, watching as it started to pulse faster, light growing more intense before your vision exploded with white and you were thrust forward, the environment around you shifting and changing like ink in a glass of water. 

Falling to your knees, you barely caught yourself before you struck the floor, your hands biting against a cold, steel surface. Shaking your head of a slight fuzziness, you inhaled, almost choking on the thick scent of sweat and fuel. Your heartbeat spiked.

You knew this. 

Fear laced your blood as you raised your head, taking in the all too familiar interior of an aircraft, and your breath froze when your eyes landed upon a lone figure sitting against the wall, her hair bound behind her bowed head, fingers laced together, dressed in all black. 

You knew her. Fuck did you know her. You knew her incredibly well.

Because it was you. 

But it wasn’t you at the same time. You were sitting dangerously still, various knives and blades strapped across your back, your legs, and the sides of your combat boots. A black mask settled over the entirety of your face, two thin slits cut into the metal for you to see out of. You remembered that fucking thing. It stank of blood and fear.

“You’ve got your orders?” 

Your attention shifted to a burly, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway between the hold and the cockpit, his arms folded across his chest, a gun strapped across his back, a similar mask concealing his features. But you knew who it was. Of course you did. It was the same motherfucker who’d held Naji by the throat not two days ago. 

Your past stayed silent, simply wringing her hands together as if to resist wrapping them around his throat.

“Not feeling talkative, Subject Eight?” his voice lilted with mocking as he leaned against the doorway in a way that told you this must have been one of the first interactions between them. 

Silently, the shadows in the craft started to shift, tendrils winding up his legs, around his waist and neck, and he only seemed to notice when they started to constrict.

“H-hey, what’re y–”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” your past hissed, slowly rising to her feet, her fingers flexing as darkness extended from her fingertips, sharpening into five long, razor-sharp claws. “I can show you things not even Kreva knows I can do.” With deadly quiet, she stalked across the floor, raising her hand to the man’s face, a claw pointed dangerously close to his eye. Those tendrils around his body tightened further, and you watched as he struggled to draw breath. 

Kreva.

Even hearing his name sent ice through your veins.

“It was– just a joke, Phantom.” He managed through strangled breaths, struggling to free himself as he started to rise from the floor, Phantom taking a step back from him as if to admire her work. 

“Drop zone in– what’s going on here?” another faceless soldier stepped through the door, sounding almost irritated at what he was seeing. Phantom’s head turned to him almost robotically, the shadows dissolving in an instant. 

“Just joking around.” She responded flatly, her voice devoid of all emotion. Was this seriously how you used to be?

“K, what did Doc say about pissing her off?” he asked his companion who had crumpled to the floor, a hand braced around his neck, his breaths strained and harsh. “Fucking idiot. Drop zone in five.” was all the newcomer said, before turning on his heel and marching out, K now scrambling to his feet to follow, muttering something that sounded like ‘crazy mutant bitch’ under his breath as he went. 

You watched as your past sighed, sitting back down heavily and bracing her head in her hands. You knew what she was doing. She was remembering why she was here. Who she was here for. This was one of the missions you’d volunteer for to save them. To save the rest of NLMO from the mental torture you were about to endure. Because that’s all these missions were. Mental, emotional torture. You didn’t want to hurt people. You hated how he made you hurt people. So many innocent lives would suffer because of the things you would do. 

It made you wonder which particular mission this was. 

Red lights flared to life, a deafening siren blaring as the doors to the hold opened and Phantom stood, checking her equipment one last time before another figure appeared through the door, and you felt yourself freeze in place.

Unnaturally skinny, tall, and had a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. Terror stilled your breath as Doctor Kreva walked through the doors, placing two hands on either of Phantom’s shoulders.

She stiffened.

“My darling Eight. I wanted to wish you luck before your mission,” he drawled, relishing in the theatrics. “This should be easy enough for you, but in case you forget, Subject Five is primed and ready if you decide you want to stage another little rebellion.” 

Phantom released a shaky breath, her eyes closing behind her mask. It was your punishment. It was always your punishment. If you acted out, if you even thought about fighting back, they’d torture your brother to tighten your leash and force you to cooperate.

She stayed silent, and Kreva’s hand clawed into her shoulders and you felt the pressure against your own before he released her and took a step back and said nothing else as Phantom opened her eyes and took off at a run towards the open bay door, leaping into the dark sky beyond. 

You followed, copying her exact movements and dissolving into the dark before either of you struck the ground. You had a sneaking suspicion you couldn’t be hurt or killed within a memory, but you also didn’t particularly want to risk it. 

Rising up from the shadows, you took a moment to look around, spotting your past lightly jogging towards a dirt track. Bile rose in your throat. You knew what this mission was. Even in the dead of night, you’d recognise this location anywhere. Breath flew from your lungs as you tried to call out to yourself, beg her to stop before she did what she could never undo. But no sound left your mouth. You were mute, powerless to do nothing but watch and remember as Phantom stood in the centre of the track, statue-esque, silent. 

You followed at a sprint. If you couldn’t stop her verbally, then you’d take her out by force. You could stop this. You could change your past. This didn’t have to happen. Lowering your head, you lunged forward toward her, arms outstretched to tackle her to the floor.

Only, you passed straight through her, landing harshly on the other side of the dirt track. Though you felt no pain. Only the sharp jolt of coming to such a sudden stop. You looked back in terror as headlights shone from ahead, the low hum of engines cut through the silence of the night as four trucks approached your location, each with a silver caduceus painted into the back doors. 

These were medical trucks. Transporting supplies to the refugee hospital a little further away. Your head whipped around. How had you not seen the small, twinkling lights in the middle distance? This was a camp for those who had evacuated the small local town after the airstrike. 

Hundreds of children were taking shelter there. So many innocent lives you were about to snuff out. 

The trucks trundled to a stop, engines stuttering, and you watched as Phantom raised her hands in faux fear, slowly backing out of the cones of light. Four gunmen rushed to the front of the convoy, fingers braced on the triggers of their rifles, though hesitant to shoot. These weren’t soldiers. They hadn’t been trained to kill people. You realised they were more likely fathers, sons, brothers of those who had been injured or killed in the attack. The town was the centre of the uprising, and in one fell swoop, it had been completely obliterated.

These people were just trying to survive. Trying to recover.

Voices rang out in a language you didn’t understand, and you know your past self didn’t understand either. You watched as she bowed her head in submission, backing up a little further until she was completely out of the light. You remembered this. 

You knew what happened next. 

With a flick of her hand, a tendril of shadow whipped out from the darkness, wrapping around the first gunman’s neck and dragging him screaming into the tree line. Gunshots were fired, but none of them met their mark. These people barely knew how to use their weapons, let alone accurately. A jagged spike erupted from the night, spearing another through his spine with a wet squelch and raising him off the ground for the other two to watch, before slamming him back into the dirt, knives of obsidian rising from his own shadow to pierce through his back. 

Make them fear you. That was Kreva’s orders. Make them so terrified the thought of uprising was synonymous with pain and death. With loss and grief. 

With utter, paralysing terror. 

The two cowered back, a stray bullet firing into her shoulder. She took a single step back, the shadows in the gunman’s chest dissolving, leaving him choking in a pool of his own blood. Holy fuck he was still alive. 

You watched with sick awe as darkness wound up her legs to cover the wound, sifting through her skin and mending it flawlessly, leaving nothing but a small spot of blood. With a tilt of her head and a flick of her fingers, two humanoid figures rose from the shadows on either side of the track, stepping fearlessly into the light to flank the two remaining men. Your stomach convulsed as one of the figures disappeared completely into one man through his own silhouette, flinching as his neck snapped back, a black hand exploding up through his mouth, blood raining onto his face as he stood in a horrific exhibition of your forgotten mutation. He slumped to the floor, the shadow figure remaining standing as he twitched before falling completely still. 

The final gunman fell to his knees, muttering quickly and breathlessly and you realised he was praying. Several thorned whisps rose up from his shadow, snaking around his body, across his forehead, before Phantom’s fist started to tighten, and those thorns dug into his skin. Trails of crimson leaked down his face as they continued to constrict, his voice raising as he prayed, though for what or to whom, you didn’t know. Her fist closed completely, and with a sickening crunch of snapping bones, the shadows sectioned his body into pieces, his head split in two. 

Blood soaked into the earth as Phantom stepped back into the light, her eyes trained on the remaining people inside the cars, each too terrified to make any kind of move. Tears trailed down your face as five more figures formed from nothing, almost floating to each truck to silence the screams of the terrified until one remained. He was dragged through the dust by two of her puppets and thrown at her feet face down. Phantom crouched, raising his head with the tip of her finger beneath his chin, obsidian solidifying once again to arm her other hand with five sharp claws, shadows extending beyond her shoulder blades into two broad, black wings. 

She was every part the demon you used to be.

Dragging a razor down the side of his face, the man whimpered, flinching as she drew a line of scarlet over his brow and down his cheek. A mark. She was going to let him live, so there would always be somebody to remember what happened to those who fought back against the powers of the world. 

“Run,” Phantom whispered, and the man scrambled to his feet, slicing his chin against your claw, before taking off at a sprint in the direction he came, his footsteps fading into the deathly silence. She watched him go, flicking her wrist to the figures before they set to work dragging the various trucks into the shadow, tyres dissolving, medical equipment disappearing as if it were never there, lost to the darkness.

Phantom took a breath before her shoulders shook and she sunk to the ground, her conjurations dissolving into nothing as she was left in total darkness, sobs wracking her chest. You felt her anguish as your own, hot tears still leaking from your eyes as you stood. You wanted to tell her this wasn’t her fault. She didn’t have a choice. He made her do this. And if she wasn’t the one here right now, it would be someone else she cared for so fucking much. 

But you couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything but watch as she tried to stifle her sobs, knowing her job wasn’t even close to being done yet. With hiccuping breaths, your past stood to her feet, sparing a glance at the carnage she’d left in her wake before her head turned to the camp in the distance. Her hands balled into fists, and you remembered the way you had to gaslight yourself into continuing. ‘This is the last mission.’ ‘He’ll set you all free after this.’ ‘Rowan will be safe.’ ‘Jade will be safe.’

Jade.

You felt your heart crack as you thought of her. How could you have forgotten about Jade? Why had Kreva erased everything of another one of his own subjects? Clenching your jaw, you shook your head slightly. 

Not now. 

Phantom had already started striding toward the camp, and you found yourself following her, despite the fear pumping through your blood. You didn’t want to remember this. You’d made a mistake. You didn’t want this. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. The things you’d done. The people you’d killed. Was this all you were good for? A weapon for Kreva to use at his disposal? A tool to inflict the same amount of agony as those he would use on you in that fucking room? 

You didn’t want this.

You didn’t want this.

Your surroundings started to stutter and glitch as you started to fight against remembering. Fight against Charles hold in your mind. You couldn’t do this. You were happyer forgetting. Happier not knowing who you were and what you’d done.

The darkness swirled like paint mixed on a palette, colours blending and twisting around you, your hands clawing at either side of your temples, clutching your head tightly as if to withdraw him from your mind. 

You didn’t want this.

You didn’t want this.

You didn’t want this. 

You didn’t want this.

Logan’s heart started to race as Charles grimaced, his hand clutching yours ached from the weight of your tight grip, your nails digging into his skin. His other hand came to brush your hair from your forehead between Charles’ hands on your temples, attempting to settle your switching head, swiping his thumb against your brow.

“It’s okay…” he hushed, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “‘S’okay firefly, you’re okay.” His soothing became more desperate as you started to writhe on the table, your back arching as if you were possessed. “The hell’s going on?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“She’s… she’s fighting it.” Charles grit, eyes screwed shut as he attempted to navigate your battling mind. His fingers against your head tensed, applying more pressure to either side of your temples. “I’m losing her.”

“Then get her back!” Logan cried, wild fear beating his heart like a warning drum. He couldn’t lose you. He just got you back for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t lose you again. And he was so damn useless when it came to this stuff. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. If you needed somebody taken out, sure, he’s the guy. But mind shit? Brain shit? He was floundering in the same darkness he imagined you were. 

“What did I say about distractions?” Charles barked curtly in response, his neck flexing as he fought to keep you in his grasp. All Logan could do was continue to smooth your brow, whispering sweet nothings as you continued to twitch and bow. A whip of shadow lanced into his peripheral from the corner of the room, and he was barely able to lunge forward in time to shield Xavier from the spear before it lashed through his head.

Pain shook Logan’s system from his shoulder, blood leaking from where your mutation had pierced him and stuck there, sharp, thorny barbs preventing him from breaking free. “Y’alright?” He asked, voice a little strained as his entire body sang with pulsing agony. You must be remembering your mutation. 

Charles nodded, though his eyes still closed, still focused on taming your hurricane of a mind. 

Logan grit his teeth against the wild thrashing of the vine through his shoulder, his arm tensing as it pulls against his strength in an attempt to drag him back. But moving wasn’t an option right now. He knew the intention was to take out Charles, to stop whatever it was he was doing, and he had to remind himself time and time again that this was for your benefit. This was to help you, no matter how much it shattered his heart to see you in so much pain. Not only was he fighting against your own mutation, but he was fighting his instincts not to tear Xavier away from your head and shred him apart for doing this to you. 

Another vine burst through his other shoulder, droplets of his blood staining your skin as you bucked to free yourself. He cried your name, terror lacing his tone as a third vine plunged into his back and through his chest, whipping slightly before pulling back and tugging.

He felt his weight start to shift, his feet grinding against the wooden floor as he struggled to win over the contest of strength. How was something seemingly made from nothing so fucking strong? Barbed thorns sank deeper into his skin, a grunt of pain flying from his lips, sweat beading his brow. 

Jean burst through the doors, either having heard the commotion or after being called by Charles. 

“Logan?!” She started, horrified by the display, but he waved her off quickly. 

“‘M fine. Help Chuck.” He instructed harshly, though Jean hesitated a moment, her eyes wide. He knew why. Of course he knew why. After what happened three years ago, everybody was so damn afraid of you and what you could do. Fear had her glancing frantically between your possessed form and Charles’ struggle. “Jean, please. I– I can’t lose her again…” he admitted shakily, gritting his teeth against another sharp wave of pain from yet another savage tug of the tendrils in his body. 

It seemed to be the push she needed, scrambling forward and around the foot of the bed to stand by Charles’ side, covering his hands with her own and closing her eyes. 

Agony coursed through his system as his knees buckled, looking down to bare his teeth at another frantic thorn that had burst through the space between his joint and kneecap. He’d take it. Fuck, he’d take anything if he knew he was helping you in some way, even as the shadow wrapped around his leg, tearing at the flesh beneath his jeans. He’d endure it if it meant he’d get you back.

Everything was too loud. Like the centre of a tornado, your memories ripped and tore at your brain, slashing through your consciousness, ripping at your brain. Shards of agony, both physical and mental, had you sinking to the floor, hands clamped over your ears, head buried between your knees. Your hair whipped around your hidden brow, a cacophony of screams and torment bursting your eardrums. There was no happiness here. No comfort. Even memories of your brother were laced with poison. Every image of Jade followed up by the night of her death. Her death was brought by your own fucking hands. You’d seen how you’d torn her apart, desperation to help clouding your senses, seeing her as yet another adversary in your way. In a roaring cloud of shadow, you’d shredded her to nothing, and even as you flayed the skin from her body, she smiled. She told you she loved you.

And you’d left her skeleton in your wake. 

You killed. You maimed. You hurt. You’d caused pain. You’d caused anguish. Heartbreak. Agony. It was as Kreva had said. You were a machine. An instrument devoid of any semblance of humanity. You had to be. The things you’d done… you couldn’t have had an ounce of empathy in your body. 

You’d killed the woman you loved.

And you’d tried to kill the man you love. Memories of that day's training had circled your mind like a carousel of torment. Fighting tooth and nail to claw a path out and escape. Landing blow after blow on the man you’d fallen in love with, every strike flung to kill. 

‘He forgave you.’

You tensed, waiting for the following punch to the gut that was taking far too long to arrive.

‘We forgave you.’

A sob wracked from your chest, your head pressing further into your knees. You just wanted everything to stop. The noise, the damn noise, you wanted everything to end. 

‘You’re not alone anymore.’

Your breath shuddered from your mouth, tears and saliva staining your t-shirt. You knew that voice. Her soft cadence like a balm.

‘I forgive you.’

Slowly, and with no small degree of trepidation, you raised your head. Your lungs froze, eyes stuck on the woman before you. Her pearly smile. Her smooth, bronze skin almost glowed in the lack of light. Black hair cropped short by her ears, bright blond highlights making her look like some kind of alternative angel. 

A gold locket shone brightly at the hollow of her throat, a beacon in the void. You shook slightly as she took a step toward you, taking a knee in front of your curled form. 

“Jade…?” You breathed her name like a question, unsure if this was real or yet another nightmarish scenario in which you’d have to watch her die yet again. But the moment her fingertips grazed your cheek, you found your answer.

“Hey, Shadow.”

Tears flowed freely down your face as you looked into her cerulean eyes, so full of earnest forgiveness you felt yourself shatter. The nickname you hadn’t heard in so long breaking down every part of yourself you’d held together by a thread. You surged forward into her arms, finally finding something you could connect with in the warmth of her embrace. 

“How… how’re you here?” You asked shakily, tears saturating her black shirt a few shades darker before you pulled back, shaking your head in disbelief. “How–”

“I’m a part of you, numbnuts. Of course I’m here.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re focussing on the shit Kreva put us through. Focussing on the pain you’ve brought. So now I have to drag your sorry ass through a bunch of happy memories to remind you how much of a rockstar you actually are.” She punched your arm lightly and you laughed a little, the sound split by the lump in your throat. 

“First time I see you in three years and you punch me?” You asked, wiping the tears from your face with the heel of your palm before taking her outstretched hand, your knees groaning at the release of pressure as you stood.

“Yeah well, someone had to slap some sense into you, and since your new boyfriend isn’t here, I guess I’m the next best thing.” She winked, though guilt spiked through your gut. 

“Jade… I–”

“Shadow, I’m dead. If you spent the rest of your life single and sex-less because of me, I’d be so mad at you. Though I wasn’t exactly thrilled when you tried to forget about me, but I get it.” She shrugged, holding your hand in her own. You’d forgotten just how blunt she could be, though it was a breath of fresh air from everyone tiptoeing around you in regard to her death. 

“Can’t argue with that, I guess…” you huffed a small smile, finding a calm sense of contentment simply being here in her presence again. 

“Speaking of your new man, I think he’d be a great place to start.” She grinned at you, waving her hand as the glitching images of your past started to shift and change, settling on a scene you knew extremely well. It wasn’t so long ago you were there, reading in the little window seat of the forest cabin, watching whatever Logan was up to outside. 

The colours of the cabin separated, morphing into the kitchen and lounge, and you watched the ghost of your past self materialise on the sofa, the tartan blanket covering your legs, your nose buried in a copy of Ghosted, the paranormal love story you’d been so hooked on in your first month moving there. Though from the way you were devouring the pages, you realised this must have been your re-read.

Jade raised a brow to you as if to say ‘seriously?’ and you snorted a laugh.

“What? It had a good plot. Sad ending though…”

“‘M’not judging.” Her voice told you anything but.

The occasional crackle of the hearth and swish of flipping pages broke the calm silence before the door to the cabin pushed open and Logan stepped through, toeing off his shoes at the door before closing it swiftly, preventing any further heat from escaping. Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember this specific memory. How had you instantly understood all those times where you’d killed so many and yet this was something you had to strain yourself to recall? Your eyes fell on a small, wrapped package he held in his hands.

What was this?

“Stop thinking so damn hard and just watch.” Jade elbowed you and you shot her a look of faux irritation but acquiesced nonetheless. 

You watched your own ghost look to the door, her eyes lighting up instantly when she saw him, placing her book on the coffee table and rising to lean over the back of the sofa. “Hey Lo’! All done?” She asked, and Logan’s expression softened when he saw her.

Did he really look at you like that?

“Yeah. Should be good for ‘another month or so, weather depending. Come over here a sec, wanna tell you somethin’.” You could see the subdued excitement in his eyes as your past stood from the sofa, draping the blanket over her shoulders, a brow raised in suspicion. 

Logan set the package on the table before his hands cupped the sides of your neck and he stooped to press a lingering kiss to your lips. Your past smiled against him, arms snaking around his neck as he pulled back from you, cheeks pursed as he tried to suppress a grin. 

“What’s up with you?” She asked, eyeing him with amused scepticism. Logan turned her in his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder as she huffed a small laugh. 

“Open it.” He ghosted his lips against her ear, and she leaned back into him, a hand holding his arm around her waist, the other picking up the little, strangely shaped package, brown paper crinkled in odd ways. 

She cast him a glance, Logan nodding back to your hands with encouragement, before you started to slowly tear the paper from whatever was hidden inside. Your heart surged as your memory slowly returned, a fond smile pulling at your lips as you watched your past suck in a soft gasp.

“Logan… this is gorgeous.” 

Paper now discarded, she held a small, delicate pinewood carving of a miniature cabin in her hands, accurate to the exterior of the one you were in right now, log pile and all. Her eyes filled with awe as she turned it gently in her fingers, tracing the artistry with the tip of her thumb. “Is this what you’ve been doing?” She asked, turning to face him, though still looking down at the carving as if she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Kinda. Been prepping for the weather too, but most of the time, yeah ‘ve been doin’ this. Happy birthday, firefly.” 

Her head snapped up to look at him, confusion etching her features. “Wait, what? I don’t even know my birthday, how did you–”

He silenced her with his lips moving languidly against hers, his hands falling to her hips, thumb tracing smooth circles against the sliver of skin where her hoodie had risen up a little. 

“I have my ways.” He murmured against her, taking the carving from her hand and placing it down on the table before lifting her against him, her legs instinctively locking around his waist. 

“He found it in the file…” You breathed, the memory fading from view to shelter both you and Jade in muted darkness once again. “From the first time he read it. The first page had all my information, including my date of birth. He didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to bring it up, but I realised after we read it together. That was how he knew.” You explained quietly as Jade’s hand settled on your shoulder.

“You know… he’s out there now. Waiting for you. He loves you so much, Shadow. I know because he looks at you the same way I did.” 

That all too familiar lump started to form in your throat, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm. “He does now but… how can I face him, Jade? Knowing what I’ve done, knowing how much pain I’ve caused. I– I killed you… I ripped you apart and I didn’t even remember doing it.”

Jade’s hands cupped the sides of your face, forcing you to look at her even when you begged to look away. “It was an accident. You saw what they were doing and your subconscious snapped. You felt their pain as your own and you couldn’t fight the urge to save them. I’m not about to hold that against you. Nobody should. You never wanted anyone to go through what we did, and the fact you volunteered for every goddamn mission solidifies that.

“You have saved so many. You have helped so many. And you are cared for by so many. And nobody cares for you more than Logan. You’ll face him because you love him. And you’ll forgive yourself because he forgives you.” Her thumb swiped against a tear sliding down your cheek. “Just like I forgive you.”

Her words splintered through your resolve of self-loathing, shattering every conception you had of yourself and leaving room for something new. Something unfamiliar. 

Hope.

“Now c’mon. This isn’t the only thing I wanted to show you. In case you still need convincing, you have an arsenal of memories to prove me right. And there’s nothing I love more than proving myself right.” She grinned widely, and you nodded, words failing you as she waved her hand again, the colours of your mind swirling and settling to the image of the danger room, and she took your hand again as she showed you every forgotten part of yourself. 

Logan steadied his breathing as your body settled back on the table, the thorns in his body retracting and slinking back into the shadows with your newfound calm. Whatever Jean had managed to do was working, his skin itching slightly as it knitted back together. Though he stayed in place out of fear of making things worse. He didn’t know if approaching you would spark up your torment again, so he stayed still, his knee against the floor, watching cautiously. 

He didn’t know how long it had been since you fell unconscious, but his arms ached to hold you again, to have you pressed against his chest, your face buried in the crook of his neck. He fought every urge to move back to your side, knowing that staying was most likely for the best, and gave you the best opportunity of coming back to him. But that didn’t lessen the longing to feel you. 

“So? Thoughts and prayers?” Jade asked the final memory she wanted to show you fading into the background of your mind. You sighed heavily, unable to deny it anymore. You’d done good in your life. Perhaps not quite enough to outweigh the bad, but you were getting there. She’d shown you the memory of when you first met Marie, forced you to watch as you tried so damn hard to convince her. Sure, you may have failed that time, but that didn’t take away from all the other times you’d succeeded. Besides, she’d found Logan not long after, so that had all worked out for the best anyway.

“Yeah, alright, maybe you were right… just maybe,” you admitted reluctantly, much to the girl’s triumphant laugh. 

“Fucking knew it! Ha-HA! Told you I’d convince you. God, I’m so good at this.” She grinned wildly, and you huffed a fond smile. Though you knew this couldn’t last forever, you were so fucking grateful for the time you’d had with her now. The weight of unspoken words between you had lifted from your chest, though another had settled there.

You had to say goodbye. 

“Jade…” you began, only to trail off instantly. Her grin shrank slightly into something of understanding companionship. Taking both your hands in her own, she squeezed slightly.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t last forever, right? Besides, I don’t think we would have lasted very long anyway. Not if tall, dark and broody had waltzed in a couple years later,” you chuckled tearily, knowing she was absolutely right. 

“I was never blind to how you looked at Ororo, by the way.” You shot back lightly, and Jade shrugged in faux innocence.

“What? She’s gorgeous. Sue me.” She winked again, and a comfortable silence settled between the two of you. “Oh, right. I wanted to give you this. Since you chucked your away and everything and I don’t really need it…” her hands fiddled with the clasp of her necklace behind her, and your heart skipped a beat as the locket fell into her hands, before she placed it in yours and closed your fist around it. 

“I can’t take this.” You muttered, searching her face for anything that would tell you she didn’t want you to have it. But your search came up short. 

“Of course you can. What am I gonna do with it? Not sure it’ll come with you when you wake up, but let’s just give it a go, yeah?” Your breath choked as you saw her own eyes well up, and you realised this must be just as hard for her as it was for you. You wished you could have both. You wished you could take her with you.

But she was just a memory. Sure, she was real, but only in here. 

“Okay…” you nodded slightly, and she tilted your head up with her finger beneath your chin.

“Don’t get stuck in the past. You have a family out there waiting for you. You’re not alone anymore,” tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, your soul cracked as she started to fade. “Oh, and when you take on Kreva, kick his balls for me, yeah? Bastard deserves what’s coming for him.” She grinned wickedly, and you nodded again, your voice caught in your throat. “Give ‘em hell, Shadow.” 

Jade punched her fist in the air as her image faded completely, the rest of your surrounding mind fading into white.

With a sharp gasp, your eyes flew open, seeing nothing but light before you blinked a couple of times, your vision returning as you registered both Charles and Jean looking a little worse for wear.

“Welcome back.” Xavier smiled tiredly, and you sucked in a breath. You were back. You were home. You remembered everything, from the start of your torture eighty years ago to the moment you lay on the bed. Steadily, you pushed your arm beneath you to rise into a sit, bracing a hand on your forehead as it to stem the slight headache from remembering over a century of memories. 

“You feeling okay?” Jean asked a little hesitantly, leaning against the back of Charles’ wheelchair. You didn’t remember her being in the room when you started, but you guessed what had happened in your mind had been reflected in the conscious world. 

“Yeah… I’m okay.” You responded, cricking your neck to the side before a voice you didn’t know you needed to hear called your name from your left. 

Tears lined your lashes as you took in his appearance. Spots of blood stained his white singlet, a large rip had torn through the knee of his jeans, a bloom of scarlet had drenched the fibres. You didn’t need to ask what happened, you already knew.

But the way he looked at you, terrified hope dancing in his hazel eyes, you couldn’t stop the way your legs swung from the bed and you all but leapt into his arms, holding him so impossibly tight as if he’d disappear into thin air. 

But he wouldn’t. Because this was real. He was real. And just as Jade as promised, he was waiting for you.

“Logan…” you breathed in his scent, comfort blossoming where it wrapped around your heart. And Logan swore he’d never let go of you, not as his hand braced the back of your head, his other pressed against your spine as he held you. And held you.

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he tried to play off just how utterly petrified he was when Charles said he was losing you, but the way you nuzzled closer into his neck told him you saw right through him, and he didn’t hesitate to press his cheek to the top of your head. Wordlessly, Charles nodded to Jean, and the two of them silently decided to leave you in peace, closing the door behind them as they left. 

Logan shifted you so you were cradled completely in his lap, your legs straddling his bended knees as he basked in your presence, in your touch. He had you. You were back.

You were home.

“What happened in there?” He asked, his tone hushed as you pulled back slightly, only far enough to look him in the eye, his hand on the back of your head skirting to rest against the side of your face. 

“I was focussing on the shit I’d done…” you explained quietly, leaning into his palm. “I was so wrapped up in the pain I’d caused I couldn’t think of anything else.” 

Logan rested his brow against your own, empathy pulling at the strings of his heart. He knew that feeling so damn well, and to know you had experienced that exact same thing tugged at his very soul, harder than anything your mutation had done to him earlier.

“How d'ya get out of it?”

Only then did you brain register the warmth of metal in your closed fist, the slight dig of a dainty chain in your soft palm. Removing one of your arms from around his neck, you opened your hand in the space between you, a smile of fond disbelief creasing your brow as you looked down at the gold locket nestled in your palm. You didn’t question how it happened. Didn’t question how she’d somehow made something materialise from nothing but your memory. That wasn’t even part of her mutation. 

It was something that wasn’t meant to be questioned, even as Logan’s head tilted in slight confusion. 

“Ran into an old ex.” you said by means of explanation as recognition dawned on his face. He knew he’d seen that locket before, and gratitude filled his chest. He’d never get to meet Jade, but he hoped she knew, somehow, just how thankful he was for her. “She approves of you, by the way.” You grinned, and Logan wondered how he’d gone even this long without kissing you.

“I’ll have to find a way to thank her, then,” he whispered, before pulling you in and sealing his lips to yours, pouring every ounce of sheer, raw love he had for you into the way his tongue danced with yours, savouring how your arm returned around his neck and held him there, your chest pressed against his own, his heart almost reaching out to yours. 

He had you back. 

You were home.

[cherri-balms]

♡﹕𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓, 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓! — CH.1 — Normal Girl

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A/N ﹕Chapter 1 is finally out!! I apologize if this took a little while, I have an idea for an Alastor fic brewing and if all things go well, the prologue/pilot chapter will be the next thing I post!

As always if you would like to be added to the taglist, shoot me a DM and ill get back to you asap!! <3

This chapter is primarily exposition and fluff, so there are no content warnings for this chapter aside from a brief description of making oneself vomit.

𝐄 × 𝐌/𝐅 × 𝟓.𝟐𝐤 × 𝐎𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 × 𝐀𝐎𝟑

♡﹕Bring-your-reader to work day as one of the most famous idols in hell! Or, what it's really like working as one of the most famous idols in hell under the thumb of the VEES.

6:00 PM

Your alarm begins your morning with its typical assault to the ears and dragging  you out of what was once a beautiful slumber, for a while your subconscious was even able to create a darling little wonderland blend of hell and personal heaven, but all good dreams had to come to an end at sometime soon.

Sitting up, you begin your typical morning work routine of getting dressed, brushing your teeth and whatever other morning activities that needed to be done. Surrounding you are dozens of printed posters and scrolls of yourself watching you get changed, most of which being limited edition merchandise from your concerts, and almost all of them had in bold letters “MONΛRCH” somewhere on the prints. After your meeting with Vox that day, he insisted that if you were going to work with the brand of the Vees that you were to take on a stage name to said brand. Before you could go through your mental filing cabinet to find something that would fit, Vox informed you that he had already picked your name from the moment you walked in: Monarch. It took a second for you to realize, but the patterns currently adorning your body with the resemblance of a monarch butterfly made it click. Plus, you did like how powerful the name sounded.

The last step of your routine was always to consult yourself a sprint checkup on your voice synthesizer and then perform some finetuning. Your current synthesizer is nowhere close to your first one, hell the damn thing originally couldn't even get wet, nor was it surgically bolted into your neck, though the two still shared similar parts in case the need for a quick repair arose.

… Aaaand of course speak of the fallen angel, that said scenario was precisely why you keep a constant eye on the quality of your synthesizer, because the screw connecting your voice bank and vocal chords was chipped. Sure, it was minute but even the smallest imperfection could lead to rust and infection that you just couldn’t afford.

The bottom half of your dresser vanity would appear to be nothing but a foundational box with a front facing panel and some regal metalsmith carvings  if not for the card-slot keyhole poking out the right side. You keep the key hidden on your person at all times, while the contents inside hold no value in money or power you’re sure the reactions to what could be construed to be a stalkerish shrine to your boss would be the end of your reputation.

And his too you guess but you’re the cute one here.

Lifting your pointer finger to the back of your neck, using the slight dent of your nail to nudge out a tiny rectangular panel of your synthesizer. Or, it would be rectangular if not for the carefully cut notches on one of the sides.

You slip the key into the slot as far as it will reach, bypassing all 4 clicks then rewarding you with a 5th at ths decompressing tightness of the spring lock hinge. The once stiff panel now slides open, though not exactly with grace with it getting friction jammed against the frame caused by lack of use.

Not quite having time to spare getting distracted by your keepsakes you reach to the glass case to the left containing your prototype voice bank collar displayed like a diamond atop a blue silk pillow. You’re absolutely certain if  Vox discovered you still held the beta technology he would gag like you were saving a meal that's gone bad. Absolutely adorable, knowing if you’d present it to any sinner in hell it’d be easy to convince them it was state of the art, brand new.

One screw acquired and you’re out of there, locking everything the way it was before, box, vanity, bedroom door, apartment door. The commute to the VHQ could barely even be considered a walk, actually, most of the housing within a 3 mile radius of their building was ultimately owned by the Vees reserved for employees. Smart way to both keep their people in line and control exactly who’s around at all times, gotta give them credit when credit is due.

The dredging silence over the span of two months had you in an urge to claw beneath your skin to tear out the stabbing anticipation that seemed to grow within. Should that evolve into a spiral well of anxiety you'd been worried the business plan sealed in ink turned into a ghost, but you were informed before your leave that Rome wasn’t going to be built in a day so you were left with nothing to do but respect his unspoken wishes.

When the hour struck and you received the details for the date and time of your next meeting in a bare bones text, you wish you could say it put your short term torture to a close, but the years worth of screaming in static was finally going to be over. You couldn’t make time move any faster, only make yourself move faster to prepare for your next encounter with the overlord that could now be considered your master.

“Monarch! Good, right on time, Now come sit.” Your overlord spins around the chair to your direction, beckoning you his way. You silently do as you’re told sitting legs pressed together handbag in your lap, before you even had a chance to touch the zipper for your tablet he waves your hands away.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t need to bother yourself with that anymore. I’m sure you know why I called you?” By the way his smirk stretched across the screen while his left hand reached below his desk you’d nearly assume he was just as excited as you for this day. You feel your eyelids pull back and you swore your eyes reflected twice as much light than when you first sat down if you could catch a glimpse of yourself.

The device presented to you in his hands looked identical to its future self if not for the fresher coat of polish it bore. You must confess you weren’t too sure what you were envisioning for this gadget to come out looking like, actually you realized you were never imagining something metaphysical at all, the technological cure to your aid came in the mental form of an intangible concept closer to a myth. But what was before your eyes was.. actually pretty underwhelming.

It looked like nothing but a steel box speaker attached to a collar with a dial, bare and simple. You caught a peek at something poking out on the other side behind it, but it didn’t catch your interest long enough to retain the observation. You weren’t aware enough to try and hide your confusion but you may have done a better job than you thought at not letting it show since he didn’t react until you cocked your chin to the side.

“Well what are we waiting for! Let’s get this show on the road and try it out, yeah? Turn around.” You were practically standing and turned before he could even finish the command. Sharp blue needles brush over your cheeks and under strands of hair lifting them behind your ears. You make the sound of the buckles on the collar before it’s veiled over your vision and behind your neck. “Fair warning, this will definitely be painful!”

Mayhaps you should’ve taken a bigger note on what you saw behind the box earlier, because you instantly got to discover what it was as spear headed clamps bury dormant in your throat through your neck so sharp it could pierce bone. Pain didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling, it was like your brain tossed you back in time to repeat your lungs combusting to ash and your body soon reacted like you were suffering such fate again, causing you to start jumping and swatting out of the arms of your savior as if he were your next next killer.

“AAAAAAHH-aaahhhh?” Was that y- there’s no way. 

You tested again in case this was another instance of your psyche filling in the gaps of a voice once more.

“aaahhhhhh~AAAHH~~” You weren’t dreaming. What you were asking from him from the start felt like asking the impossible but the result you were given far exceeded any daydream you conjured to cope with your situation, but not only had the overlord given you a brand new voice by some miracle, the voice he gave you was the same you had in life, the same smooth melody you forgot you could produce.

You turned around to face him, this time with tears blurring your view. Not an ounce of anger from your embarrassing attack his way earlier, only intrigue in your reaction to the gift. For the first time in years, you could speak and say anything in the world you wanted and now your mind was white noise. All you could do was bow your head in gratitude, though you aren’t sure if he was expecting that just based on the noise he made after.

“Hey- woah, no need for that now, not that I’m necessarily complaining,” You raise your head and you aren’t surprised by the shadow of ego stretching his grin across the screen. “I did some investigating into your mortal life to find samples of your work to make sure your voice would be nothing short of yours! Getting hands on anything in the overworld is a royal pain in the ass, though. I hope you keep that in mind.” 

Was he jesting? You were going to keep every bolt and circuit in mind for the rest of your afterlife. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or the subtle new feeling of electrical surges flowing down the rivers of your veins, but just standing still with the amount of energy pumping in your body currently had you revived into a frankenstein marionette. 

You suppose a start could be a proper thank you, but when you attempted to mouth the words the frequency in which the simple “thank you, sir” stitched themselves together didn’t carry harmoniously, more like a broken collage of vocal pitches. Your hand cuts off your lips with a flare of pink to your cheeks, the oncoming cackling from your new boss turns that shade into deep red.

“Hahaha! I was wondering when you were gonna find that part out!” The laughter settles to a halt and he lifts a finger to wipe away a pixelated tear that doesn’t actually budge. “This model is just a beta voice bank and synthesizer, speaking will take some getting used to and once I get enough data from your use of it in the following weeks, I can begin working on improvements. I have a manual in my drawer containing the details for maintenance but for now, I have some people you need to meet.”

You were nodding your head along but you had to admit, you were not following completely. True you were unfamiliar with the recent spike in tech, but you didn’t think you were this poorly informed. You make a mental note of this as something you should start fixing asap if you were going to continue your career this way. Meanwhile, outside your thoughts, your boss is leading you to the front elevator.

Before you could prepare for a silent and awkward ride down, the TV filter breaks it again. “Oh, and can you stop with the whole “sir” talk, it’s a painfully stuffy-outdated form of addressing authority. Just address me as Vox, and everyone will know I’m your boss.” The elevator bell rings signaling the stopping floor. Your vision is brought to what looks like a madhouse production with women bustling in every direction skewing fabric across the space. It didn’t take long to put two and two together that this was some kind of clothing production, but seeing a fashion lineup in what you thought was a tech company put you in uncanny valley.

“No! No! No! Fucking disgraceful- what the hell is this shit Shae? Did you get sick all up on our silk or are you actually using vermillion and oli- VERMILLION AND FUCKING OLIVE SHAE DID YOU LEARN COLOR COORDINATION FROM THE COLOR BLIND?!” Alright that definitely drew your attention. The voice sounded like a female Gordon Ramsay for fashion instead of cooking, so it wasn’t difficult to assume she was the one in charge.

“Velvette! You’re as bitter as ever before.” The woman turns over, you had to admit her namesake fit well with her appearance and instantly the aesthetic made sense. Something about that cute white swirl she has in her hair reminded you of a sweet cheesecake frosting you could've devoured her on sight.

“Vox fuckin’ piss off mind you can’t you see I’m in the middle of somethi- who the fuck is this” Velvette squints in your direction like your appearance sucked away the rest of her eyesight. Seconds go by, and then a few more without a word being exchanged, only the next electrical surge from the nervous gulp of saliva reminding you that things didn’t have to be this way anymore.

You introduce yourself unashamed of the robotic slurred speech pattern and the face she makes could only be described as bewilderment.

“I- what in satan’s name was tha-”

“She’s mute, Velvette. Sweetheart this is the cornerstone of my little “Monarch” project I informed you of, and I actually came here to discuss that with you.”

“Wait a second the star of your new network is a mute bimbo- Vox did your motherboard circuits go fucking smooth?!” Self control was a virtue you’d mastered since life one, through thumb-tacks in your heels to schmoozing slimy pigs with deep pockets, the poker face would remain sewn to your cheeks. But here, you could feel the slightest twitch anytime this woman spoke. You couldn't give a damn how powerful she thought she was, the kinds of implications she was making towards Vox only made you want to shove bars of soap down her throat until it cleans the filth coating her mouth.

There was no fucking way you were ever going to tolerate that cunt.

The frosted blast of studio AC and diamond perfume became your standard morning welcome when clocking into work, upon so being greeted by the models and seamstresses on the floor of your first stop with your typical “good mornings” and “how are yous”. One of the newer interns approaches with multiple cardboard cup holder trays of coffee, and it didn’t take very long to find the cup with your favorite order, even if it weren’t for the bold lettering of your stage name on the outside.

You finish up your typical greetings making your way over to the dressing rooms where the rest of your stagemates are already gathered looking at the schedule. First on the docket was choreography training, no surprise since your instrumentalists were nowhere to be found, and then after lunch iss… oh wonderful! Outfit fitting! Which meant the whole afternoon with just you and Velvette.

This was going to be a perfect day, wasn’t it?

Speak of the devil and she shall not only appar, she’ll kick the front door down like it cheated on anniversary night and throw what was- probably a brand new Goeccia hand purse in the face of whomever was closest.

“EACH ONE OF YOU BETTER BE FUCKING CLOCKED AND AT YOUR POST IN THE NEXT MINUTE OR YOU’RE ALL SEWING THE ANGELIC!!KILLS LINE BY TONIGHT EVEN IF YOUR FUCKING FINGERS ARE WORN TO NUBS ARE WE CLEAR?! Now where the ever loving fuck is- There she is!!”

“Velvette!!”

The two of you run and embrace in the middle of the room like you had just returned from the great war and reuniting with your long lost lover at the end of a shitty romcom. This display, was one that also became a tradition between the two of you at the start of the work day, one you weren’t ignorant to the handful that still felt the need to eyeroll or squint.

Okay so,, your seeded disdain for Velvette was one you admittedly locked away in the vault of embarrassing memories to reap its head around only when trying to get a good night's sleep. You initially had spent the first month or so practicing every torture method known to man on the images your eyes sent you because of how she talked down to Vox like a dog, this was… before you found out she was an overlord too and suddenly the context of the relationship they shared made sense. A bitter part of the pride that landed you where you are today still wanted to leech onto any grain of malice toward her, eventually turning into a humiliating envy and possessiveness over Vox’s attention. In that span of time you made no effort to get to know Velvette or care about her work, even while she was making the outfits you wore on stage for you and she somewhat mutually felt the same about you. 

Luckily for the two of you, there was a third much more obnoxious V that was too perfect of low hanging fruit in the art if feminine hazing for you both to latch onto and find common ground on.

“I think this new hair style might be my new favorite! Locs look good on you~” Compared to how you felt the first time speaking with the prototype that sat in your vanity, the newer model of your synthesizer had a way more diverse voice bank and finetuning that made speaking feel and sound much more natural. Even with the mounds of progress from your prototype to present day, it was still obviously unnatural and robotic. These became factors that slowly mattered less as your gratitude increased, and you were content that not everyone was going to see it that way.

“See? I fucking told that nasty bed bug upstairs that I’d eat butterfly locs but what the fuck would he know when I can read my damn future in his forhead,” Velvette went a total of two minutes of the conversation before she pulled her phone out to check her instagram feed, a new accomplishment. You were proud. “Just so you’re aware by the way, Verosika Mayday announced  the release date of her Paint it Pink album like 35 minutes ago and people are already bringing your name into it. You got a lot to deliver with this upcoming tour.”

Lucifer bless Velvette for having the brain cells to keep up with surfing the modern social media tides you continuously wipe out on with every attempt. You could stomach social media enough for your job, but Velvette made sure to get you a top notch social media advisor to handle your accounts to make it seem like you were more active than you were. True as it was that your vocal synthesizer brought a new flair to the world of music; especially in the rise of electronica, techno and pop where your new voice couldn’t compare to any other sinner in the genres, this factor has also lead to a cluster headache of… Let’s just say controversy. Old fashioned demons in particular were the bane of everything you deemed holy just because how fucking annoying they were making their periodic hangups your god damn problem.

Before you could properly offer your gratitude your attention is taken by an obnoxious thump and “A-hem!” in the direction of the dressing room. Turning you can see the green lop bunny ears of your costar and you can assume she’s trying to tell you to move your ass. Drama was the last thing you had energy for so you blow a kiss goodbye to Velvette and made two shakes of a lamb's tail into the dressing rooms.

Today you didn’t need to worry about outfit planning, just something comfortable that you don’t mind sweating in for the better part of the day. A simple pair of running shorts, tank top and loafers should work more than fine for today, hopefully as long as Valentino didn’t decide to sit on today’s choreography exercises…

It wasn’t exactly the norm for dance practices for the remaining member of the V trifecta to sit in and give his shit commentary- kind critiques on your movements and appearances. If it were up to you or any of your coworkers, Valentino wouldn’t be anywhere near your production but alas, contractual standards came first. One of the stipulations upon starting your career as Monarch was your introduction to the Vee network and the ongoing partnership the three overlords held to upkeep their power within hell. Long and short, this meant that with each contract the Vees delt the other two business partner would also have to reap some sort of benefit; typically monetary gain.

In your case, Velvette easily got her reward by using your team as breathing mannequins to advertise her fashion line, not to mention she would ultimately be credited in every comment of the flashy costumes you wore at concerts and venues. Valentino’s side had free royalties to your music to play in his clubs and this usually came along with him having a say in the dances that go with the song. Every fucking time it was a Valentino session you all knew you were in for a long day of overtime, muscle pain, and playing sexual harassment bingo.

Two knocks on the door put your thoughts to a screeching halt.

“Monarch dear, are you descent~” Ah, it was your favorite voice in all of hell~ you run to the door with a skip in each step like a puppy listening for dangling keys outside the front door.

“Never~”

“Are you dressed?”

“Yes!”

“There’s the answer we’re looking for,” You welcome him inside with a pleasant “come in” and Vox follows as such. You maintain a safe distance and subtly restrain yourself by clasping your hands behind your back but you weren’t going to deny, days like today the tightrope beneath your feet of professionalism and your heartache was especially loose. You’re certain the love you felt for the man who saved your spirit was last year's news to everyone in the building, actually your “inappropriate devotion” has been the source of countless catfights among your bandmates.

“Monarch love! Horrific morning isn’t it~” You could listen to him talk all day, and when he approaches you and clasps a hand over your cheek leaning into the touch feels like second nature.

“Every day in the studio is a horrific morning, but I know that’s not what you came to talk to lil’ ol me about, isn’t it?”

“Why, you hurt me! Can’t I just start my morning visiting a beautiful painted lady?” You blink in a moment of silence until he finishes. True you loved soaking in his flattery, but not in feigned procrastination. “Valentino and I spoke this morning, or rather he threw a tantrum because I didn’t tell him I put Pomp and Circumstance on your schedule today..” 

Aaand there it is, of course you get to not only work with STI Patient-0, but he was already off to a shit mood to start the day. If the scales of fortune decide to tip your way at all during today you hope this tips in your favor, given the… technique you developed to avoid interacting with him as much as possible.

When you lift your head to meet your reflection, you have to tilt your head a bit higher than you remembered last, and your arms were now coiled around his waist. Oh, it seems matter won over mind again. The hand that once danced feathers over your cheek now caress massages in your scalp. Scandalous, sure. But there was nothing wrong with comforting a friend after a rough morning, right?

“Come, everyone else is already in the studio. Sorry I couldn’t start your day with anything pleasant, I hate being the reason you have a frown. So,” Your vision cuts into frames of bright white and a following zap, once, then twice again. In what feels like an instant Vox disappears and reappears within the electricity, but the second time he holds a brown fast food bag and a bright green M.

“OH MY GOD I LOVE MAMMONALDS! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!!” Stars of reflected light build in your eyes when you saw the bag. Reading the receipt taped to the front you can already tell the breakfast order is your favorite even down to your specific requests that made the receipt  go down past the bag but you knew the employees wouldn’t even dare try and get Vox’s order wrong. 

“Take a minute to eat and come to the studio, I didn’t get you a drink because I knew you were going to get coffee so I’ll get you a milkshake after choreography, kay?” You nod your head while already pulling out your side of hashbrowns and chowing down like a hamster nibbling a sunflower seed.

It was a sight so cute Vox wanted nothing but to squeeze you so tight your eyes pop out of your skull.

But there was no time to waste. Vox vanishes with a flicker of the lights and bolts yet again, and you take a couple last chews before you’re sure hes gone.

Standing up you make way to the connected bathroom to your dressing room and open the toilet seat. Immediately you shove two fingers into your throat and probe the back until it triggers your gag reflex enough to regurgitate every last bite you took. The slime of cheap grease and burn of overused salt always made you restrain a gag without fail anytime fast food was given to you, but god Vox just would not stop ordering that shit for you. Perhaps there was a chance you sold your “love” for Mammonalds a little too hard the first handful of times he’d gifted it to you; actually, you probably wouldn’t be in this situation at all if you just refused his offer to hand feed you a fry earlier on in your contract, and by all means you wanted to, but your body’s impulse had won that that day.

Tossing out the remaining food out of the bathroom window to the dumpster in the alley below you and flushing and cleaning any remnants of bile, you give yourself one last tidy up and make way to the next place you’re needed: the dance studio.

By some unholy miracle when you stepped out of the elevator, you weren’t met with condensed red smoke to the ceiling and a moth throwing a drink at your head. Drink or a bullet, whichever he thought would please him more.

“Fucking christ all mighty, the “Princess of the Hour!” finally arrives.” As expected, everyone had already gathered long before you while you were caught up with Velvette and Vox, the first one to greet you being the same moody green bunny from earlier, rolling her eyes and doing little jazz hands mid sentence to hammer in her sarcasm.

“Good morning to you too, Tea!! I’m glad you’re feeling well~” You made a decision to go on the dismissive today, Tea in particular always seemed to be in sour moods when it came to you being as chummy as you were with the Vees for a mere contracted soul. At the end of the day you couldn’t give less a shit about that twats petty jealousy issues if she only had the decency to keep it to damn self instead of making it your problem, and your problem at work nonetheless.

“Oh shut the fuck up Tea we aren’t in the mood for this today,” The lanky azure colored salamander man gently flicked Tea on the back of the head with a roll of the eyes and a vertical reptile blink. Out of all the members of your little group, Sirius was the closest thing you had to a voice of reason and it made him the most tolerable out of the bunch. In the corner too engrossed in their own conversations to even pay mind to any of you were two harpy girls, sisters actually. Black Marlia on the left and White Russian on the right, both of them added a much needed flare to your concerts and were the only two who could go airborne long enough to perform choreography above the stage, you liked to think they were valuable assets even if you could count the amount of times either has spoken to you on one hand.

“I hear we have to deal with Valentino’s bullshit today…” Sirius attempts to continue the conversation as the five of you start properly getting into position for when said moth comes in, it would look as if you’d all been wagging your tails for his arrival this whole time.

“You are the third to remind me of his existence today, if that number goes up I might have to fly away and leave you hanging~”

“Oh and here I thought you’d be ecstatic to be commanded by one of your masters for the better part of today.”

“Not the one who immediately calculated my ass and chest size in his head as an introduction.”

“Was he right though-”

“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!” And just like that, any hope of this being a well off- or even standard Valentino work day just died on arrival. You all do exactly what he says and don’t utter a peep until he says bark. Throughout the early hours of the rehearsal, it was evident that he wanted to be here the least out of any of you which was something that as much as he made your skin crawl, you had to respect. No one likes work already but you could understand how the brand you had was so softcore in comparison to what he was used to, the whole choreograph just looked like a bunch of pillows flopping around on stage to him.

Your understanding should not be confused with sympathy however, simply put knowing how your bosses think is rule #1 when it comes to maintaining a proper work/life balance, and in this case it would be minimizing the amount of halts and rechoreographing out of nitpicks. So, while your brand was one that strayed away from deviance and sex to keep the illusion of ownership, being a bit more risqué than your typical sets here and there wasn’t a crime and would give Val more to look at even if only teasingly.

“No! No! NO THIS IS ALL FUCKING WRONG!!” Yeah who the fuck were you kidding, if you all weren’t having an orgy this jack off was never going to be pleased.

“Did you all learn how to dance in a fucking church?! Are you all such angel cunt lickers that you can’t handle presenting any TNA is that it?!”

Yeah… This was going to be a long work day…

TAGLIST﹕@hurtworld401 @feral-ratatattat-king

[seijitheclown]

Who is the Bookman waiting at the Campbell Residence?

I'm back with another theory that bugged me for the last two days I need to put it down. This theory here will contain spoilers regarding Chapter 249/251!

So my theory starts with the following information from the panel above (both from Chapter 222). Lucia says "Bookman has woken up" and:

This scene takes part as Allen was found by Kanda/Johnny, as Allen is on the run for 3 months.

The implication here that it's "just" Bookman. Well, ... which Bookman? As Hoshino confirmed in her last Broadcast Bookman and Lavi are hold hostage for about 4-5 months which will be learn later on, that means around this time of the Story Bookman is still hold hostage by the Noah, same for Lavi.

And for now we know that Lavi will return but not "the same as before". So he is not dead (now), the referenced Junior is Past!Bookman Junior (PBJ for short). There is only one Junior per Generation, so if one is gone another has to be born or the Clan is in danger.

So... who is it?

It's talked about that "Junior" isn't there anymore to carry on the collected memories but also told this will solve once Allen arrives, the scene takes part right after Cross(!) tells Allen to go to the Residence. Mother holds the other key with the Information regarding Zeugle after Allen tells her Cross appeared and told him about Katherina (and we have a huge hint that Cross is still alive by Mother).

So we have an injured Bookman in the twin's old home who was not conscious for quite some time. Bookman Sr. is not injured around that time as Desires just pressures him, Lavi is, but I doubt Lucia would address Lavi as "Bookman-sama" as he is only the apprentice so far, also Lavi is conscious despite being in pain.

You know who is also injured by that time and we all pretty much expect that he is not dead....? Cross. Who was/is suspected to be a Bookman/Bookman Jr even by a lot of people...? Cross. Who has a striking resemblence to Lavi? Also Cross (yes I know some suspect they are related).

Then we have another indicator: Urcampy. It could be that Cross either left Urcampy there (I love the theory both of the Twins have a Golem, but eh) and then we have the information that Cross uses a spell to appear way younger than he is. Another drop of information we got from the recent Broadcast (28.4.24) from Hoshino is that the girl in the panel above is indeed the Lucia we meet in Ch. 251 again and that it has something to do with the Residence. Could it be the same magic Cross uses? But in the opposite direction? To make her appear younger or older depending on how it's needed?

Cross walks upon the lines all the time, he can do as he pleases, he is above the law. He interacts with the Noah casually, Road treats him like an old friend (Vol 27) despite him having not only one but two Innocence (which is, another really interesting information), he has obtained knowledge nobody else has. He can modify Akuma, he uses a Corpse and her Innocence. Why is he not killed despite the fact he knows the true identity of the Earl? He is above the Black Order and Central makes a deal with him, yes he's a good Exorcist, strong and all that. But he doesn't get the "you are a traitor" treatment Allen got, ... what has he going on there?

We don't really know why he cares for Mana, how they met and whatever deal/relationship we have going on (no I don't really go for the Cross = Cyrus theory here). We know by now Cross most likely knew PBJ, but not Past!Allen. As he has no indication on what he looks like aside the age, not even a hair color, personality or anything else aside the information that an Allen is the host and that Mana got told that "Allen" is the key.

This fuels my theory that Master and Apprentice parted, one followed Mana and the other Nea to record their part of history as the both weren't able to engage anymore without trying to kill each other/the Noah side needed to regain anyways after Nea killed them all but the Earl/Road.

So I am back with this panel. This is a Bookman. But which? I had an tad of an idea that this could be 'our' Bookman in younger years but by now I think I was wrong.

Could this be Cross as his role as Bookman? One side of the face is hidden, just like Cross'. Also while we are at hidden face, I am by now sure that Cross mask is a reference to either the same mark PBJ has, or he has the same mark because he is the Master to even that PBJ. In one of the recent Volumes Allen is asked if Cross has a limited vision because of the mask and Allen denies (it's in Komui's Lounge in either Vol 27 or 28... i can't recall it rn I read too many things the last days) and says Cross has a very good vision and can see well despite the mask.

Another point is that Cross is not named Marian Cross, it's a fake identity. We basically know nothing about him. Other than he has forbidden knowledge, even about the hidden side of the war, something only a Bookman should have.

Does Bookman sr. knows? Well, I am not sure about that. In Ch. 251 it's mentioned that not all of Zeugle know each other, they could be fighting each other in the same war until they reveal they are from the Clan, so.. it's pretty much possible that the Order has basically 3 Bookmen among them.

Desires might address Bookman sr. that he was friends with the former generation of Noah but ... he can't access his Noah memories, therefore Bookman could play pretend and maybe truly doesn't know shit about Nea or he covered his fellow Bookman aka Cross.

.. so yeah. I needed to get this out of my head. I have literally no idea if any of this makes sense or if anybody would agree with me, but I am certain we have a different Bookman here and that the Bookman Clan/Zeugle play a way bigger role than we thought.

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter Four: A Little Juicy Gossip

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair meets Todo 360 who does not know how to keep a secret.

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Available also on AO3

“Great callouts, Hunter! You’re a natural leader. Wrecker, we’re gonna need stronger droids to handle your strength. Tech, you sliced those panels in record time! Now let's see," The lieutenant looked at his datapad, scrolling through the rest of the data. 

Crosshair waited for his turn.

The lieutenant kept scrolling, frown deepening.

A brotherly hand squeezed Crosshair's shoulder. He pushed it away. He didn’t need comfort. He needed feedback.

“Alright, pack it up, soldiers,” the lieutenant said, tucking his datapad away. “The final test of the quarter is tomorrow.” 

“Hey, wait,” Hunter said. “What about-”

Crosshair's elbow found Hunter's ribs, chasing the question away.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” The lieutenant asked, raising an imperious brow.

Hunter clutched his side. “No, sir.”

The lieutenant left.

Crosshair would have left too if not for his brothers surrounding him, blocking his escape. 

“You did great , Crosshair,” Hunter insisted. 

“You hit every single mark flawlessly,” Tech observed.

“Yeah! You’re wizard!” Wrecker shouted.

Molten anger heated Crosshair's cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” he hissed. “The lieutenant’s opinion is all that matters. They are going to retire me.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Hunter said.

“It’s not up to you, Hunter,” Crosshair said. 

“Bugger this,” Hunter sighed and grabbed Crosshair’s wrist, tugging him towards a nearby ventilation grate. "Recon time. C’mon.”

Crosshair thought about kicking him, but...the recon may prove useful.

“Aww, recon?! I wanna come, too!” Wrecker whined.

“This mission requires more stealth than you are trained to handle, Wrecker” Tech indicated. “Also your size would break the air vent.”

“Hehe, yeah, I’m a real tank,” Wrecker grinned, proudly.

Hunter hoisted Crosshair up into the air ventilation tunnel before leaping up behind him.  The tunnel ran in a dozen different directions like a many-armed rapthar, each path identical to the next. Hunter always knew instinctively where to go. It didn’t take long before they found the vent overlooking the lieutenant’s office.

There was another clone in the office with him. 

No...not a clone...

“Is that Fett?” Hunter whispered. “Last time Fett was here, they took Radar away.”

“I know,” Crosshair snarled quietly.

“Oh yeah,” the Lieutenant snickered below, taking his seat at his desk. “He's the best in the facility.” 

“Cut the sarcasm, Pynk,” Fett leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We need a sniper in this squad.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good sniper, but we train good snipers every day. This squad needs someone extraordinary and he isn’t. It’ll save a lot of time and energy to just retire him and pick up a normal sniper for the team.”

A normal sniper…

Crosshair had heard enough. He shoved Hunter down the tunnel and followed him, angrily wiping his blurry, wet eyes as they went.

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker whispered loudly to Tech as Crosshair climbed out of the vent.

“They will have to retire me first,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles, not bothering to lower his voice. “I won’t let them take him.”

“Yeah,” Wrecker slammed his fists together, “me neither.”

He ignored them both. He made a point to ignore them both. They were all idiots, thinking they could change anything by just wishing it wouldn't happen.

And Crosshair was an idiot for daring to think he could be extraordinary.

The next day, Crosshair earned the nickname “Misfire.”

Not long after that the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, took him away.

***

Crosshair couldn’t sleep.

The room was too quiet without Wrecker’s chest-rattling snores, too dark without the faint glow of Tech coding on his datapad, and even though Hunter was practically a ghost at night even when awake, Crosshair missed him, too.

Facing the fact sleep wasn’t going to find him, Crosshair slung his rifle over his shoulder, tip-toed down the hall past Bane's room, slid down the bannister, avoiding the creaky stairs altogether, and slipped soundlessly out the front door. The weather-beaten porch was barely held together by whatever rusted nails poked out of the cracked wood. He kept his steps light, but each footfall he could feel the threat of a creak beneath his boots. He leapt over the stairs entirely and landed in the dark soil with little more than a quiet squelch.

The moon was a meager sliver in the sky that didn't do much to illuminate the wheat field, but the way it moved in the wind reminded Crosshair of the black waves of a rarely calm nighttime Kaminoan sea. 

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Crosshair hadn't heard anyone approach. How was this possible? And yet, as he turned, he found that Bane had been sitting in a rocking chair in the darkest corner of the porch, only his red eyes, half-moons obscured by the brim of his hat, could be seen.

Crosshair refused to be rattled. He planted his feet firmly in the soil and and puffed up his narrow chest. “I’m going to scout the perimeter.”

“Got sensors for that, kid” Bane replied. “Ain’t a soul out there except for us n’ the Fabools.”

“Then I’ll go check on the Fabools.”

“You don’t gotta worry about them until tomorrow mornin’. Todo will show ya what to do.”

Crosshair had no response. Wrecker's clumsy question floated in his head.

Are they gonna retire Crosshair?”

He needed to do this. He needed to do...something.

Bane’s head tilted slightly.  “What?”

Crosshair didn’t respond.

I don’t want to be retired. I want to live… at least long enough to fight a real battle with Tech.

Bane let out a strained growled, his spurs jingling as his boots landed heavily on the porch. In the darkness his scarlet eyes cast harsh shadows against his scarred face. 

“You n’ me are gonna get along a lot better if ya stop bein’ so fuckin’ timid. You’re a soldier, right? You’re an elite sniper? You’re a tough guy? Then stop bein’ afraid of everything. I’m bein’ paid to train ya, but I may ask Jango for extra cuz I gotta go lookin' for yer spine first before I can teach ya anything.” Rows of sharp teeth gleamed in the dark. “Start talkin’.”

I want to live.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I-

“I…don’t want to be retired.”

The teeth vanished. The eyes dimmed. Bane leaned forward and into the meager moonlight, confusion etched into his scarred face. “What do ya mean ‘retired’?”

“If soldiers don’t meet their lieutenant’s expectations, they’re retired and their data gets erased. Radar and Pintsize were retired last year. No trace of them anywhere. Like they never existed.” Crosshair scrubbed his sweaty palms against his pant legs. He couldn’t stop talking if he wanted to, like trying to fight momentum down a steep hill. “Radar was redundant. Hunter’s tracking skills were sharper than his. Pintsize could barely hold a blaster with his tremors. The lieutenant said I’m not ‘extraordinary’ like the rest of my squad. I dropped my sniper rifle last test. They started calling me-”

The name seized in his mind. Tech’s magnified eyes glaring at him as if he was somehow holding onto the name. 

“That’s not who you are.”

“Jango knows about this? These retirements?”

Crosshair blinked. “What?”

“The retirements. Are they his decision or not?”

“It’s the lieutenant’s decision.” 

Bane rested his elbows on his knees, his unyielding glare boring into Crosshair. “Who’s this lieutenant? What’s his story?”

“A first generation clone. Lieutenant Pynk,” Crosshair thought about how to describe him. “He’s an asshole.”

Bane snorted. “Yeah, I gathered that much. So when you told me you’re the best in the facility that was his sarcasm I was hearing?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, fuck Pynk. We’ll show him what extraordinary looks like.” he extended his hand. “Gimme your rifle.”

Crosshair tightened the grip on his rifle strap. “Why?”

“Oh yer full of questions now, huh?” Bane sneered. “Official inspection, soldier. Give it here.”

With a small hiss of protest, Crosshair handed the rifle over.

Bane gave the rifle a little spin as if testing the weight. He looked through the scope. He ran his fingers over the stock and gave it a good shake.

“No wonder you can’t razzle and dazzle anyone,” Bane snickered. “This here’s a piece of bantha poodoo .”

“There’s nothing wrong with my rifle.” Crosshair said. “I clean it everyday. I calibrated it this morning. It’s fine.”

“Yeah?” Bane tossed the rifle back to Crosshair. “Prove it.”

Bane stood up, reminding Crosshair just how tall the Duros was compared to him. He was taller than Pynk and somehow that was comforting to know. In one swift movement, Bane hopped over the porch railing and with a crisp snap of his leather duster, he vanished around the side of the house.

Crosshair followed. At first it looked like Bane had simply disappeared, but upon a closer look, the side of the house was covered with a wide wooden trellis far too reinforced to withstand just the weight of creeper vines.  He looked up and saw a brief glimpse of the brim of Bane's hat on the roof. Crosshair slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed. 

Some of the roof tiles were flatter and smoother than they appeared, leading to an ornamental bell tower half the size of Crosshair and far too small for Bane to fit. Still, Crosshair peeked into the bell tower and found...a short chute leading into a spy holodrama.

It was one part sniper tower, one part high-tech surveillance bowl filled with panels and devices similar to the simulation models Tech ran through to practice slicing communications and monitoring air traffic.

Bane sneered up at him. "C'mon in, kiddo."

“What is this?” Crosshair asked, hoisting himself into the chute and using the short ladder to climb down.

“Crow’s nest, watchtower, sniper tower, reinforced bunker, whatever we need it for. There are a couple of cots under the false floor if we get swarmed and have to lay low for a while.”

“Who would attack us?”

“The local authorities, mercs lookin' to even the score, raiders aimin' to steal the Fabools which can sell for a pretty credit on the black market.” Bane pressed a switch under his seat and the blank wall flipped over to reveal a pair  of LL-30 blaster pistols and a 773 Firepuncher rifle, the kind Crosshair had only seen in firearms databanks Tech sliced in for him.

Bane grabbed the rifle, charged it up, and checked the scope. “Don’t have to worry about any of that tonight though. Tonight, we’re doin’ some target practice...”

He dialed something into the control panel. A long opening slid 280 degrees around the tower at Crosshair’s eye-level, no taller than his fist, yet a screen flickered around the opening to reveal a holographic image of the surrounding area. 

“I can see everything,” he said.

“That’s the idea,” Bane replied. “Watch the field.” 

He flicked another switch and a blue light shimmered over the wheat field as the security shield went down. 

The grass started to quiver almost immediately. 

“What’s out there?” Crosshair asked, sliding the barrel of his rifle through the opening and peering through the scope. 

“Stalker lizards,” Bane said. “Lookin’ for a free meal inside that Fabool enclosure. Tell me what ya see.”

Crosshair toggled the heat sensor display on and off, watching the heat signatures from the lizards and the dark shadows of the landscape. “Lizards about a meter long coming from the southwest.” He scanned the enclosure next, remembering his training. Always check doors, corners, exits, and blindspots.

“We have blindspots.”

“Where’re the blindspots?” Bane asked, clearly a test. 

“South and East walls of the enclosure.”

“Already covered. Look again.”

The heat signatures didn’t change. The landscape didn’t change much either. Crosshair lowered his scope and leaned over the edge of the bell tower as if it would help. “How-”

Bane grabbed his jumpsuit and pulled him back. “Stay in here.” He pushed some monoculars into Crosshair’s hands. “Your little toy scope doesn’t have a range finder, use these.”

“It’s not a toy.”

“It surely is. You wanna be an extraordinary sniper? You gotta grow up n’ use a real sniper rifle. Now quit givin’ me that death glare n’ look at coords 233.32, 33.4.”

Fuming, Crosshair looked through the monoculars. “Coords 233.32, 33.4.” He repeated. 

Crosshair dialed in the coordinates and let the cursor on the display guide his movements.

There were several panels in various parts of the field. Each panel was painted with a shiny yellow number and embedded with silver reflective discs. “Are those mirrors?”

“Tell me which one to shoot.”

“What?”

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but yer askin’ too many questions. Just do it.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and shifted his scope from mirror to mirror until the caught the reflection of a stalker lizard climbing up the fabric wall of the enclosure.

“Panel two, center.”

A blaster shot rang out, it ricochet off the mirror and the low-power stun blast knocked the lizard off the enclosure, driving it back to the treeline.

“Again.”

Crosshair aligned his vision. Another panel. “Panel three, top left.”

The blaster bolt fired, ricocheted, and hit its target.

“Keep callin’ ‘em,” Cad said. "Faster."

“Six, low right. Four, center. Two, top center. Two, top left, no wait-”

“Two, middle left,” Cad corrected and took the shot. 

“How do you see them without the monoculars?” 

Bane snatched Crosshair’s monoculars and shoved the Firepuncher into his hands. “Built-in rangefinder in the scope. Give it a try.”

Bane’s rifle was heavier than his, but it also felt sturdier and a lot more powerful. He did a quick procedural check of the power cell, the scope angle, and acclimated himself to the weight before sliding the barrel through the opening.  The scope was alive with readings. Rangefinder, coordinates scale, the crosshairs shifted as it looked for moving targets and returned to center when there was nothing. 

“This is cheating,” Crosshair grumbled.

Bane snorted. “No such thing in this business. Besides, you can spend all the fancy credits in the galaxy and it don't make you the best. Yer greatest mod is yer eyes n' yer instincts. Now shut up n’ start firin’. Lizards are startin’ to swarm.”

The heat signatures doubled and Crosshair took shot after shot, chasing the lizards away.

“Good.” Bane said.

Good, but not extraordinary, Crosshair thought.

Two lizards scaled the corner of the enclosure. Crosshair hit the leader and it landed on its follower, scaring both away.

He waited for Bane to praise him. It was an impressive shot.

Bane remained silent.

Another lizard leapt from a panel onto the enclosure wall. He shot one mirror and it ricocheted off another mirror and hit the lizard between the eyes, sending it sprawling backwards before scurrying off. 

That was impressive too. He waited for the Lieutenant...no...he waited for Bane to comment.

Bane said nothing.

“He’s a good sniper…This squad needs someone extraordinary.”

He took another shot. The blaster bolt bounced off the mirror and hit the tail of the lizard. It kept climbing. 

He took another shot. The lizard dropped.

“Sloppy,” Bane said.

Crosshair’s bolt hit the edge of the enclosure, wool sizzled. The Fabools inside bleeted and honked irritably.

“Shit shot.”

“Are they gonna retire Crosshair?” Wrecker asked, eyes wet with tears.

Another miss.

“Worse,” Cad said.

And another.

“Shittier.”

He shot a mirror, it ricocheted into the night.

“Now yer takin’ yer failure out on the mirrors, huh?” Cad snickered. “Try again.”

The rifle felt heavier. Like the hands of a dozen laughing cadets and one unimpressed lieutenant was pushing it down. 

“Look out, here comes Misfire.”

The heat signatures began to multiply through the scope.

“What’re you doing?” Bane asked. “I said try again.”

Shit shot…worse…failure…

The trigger refused to move. 

“Misfire…Misfire…Misfire…”

“Dank farrick,” Bane swore and grabbed the rifle, firing five shots in quick succession. Blaster bolts soared and ricocheted off the mirrors, scaring away the rest of the lizards. He punched the control panel and the blue shimmering shield spread across the wheat field again. “What was that about? You forget how to shoot?”

Crosshair's hand twitched. He didn't move. He stared at the rifle.

“What the hell, kid?”

Crosshair couldn’t feel his fingers.

Hands shaking, he managed to hoist himself out of the bell tower.  By the time he got to the bottom of the trellis he realized he had left his own rifle behind.

Tears blurring his eyes, he raced back to the front of the house, crashing through the door and stomping up the stairs. 

He hid under the covers.

In a bed that wasn’t his.

Without the rifle that he didn’t deserve anyway.

***

The next morning, the house seemed empty. Bane wasn’t downstairs, but breakfast was waiting for Crosshair. A plate of bacon and eggs on a warming plate.

He ate quickly and guzzled the apple juice, politely pushing away the black caf and wondering if it was only there because he knew Fett was never far from a cup of caf.

He wandered outside to the sun sprinkling the wheat field with golden light. It made him squint. Climbing up the trellis, he poked his head in the bell tower. Neither rifle nor Bane was there.

His heart dropped. He felt sick. If Bane confiscated his rifle, then Crosshair was probably heading back home today. He hoped he’d be able to say bye to his brothers before they retired him. Then again, he didn’t get to say bye to Pintsize and Radar.

Climbing back down the trellis, he walked to the Fabool enclosure punching in the code he watched Bane use the day before. The gate swung open and before he could fall into a cuddle pile of Fabools, a stout droid flew directly at him, nearly slamming him against the gate.

“Who are you?!” The droid asked, round, unblinking yellow eyes flashing with suspicion, his thrusters hissing angrily as he floated in front of Crosshair’s face.

Crosshair pushed himself off the gate. “Bane told me to take care of the Fabools with Todo this morning.”

“I am Todo 360,” the droid declared, spindly arms flailing. “Did Mr. Bane order you to spy on me?” 

“No. If I was going to spy on you,” Crosshair said, dryly. “You’d never know it.”

The droid’s three-fingered hand touched his non-existent chin thoughtfully. “Oh. Hmm. That’s…a valid point. Fine, you may stay, but I am in charge here and you will tell Mr. Bane that I am doing a perfectly good job and I don’t need any help.”

“Fine by me.”

“We’ll start with feeding practices!” Todo announced, shooing away the Fabools who seemed to hate the sound of his thrusters. They rolled towards Crosshair and away from the noisy droid. It was hard to worry about retirement when there were a dozen soft, bouncing balloons begging for his attention, and Crosshair decided to enjoy the moment, taking time to pet each one while Todo did all the work. 

“Well, you’re already proving yourself to be an adequate assistant," Todo said, cleaning the water trough. "It takes me three times longer to fill their troughs when they try to bully me into their cuddle piles.” Todo floated towards the hose and dragged it across the enclosure, straining between words. “Your...reaction...to them...is...far…different…from…Mr. Bane’s…first…interaction.”

“What do you mean?” Crosshair asked.

“Oh, Mr. Bane was terrified of the Fabools when Fett brought him here. Practically climbed up on the fence to get away from them. He was scared of a lot of things back then though.”

Crosshair’s jaw dropped into his lap. “Bane? Cad Bane?”

“Well he wasn’t Mr. Bane back then. Just Cad. He hadn’t chosen a surname. Some Duros culture thing. I never understood it.”

“How long have you known Bane?”

“Many, many years.”

Crosshair cupped a Fabool chick in his hands and pressed it against his cheek. It snuffled at him, inquisitively. “Why was he afraid of the Fabools?”

“He full of paranoia when we met him,” Todo said, lightly. “Just distrustful of everything, in general.”

"But..." Crosshair stared dumbfounded at Todo. “How did he get so…”

“...so very 'Bane' ?” Todo asked.

“Yes.”

Todo held up an authoritative finger. “By eating his vegetables, little boy,” Todo hummed and floated towards the food sacks.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “What else do you know about Bane?”

“Oh, I know lots about him. I’ve known him for a very long time. I’m his most trusted confidant. I am sworn to secrecy though so I couldn't possibly share anything with you.”

Considering how much Crosshair learned about Bane in the thirty seconds he knew Todo he decided to just nod. “Okay.”

“But…” Todo floated forward, hands rubbing together conspiratorially. “...I do have a few juicy tidbits I could share if you’re interested.”

Crosshair made a mental note to never tell Todo 360 anything about himself. “Sure.”

“Oh goodie! It’s so rare I find someone to gossip with that aren’t Fabools. Bossk and Aurra tell Mr. Bane everything .”

Crosshair scooted forward, setting the chick down on the ground only to have two fabools bounce into his lap and a third bounce against his back. Somehow all of the Fabools reminded him of Wrecker, only cuter and less annoying. “What else do you know?”

“Hmm…oh! Here's something. He didn’t know how to use a blaster when he met Mr. Fett. Mr. Fett taught him everything he knew about being a mercenary.”

“I figured that much.”

“But did you know that Mr. Fett and Mr. Bane engaged in a bar fight before Mr. Fett left for his secret project?”

“Why?”

“Is it not obvious? Mr. Bane idolized Mr. Fett, followed him around like a fabool chick bounces after a feed bag. When Mr. Fett left mercenary work, he left Mr. Bane behind. Mr. Bane took it very personally, but I think it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Why?” Crosshair pressed.

“Because that is when Mr. Bane found that cool confidence in himself. Mr. Fett was always there to lift him up, reward his victories, and tutor his failings. Mr. Bane had to figure out how to exist without Mr. Fett and it was then I noticed that confidence grow like a hmm…like a cactus blossom! He went from Mr. Fett’s shadow to being quite the opposing figure himself.”

Crosshair sat quietly, absorbing this fact. It was hard to imagine the Bane today cowering from Fabools or needing help from anyone.

Or starving for someone else's approval.

When he thought of Bane, he thought of the easy stance, arms relaxed and thumbs hanging over his belt buckle, a toothpick casually moving between his teeth, round eyes behind hooded lids that could see through a person with more accuracy than a scope. That nonchalant drawl, the cheeky turn of phrase, unrattled, and prickly.  

All the things Crosshair wanted to be. 

“Has Bane ever had an apprentice before?”

“Not to my knowledge. Mr. Fett’s request is unusual, but Bane would do anything for-”

“Kid, get up.”

Crosshair startled, whipping his head back to find Bane leaning against the wall, arms folded, toothpick rolling lazily in his teeth. How long had he been in the enclosure? A Fabool snuffled at his boot, lost interest than bounce against Crosshair's head.

“Come with me.” Bane left the enclosure without another word.

Crosshair didn’t move at first. Not because he was covered in Fabools, but because he knew this was the end.

Retirement…

He’d finally find out what happened to Pintsize and Radar.

“Nice to meet you, Todo,” he said, standing up and gently rolling the fabools away who happily bounded towards the droid.

“Oh! Well nice to meet you too, um… ‘Kid’.”

“Sit down,” Bane said, pointing to the rocking chair on the porch before going into the house.

Crosshair sank onto the flower-patterned cushioned seat, trying and failing to rest his boots on the railing. It was too far away. He sighed and drew his legs up, hugging his knees. He watched the skies for a ship to come and pick him up. 

Bane came out a few minutes later and sat in the other rocking chair, boots landing with a jingle of his spurs on the railing. Crosshair’s rifle was in his hands. It took all of Crosshair’s self-control not to lunge for it, hug it, and promise he would never abandon it again.

He hugged his knees tighter.

“Doesn’t take a genius to know why you ran out last night,” Bane began, tilting his hat up to look Crosshair in the eyes. “You crave praise like a dying man thirstin’ of jocola . I don’t reckon you get a lot of positive reinforcement at the facility n’ ya know what? Tough shit. The sooner ya realize the galaxy ain’t gonna give ya validation is the day ya actually become the extraordinary sniper I know ya can be.

“This is the last and only time I’m gonna say this," Bane continued. "Yer real fuckin’ good, and yer gonna be the best. I ain't ever wrong about shit like this. Now...you hold onto that praise because after this conversation, I ain’t gonna be nice to ya anymore. Yer gonna get pushed n' pushed hard, yer gonna get shaken, and I’m gonna do everythin’ I can to get ya past this bullshit worry about what everyone else thinks. Maybe you’ll hate me, hell ya might even shoot me in the back, but it’ll be worth it because it’s gonna send ya past that kraytshit extraordinary standard Pynk’s got for ya.”

Bane offered the rifle back to Crosshair. “I promise, by the time ya get back home, yer gonna be tougher than a reek’s horn n’ twice as deadly.”

The moment Crosshair’s fingers touched his rifle, he knew it was augmented. It felt like a Firepunch. Better scope, heavier stock, a weapon for a real sniper. He peered through the scope. 

“Whoa,” Crosshair murmured, scanning the field with his scope, toggling between more scanners than he knew existed. “Wizard.”

“Listen kid, in this galaxy there’ll be plenty of people tryin’ to put you down, break your spirit, break your bones. Only person you gotta trust is yourself. Yer all ya need, you understand me?”

Crosshair realized it was a lesson Bane had to learn when Jango left for Kamino. It would be a lesson Crosshair would carry with him the rest of his life.

Even if Bane was hired to train him, to be this mentor, it meant something to Crosshair. "Understood."

“Go clean up. Food’s in an hour. Beef stew minus the carrots. After that you start yer real trainin’. Deal?”

Crosshair hopped up, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Deal.”

“One more thing, kid.”

“Yeah?”

“What did you and Todo talk about this morning?”

Crosshair didn’t bother lying. “You.”

Bane growled quietly. “That gossiping little shit. What did he say?”

Though Crosshair didn’t intend to lie, he also didn’t feel like ratting Todo out. So he was honest about the thing that mattered most. 

“He said you’re better off without Fett around.” 

The words seemed to splash cold water on Bane’s face. The mercenary  looked away, out to the golden field, too bright in the noonday sun. 

“Is it true?” Crosshair asked. 

Bane’s glare didn’t skewer Crosshair as sharply as he expected. In fact, it looked like he may even answer.

“Target practice starts at dusk. Bring your A-game, kid. Not holding back on you. Now get outta here.”

And with that Bane sank into his rocking chair tilted his hat forward over his eyes.

The conversation was over.

Crosshair was happy he asked.

[sweetescapeartist]

A DBS MANGA CHAPTER 102 REVIEW. KINDA...

Some stuff about chapter 102 of the DBS manga I don't really like/I want to quickly discuss. Meant to post this last month but didn't. I'm behind on a lot of things.

All those folks saying True UI is Goku's strongest form... The upcoming chapter says otherwise. Goku uses the silver haired UI form & Beerus apparently views that as Goku at his strongest. Heck, Goku calls it his best move. Good job Toyo for creating True UI (black hair) and confusing fans to believe that was stronger than Mastered UI (silver hair) when in reality True UI is simply UI Sign (black hair) that changed how UI works so it matches more closer to how the anime depicted the technique. UI Omen in the anime allowed Goku to use his emotions, but the more control he has over them, the stronger he becomes until he transforms into Mastered UI. UI Sign in the manga was depicted as Goku needing to be emotionless & stated that emotions hinder the power. This was from the ToP Saga all the way until Toyotaro "created" True UI to function off of controlled emotions like how the DBS anime always has & gave it Omen the name "True Ultra Instinct." [Link to a long post that I paraphrased, so you ain't gotta read it unless you're really interested.]

I get tired of the same expressions in this Super Hero Saga. Its a pouty or surprised face accompanied with an oval shaped mouth. Toyotaro is overusing the hell out of that. Here's a compilation & I left out like 4 other panels with this same expression. (There's more in CH 103)

I saw ppl talking about the poses when Goku & Gohan fight look cool.... Looks pretty stiff imo. At least from what I've seen. Lacks a feel of movement. And you don't even see most of the fight. It doesn't make it cool imo. We've seen MUI in action against powerful opponents. If MUI Goku & Beast Gohan are close to equal strength, why not show actual combat between the two other than the aftermath of clashes? There was more attention to choreography with Gohan vs Trunks & Goten than there is with Gohan vs Goku. (Chapter 103 does better with the combat for Goku vs Gohan)

Toyotaro doing the "this form is called such & such" is weird for me. Seems like he's trying to hype up Western fans or something. Like when Goten & Trunks name Gohan's potential unleashed form "Ultimate." Its just dialogue for the sake of some sort of fanservice. Some ppl will like it, others wont. I just wasn't a fan of it. Feels like its placed here just for fanservice. If they called it ultimate & didn't draw too much attention to it, I would've prefered that. Its naming it but not stopping the narrative flow.

Also wasn't a fan of Goku asking Gohan is his new power was SSJ2 or SSJ3. Goku knows dang well Gohan's Potential Unleashed form is far stronger than SSJ2 & was stronger than SSJ3. He should've just asked "So, what's this form of yours?" and leave it there.

Some Vegeta fans are calling him a proud uncle when he smiles at Gohan & Goku about to spar. No, he is a Saiyan who is ready to see a good fight just as Broly smiled when he watched Goku & Vegeta fight. Is there some pride there? Yes. But Vegeta ain't no uncle figure to Gohan. That's Piccolo & Krillin.

Why are Carmine & Soldier 15 there on Beerus' planet? Goku could have just had his sons & Trunks put a hand on his shoulder then teleported. And why would Gohan see Carmine & 15 who shot at his home & at him, turn Beast out of anger, then hop into the same vehicle as them as if he forgot what happened in the last chapter? It was literally a few seconds ago.

This was just for them to record Goten & Trunks in their costumes (can they even keep up with how fast they are moving?) And it just seems like a plot device that won't matter at all. Anyone remember 7-3 in the Granolah Saga?was there for a moment & served no purpose other than a reference. I bet this with Carmine is for a simple joke to be quickly thrown aside.

[professional-idiots]

Best parts of/my overall thoughts on ch. 109

1. BABY YASHIRO IS SO CUTE OMGGGG

2. She is canonicallly in love with another man and acting like this lol 😭

3. Teru commits every word Akane utters to memory (cannon)

4. The husbands are going through a painful divorce 😓

5. Mirai can’t read T~T

6. THE PAUSE??? WHAT WAS THE PAUSE FOR???

7. JUST ALL THE PANELS OF BABY YASHIRO BEING SO CUTE

8. USISKAKDBD HE LOOKS SO COOL

9. Kako pulling up the receipts

10. Have I mentioned that she is a CUTIE PATOOTIE

11. AKANE PROMPTING BABY YASHIRO ON WHAT TO SAY TO TRY AND HELP HER OUT 😭😭😭

12. The owl screeching out Yashiro’s confession followed by this face from Hanako (plus imagine how embarassed she’s gonna be when she ages up again 😭)

13. Mansplain Manipulate Malewife

(Though we can all agree Aoi is the malewife of their couple)

14. *sigh* The husbands are fighting again

UGH THIS CHAPTER WAS SO AMAZING!!!!!! Less happened in it than last chapter but still amazing!!!

God, if you’re up there, please let Akane make it through the next few chapters 🙏

OH MY GOD AND WHAT WAS THAT THING WITH THE PAUSE WHEN AKANE WAS READING TSUKASAS NAME I NEED TO KNOW MORE!!!!!!! I wonder if like a different name was written cause he’s being like possessed or something hmmmm…

Speaking of Tsukasa he is going rouge and killing people again. And I was just starting to like him too 😞… I wonder if Kako is alright (honestly likely not, but I don’t wanna say anything for sure bc… yk… time… and all that)

I love everything about this arc we’re in rn but I need the next month to pass INCREDIBLY fast. I don’t know if I’m gonna make it to the next chapter T~T

[ninhoemy]

POTN Ch. 129 - My thoughts

I read the last chapter of Painter of the Night on Friday.

What a journey. So many nights thinking how this story was going to finish - I was worried until the very end how things will end up for our favorite protagonists.

Here are some of my thoughts:

Can't help but admire Nakyum for his dedication to earn enough money to be able to see his lord Yoon. Our boy worked day and night to raise money for the journey to see him.

2. At the same time Seungho is doing the same, thinking of his lover and thinking of ways for them to be together. Even if he was the best in the state exam, he decided power, fame or money are useless if he can't be with Nakyum. Look at his smirk when he realized his prize was so close!!!

3. The anticipation I felt when I knew their meeting was iminent and they have not seen each other in years (since Nakyum's hair is so long now) was crazy, and the peach tree petals were so beautiful in the panels.

4. The reunion made me cry - such a long and painful journey for them, but they can finally be together forever.

5. The future - I like to think of how the future will look like for them - will Nakyum paint to make some pocket money to buy some trinkets for himself and Seungho? Or will he stay at home and paint for pleasure, waiting for his 'husband' to come back from work? Will Seungho spoil him, buy him clothes made of fine silk, buy him all the sweets he desires, painting brushes and pretty ribbons to tie his long hair with? What will the people of the region think of their new Governor and his pretty boy-wife?

6. What I do know is that the future is bright for them.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, August 21st

PRINCIPAL WOOD: You're doing the best you can with what you've got. BUFFY: They're not all gonna make it. Some will die, and nothing I can do will stop that. Willow walks out the back door onto the porch, arms full of weapons. She freezes when she sees Principal Wood. WILLOW: Oh, hi. Hey. Well, Buffy, I—I see that our preparation for the school-pep-dance-cheer-drill contest are coming along. (to the potentials) Bring it on!

~~Get It Done~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Almost Ready by badly_knitted (Buffy, Angelus, PG)

Gratification by The_Crazy_Knight (Buffy/Giles, E)

mundane things (and a crossword puzzle) by GothamstreetCat (Wesley/Lilah, T)

Willow + Dean + Fate by Lyl (Willow/Dean, SPN xover, M)

Ken's Warning by rhodrymavelyne (Buffy/Angel, Angel/Kenneth Irons, Witchblade xover, Not Rated)

[Chaptered Fiction]

And Then There Were Two - ch. 1 by Murderpart1 (Vampire Willow/Willow, Not Rated)

Willow and Harry are BFFs - ch. 1-4 by Lyl (Willow, The Dresden Files xover, T) COMPLETE

Finding peace Pt. 12: Desperate (Spike x y/n) by itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland (Spike/reader, unrated)

A Tumble in Time - ch. 2 by thedoppleganger (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Mysterious Destinies - ch. 4 by EnchantedWillow (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

East of Nevada - ch. 18-19 by Blissymbolics (Buffy/Spike, R) COMPLETE

Reclaimed - ch. 11 by Holly (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) COMPLETE

Against All Odds - ch. 11 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

In The Dark With You - ch. 33 by Geliot99 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Collision of Universes - ch. 10 by AragornIIElessar (multi xover, FR15)

Old Fashioned Romance - ch. 13 by calikocat (Xander, Captain America xover, FR21)

Healing After Heaven - ch. 26 by Kate (Buffy, Highlander xover, FR13)

Birds of a Feather - ch. 1-3 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

In The Dark With You - ch. 33 by Geliot99 (Buffy/Spike, R)

Spiked - ch. 15-17 by Maxine Eden (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

Blood and Fame - ch. 6 by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, Adult Only)

To All We Guard - ch. 21 by simmony (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Photo collage: Happy Birthday James 🥳🎂🎈🎁🎉 James Wesley Marsters August 20,1962 by nellarw95 (James, Spike, worksafe)

Artwork: [Spike smoking] by isevery0nehereverystoned (Spike, worksafe)

Artwork: fuffy sketch of That Scene by chelseabeecreates (Buffy/Faith, worksafe)

Artwork: Pose is based on the painting Ivan the Terrible and his son... by aa-arttss (Buffy, Kendra, worksafe)

Artwork: faith lehane - drawing from last year by stateofdreaminn (Faith, worksafe)

Manip / Wallpaper: I never get tired of doing that by revello-drive-1630 (Angel, Jenny, worksafe)

Moodboard: Cander moodboard 🫶 by zeroandvoid (Xander/Cordelia, worksafe)

Theme set / Headers / Icons: buffy summers tumblr theme set: header image & 2 icon options by strangergraphics (worksafe)

Gifset: Buffy Meme: [1/5 Songs] Goodbye to You - Michelle Branch by lovebvffys (Buffy/Spike, Tara, worksafe)

Gifset: user @kyliafanfiction asked - wesley or lilah The game face? ... by gothamstreetcat (Lilah, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY SUMMERS + braids & pigtails by clarkgriffon (Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: Anya Jenkins + Outfits (Season 7) by clarkgriffon (Anya, worksafe)

Gifset: BUFFY SUMMERS + "love" by clarkgriffon (Buffy, ensemble, Bangel, Spuffy, worksafe)

Cartoon: [Image description: Preview panel for the comic strip at the link below. Willow works at a desk computer...] by paulgadzikowski (worksafe)

Cartoon: [Image description: Preview panel for the comic strip at the link below. Dr. Weir of Stargate: Atlantis and Buffy Summers] by paulgadzikowski (worksafe)

Collage: BUFFY THE FRICKEN VAMPIRE SLAYER EVERYBODEY fashion by soponge-meringue (ensemble, worksafe)

Collage: Collage #56 by thedecadentraven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe-ish)

Collage: Collage #57 by thedecadentraven (worksafe)

Collage: Collage #58 by thedecadentraven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Collage: Collage #59 by thedecadentraven (Spike, worksafe)

Collage: Collage #60 by thedecadentraven (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Collage: Giles and Jenny by sunflower1109 (Giles/Jenny, worksafe)

Collage: Spike and Drusilla ❤️‍🔥 I adored their twisted love by sunflower1109 (Spike/Drusilla, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

Season 3 spoilers- Consequences by five-bi-five

Next Generation [books] by SalRomanoAdMan1

Angel Fashion Part Two by theoverlookedoneedits1997

The Freshman [and Living Conditions and The Harsh Light of Day recap] by mothmans-wedding-photographer

PODCAST: Episode 70: Hero (w/ Dean Jurhs) by Gym Was Cancelled: A Buffy Podcast

[Recs & In Search Of]

ISO: tatirps seeks Spuffy RP partner [roleplay]

Fic Rec and gifset: countdown to iwry 2024 — iwry2023 reader's choice fic: i can't remember by methemermaid recced by iwillrememberyoumarathon

ISO: Past-Throat-6788 seeks Songs About Tara and Willow for a future video edit

ISO: IllusionixCromwell seeks S2 fix-it ideas as part of Writing in a Black Trans Woman as the second Slayer for S2 fanfiction!

ISO: exitstateleft seeks D&D player feedback on Clement for tabletop RPG

[Community Announcements]

Thursday prompts: TV Show Titles by comment_fic

[Fandom Discussions]

[Buffy in The Body] by an-organism

i actually think i dislike wesley's presence on angel more than i dislike xander's presence on buffy at this point. by lesbianmarrow

The thing about Buffy is that it's been thoroughly established that she doesn't do casual sex. by housedyke

it’s sad that faith is in jail and therefore not on my television screen this season but ... by lesbianmarrow

buffy wasn't even trying to fix spike she just made him want to get fixed. accidentally. by mattholicguilt

Ok is it like unpopular opinion in the btvs fandom to think that Cordelia should end up being angel's dom? by ironnorth

[Xander and Anya sex head canon] by dykemarcille

I started writing a fake engagement Buffy/Spike fic to inflict domestic situations on them ... by housedyke

POLL: Vampire Media Guys Round 25: Spike or Riley Finn? by vampirewrestlinglover

POLL: Vampire boss battle: who would win? [Spike] by glorf1ndel

POLL: AO3 Femslash Top 100: Round 2 [Willow x Tara] by ao3femslashtop100-tournament

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New Wave Buffy Funko Pops by Priceless and flow

Favorite Buffy cast member guest roles by ALeaves1013

[Angel and Spike accent talk] by Scopeburger

Chicago’s Getting an Official ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ Pop-Up [temporary Buffy themed bar restaurant] by Bwleon7

Cross Necklace [Buffy wearing it in the show changes over time] by Expert_Restaurant985

Chappel Roan [songs] in Buffyverse by The-Graceful-Demon

Xander's lecture about Riley by NecessaryClothes9076

To This Day, Buffy's opening is one of the best on TV [credits and first scene both discussed in comments] by Cailly_Brard7

Who owns the licence to Buffy Comics now? by justagreatdane

Buffy had a rare opportunity to retire and live a normal life. Was Giles irresponsible for not pointing this out? by iceswordsman

Where can you buy the new buffy funko pop figures? [link in comments] by sleepycow13

Angel is not it by hotandfrightened

Order of Taraka Police and Inmate [that tried to kill Buffy and Faith played by] same person? by Practical_Scale8071

Couplet: Angel vs Wesley by foreseethefuture

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Juliet Landau on X: "This has never been done before! Photo Op with the Terrible Trio!" [Angel, Dru, Darla]

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[otakween]

Digimon Frontier - Volume 3

Happy to be wrapping up this bland, cash-grab manhua adaptation. Will digimon ever get a good manga? (Okay, that standalone one was decent...)

Ch. 15

I'm not sure where they got "Kerpymon" for the dub/this manhua, what the hell is a "kerpy?" Then again they don't really look like a cherub either so the naming sense here is questionable all around.

And suddenly they decided to call it "evolution" instead of "revolution" at the last minute...I can't

Ch. 16

And now Takuya is using Izumi's attacks somehow...

Sorry I just keep talking about the bad translation, but there's not much else to remark on if I'm honest. I got all my commentary out when discussing the anime. This is just a rehash.

Ch. 17

I think they actually forgot to explain why the rest of the gang isn't fighting alongside Takuya and Koji lol. Also, there was a panel of everyone screaming as if they were all fighting? Oh well...guess they were just cheering very loud lol

Going through all of the arcs again is making it really sink in how weak Frontier's writing was. If I had to pick 'best arc" I would probably say the Duskmon arc is the strongest. The villain warriors had cool designs but overall weren't super interesting. The Royal Knights arc is just repetitive as hell, so I'm gonna call that "worst arc."

Ch. 18

I think I'll actually be able to appreciate this part of the adaptation. They're gonna speed run the Royal Knights arc which is much better than the super redundant anime.

The panel composition was really nice in this chapter, I especially liked the part where it showed the Royal Knights stealing all the digicode from different parts of the digital world (represented by a globe cut into 4 with them zipping around it).

Ch. 19

Damn, they went through the Royal Knights stuff so fast that we didn't learn a single thing about them. Just...zero character traits. I know I just said that a speed run would be a plus, but that was even quicker than I thought!

The double page spread of Susanoomon was great and Lucemon FD Mode is looking super anime accurate (a challenging design to replicate, so kudos).

Ch. 20

Ah, it was nice not being forced to stare at Lucemon Satan Mode's butt for 5 minutes straight. I actually found his transition from Fall Down Mode to be a lot easier to follow in manhua form too.

Ch. 21

Lol Frontier's ending is so rushed and cheesy. Izumi's character arc ending with "and now I'm more cheerful!" is so lame.

I feel the same emptiness as I did with the other manhua adaptations. They're okay to look at...and that's about it. Done!

[feekins]

not too much translation weirdness to comment on this time! but here's that and my thoughts and things as I re-read ch 4 of Trigun Maximum vol 5 😁

(NOTE: I'm reading the Dark Horse [physical] and the Overhaul [online] translations side-by-side)

Dark Horse translates the first page of this chapter as "And so, the legend is told...of a blond man standing atop a mountain of rubble." meanwhile, the Overhaul translates it as "And so the story is passed on through the ages...about a blond-haired man who still lingered among the mountains of rubble."

something I noticed in the memories Meryl sees - gun on the last panel of one page, and on the next, what looks like the same gun aligned with the angel arm 🥺

also...I said in my post about the previous chapter that I'd realized that all those ppl who disappeared in the destruction of July were sucked into Vash's gate. I didn't include the 2-page spread of it bc I was at the images-per-post limit - but that last panel up there? matches how you see ppl being sucked upward in towards the end of ch 3.

...come to think of it, it's kinda weird how ppl were pulled TOWARD the source of what wrecked July instead of being blown AWAY from it...

similarly, when Hoppered set us up the bomb off those bombs, we see this ball of light engulf the falling debris...

...and the next day, no rubble.

(Dark Horse on top, Overhaul on bottom)

SWALLOWED!!! UP!!!!!!!! ��

(Dark Horse on left, Overhaul on right)

Dark Horse taking out the more genocide-y language here, and I think maybe that bit about lips could've been a more literal translation 🤔

oh Overhaul, how ilu for these expanded explanations/additional tidbits of info!!!!

[kelluinox]

More MHA 407 thoughts

OK I saw interesting theories about ch 407

So I was right about the unreliable narration. This chapter is most likely from Afo's POV. And of course Afo is not going to be completely honest about his childhood. He's not a man who will admit to his own humanity, his own weakness, his true feelings on the matter and will frame his trauma in a way that makes it easier for him to cope with it. The evidence for all this is Tomura's backstory where Tomura said he felt "joy" when he killed his father (which is clearly untrue) and also Dabi's retelling of his story about how Endeavor abandoned him (which is how it felt to Dabi) when in reality Endeavor was trying to protect him after finding out how Dabi's quirk burned him.

This unreliable narration by Afo can be seen in several key details:

1) it's impossible for a child to be born conceited and we see just how violent life was on the street for Afo. There were people coming after groups with meta abilities and the world was in a state of chaos at that time as quirks were only starting to emerge and were not accepted by society. So Afo had to keep defending himself from a very young age until violence was second nature to him

2) child Yoichi is always drawn better dressed and fed than Afo. Like we see a panel of Yoichi in pants and a shirt and Afo is just wearing a blanket or something and we can see Afo's ribs, showing us just how thin he is

3) Yoichi in the panel above already looks beat up before Afo kicks him. It is possible that Afo retaliated against the guys Yoichi tried to stop him from hurting because they had picked on Yoichi. Meaning Afo was defending his brother. But of course, we can't be sure because Afo is insistent on telling this story in a way to make sure we don't sympathize with him. Making us feel sympathetic to him undermines his idea that he is "pure evil". Our sympathy makes him human. And admitting his own humanity is the last thing Afo wants.

4) Then there's a panel of Afo sitting side by side with Yoichi, showing a very brotherly moment between them

And here there is a focus on how the evil demon king had followers, people around him. Something Afo immediately latched onto.

Afo is clearly desperate for human connection, is desperate for love, attention and mass adoration. He was an orphan growing up all alone on the streets, surrounded by constant violence with nobody else but his brother to accompany and support him - of course he's going to be possessive of the only close person he has in his life, and won't be so willing to be separated from him.

Afo was rejected by society from the start for his meta ability, forced to kill. When in reality he probably just wanted what all humans want in their lives - to be accepted, needed and loved. That's human nature. That's, again, why he latched onto the demon king as the demon king was drawn surrounded by people in the comic. Afo wants to be surrounded by people as well. It's why he killed Luminescent baby. He was jealous that the guy got the attention and love and recognition that Afo never did. Afo wanted that mass following for himself

Afo was so dependent on Yoichi that he fell to toxic ways to keep the only human connection he had. And when Yoichi abandoned him, like everyone else in Afo's life, Afo lashed out in anger and killed him because the emotional pain of being left by this one person who was always there for him was too much for him to handle, we even see him crying afterwards while killing the second user.

And of course all this is covered up by Afo telling the story in a dehumanizing way, describing himself as "being born evil" and also dismissing how the constant violence growing up shaped and influenced him, normalizing cruelty for him

Afo probably also harbors a lot of self hatred if he describes himself as "draining his mom's life force away". He blames himself for her death but also doesn't want to acknowledge it and so explains it away with "I was born evil"

Afo covers everything up with "I was born evil". That way he doesn't have to face his own humanity - he's just evil. Evil has no emotions. Evil doesn't carry any responsibility for its actions. Evil is just evil. Evil is his nature and that's it so he doesn't have to feel any pain or guilt for what he does

Another thought here is that being a demon king would get Afo everything he wants, all the attention in the world without struggle

While being a hero means suffering for the sake of people who aren't grateful

Afo hates All Might because All Might turned that idea on its head. All Might made it so heroes were loved and adored and surrounded by attention from the masses while villains were feared and hated. Destroying this dream Afo had of being worshipped and needed by everyone by being the evil demon king.

Furthermore, Afo hates all the OFA users because they carry his brother's quirk and spirit inside them and due to his toxic upbringing and relationship Afo views his brother as "his", his "property", the only one who has any "right" to his brother, and he hates them for "stealing" his brother away. OFA is his brother's remnant, Afo wants it back.

Also I want to mention the parallels between Afo and Bakugo

Bakugo was born with a powerful quirk and worshipped by everyone around him for it and developed a "might makes right" mentality

Afo was born with a powerful quirk but feared and hated by everyone and that rejection developed a "might makes right" mentality

Bakugo eventually realized he was wrong and apologized

Afo never did and never wants to. He doesn't want to be human because of all the pain that being human entails

[tickldpnk8]

Season of Mists Reread Ch. 6

So I'm currently rereading Season of Mists and blogging about the clues I'm seeing. You can see the previous posts here:

Prologue/Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 Bonus: At Death's Door

But on with this latest analysis! At this point, the story is starting to wrap up, and we get the showdown between Morpheus and Azazel. I saw an excellent post on the showdown itself, so I won't go into all that here. But as I read through things looking for clues to the nature of Dream and also foreshadowing, I did spot a few.

On Dream

For one, it's confirmed that Morpheus/Dream doesn't sleep:

He's a bit of a hoarder who likes to store things in his personal pirate chest. The contents of this were also discussed on that Azazel-battle thread, so I won't go into it just yet.

And we see a bit more of how different folks' perceptions of his aspect works as he rescues Nada. In the panels right before this mouth opens, we see the Morpheus we're all familiar with. As soon as Nada can see him, he changes into Kai'kul. And then he's back to his "usual" appearance once she's safe and he's out of her line of sight. I think this is mostly for our benefit as we can only see one drawing of him at a time. But I would now hazard a guess that to all the dignitaries gathered in his throne room, they would each see him as they might have seen him when they are alone. (But who would Bast see?) I think we default to the Reader's perspective of his aspect unless only one other character is viewing him who might have a different perspective. (since we are a character in the story)

On Dream's relationship to his realm

We learn that aside from controlling the weather of the Dreaming, he has complete control over whether it's day or night. If you were wondering how he possibly met with everyone in such a short time, it's because he didn't let the sun rise.

This fancy ceiling room that has been discussed at length is apparently also his throne room?? Or did he move it here from where it was the night before for convenience? In any case, things shifted. The throne now seems simpler than the last we saw it with the Egyptian motifs, but the green drapes remain. His dais is still close to the ground as it was the night before, but much lower than in previous story arcs/issues.

And his castle sits at the Heart of the Dreaming. It is not only his home, but his place of power. He has complete control over reality: "It is what I wish it to be – no more, no less."

On the Plot

Now let's look at the clues to the over-arching plot of the whole Sandman run. I found a few of interest that I didn't notice before.

Aside from Loki seemingly distraught to be leaving at the end and trying to get away from Thor, we get this one small detail within the title page spread that I totally missed the first time:

Meanwhile, Nuala overhears Merlin commenting on the Greek gods not coming. I think this works as a story point on 2 levels: I suspect it ties into larger DC continuity knowing that Wonder Woman's comics regularly show them. But it also works in isolation since it seems they don't tend to get on well with Morpheus from what we've seen of the Calliope story. Or it might just be setting the stage for that relationship if I'm misremembering when we learn things from my first read-through.

And then finally we have that pirate trunk panel mentioned above. I'll add it here again for reference:

In it, we've got the Corinthian's skull, Ornament-Azazel, a ring, another ornament-like bulb (or is it a grenade?? hard to tell), a leather book that is buckled shut, a city in a glass bottle, a penny, and 2 canisters in the background. It'll be interesting to see which of these comes up again. Corinthian we know about. I already know now what the bottle represents, but am wondering if/when I've seen the others.

And that's that! I'd like to do another wrap-up post on the ceiling and once I get to the end of Season of Mists, I'm tempted to do a master post on all the changes Morpheus' castle goes through in just these issues alone. Lots to dissect here. :D

[7ban-sama]

Heyy ;) JSHK is heartbreaking isn’t it? As for me I cried 4 times over the manga (which is a miracle because I NEVER CRY THAT MUCH IN A SERIES), sooo have you cried over some chapters?

Oh I've cried soo many times for this series, it's kind of hard to count. Though I can't say it's a rare or uncommon thing for me... I'm honestly quick to cry over the littlest things. 9.9; So it's not surprising for me, that I've cried multiple times. I get choked up easily too... ah, I'm very emotional, and just tend to respond to 'emotional cues' easily. If the movie is playing sad music, and wants me to be sad, I will be sad... I can't really resist that.

But while it's not hard to get me to cry, I will say that JSHK is unique in that, I think it makes me feel a very deep sense of agony... Since making me cry is very easy to do, I don't think of it as an actual testament to whether or not the scene was good, or well written, and I can shake it off and just move on easily enough. It's different when the sadness feels like it sinks into my bones... makes me writhe and twist... And ah, sometimes it just flat out stings more, instead of just making me weepy — hurting my jaw, throat, palms...

I'll list some specific chapters... I think I'll also break it up between things that made me cry on first read vs. rereads.

yosh... ikimashou!

FIRST READ

Vol 1 / Ch 1: Hanako-san of the Bathroom

This is actually more of an 'honorable mention', since I wasn't full blown weeping or anything. But I had a lump in my throat and got wet-eyed over it, which feels notable, just starting off.

I remember being really surprised that we get into Nene's head like this... I wasn't expecting it-? It feels very brutal, honestly, to watch her reflect on her shallowness like this. Having to realize this 'crush' was more of a self-serving fantasy, than anything, and she wasn't really thinking about who Teru was as a person... This is a foible I think many people go through, more than they're willing to admit. More than they can even recognize...? So it was pretty surprising to see it laid out like this, at the start of the manga. A premonition of what was to come... (this manga surprising me again and again!)

Vol 2 / Ch 7: The Misaki Stairs (Part 4)

Now this... is a testament to how 'contained' a narrative can be, yet how much I can be enveloped in the feelings of it. I think Yako isn't a very central character, and I don't especially favor her or anything, but I like her introduction. I like her circumstance...

The childish writing of young Yako, who seems very new to the world, and unused to deep interaction with humans. I honestly love this sort of 'interspecies' relationship... along with age gap (lol) ; it provides a contrast I enjoy. I like that Yako is being taught how to read and write by Misaki... simply tasteful. Praise to Iro-sensei.

I feel my heart sink, alongside Nene's, once we get to these entries...

And by the time we get to the yorishiro memory itself, I can't help crying. I cry a little almost every time I really immerse into reading these chapters... The Yako who is hunched over, saying, I want Misaki to yell at me again really gives me chills... I understand what she is feeling here. Wanting your love back at all costs... ahhh. :'I

Vol 4 / Ch 4: The Little Mermaid (Part 2)

a small, choked up feeling, a small cry. but a cry nonetheless... the visual of their pinkie promise gets to me. Nene's sparkly eyes... for this whole scene, her horns are droopy because of being wet, and it gives her an innocent quality. like a dumbo rat... baby girl

Vol 12 / Ch 58: The End of a Dream (Part 3)

the closing chapter of the PP arc... an arc lasting several volumes, sending one through a roller-coaster of emotions-!! my first read of PP made my heart race, doki doki. I was actually mostly psyched up by it, very excited by the events. Not so weepy. Buut, it's only appropriate that the closing chapter is what gets to me.

this panel honestly shakes me to my core. knowing that Tsukasa is metaphorically the moon... and that Nene is the one saying this... something about it feels like an omen. I think it's a good omen, and yet, it frightens me deeply anyways. I feel like I have great reason to be afraid lol... like, oh, god, the moon IS closer than it's ever been, isn't it... (dread)

ugh, trying to not post every panel from this scene... but Nene is so pristine and angelic and well meaning in this all. her end of it is SO SINCERE... up here, in the clouds together, whirling all about... declaring her dreams... sigh. It's not fair it's like this all loads into a gun to hurt her for the Severance...

(I feel like it's around here that I really am falling for her, as a character... *sigh* *touches screen...*)

Vol 17 / Ch 81: The Red House (Part 6)

I'm sure this isn't a surprise by now, but, yeah... this one really tore me apart. by this point, my feefees for Tsukasa had incubated long enough that it was really devastating to learn so much about his child psyche. (it's getting so real for my crushes on the girlies by now.)

it's devastating that Tsukasa is capable of feeling this. meanwhile, earlier... this scene.

it always hurts to get to the confrontation... it never stops hurting. it'll hurt forever, I'm sure.

I've also struggled with chronic illness and disability as well. so... ah, I understand what Amane is going through here, profoundly. At your gd limit... just, can't keep doing this... yeah

would you believe that my wife would lick my tears, early in our relationship...? I was once a very miserable, depressed, lonely person. I used to think no one would ever love me, and that I cried so often it was annoying. At times, when overwhelmed by our early interactions (they were so amazing, and I felt so lowly and undeserving) I would just break down. she'd just kiss and lick my tears and eyes...

In general I just have a lot of personal reasons to be sentimental about the gestures / dialogue throughout this chapter.

a panel for the ages... cementing Tsukasa's role as an angelic, wish-granter. I LOVE YOU BAYBEEEE-!! love you forever.

Vol 18 / Ch 89: Oni (Part 2)

Now, let it be known... I love.... LOVE-!! Everything about Hakubo and Sumire's story... I feel so much for each of them, their circumstance, it's soo painful! I pretty much always feel the 'drop' as I read these chapters, but this is the one that got me upon first seeing it.

it's the helplessness of Hakubo... the way he just doesn't know what to do, the way his inhumane treatment by humans has made him never consider that he can love, the way he can't make decisions on his own. He wishes to be commanded... it's all he knows. Why won't she just tell me to save her...?

The way he describes not feeling anger, sadness, or hatred / alongside the panels of him getting hunted down by humans… Only left with the sense of regret that he should have done something for her, that night. Ahh... it's incredibly beautiful and painful... thank you AidaIro for this perfect blend of beautiful visuals and painful prose </3...

Vol 20 / Ch 101: Omen (Part 1)

For our final entry in this category, it's a record breaker. the mere sight of this living Tsukasa made tears well up in my eyes.

it's too much for me… this specific age of Tsukasa, in canon, has been so elusive and rare. We've only had a peek at him through a Hell of Mirrors illust. and that is still his corpse... the LIVING, breathing, pre-shinjuu boy, is divine to be met with. I really couldn't believe we could see him now.

now that I know he is singing 'Over the Rainbow', there's no saving meeee...

REREADS

Vol 2 / Ch 8: The Confession Tree

ok. this is one of those things where, I know I'm not gonna make a lot of sense as I explain... since this is a raw, kinnie-brain thing, but my disclaimer is that i'm self aware about how unreasonable this is-!! ok.

when I first read through this chapter, I was still in my 'getting to know her' phase, with Nene... thus, I was endeared by her romantic heart, but wasn't (for lack of a better term) in love with her. I think I experienced this chapter more like 'an audience member'.

after coming to terms with Being Amane... this chapter is very difficult for me. It's gone from me feeling like an audience member, to feeling like an active participant — like, responsible for hurting her.

I failed such an innocent girlie. it is hard to cope with. sometimes I feel like she should never forgive me for this...

metatextually, it's like, when I was first reading this manga, I didn't think I would care so much about her / much like, I think Amane is not aware at all how much he is going to be heaving and crying over his feelings for Nene, so many volumes later... We don't know how special this girl is, yet.

I've cried over this scene and have fallen into a terrible depression for like, weeks, over it, LOL.. these things, you just have to take my word for it, that it's part of being Amane. It's hard to forgive your own carelessness.

Vol 9 / Ch 45: Picture Perfect (Part 5)

oooh. what can be said... it both makes me emotional that Tsukasa looks so lovely here / and that Tsukasa is allowed to have full page spreads, as the focal point...

having just dropped the telescope. stiff-legged, shirt billowing... she is a captivating specimen.

dazzling... gorgeous... and so earnestly experiencing the pretty sky, the shooting stars — eagerly turning to amane to announce this! ahh... that after all these years, tsukasa can have a moment like this with amane... hurts me so.

Vol 10 / Ch 50: Picture Perfect (Part 10)

my first reads of PP felt thrilling... I was so excited to see how far this manga could go. and for an arc to last so long, it was very captivating. I suppose though, this is another one of those things that has steadily weighed heavier on me as I connected more and more with Amane.

The expression here... it's the weight of everything coming crashing down on him, in real time, I think. Again, he was not... prepared for how much Nene was going to mean to him. He's spent so long not caring about who lives, dies. He's becoming unraveled by this all...

and this framing of Nene... it twists a knife in my heart. combined with how it echoes the way Amane is starstruck from Tsukasa in the earlier chapter... sighhhh!

Vol 11 / Ch 51: Perfect Empty Ideals

It just hurts so mmmbad-!!! man I can't be deep about it all, this just makes me SAD-!!!!!! I LOVE YOU GIRL!!! SORRY ABOUT EVERYTHING.

Vol 14 / Ch 66: Sumire (Part 1)

After learning everything about Hakubo and Sumire's lives, this vignette is very heart-wrenching. This is the cave they took refuge from the rain, once, that their final moments are then in.

Such a beautiful ship... such beautiful drawings... again thank you AidaIro-sensei...

Vol 16 / Ch 78: The Red House (Part 3)

This chapter was of course VERY PAINFUL!! when I first read it, but I think by now it's settled into my gut heavier than ever before. And basically all of the Red House arc scenes related to the Yugi rend me apart... I can't push the image limit any more in this post though, so I'll just represent it with this. But just know all of it makes me roll around in my grave...

What could Tsukasa have felt in this moment, learning about Amane's imminent death... Knowing how much Tsukasa loves Amane, I think a future without him was just pointless. I get the impression he was spending all his time running off and procuring Amane presents, now that Amane has become too sick to play with him.

Sometimes I'm in such awe, still, that we learned Tsukasa would come to Amane's bedside and provide him little gifts. As much as his little 3 year old self was capable of... and, he's capable of feeling lowly/worthless, and like Amane hates him… urgh-!! *commits seppuku*

Anyways I hope this list... well, conveys that I'm emotional and unstable LOL... (nah, but really, I hope it was interesting!) Here's to more crying over this manga, again and again!

[yuugami-tan]

I posted 17,810 times in 2022

That's 71 more posts than 2021!

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I tagged 6,436 of my posts in 2022

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Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i woke up in the back seat of a car with an old friend from high school driving，someone i don't remember next to me，and.........hoo hang on

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

changed my home screen to these panels from last week's chapter 😌

10 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#4

SCREAMING YELLING OVER TOKREV CH 239

MITSUYA I'M LOVE YOU SO MUCH

HE LOVES HIS FRIENDS SO MUCH...............draken r u seeing this shit man i KNOW you'd be proud and annoyed at the same time

See the full post

14 notes - Posted January 25, 2022

#3

not to brag but

you wish you were me. you literally wish you were me

17 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#2

an objection.lol in which apollo bullies sebastian

19 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

19 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[levi-venn]

The First Toothpick

Chapter Six: Oh, He's Much Worse...

Characters: Cad Bane, Crosshair, Tech (Flashbacks), Hunter (Flashbacks), Wrecker (Flashbacks)

Gen Fic - Mentor/Protege

Summary: Cad Bane teaches Crosshair how to be a sniper. The kid picks up some other habits as a result.

Chapter Summary: When Crosshair finds Bane outnumbered, he disobeys orders to protect his mentor.

Read the previous chapters here:

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Also Available on AO3

Crosshair bolted past the spring-loaded mirrored panels breaching the wheat field like glassy-eyed sea snakes. There was no pattern to the way the panels appeared, and in the month he had trained here, they never popped out of the same place twice.

But he didn’t have time to think about that…or anything else.

Not with Bane watching him in the bell tower, the Duros's blaster fire hot on Crosshair's heels, searing past his ankles, his legs, and sometimes his ears if he stopped moving entirely.

Three panels suddenly burst around him, and Crosshair leapt forward, missing the bolt flying past his back. He fired his rifle three times. 

He hit two targets. 

He missed the third target by a mile.

A month ago, Crosshair would have frozen up over a miss like that, but then again, Bane wasn’t firing live blaster bolts at him before a month ago.

Crosshair dropped into a backward roll, hopped to his feet, and fired again.

Perfect bullseye.

I did it! I-

He ducked as a bolt sizzled over his head.

He kept running. 

Run. Dodge. Roll. Fire. Miss. Run! Dodge. Fire. Hit!

The exercise lasted all day, every day, and his accuracy soared to the low nineties as of this week. Bane told Crosshair to ignore the “damn numbers”, but Todo still snuck him the statistics after every session. 

Yesterday it was ninety-two percent. Today, felt like-

The panels suddenly vanished.  Crosshair skidded to a halt.  He stood in the middle of the field, his lungs on fire, sweat trickling down his back, muscles coiled, ready for the next challenge.

But no panels came.

Crosshair looked up at the bell tower and pulled his comm out. “I can continue,” Crosshair panted, trying (and failing) not to overanalyze the sudden end to his training.

Did I miss too many targets today? Has he given up on me? 

“Get inside,” Bane said, through the comms.

Crosshair’s heart dropped. 

Ninety-two isn’t good enough. I knew it. It’s not enough.

“I can do better.”

He saw the glow of Bane’s eyes glare at him from the bell tower. “Dank farrik, kid, you did great. Now get inside, now .”

Great? Crosshair thought, looking around the field as if expecting Bane to talk to anyone but him. He's never called me "great" before. Was I really-

A blaster bolt shot just past his pant leg, the fabric sizzling noisily. 

With an angry hiss, Crosshair ran inside the house.

The false wall within the fireplace slid open and Bane leapt down from the bell tower, firing his boot thrusters to cushion his landing. He pushed past Crosshair and pulled out his monoculars, looking at something past the field Crosshair couldn’t see.

Crosshair tried to stand beside Bane, but Bane  grabbed the top of his head and pushed him back. “Get upstairs.”

With a snarl of protest, Crosshair instead moved to the bay window beside the front door. He aimed his scope through the curtain, searching the field. 

Todo into the house from the back door. “Mr. Bane! Skatter is here.”

“I see that.”

Crosshair didn’t see…wait…there was a speeder in the distance ignoring the winding roads and cutting directly through the expansive wheat field. 

Todo floated beside Bane, his little hands on his blocky hips. “I don’t suppose he’s forgiven you for stealing his contracts from the Hutts.”

“Didn’t steal ‘em,” Bane said, tucking the monoculars away and leaning in the doorway. “They were Jango’s contracts to give away. Not my fault Skatter didn’t earn ‘em like I did.”

“Mmm…” Todo hummed. “I don’t think he saw it that way.”

“Move the Fabools to the storm cellar, then hide out of sight in the field. Be ready to fight if it comes to that.”

“Finally, a little excitement,” Todo said, cheerfully and flew off. 

Crosshair could see the speeder better now. There were four weequays in the back of the speeder and a dowutin driving, taking up the entire front seat. 

They all looked mean, and much bigger than Bane.

“You,” Bane snapped. “Go upstairs and stay in your room.”

Crosshair blinked. “But there’s five of them. You need backup-”

“I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’. Now git.”

Crosshair held Bane’s gaze defiantly for a few seconds, before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and making a show of walking upstairs, his boot falls heavy and noisy. As soon as Bane went outside, however, Crosshair slid silently down the bannister and back to the bay window, peeking through the curtain.

Bane walked to the edge of the porch platform, leaning against one of the columns, pulling back his duster to reveal a pair of LL-30 blaster pistols at his hips. The brim of his hat was low, but Crosshair glimpsed a small, fearless smirk baring sharp, white fangs.

Crosshair didn't have fangs, but he curled his lip up all the same, checking his reflection against Bane's perfect sneer. He would try the expression when he got home. A Bane-quality sneer would definitely scare the shit out of the Regs.

Bane produced a toothpick from the pouch on his belt and set it casually between his teeth, resting his hands on his belt buckle as if he was getting ready to watch a sunset. 

Crosshair could mimic the sneer, and even fished his own wheat stalk toothpick from his pocket, but he didn’t feel Bane’s ease. He was a coiled spring, his heart pounding and palms sweaty. There were five mercenaries and one Bane by himself on the porch. He didn’t like the odds.

The speeder burned through the wheat field leaving a stinking trail of burnt grass and exhaust fumes in its wake. It slid to a halt in front of the porch and the dowutin climbed out, his duster dragging heavily behind him, weighed down by half-hidden weapons, detonators, and blades.

Crosshair had never seen a dowutin in person, but his Humanoid Studies Class didn’t prepare him for how large one was in person. Bane was on the top step of the elevated porch and the dowutin still towered over him. He was built like a carbonite tank, muscled arms and legs that were round like barrels, and a pair of blunt tusks protruded from his chin like a pair of ball hammers. There was a black lightning bolt tattooed over the dowutin's left eye.

“Well lookee here, boys,” the dowutin snickered. “It’s little Caddy, lookin’ all big n’ tough on his boss’s ranch.”

Bane tilted the brim of his hat up, his glowing red eyes boring into Skatter, though that sneer remained on his face. “You’ve been gone a long time, Skatter, so maybe you ain’t up on current events. This ranch belongs to me n’ the name’s Bane, now.”

“Ohh, I heard all about your name. Cad Bane. Real cute. You think that makes you a real merc?”

Crosshair’s teeth clenched in anger. No one talked to Bane like that. 

“You don’t get to talk to my brother like that, reg” Crosshair snarled, standing in front of Wrecker who was still kneeling over his broken tooka doll. “Back off.”

Both cadets laughed. “Ohh, look, Wrench! Another ‘Defective’. This one’s barely got a voice.”

“Sounds like a leaky faucet to me, Gutter,” Wrench laughed.

“They hurt Lula, Crosshair,” Wrecker whimpered, cradling the tooka’s head in his large hands. 

“That’s what you get for snoopin’ around our mess hall,” Gutter said.

“Yeah! This mess hall’s for real clones,” Wrench said, “not broken tube rejects,” 

“I said back off, regs” Crosshair’s fists clenched, “Final warning.”

Wrench stepped forward. “And I said, you’re defective.”

“Defective…” Crosshair sneered, his fists relaxing. ���...but effective.”

He threw his forehead forward, hearing a satisfying crunch as he hit Wrench on the nose. As the cadet stumbled back, clutching his bleeding face, Crosshair ducked Gutter’s left hook and slammed his shoulder into his sternum, knocking him to the ground.

Wrench yanked Gutter to his feet and the two ran off down the hallway.

Wiping the blood from his forehead, Crosshair knelt beside Wrecker. “You good?”

Though his good eye was round and glassy with tears, Wrecker was still smiling ear-to-ear. “Hehehe, I liked that! We’re defective and effective!”

Crosshair smirked. “Well, I was at least. Next time, feel free to jump in.”

“I couldn’t leave Lula!” Wrecker sniffled. “She’s still broken.”

“Ugh, that stupid doll,” Crosshair sighed. “Come with me. Tech has a sewing kit.”

Crosshair waited for Bane to take a swing. To pull a blaster. To answer that insult with violence.

Instead, Bane sounded almost bored. “Nah, I let the bounties I collect for the Hutts do the talkin’ for me.”

The words seemed to hit Skatter harder than any headbutt. 

“Those were my contracts and you know it,” Skatter said, face going red, his lip curling higher than Crosshair could mimic. Then suddenly, the duwotin’s expression eased into a too-nice smile. “But hey, that’s all water under the walkway. Listen, me n’ the boys gotta lay low for a few days. We uh…had a lil disagreement with the authorities down South. You don’t mind us stayin' here, do ya? Only eight of us.”

Over my dead body, Crosshair said, rechecking his menacing lip curl in the reflective mirror.

Good, still looks fearsome. 

“Just eight huh? Don't y'all call yourself the Feisty Fourteen?”

“Fearless Fifteen,” Skatter growled.

“In any case, I can’t help ya. We’re full up here.”

“Funny, Caddy, last I heard you work alone except for that bucket of bolts that follows you around. Maybe we can be of some used to ya. Notice that lil enclosure behind the house. What's behind that curtain, huh? It ain't fabools is it? Cuz y'know, me n' the boys could look after them while we stay here.”

“Only thing in that enclosure are my collection of weequay heads that ask too many questions,” Bane said, giving the weequays in the speeder a little wink.

The weequays glared murderously from the back seat, their hands twitching near their blasters as if one wrong move meant a hail of blaster bolts aimed at Bane. 

Kriff that, Crosshair thought. I won’t let them hurt him. 

Bane may not be his brother, but he was Crosshair’s…someone. It didn’t matter that Bane was getting paid to do train him, he helped Crosshair find his confidence and that meant something. Even when Lt. Pynk gave up on him, even when Crosshair gave up on himself, Bane never stopped believing in what he could do. Bane may not know it yet, but he just earned Crosshair’s loyalty for life.

Crosshair slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked boldly out of the front door. 

“Cross, get out of here.” Hunter panted, clutching his leg. 

“Not gonna happen,” Crosshair said, grabbing Hunter’s blaster off the ground and taking cover the barrier. He pressed the blaster into Hunter’s hand and the two of them took down the second wave of training droids together.

“I just bruised my ankle,” Hunter grimaced. 

“I saw you fall off the platform. It’s fractured and you know it,” Crosshair said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

Crosshair glared at Hunter. "Don't lie to me.”

Hunter held that glare for half a second, then dropped his gaze. “I think I broke my wrist, too.”

Crosshair turned around and patted his own back. “Climb on. I’m carrying you out of here.”

“Like hell you are. You have to focus on your scores. Pynk said-”

“Fuck my scores. We don’t leave our own behind. Even when they’re being idiots.”

The next wave of clankers started their approach towards the barricade. "Either climb on or I stun you and fireman carry you out of here. I prefer not to haul dead weight,” Crosshair looked back with a cheeky grin, “but it’s your choice.”

Hunter chose to wrap his good arm around Crosshair. “Thank you,” Hunter mumbled.

“Shut up,” Crosshair snipped, and fired wildly behind him as he ran to the next checkpoint, trying to ignore his score plummeting on the holoboard overhead.

“I’m done talkin’, Skatter,” Bane said, pulling out the toothpick and flicking it at the dowutin. It bounced off his broad chest and disappeared into the grass. “If I were you, I’d skedaddle before you say somethin’ you n’ yer boys’ll regret.” 

As Crosshair walked out of the house, he realized Bane was already leaning against one of the porch pillars looking badass. There wasn't another spot to lean and look equally as menacing. So, Crosshair decided to stand in the center of the porch, arms folded, a piece of grass between his teeth and executing a perfectly threatening sneer. 

Bane didn’t seem to notice his arrival, but Skatter’s beady black eyes zeroed in on him with laser focus. Crosshair had hoped his appearance would make the dowutin think twice before messing with this ranch…

…but Skatter just sneered right back.

“Huh…well, ain’t that interestin’...”

Bane’s head shifted ever so slightly to cast his scarlet gaze at Crosshair.

“Didn’t know you were a family man now, Caddy. Be a real shame if we made some violence in front of yer son. He could get hurt.”

Son…?

Crosshair was no one’s son. Clones didn’t have parents and all they needed was a trainer and the brothers in their squad. Still, Crosshair understood the concept, and when he thought of a "son", he imagined still images from his old picture books. Boys riding on their father’s shoulders, being taught how to shoot a blaster, how to shave, how to be strong and brave and…and all that kraytshit.

Bane did give me a new blaster rifle. And I feel stronger around him.

…I feel braver, too. 

He’d probably say no to a piggyback ride, though.

Crosshair waited for Bane to correct Skatter. 

Instead, Bane wore an easy smile. “The kid’s gotta learn sometime. Might as well take the trainin’ wheels off now.”

The duwotin didn’t respond. 

No one moved.

The weequays looked from Skatter to Bane and back again.

Crosshair didn't breathe. 

Skatter laughed suddenly. “Now, now, ain’t no need for that today. C’mon, boys, let’s leave this little family to their business. Sorry for disturbin’ ya, Caddy. No hard feelin's.” He looked directly at Crosshair and gave him a little wink. “I’ll see y’all real soon, though.”

And with that, Skatter hopped back into the speeder and tore out of the golden field, leaving oily black smoke behind.

Bane whirled around, the leather of his duster snapping angrily. “I told you to stay inside.”

Crosshair took a step back, the wheat wiggling loosely in his lips as he spoke. “You needed backup.”

Bane snatched the “toothpick” out of Crosshair’s mouth and pointed it at him. “How exactly were ya gonna do that, huh? Your rifle’s on your shoulder. You’re standing in the middle of the damn porch like a sittin’ porg. You think Skatter and his boys are gonna wait for you to find cover and line up a shot?" he threw Crosshair's toothpick into the grass. "What were ya thinkin’?”

An icy devastation froze Crosshair’s nerves. 

“I thought…” Tears stung his eyes, his voice went quiet. “...I was your backup."

He said I was doing great…I failed him. 

“Shit, kid,” Bane sighed. He knelt down to Crosshair's level. From this close, Bane’s pupiless eyes, while still unrelenting blood red pools, were far from emotionless. “You saw me outnumbered and you wanted to help, I get that, but Skatter’s ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle on my own. Besides, this ain’t your fight.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Tech said, dabbing the cut over his own eyebrow with a bacta swab. 

“Your fight is always my fight,” Crosshair said, pulling out a bandage from the first aid kit.

“I have other goggles.”

“But you liked those goggles,” Crosshair insisted, swatting Tech’s hand away from the bandage. “The black straps are softer than the brown and don’t make your head itch.”

“True.” Tech sighed. He remained still while Crosshair fitted the bandage carefully over the cut. “But this is not a fight you can win. These Regs are older and bigger than us. You are as outnumbered as you are out-skilled.”

“I don’t need to win the fight, Tech,” Crosshair shrugged, standing up. “I just need to get your goggles back.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” Tech asked.

Crosshair gave an answer in the form of a snarky salute as he walked backwards out the door.

A half-hour later, Crosshair came back with a bloody grin, Tech’s goggles, and a Reg’s lunchbox filled with Tech’s favorite candy.

“Are those caramel Starsbars? Where did you get them?” Tech asked. He ripped the brown-band goggles off his head and fit his beloved black-band goggles on with a relieved sigh.

“I found them,” Crosshair lied. 

“I find your answer vague…and amusing. Thank you.”

Crosshair was about to say “shut up” like he usually did when his brothers gave him gratitude, but he was cut off by Tech lunging at him, wrapping his arms around Crosshair’s neck.

Crosshair and Tech were often mistaken for twins being close to the same size and stature. Technically, Tech was born second, then Wrecker, then Crosshair. Still, when Tech hugged him, it felt like those moments when Crosshair would hug himself, especially during the scarier lightning storms rattling the windows above his bunk. It may be incorrect, but...Tech was as closest thing to a twin Crosshair had. It was a comfort.

“You can still tell me to shut up if you want,” Tech said, as if knowing what Crosshair was thinking.

Crosshair smirked and hugged his brother back. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Your fight is my fight,” Crosshair said, folding his arms. A charging reek couldn’t move him from this position. Maybe he wasn't a badass mercenary, and maybe he only had a ninety-two percent accuracy rate, and maybe this wasn’t a mess hall fight over stolen goggles, but Crosshair was here for Bane regardless. Loyalty was loyalty, and he wasn’t going to leave one of his own behind.

Bane’s brow ridge furrowed, but it didn’t seem like a frown. “You got some real bent loyalty, if you’re willin’ to defend a bastard like me, but…” he stood up and folded his arms thoughtfully. “...maybe we can make this a real teachin’ moment. How about it, kiddo? Wanna kill some bad guys?”

Crosshair couldn't remember a time he smiled this big. It wasn't close to a Wrecker-sized smile, but it was bright for a storm cloud like him.

“Hell yess,” he hissed, excitedly. 

When Bane smiled it wasn't exactly made of sunshine, either but there was less snark to it than usual. "Atta boy. Now go get Todo. We got a lotta work to do."

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt.9

Word Count: 22.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, tw if u have tokophobia, mentions of rape, murder, extortion, threats, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, flashbacks of blood and gore, nausea, kidnapping

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze, @mavphorias, @babylavendersblog, @burntoutfrogacademic, @sinstae, @certainduckanchor, @ladyackermanisdead, @sh4nn, @milkandstarlight, @lilyadora, @depressedwhore,

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I love this story so much! Each chapter is so fun to write!! The tension, the devastation. Its SO delicious!! So sorry for the late upload, I had a BUNCH of exams last week and a wedding to attend on the weekend so I couldn't just down and write. If I have u tagged here and u want to be removed from future tag lists just shoot me a dm! Enjoy my lovelies ! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

“Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.” You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.10

The towering glass building of the Hunter's Association stood like a beacon in the heart of the city, its sleek, modern architecture gleaming under the afternoon sun. The mirrored panels reflected the sprawling cityscape, a place Xavier once found familiar, even comforting. But now, as he trudged through the automatic doors, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting his face, it all felt foreign. His world had changed. The familiar sound of boots tapping on the pristine marble floors, the usual buzz of hunters and staff moving through the building, and the distant ring of telephones seemed like nothing more than a haze of noise.

His reflection caught in the glass of the lobby—he barely recognized the man staring back at him. His once well-kept appearance was gone, replaced by a man disheveled and weary. His clothes, wrinkled and stained from days on the road, clung awkwardly to his body, the fabric of his jacket creased and dusty. His hair, normally brushed neatly, now hung in messy, unkempt strands over his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and relentless mental strain.

He moved like a ghost through the lobby, ignoring the passing glances from the other hunters and staff who clearly noticed his haggard appearance. They didn’t stop him, though. They knew who he was—Xavier, one of the best hunters in the Hunters Association. An integral part of UNICORNS. He had earned his place here, had earned his own office on the upper floors. But despite his reputation, today he felt like a shell of the man he used to be.

His boots made a heavy thud with each step as he headed directly for the elevator. The metallic doors slid open with a soft chime, and he stepped inside, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him as the doors shut, sealing him away from the noise of the lobby. The elevator began its slow ascent, the soft hum of the machinery doing little to quiet his thoughts. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, his fingers curling around the small, inconspicuous sim card. It was a simple object, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

This is it, he thought. This is what might finally give me the answers I need. The answers I’m terrified to find.

The memory of the last few weeks gnawed at him. Even having escaped the N109 Zone the memories had been a blur of desperation, exhaustion, and haunting questions. Where are you? What happened to you? And why had Skye tried to kill him? The silence, the emptiness he felt without you, was unbearable. But what gnawed at him more than anything was the creeping dread in the back of his mind—the fear that he was already too late.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached his floor, snapping him from his thoughts. The doors slid open, revealing the long, pristine hallway of the upper offices. Xavier wasted no time, his legs moving mechanically as he headed straight for his office. The lights overhead flickered ever so slightly, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor as he walked, his pace quickening with every step.

But before he could reach the safety of his office, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Xavier?”

He froze mid-step, his body tensing involuntarily. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He could already picture her—bright-eyed, curious, and always full of questions.

Sure enough, when he turned, there she was—Tara. Her short brown hair, usually neatly styled, bounced slightly as she hurried toward him, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and concern. She was one of the few coworkers who always made a point of checking in on him, though at times, her bubbly personality felt overwhelming. Today was no exception.

“Xavier!” she called again, picking up her pace. “Oh my God, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in forever! You just disappeared, and everyone’s been asking about you, wondering if you were okay. I thought you might have left like—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could finish. His voice was strained, and though he tried to keep it steady, there was an unmistakable edge of exhaustion in it. “Tara, I’m sorry. I really am. But I need to get to my office. I can’t explain anything right now.”

Tara’s face fell slightly, her eyes scanning his face, her brow furrowing as she took in his disheveled appearance. It was clear she wanted to press further, but something in his tone, or maybe the haunted look in his eyes, stopped her. She shifted awkwardly on her feet, biting her lower lip as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. “I mean…you don’t look so good.”

Xavier forced a small, tight-lipped smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just…I just need some time.”

Before she could say anything more, he nodded to her and brushed past, his heart racing as he made his way down the hall. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when he was this close.

Finally, he reached the door to his office, his sanctuary. His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The familiar scent of ink and printed paper greeted him, a scent that used to bring comfort but now felt cold, distant. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing him off from the world outside.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning back against the door, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. The weight of the last few weeks, of everything he’d been through, came crashing down on him all at once. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as he tried to steady himself. Focus, Xavier. Focus.

His eyes scanned the room—his desk, cluttered with papers and old case files, the soft leather chair in the corner, and the wide windows that let in far too much light. He needed darkness, quiet, space to think. Without hesitation, he moved toward the windows and drew the blinds shut, plunging the room into a muted, shadowy haze. The soft hum of the city outside was muffled now, replaced by the stillness of the office. He flicked off the overhead lights, leaving only the dim glow of his computer screen.

It was just him and the SIM card now.

He dropped into the chair behind his desk, his body sinking into the worn leather as he pulled the small chip from his pocket. It sat there on the desk in front of him, almost mocking him with its simplicity. How could something so small hold the answers to everything? How could it carry the weight of his hope and fear all at once?

His fingers trembled slightly as he picked it up, turning it over in his hand, his thumb brushing against the smooth surface. This is it, he reminded himself. This is how I find out what happened to her.

Xavier inserted the sim card into the slot on his computer, the holographic screen flickering to life above his head as the files began to load. His heart pounded in his chest, each second feeling like an eternity as he waited for the data to appear.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the air growing heavy as his eyes locked onto the screen. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.

Please. Please let this tell me something. Let it lead me to her.

The files loaded slowly, the progress bar inching forward at an agonizingly slow pace. Each second felt like an eternity, the air in the room growing heavier as Xavier leaned closer to the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers drummed impatiently against the edge of the desk, a nervous rhythm that barely kept his panic at bay. This has to work. This has to show me something—anything.

But when the files finally opened, the first thing he noticed was the dull red warning message flashing on the screen: FILE CORRUPTED.

Xavier froze.

He blinked, staring at the message as though it might change if he looked at it long enough. Then, with a shaky breath, he clicked on the first file, hoping against hope that the system had made a mistake. But the message was clear: Corrupted. Unreadable.

His stomach twisted as a wave of cold dread washed over him. No… No, this can’t be right. Not now. Not after everything.

He clicked on another file. Corrupted.

Then another. Corrupted.

And another. Corrupted.

His fingers moved faster, more frantically now, clicking through the list, trying to find anything that wasn’t destroyed. But the same message greeted him every time. The red text burned into his eyes, taunting him with every click. He felt like the ground was being pulled out from under him, the desperation clawing at his chest, making it harder to breathe.

How? His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. How could this have happened?

His thoughts spiraled. Was the sim card programmed to destroy its contents once removed? The possibility made his blood run cold. He had been so careful, so sure that this card would give him the answers he needed. And now it was slipping through his fingers.

Xavier's hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles white as he pounded the desk in frustration. "No..." His voice was a harsh whisper, barely able to contain the anger bubbling up inside him. His vision blurred for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on him in a wave of helplessness.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when I’m so close.

He could feel his pulse racing, his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster as the panic settled deeper into his bones. His mouth was dry, and his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts as he tried to hold himself together. The room felt smaller, darker, like the walls were closing in around him. The light from the computer screen flickered against his face, casting shadows under his eyes, deepening the lines of exhaustion and frustration etched into his skin.

I can’t lose this. I can’t lose her.

The thoughts came unbidden, swirling in his mind like a storm. He had been so sure this card would lead him to you—that it would show him where you were, what had happened. He had imagined this moment so many times, but now, all that hope was unraveling, torn apart by a series of corrupted files. And it felt like his last chance was slipping away right in front of him.

No. No, I won’t let this happen.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking open every file he could find, his breath catching in his throat each time the same corrupted message popped up. With each failed attempt, the panic inside him grew, his heart hammering wildly as frustration gave way to desperation.

His mind raced, grasping for a solution. There had to be something he could do—something to fix this. He wasn’t about to give up, not now, not when you were still out there, waiting for him to find you. His eyes darted to the screen, scanning for anything that could help, his mind reeling, searching for an answer through the haze of fear clouding his thoughts.

And then, a flicker of hope.

He remembered the program. A faint memory, tucked away in the back of his mind—a file recovery tool buried somewhere deep within his system. It wasn’t something he used often, but it was there. His heart skipped a beat, the sliver of hope cutting through the rising panic. Yes. That’s it.

Without hesitating, he pulled up the program, his fingers trembling slightly as he typed in the command to search for the corrupted files. The familiar blue loading screen appeared, and for a moment, Xavier felt the breath he had been holding slowly release. But it wasn’t over yet. He still had to wait. The program would take time to scan the files, to see if it could recover anything usable.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and each tick of the clock felt like another weight pressing down on his chest. He sat back in his chair, staring at the spinning loading icon on the screen, willing it to move faster, to show him something—anything that could give him the answers he so desperately needed.

His leg bounced under the desk, a nervous habit he hadn’t been able to shake for days now. The anxiety clawed at him, making it impossible to sit still. His mind was racing again, fear and hope warring inside him, a toxic mix that made his stomach churn.

What if this didn’t work? What if the files were too damaged to recover? What if—what if he never found out what happened to you?

Stop it. Don’t think like that. He gritted his teeth, trying to shove the doubts out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to lose hope now. He had come too far, and he couldn’t let himself break. Not yet.

The program beeped softly, breaking the silence of the room. Xavier leaned forward, his heart thudding against his ribs as the first of the recovered files appeared on the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, his pulse racing in anticipation.

Please...let this work.

He clicked on the file, holding his breath as it opened, the screen flickering before finally stabilizing. His eyes scanned the first few lines of data, and for the first time in hours, a glimmer of hope sparked in his chest.

There it was. Not everything—far from it—but there was something. Something he could use.

His breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto the details flashing across the screen. The tension in his body didn’t ease, but the panic that had threatened to overtake him was starting to ebb, replaced by a grim determination.

The first recovered file blinked to life on Xavier’s screen, and for a moment, his heart slowed its frantic pace. This is it, he thought, leaning forward, eyes fixed on the video as the grainy footage loaded. The room was cloaked in shadow, his breath the only sound breaking the silence. His hands hovered over the keyboard, fingers still trembling slightly, half out of exhaustion and half from anticipation.

But as the video began to play, the tension in his body didn’t ease—it only deepened.

The screen flickered with the image of a familiar dimly lit, grimy basement. The walls were old, stained with mold and years of neglect. The camera was positioned at an angle, casting shadows that made the space look even more claustrophobic. But that wasn’t what made Xavier’s stomach twist. It wasn’t you in the video. His breath caught in his throat as the scene unfolded, confusion clouding his mind.

A girl—blonde, young, and panicked—was being dragged into the room by a shoddy-looking man. Her limbs flailed wildly, her voice sharp with terror and rage.

"Fuck you, Reese! Let go!" she screamed, her voice raw, the words tearing through the oppressive silence of the basement.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening as he watched the man—Reese, apparently—roughly shove her onto a dingy, stained bed in the corner. The blonde girl gasped as she hit the mattress, her breaths coming in panicked bursts, her chest heaving. Her face contorted in fury and fear as she glared at the man who stood a few feet away, shaking like a leaf, as though he was caught between shame and desperation.

Reese, the man responsible for dragging this girl down here, opened his mouth but struggled to speak. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice cracking with guilt and fear. His hands trembled as he backed away from the bed, eyes wide, like he didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation either.

Xavier’s mind raced, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. He had heard the name Reese before. It had come up when he questioned the shoe clerks in the N109 Zone. He knew that you had been with Reese at some point—that much was clear. But this...this wasn’t you.

Who the hell was this girl? Why was she in the same basement?

Xavier clicked on the fast-forward button, his hand shaky as he tried to piece together what he was watching. The blonde girl, still hyperventilating, curled into herself on the bed, her hands gripping the fabric of her clothes as if she could disappear into the mattress. The fear on her face was palpable, and Xavier felt a sickening knot form in his stomach as he imagined what was going through her mind in those moments.

What's happening? His mind spun with questions, but there were no answers—not yet. He fast-forwarded again, his anxiety growing with each passing second. Days seemed to pass, the lighting in the basement changing subtly as time wore on. The girl’s resistance dulled, her movements slower, her body slumping as though she had lost the will to fight back.

And then they came back.

Xavier's breath hitched as Reese appeared once more, but this time he wasn’t alone. His heart dropped as he recognized the second figure—her. The cold, sharp-eyed woman with dark hair tied into a strict bun, dressed in business casual attire. Xavier had seen her before. He remembered her face clearly, down in that same basement when he had been searching for you, when she had tricked him and escaped before answering more of his questions. She was a predator in a sleek package, her eyes devoid of warmth or sympathy.

A traitor to her own gender.

The blonde girl jolted when she saw them, her fear reigniting, her voice cracking as she screamed. “No! Please! Leave me alone!” She scrambled to the head of the bed, pressing herself into the wall as if she could sink through it and escape.

The dark-haired woman didn’t flinch. Her voice was smooth, cold, clinical. “We’ll see if she’s a match, Reese. If she’s not…” She trailed off, inspecting her nails as though the girl’s fate was of no consequence to her. “…you can give her to Damien for...y’know.”

Xavier’s blood ran cold at her words. Damien? The name made his stomach churn with anger and disgust. His grip tightened on the edge of the desk, his knuckles white as he leaned in closer to the screen, his mind now spinning with dread. This was more than just a kidnapping—more than just a rescue mission. There was something deeper, something more sinister lurking beneath the surface of all this.

Reese mumbled something under his breath, barely audible over the girl’s terrified sobs. His hands shook as he backed away from the bed again, leaving the girl in the cold, uncaring grip of the woman with the dark hair. She stepped forward, cold and methodical, holding out a syringe as though it was just another day at the office.

The blonde girl screamed as they took a blood sample, the needle piercing her skin. Her eyes were wide, wild, filled with the horror of not understanding what was happening to her but knowing that it was something dark, something she couldn’t escape. Xavier’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he watched the scene unfold. The helplessness in the girl’s eyes echoed the same helplessness he felt now—watching, unable to intervene, unable to stop what was happening.

The video blurred again as Xavier fast-forwarded, skipping through more days, more moments of isolation and fear. The blonde girl’s spirit, once fiery and defiant, began to erode. By the time the dark-haired woman returned with Reese days later, her demeanor had changed entirely. She wasn’t fighting anymore. Instead, she lay curled on the bed, tears streaming down her face, silent sobs shaking her body.

The cold woman sighed, almost bored. “You’re useless to me. But hey, you’re a woman,” she said, her voice dripping with casual cruelty. “Maybe you can seduce Damien for your freedom.” The words hung in the air like poison, and the blonde girl let out a wretched scream, her body convulsing with panic as Reese grabbed her again, dragging her off the bed and toward the stairs.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. What the hell is this? His mind was racing, the implications of what he was seeing burning through him like wildfire. This wasn’t just about you. This wasn’t just a random guy that you had gone with. This was part of something bigger, something darker than he had ever imagined.

And yet, even as the video ended—cutting off abruptly as Reese pulled the screaming girl up the stairs—one thought dominated his mind.

Where were you?

His hands shook as he closed the corrupted file, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. His mind spun with questions, but no answers came. Who was this girl? Was she still alive? Had Reese given her to Damien like they suggested? A dark chill crawled up Xavier’s spine. His thoughts twisted and darkened as he remembered the basement when he had first been there—when he had been searching for you.

Reese had been dead when I searched that basement.

A sudden, horrifying thought pierced through him like a dagger.

Did Reese let this 'Damien' hurt you?

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything went still. The room, the air, the soft hum of the computer—it all faded into the background. A single thought rang in his mind, louder than anything else. Was Damien involved with what happened to you?

Xavier swallowed hard, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as the tension mounted inside him. His eyes darted back to the screen, scanning the list of recovered files with a sense of rising urgency. He had to find your video. He had to know what happened to you. His breath came quicker, more shallow as he clicked on the next file, praying that this time—this time—it would show him the truth.

Xavier’s hands moved frantically across the keyboard, clicking through file after file. Each video that played on the screen sent another wave of nausea crashing through him. Each one showed a different girl—each of them dragged into that same dingy basement by Reese. Their screams echoed in his ears, the fear in their eyes burning into his memory, but none of them were you.

His stomach churned violently as the helplessness clawed at his insides. He could barely keep his breathing steady, each breath shallow and strained. The flickering images on the screen felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. He was so close, yet so far. With every corrupted file, every unfamiliar face, the weight of dread settled deeper into his bones. Where are you? His mind screamed, hands gripping the edges of his desk until his knuckles turned white.

He clicked on another file. Another girl. Not you.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to click through the next video. Still not you.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum, each beat harder than the last. The urge to smash everything on his desk was almost unbearable, but he kept moving, his desperation growing with every passing second. Each wrong file felt like a stab to his gut. The girls all looked terrified—some bruised, some screaming, others had already given up—but it wasn’t you. His vision blurred for a moment, frustration and fear clouding his thoughts.

Then, he clicked the last file.

For a split second, he hesitated. His heart was in his throat, the weight of all his hopes and fears balancing on this one moment. Please. Please be her. The screen flickered, and then—your features came into view.

Xavier exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It’s you.

The relief was so intense it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He felt his entire body sag forward, his muscles trembling as he sat frozen in his chair, staring at the screen. He hadn’t seen you in what felt like forever, but there you were, in the same filthy basement he’d seen in the other videos. But something was wrong. So very, very wrong.

You looked… worse for wear. Even through the grainy footage, it was clear you hadn’t been eating well—your face was more gaunt than he remembered, your cheeks hollow, and your body seemed frail, weaker than it ever should have been. Your hair, once well-kept, now hung in matted strands, clinging to your face as though it hadn’t been washed in days. Your eyes wide with shock. His heart broke at the sight, a heaviness settling into his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He could barely hold it together as he watched you struggle. There you were, the person he’d been so desperate to find, trapped in that godforsaken basement. His eyes stung, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He wanted to be there, to protect you, but he was stuck watching, helpless on the other side of a screen.

The camera trembled slightly as two figures came into view—Reese, and another man Xavier didn’t recognize. The stranger was larger, more menacing, and as they manhandled you, dragging you toward the wall, Xavier felt the white-hot surge of anger flare through him.

He watched as the man pushed you roughly against the cold stone wall, your body slumping on impact. You struggled, arms flailing as you tried to fight back, your voice strained and frantic. The unfamiliar man approached you, his face twisted with a sickening grin, and before Xavier could even process it, the man’s hands were all over you, feeling you up.

“Get off her!” Xavier hissed under his breath, his fingers tightening so hard around the arms of his chair that he thought the metal might snap. His body tensed, every muscle coiled with the instinct to protect you, to tear the man away from you. But he was powerless—stuck watching, his heart pounding in his ears, every second feeling like a lifetime.

Your voice cut through the chaos. “I'm bleeding! I’m on my period!” you screamed, desperation thick in your voice.

Xavier froze, eyes wide as the stranger’s hands recoiled. The man grimaced, backing off like a coward, muttering something inaudible as he stepped away from you. Xavier felt a surge of relief—so intense that he almost thought it was over. But then his stomach turned, realizing just how close you had come to something worse.

The relief didn’t last long. He watched, his breath shallow, as he dragged you over to a dingy showerhead in the corner of the room. The rusted metal clung to the grimy tile, the smell of mildew practically radiating through the screen. You were shoved under the cold spray, and when the icy water hit your body, you didn’t scream. You didn’t cry out. You trembled, your whole frame shaking violently as the freezing water soaked through your clothes, your hair plastering to your skull.

Xavier’s chest tightened painfully. You were silent, but your body was wracked with shivers, your shoulders shaking as the water poured down over you. Why aren’t you fighting? he thought, his heart breaking with every second that passed. Why aren’t you screaming?

He could see it, the exhaustion that had settled into you, the hopelessness. The strength you usually had was slipping away, replaced by the toll of captivity and cruelty. His fists clenched, the rage boiling under his skin as he watched the stranger turn off the water and leave you there—helpless, wet, and shivering on the cold basement floor.

Xavier’s breath hitched, his throat closing up as he watched you desperately try to catch your breath, your body trembling uncontrollably. Then, slowly, your eyes fluttered shut, your head lolling forward as your body went limp. You collapsed—passed out from sheer exhaustion, from the cold, from everything they had done to you.

A single tear slid down Xavier’s cheek, though he didn’t realize it was there at first. The wet warmth caught him by surprise, and he wiped it away quickly, frustration twisting inside him like a knife. He couldn’t stop watching—he couldn’t turn away. Even though every second felt like it was cutting deeper into him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to know everything.

The screen flickered slightly as the footage continued. Reese appeared again, but this time he was alone. His hands were full—clothes and pads, probably for you. Xavier’s teeth ground together, a sickening feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Reese step cautiously toward the bed. Your body still lay there, unconscious, cold, vulnerable.

Reese didn’t move for a long moment, just standing there, staring at your unmoving form. He seemed torn—his face twisted with guilt, fear, maybe even shame. His eyes flickered to your face, and Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tension in his body coiled tighter, a knot of rage and anxiety constricting his chest.

Then, slowly, Reese stepped closer to you. His hand extended, trembling as he reached toward your face, his fingers hovering just above your cheek. No. Don’t touch her. Xavier’s mind screamed the words, his hands gripping the sides of his chair so hard that his nails dug into the leather, leaving deep grooves. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, his muscles straining as though he might actually break through the screen and stop him.

But then Reese hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment longer before he pulled back, taking a deep, shaky breath. Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his relief palpable—but it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Reese placed the clothes on the bed across from you, his eyes still fixed on your face, but he didn’t touch you. He stepped away, leaving you there, still unconscious, still shivering slightly. Xavier’s breath came out in a ragged sigh, his body trembling with the overwhelming flood of emotions that he could barely keep in check.

But this wasn’t over. He knew it wasn’t over.

Xavier leaned forward, wiping another tear from his cheek as he narrowed his eyes at the screen. He had to keep going. He had to see what happened next. He had to know. He had to find out everything.

Xavier watched as the video played on, his entire body locked in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen. He could barely breathe as the image flickered and your figure stirred, your body shifting slowly on the cold, hard ground. The way you moved, every inch of your body screaming exhaustion, made his heart sink. You looked like a shell of yourself, like every ounce of strength had been drained from you, leaving only a frail, weakened version of the person he once knew.

He watched as you struggled to sit up, your soaked nightgown clinging to your body like a lead weight, dragging you down. Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself up, your hair soaked, wet strands sticking to your face, your breaths shallow and labored. His fingers tightened on the edges of the desk, his heart aching at the sight of you. Every movement looked painful—every breath an effort.

Come on… please… just get up, he thought, willing you to find the strength to keep moving, to fight back against the hell you were trapped in.

Slowly, you managed to rise to your feet, your knees wobbling slightly as you reached for the clothes Reese had left behind. You dressed in silence, your movements sluggish, like you were on the verge of collapse. The sight of you changing, of slipping into the dry clothes, should have brought Xavier some relief, but it didn’t. If anything, it made his stomach churn with dread. He could see it in your face—the numbness, the exhaustion, the sheer hopelessness that seemed to radiate from your every gesture.

You don’t deserve this. None of this, Xavier thought, his throat tightening as a lump of guilt settled deep in his chest.

Then, something shifted. You glanced up toward the stairs, your expression tense, wary, like you were planning something. For a moment, a flicker of hope sparked in Xavier’s chest as he watched you move toward the steps, your eyes focused on the large hatch at the top. Were you trying to escape? He leaned forward in his seat, his breath held as you reached the hatch leaning against it, your breath ragged

Come on. You can do this. Try and open it baby.

But then, you froze. Your head jerked up, eyes wide, and without warning, you bolted back down the stairs, your feet nearly slipping on the slick floor as you dove under the bed, hiding like a frightened animal. Xavier’s heart stuttered, his breath catching in his throat.

What’s wrong? Why are you hiding?

His pulse pounded in his ears as the camera trembled slightly, picking up the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching the basement. Heavy, deliberate footsteps—multiple sets, moving in sync. His heart sank deeper into his stomach, his gut twisting with dread as three figures came into view: Reese, the cold-eyed woman with dark hair—the same woman who had haunted his thoughts since that first encounter—and another man, unfamiliar, likely one of their henchmen.

The air felt suffocating as the henchman crouched down beside the bed, his meaty hand reaching under and grabbing you roughly by the arm. Xavier’s stomach lurched as he watched you struggle, but it was no use. The man yanked you out from under the bed, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud as he dragged you to your feet.

“No, no, no…” Xavier whispered under his breath, his chest tightening as he watched helplessly from behind the screen. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white with tension. His skin crawled with anxiety, his mind screaming for you to fight, to resist, to do anything to stop this from happening.

The woman stepped forward, her face a mask of cold indifference as she looked down at you, her eyes sharp and calculating. Dialogue is exchanged that he cant quite hear but he manages to make out a few sentences.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” the woman said, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

Xavier’s jaw clenched. A match? For what? What kind of sick, twisted operation was this? His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the nightmare unfolding in front of him. She had mentioned you were a match back in the basement. Was this what she was referring to? He felt the bile rise in his throat as the woman produced a syringe from her coat pocket, her movements mechanical, practiced. She didn’t care about you. You were nothing but a commodity to her—just another body, another possible match.

He leaned closer to the screen, his breath coming faster, harder. “No! Don’t give in!” he screamed in his mind, wishing with every fiber of his being that you could hear him. Fight! Stab her with it!

But you didn’t.

You just…obeyed.

Your arm trembled as you extended it toward the woman, too weak, too exhausted to fight back. Your eyes were dull, drained of the fire he knew you once had. Xavier felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest as he watched you give in, letting them take the blood sample without resistance. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to punch through the screen. This isn’t you. You were always so strong. So fierce. What did they do to you?

But he knew the truth. He could see it in your body language, in the slump of your shoulders. You had been beaten down, worn away by days of captivity. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not from here. His helplessness gnawed at him, threatening to overwhelm him.

After taking the sample, the woman glanced at the henchman and hands it to him. He leaves and the woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

She exchanges a few words with Reese before making her way up the stairs, heels clacking as she walks back up.

But Reese didn’t follow. He lingered behind, his eyes avoiding yours. And then you snapped. You start yelling about how you had trusted him.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Your words were heavy with betrayal, each syllable cutting through the silence like a knife. Xavier’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He remembered your voice on the phone—the trust in your words when you mentioned Reese. You had believed in him. You had gone with him because you thought he would protect you.

I should have told you not to go. I should have warned you. Guilt flooded through Xavier, choking him. I thought you’d be okay. I thought I’d find you in time.

Reese flinched under your words, his hands shaking at his sides. He couldn’t even meet your eyes as you continued to hurl your accusations at him. He looked every bit the coward, standing there, unable to face the truth of what he’d done to you. He babbles some excuses about how he had to do what he did. But you weren't having it. How he thought you would be dumped like the others. How he didn't know about the organ trafficking.

Xavier scoffed. A coward and a liar this guy was.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seemingly all he can mutter after all that.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.

Xavier’s chest heaved with labored breaths as he watched you slide down the wall, your body shaking with silent sobs. His heart ached, the guilt and anger mixing into a storm of emotions that he couldn’t contain. He wanted to reach through the screen, to hold you, to tell you he was coming.

I’m so sorry. I’ll make this right. I swear.

The video continued, the next few days slipping by in a blur of monotony. Reese came and went, bringing you food, but he said nothing. He was silent, avoiding your gaze, avoiding confrontation. And you—you barely moved. You spent most of your time sleeping, your body too exhausted, too worn down to fight anymore. Xavier’s stomach churned as he realized how deeply this place had broken you.

But then… something changed.

His eyes widened as a familiar figure appeared on the screen. The same man who had groped you when you had first arrived in the basement, his expression dark, predatory. Xavier’s blood ran cold as the man descended the stairs, his eyes fixed on your sleeping form.

No…no…not again.

You stirred, your body tensing the moment you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable. Xavier could feel it in his bones, the dread creeping up his spine as the man stalked toward you. His lips moved, saying something to you, but the audio was too muffled to make out the words. Whatever he said, it made your body stiffen with fear as he grabbed your arm.

Then, without warning, the man lunged forward, grabbing you tighter and slamming you into the mattress.

Xavier’s vision blurred with red. His heart pounded in his ears as rage surged through him like a wildfire. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white, his teeth grinding together as he watched you fight like hell. You kicked, you scratched, you screamed—but it wasn’t enough. The man was too strong. He pinned you down, his hands tearing at your clothes, ripping your sweatpants off with vicious intent.

“No...” Xavier hissed, slamming his fist into the desk. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t watch you be violated like this. His eyes squeezed shut, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening, every sound making his blood boil, the anger roaring in his mind like an unstoppable storm.

He could hear the man struggling—his heavy breathing, the sound of fabric tearing, your muffled cries. Every second felt like an eternity. Xavier’s entire body trembled with fury, his mind screaming at him to do something, but he was powerless.

And then he heard it.

Your voice, soft, almost a whisper. He couldn’t make out what you said, but the words were enough to anger the man on top of you He seems like he's about to hit you, and then—

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

The man was frozen, is facing twisting in shock before he was suddenly flung off of you, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. His screams filled the air, a sound so satisfying that it almost drowned out the confusion that followed.

Xavier’s eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat. What the hell just happened?

And then he saw him.

A tall man, dressed in dark clothes, his face somewhat shadowed by the dim lighting of the basement. His presence was commanding, intimidating—and immediately recognizable. The white grayish hair, terrifying demeanor, crimson blood colored eye.

Skye.

Xavier’s heart lurched. What the hell was he doing there?

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the figure of Skye moved toward you, his tall, dark silhouette looming in the dim light of the basement. His walk was calm, casual, as though he hadn’t just flung a man across the room like a ragdoll. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he stopped in front of you, his lips twitching upward in a half-smile.

But what shook Xavier to his core wasn’t just Skye’s appearance. It was your reaction.

You scrambled to pull your clothes back on, the shock evident on your face, but there was something else in your expression that made Xavier’s stomach twist. You didn’t look confused. You didn’t look like you had just been saved by a stranger. There was familiarity there—recognition. And then you spoke, your voice shaky but not surprised.

“What took you so long?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier’s heart skipped a beat. What?

Skye chuckled softly, his voice low and almost teasing. “Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” He glanced back at the man crumpled against the wall, a smug grin playing on his lips.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" Skye raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

Xavier’s mind reeled, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing, what he was hearing. You knew him? The question burned in his chest, but before he could fully process it, another sound drew his attention.

There was a loud thud as Reese came tumbling down the stairs, his body rolling helplessly until he landed face-first on the cold stone floor. Behind him, two figures with bird-like masks giggled, nudging each other proudly.

"We got him, boss," one of them chirped, his voice muffled behind the mask. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese groaned, struggling to push himself up, but when he finally lifted his head, his eyes went wide with terror. He looked past the masked figures, past you, and his gaze landed on Skye. His entire body trembled, and Xavier could see the exact moment the fear set in, the moment Reese understood who he was facing.

“Sylus…” Reese breathed, his voice trembling as he tried to scoot backward, his limbs shaking. “You…you ran away from Sylus?”

The name sent a bolt of electricity through Xavier’s body, freezing him in place. His entire world seemed to tilt on its axis, the ground falling away beneath him. Sylus. The name echoed in his mind, a name he had heard whispered in fear, a name spoken with the kind of reverence reserved for monsters and myths. The ruler of the N109 Zone. The feared leader of Onychinus.

And now, that man—the man who had offered him a ride, the same man who had tried to kill him and stage it as a car crash—was standing right there, in the same room as you. Sylus.

The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut. This is Sylus?

His breath quickened, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts at once. Sylus—he’s been the one all along. The man with the charm, the mystery. The one who played me for a fool and tried to end my life. He remembered their conversation in the car, the way Sylus had studied him, like he was nothing more than a pawn in some twisted game. And now, here he was, standing over you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

The audio cuts out briefly, some words being exchanged between you and Sylus before it comes back in clearly. A black crow had materialized on his shoulder, and Reese seemed confused that the crows name was Mephisto. Sylus snapped at him, seemingly annoyed he was attempting to talk to you.

Sylus’s dark eyes flicked back toward you, his expression softening in a way that made Xavier’s stomach churn. He watched as Sylus crouched down in front of you, his tall frame looming over you but his movements gentle, controlled. You seemed to be spiraling. There was something possessive in the way he moved, the way he reached out to you.

“Shh, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “It’s alright. I found you.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, his throat tight. Kitten? The term dripped with intimacy, with ownership. He watched in horror as you didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. You just stared at Sylus, your eyes wide with a mix of emotions—fear, confusion, and something else Xavier couldn’t quite place. Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t try to push him away. You didn’t run. You just trembled there, your body torn between exhaustion and emotion.

Sylus leaned in closer, his dark gaze locking onto yours. “You’re mine again,” he whispered, his voice a possessive growl that made the hairs on Xavier’s neck stand on end. “Don’t cry. Not now. Not in front of them.”

Xavier’s breath hitched, his body trembling with a combination of fear and fury. Yours? The word echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of dread that came with it. Sylus just called you his. And you…you weren’t fighting it. You weren’t pulling away. Xavier’s mind spun with confusion, with disbelief. He could barely make sense of what was happening.

Xavier’s hands gripped the sides of his chair, his knuckles turning white with the strain. No…no, this can’t be happening. The tenderness in Sylus’s voice, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his universe—it made Xavier’s stomach twist with anger. You were his. How dare this man—this monster—claim you?

But then, something else drew his attention.

A blood-curdling scream filled the basement, shattering the stillness. Xavier’s eyes snapped to the figures on the other side of the room. Reese and the henchman were writhing in agony, Reese's body contorted with pain as he was slammed into the wall, their screams echoing through the small, claustrophobic space. But Sylus… Sylus didn’t even look at them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. His attention stayed fixed on you, his hand gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as though nothing else in the world mattered.

“Don’t look at them,” Sylus murmured softly, his voice soothing yet firm. His fingers brushed over your face, gently cradling your chin and turning your gaze back to him. “Look at me.”

Xavier felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart racing as his mind struggled to process everything. Sylus was ignoring the carnage behind him, the screams of the men he was torturing, and was focused entirely on you. It was as if you were the only thing that mattered to him, as if the world outside of you didn’t exist.

His eyes stayed locked on the screen, unable to look away as Sylus reached out, his hand moving gently to your face. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy. “Your tears, your pain, your misery…it all belongs to me.”

"I’m the only one, who gets to see you cry."

Xavier’s pulse pounded in his ears, his skin crawling as he watched Sylus’s possessive, gentle touch. The man was a predator, but the way he handled you, the way he spoke to you, was so calm, so assured, like you were his most valuable possession. And what frightened Xavier the most was that you weren’t fighting him. You were letting him soothe you. You were letting him touch you.

Before Xavier could even begin to process the horror of what he was seeing, another voice broke through the tension.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!”

Xavier’s gaze snapped to Reese, his blood boiling. The coward was begging for his life, his body curled up against the wall, his eyes wide with terror. But it was your face that made Xavier’s heart ache. Your expression had hardened, your fear melting away into cold resolve. You stared at Reese, your lips curling into a sneer. The audio cuts out briefly before it comes back again.

“Go to hell, Reese,” you spat, your voice sharp and final.

A sickening crack followed, and before Xavier even had time to register what was happening, Sylus calmly stood up. He reached into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. With smooth, practiced movements, he aimed the weapon at Reese without even blinking.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, his entire body tensing.

BANG.

Reese’s head snapped back as the bullet tore through his skull, his brain matter splattering against the wall in a gruesome display. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling around him in a thick, dark puddle.

Sylus lowered the pistol, his expression calm, almost serene, as though he had merely swatted a fly. He turned back to you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked at your shocked face. His smile—so tender, so full of affection—made Xavier’s stomach churn with revulsion.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,"

Xavier’s mind raced, his heart hammering in his chest as he sat frozen, unable to pull his eyes from the screen. What the hell am I watching? His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his fingers ached, but the pain barely registered. His world was narrowing down to this single moment, the horrifying spectacle unfolding in front of him.

His eyes darted to Sylus, who now stood with calm, calculated precision, his face devoid of any emotion as he turned his gaze to the henchman still writhing on the ground. The man’s body was twisted in agony, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as he gasped for breath, his face contorted with raw terror. He’s going to die. Sylus is going to kill him, too.

Xavier’s pulse quickened, a sick feeling swirling in his gut as he watched the tendrils of the familiar ominous red mist around Sylus begin to thicken, swirling with a low, almost inhuman hum that reverberated through the air. The mist was like a living entity, moving with a purpose, snaking toward the henchman with eerie fluidity, wrapping itself around him like a serpent tightening its hold.

The man’s breath hitched, his chest heaving with frantic, desperate gasps, but it was no use. The mist coiled tighter, its grip unyielding as it crushed the air from his lungs. His mouth opened wide, as if to scream, but no sound escaped. His eyes bulged with fear, veins popping in his neck as the mist squeezed relentlessly, cutting off any hope of escape.

Xavier’s throat tightened, his own breath becoming shallow as he watched the man’s body convulse violently, limbs thrashing against the floor in a sickening dance of death. The panic in the man’s eyes was unmistakable, the sheer terror that gripped him as he realized his life was slipping away. The mist was alive, feeding off his fear, tightening like a noose around his entire body.

Sylus stood over him, his hand raised slightly as if controlling the mist with nothing more than a thought. His expression remained cold, detached, but there was something else there—a faint flicker of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He was enjoying this.

Xavier’s stomach churned, the bile rising in his throat as Sylus’s power became terrifyingly real before his eyes. This wasn’t just some mob boss. This was a monster.

The man’s body twitched one final time, his limbs spasming as the mist constricted further, wrapping around his torso like a vice. His ribs began to bend, then snap, the bones splintering under the intense pressure. A gurgling sound escaped the man’s throat as his body gave way, his chest caving in, bones cracking like brittle twigs underfoot.

Holy shit... Xavier could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The sound of bone snapping echoed through the room, filling his mind with a sickening chorus of destruction. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the horror as Sylus squeezed his hand into a fist, the motion simple, deliberate—final.

With a sickening, wet crack, the man’s entire body exploded outward. His ribcage folded under the immense force, collapsing in on itself like a house of cards, his spine snapping in two as the red mist continued to crush him.

The impact sent a sickening splatter of blood and tissue across the tiles, a dark, violent stain painting the cold grey walls in streaks of red. His bones crunched under the force, his skull cracking against the hard surface as his remains dripped to the floor in a grotesque heap. The sound echoed in the stillness, the dripping blood the only sign of life left in the room.

The mist slowly receded, dissolving into the air like it had never been there at all.

Xavier’s chest heaved, his breath shallow, ragged, as he sat in stunned silence. His mind couldn’t process what he had just witnessed. The sheer brutality of it, the casual way in which Sylus had destroyed a man’s life with nothing more than a thought—it was too much. Too surreal.

Sylus didn’t even flinch. He turned back toward you, his face softening once more, his cold detachment melting away as he reached out to touch your shoulder, as though nothing horrific had just occurred. As though the world hadn’t just shattered in violence around him.

Xavier swallowed hard, his throat dry, his body shaking with a mix of adrenaline and shock. What the hell is happening here? His mind was spinning, trying to reconcile the image of Sylus—this monster in human skin—with the man who was now gazing at you with such tenderness.

Sylus gently tilted your chin upward, his fingers brushing your skin with a strange sort of intimacy. "Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

Xavier’s heart clenched as he saw the tears in your eyes, the way your body trembled. You looked utterly broken, shaken by the violence, but you didn’t pull away from Sylus. You didn’t fight. You let him touch you. You let him soothe you. And that—that was what terrified Xavier the most.

But you didn't really have a choice but to let him did you? Who would refuse a guy that just made a man explode his guts all over the walls?

Xavier sat there, his mind numb and his body frozen in place. The images on the screen had burned themselves into his brain—Sylus’s cold efficiency, the detached way he had slaughtered these men without a second thought, and the possessive way he touched your trembling body. It was like none of it mattered to him. He had done what he came for, and nothing more.

One of the masked men cheered as if he had just witnessed a cool party trick, his voice muffled and gleeful behind the bird-shaped mask. Xavier's stomach turned as he watched Sylus remain calm, entirely unfazed by the grotesque carnage he had just caused. Sylus didn’t even spare the scene another glance. His attention was entirely on you, your trembling body settling in his arms as he picked you up, your form curling inward slightly as if to shield yourself from the reality of what had just happened.

Xavier’s heart ached as he watched you struggle weakly, a part of you resisting, but ultimately…relenting. Giving up. The way you allowed yourself to be held by him—the man responsible for everything—sent a deep wave of anger and helplessness through Xavier’s veins. He wanted to scream at the screen, to break through it and take you back from this monster, but he was powerless.

Sylus paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking down at your small, shaking form cradled in his arms, then briefly glanced up at the camera. His crimson eyes glinted, and then—he winked. A cold, confident wink that sent a shiver down Xavier’s spine. It was as if Sylus knew exactly who was watching, as if this entire grotesque performance had been for his benefit. He didn’t care about the bloody mess he had left behind. He had what he came for.

The crow perched on Sylus’s shoulder cawed once, flapping its wings as Sylus calmly ascended the stairs with you in his arms, disappearing into the dim shadows above. Xavier watched in stunned silence, his breath shallow, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He fast-forwarded through the footage, his mind racing, but the camera cut out soon after, leaving only an empty, black screen.

Xavier leaned back in his chair, the tension in his body finally releasing as his head hit the backrest, but the relief never came. His head was spinning, everything suddenly crashing into him all at once. Sylus. The truth hung heavy in the air around him, suffocating. Sylus had been the one behind your disappearance. He was the reason you had abruptly vanished from Xavier’s life. He was the monster pulling the strings.

His heart raced as the pieces fell into place, each one sharper than the last. Sylus had tried to kill him, not for the Hunter's Association’s secrets, but because he had been looking for you. And Sylus knew that. He had known that all along. But then… why had he kept him alive? Why toy with him like this?

“I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead." Sylus had said to him. The words now echoed in Xavier’s mind like a sick joke.

Useful? Useful for what?

Xavier sat there in stunned silence, his hands resting uselessly on the desk. The weight of it all settled into him, the anger rising and brimming in his chest until it became almost unbearable. His breathing quickened as rage burned through him. Of course, it had to be Sylus. The feared leader of Onychinus, the untouchable ruler of the N109 Zone. Of course, it had to be him. The man who had made practically everyone tremble with fear—the man who had just casually slaughtered people as if they were nothing—he had taken you.

And he was the one who had tried to take Xavier’s life, too.

Xavier clenched his fists, the tension in his body building to a fever pitch. His mind raced, the realization settling deep in his gut, heavy and sickening. Fuck.

He felt…hopeless. What could he do against Sylus? How could he fight someone like that—a man with an army, with power beyond anything Xavier could even fathom? The weight of it all crushed him. The anger simmered, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to consume him.

Then, a sound broke the silence. His phone buzzed on the desk, the vibration snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the screen.

An unknown number.

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, a strange, icy dread settling over him as he picked up the phone. His eyes scanned the message.

"I figure by now you've realized what's really going on. Listen closely. I will not repeat myself. Try any tricks or tell anyone, she dies."

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic creeping into his every nerve. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the phone, the reality of the situation finally crashing down in full. This was Sylus. It had to be.

She dies.

The words hit him like a sledgehammer, sending a jolt of terror straight through his core. Sylus had her. Sylus was watching. He had been watching all along.

Xavier’s heart raced, his mind scrambling for what to do. He needed to respond, but the fear clawed at him, suffocating. His hands shook as he typed out the only thing he could think of, his fingers moving almost instinctively across the screen.

"It's you, isn't it? Sylus."

The message was simple, direct. But as he stared down at the words, his stomach twisted into knots. He knew who Sylus was now, but what was he going to do about it? What could he do?

Xavier’s fingers hovered over the screen as he read the response. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last.

"You're smarter than you look."

The insult was almost expected, but Xavier barely registered it. His mind was too focused on what Sylus had just revealed—on the horrifying reality he was now facing.

His eyes narrowed as he typed out his reply, his fingers moving with more defiance than his trembling heart felt.

"Well, I'm not stupid. Why would you save her just to kill her? You're lying."

His pulse raced as he hit send, the words blurring slightly as he stared at the screen, waiting.

The silence on the other end stretched out, suffocating. Every second felt like an eternity, the tension building in the room like a storm about to break. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I’m pushing him too far.

Xavier’s throat tightened as his mind scrambled for what he’d do next. Had he made a mistake? Sylus wasn’t just some thug. He was the ruler of the N109 Zone, the man who had tried to kill him. The man who now had you in his clutches.

Then, the phone buzzed again, and Xavier’s stomach dropped.

"Do you want to find out?"

The blood drained from Xavier’s face as he read the message. His body stiffened, a cold, creeping dread settling deep into his bones. The casual threat lingered in the air, icy and terrifying. He could almost hear Sylus’s voice behind the words, dripping with dangerous amusement.

Do you want to find out?

Xavier’s blood ran cold. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the question sinking into him like a lead weight. What did Sylus mean? The threat was clear, but Xavier felt trapped, stuck between the impossible.

He wouldn’t kill you… not after going through so much trouble to find you. That’s what Xavier wanted to believe, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise. Sylus was unpredictable. A man who could kill with a flick of his hand, a man who saw people as tools, as possessions.

What if Sylus wasn’t bluffing?

Xavier’s thoughts raced, his mind a chaotic swirl of panic and rage. He didn’t know what to do, and for the first time in his life, he felt utterly powerless. Sylus had control—over him, over you. Every choice was a trap.

His fingers hovered over the phone, frozen as he stared at the message. Do you want to find out?

No. He didn’t.

Xavier's fingers hovered over the screen as he read Sylus’s latest message before typing once more.

"Okay fine. Enough with the games. What do you want from me?" His chest tightened, each heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum.

"Good to know we're on the same page."

The casual, almost mocking tone twisted Xavier's gut, but it was the rest of the message that made his blood run cold.

"You're going to tell your captain that you saw and talked to your… partner. That she is fine and just felt trapped with work, so she fled to another country. After that, get rid of the SIM card. I will know if you don't. Don't test me."

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest. The SIM card—the one that had shown him the horrific reality of what had happened to you, the one that contained evidence of something far larger and darker than he’d realized—had to be destroyed. Sylus knew everything. Every move Xavier made, every desperate attempt to unravel the truth, Sylus was watching. Controlling him like a puppet.

His hands trembled as he furiously typed back, the words coming fast, his desperation bleeding into every stroke of the keys.

"I can't. There's an organ trafficking ring going on right under our noses, and they might be stealing women from Linkon as well. I can lie to the captain, but don't you at least care about the people who took her in the first place?"

He hit send, his pulse quickening as the message went through. This was it. His last-ditch effort. If he could just get Sylus to care—if he could find some sliver of humanity in the man, some reason for him to want justice, to see that the people responsible for trafficking you were taken down—maybe, just maybe, he could find a way out of this.

But the silence that followed was suffocating.

Xavier’s heart raced in the quiet seconds that ticked by, every moment dragging out into an unbearable eternity. His breath hitched as he stared at the phone, waiting—hoping—for a response. Come on… care about this. Do something.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing stretch of time, his phone buzzed.

"I’m taking care of them. Just do what I ask and she lives. Simple, yes?"

Xavier’s stomach churned as he read the words, the cold reality settling over him like a blanket of ice. Of course. Sylus wasn’t concerned about the trafficking. He wasn’t concerned about justice, or the victims, or anything that Xavier cared about. He was focused on one thing—control. He was always ten steps ahead, always moving the pieces on the board to his own advantage.

A wave of frustration, helplessness, and rage swept over Xavier, but what choice did he have? You were still in Sylus’s hands. He could keep pushing, keep trying to fight, but Sylus had made one thing clear—don’t test me.

Xavier's hands hovered over the phone, his mind racing. He felt trapped. Every move felt wrong, but there was no way out, not with you hanging in the balance. His throat tightened as he typed his next message, his heart pounding with the bitter taste of defeat.

"Fine. I'll do what you ask."

He hit send, the words feeling like poison as they left his fingertips.

Xavier's fingers tightened around his phone, his knuckles white as he stared at Sylus’s last message:

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

It was a simple sentence, but it carried the weight of finality that made Xavier's stomach twist. He typed furiously, his heart racing as he asked the one question that had been gnawing at him since this nightmare began.

"If I do this, does that mean you'll let her go?"

He hit send, the cold sweat on his neck making him shiver as he waited for a response. His mind raced, clinging to the faint hope that maybe—maybe—Sylus had a plan that involved letting you go. Maybe there was a way out of this, a way to get you back. Alive.

The phone buzzed in his hand.

"You get knowledge that she's still breathing. Should suffice."

Xavier’s stomach dropped, his body going cold as he read the message. His heart hammered in his chest, rage bubbling up inside him, burning hotter with each passing second. That was it. That was all Sylus was offering—the knowledge that you were alive. Not freedom. Not safety. Just…existence. Sylus had no intention of letting you go. Not now. Not ever.

But why? What was his game? Why keep you? Why was he so obsessed?

Xavier’s mind flashed back to the surveillance footage. To the way Sylus had looked at you. That strange tenderness in his eyes, the possessiveness in his voice when he called you "mine". It hadn’t been cold or detached like the way he dealt with others. It was intimate. Like you were something he cherished, something that belonged to him.

Did this monster…love you?

The thought made Xavier sick to his core. No. Someone like Sylus wasn’t capable of love. He was a killer, a manipulator, a tyrant. People like him didn’t love—they controlled, they possessed. But then… why kidnap you? What was it about you that had caught his attention, his obsession? You couldn’t possibly mean that much to him. Could you?

Xavier’s fists clenched in anger. The thought of Sylus loving you—touching you—made his blood boil. The idea of you, his love, being held by that monster sent a dark wave of rage crashing over him. He couldn't stop the thought from festering in his mind, couldn't shake the image of Sylus holding you close, controlling you with that calm, possessive demeanor.

"Don't think you'll have her for long. I'll find her. And you. You won't like it when I do."

The words appeared on the screen before Xavier even realized he had typed them, each letter a promise of vengeance, of justice. He hit send, the anger burning in his chest like a fire he couldn't contain.

For a moment, there was silence. Then his phone buzzed again.

"I'd love to see you try. Although, you may be a tad bit too late when you arrive. I've already claimed her in more ways than one."

Xavier froze. His entire world tilted as the implications of Sylus’s words sank into his mind like a dagger. Claimed her? In more ways than one? His body stiffened, the air around him suddenly feeling thick, suffocating.

Had this monster…forced himself on you?

His breath caught in his throat, fury surging through him like a wildfire. No. No, he couldn't have. The thought of Sylus putting his hands on you, of violating you in any way, made Xavier feel like he was about to explode. His heart pounded in his chest, rage clouding his vision.

He couldn’t stop his fingers from moving, the words fueled by a deep, primal fury.

"You fucking bastard. I'll kill you."

The message was blunt, raw, and filled with a hatred so deep that it practically burned through the screen. Xavier’s body trembled, his pulse roaring in his ears as he waited, barely able to breathe.

Sylus’s response came quickly, sharp and dismissive, as if this were nothing more than a game to him.

"We'll be in touch. I'll be watching. Ciao."

Xavier's hand shook as he stared at the words. Sylus had won, for now. He had all the control, all the power. He had you. And as much as Xavier wanted to tear the phone apart, to destroy everything in his path, there was nothing he could do. Not yet.

The fight wasn’t over, but it had just gotten infinitely more personal.

And Xavier knew he wouldn’t rest until Sylus was dead.

Xavier stared at his phone in disbelief, his heart racing as he watched messages with Sylus disappeared. What the hell? He hadn’t deleted them. He frantically swiped at the screen, refreshing, trying to bring them back, but there was nothing. Just an empty thread where Sylus’s taunting words had been only moments before. Gone.

His chest tightened, a cold wave of dread sweeping over him. Could Sylus really manipulate his phone? Could he get into his messages, erase things at will? The thought made Xavier’s blood run cold. Sylus wasn’t just some twisted mob boss; he had control over everything—his world, his technology, even his mind. He was everywhere, watching every move Xavier made. It felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

His hand trembled as he stared at the blank screen. Sylus had just stripped him of the only connection he had left. No evidence. No trail.

Xavier swallowed hard and clicked on your profile picture, seeking something—anything—to ground him. Your smiling face filled the screen, staring back at him with that familiar warmth, and for a moment, his heart clenched so painfully that it felt like he couldn’t breathe. You. He could see you so clearly in his mind—your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the way you had looked at him with concern that last night, like you always knew when something was wrong.

He clicked on the last message he had sent you, his heart aching with a bitter sense of nostalgia.

"Meet me outside my door, it’s urgent."

You had rushed over that night, your knock echoing in his memory—quick and frantic, just like you. He could still see you standing in his doorway, breathless, your brow furrowed with worry, the anxious look on your face as you took in his tense expression.

You’d been worried about him—worried about what was going on. He hadn’t meant to scare you, but in a way, your worry had been endearing. You looked so cute when you were worried about him.

He remembered how his heart had skipped a beat when he saw you there, how he’d calmed you down with a soft smile, suggesting the two of you go grab food together. He had something to tell you. Something important.

That night—the last night he saw you—had been etched into his mind ever since. The kiss. The confession. The memory replayed over and over in his head, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. The way his heart had raced when he finally worked up the courage to tell you how he felt. The words had tumbled out of him—nervous, but genuine. He remembered the way you’d looked at him, eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, he thought he’d blown it.

But then…you kissed him.

God, that kiss. Xavier’s breath caught in his throat as the memory washed over him. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your body pressed against his. The way his heart had nearly burst from his chest when you leaned into him, your fingers brushing against his skin as if testing the waters. He remembered how everything else had faded away in that moment. There had been no Hunter’s Association, no missions, no danger. Just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world melting into the background.

That kiss had been everything he’d hoped for and more. It had been sweet, tentative at first, but quickly deepened into something more, something real. He could still feel the way his fingers had tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as the heat between you grew. He had wanted to lose himself in you, to never let go. It felt right. More right than anything had in years.

But then…he had pulled away. He had stopped himself. Why? Why hadn’t he just asked you to come home with him? Why hadn’t he let the night go further? He had been scared. Scared of pushing too far, too fast. Scared of ruining what you had just started.

And now you were gone.

Xavier’s chest ached as the regret hit him like a tidal wave. If he had just asked you to stay, if he had let you come home with him that night, maybe you’d still be here. Maybe you wouldn’t have been taken. Maybe Sylus wouldn’t have you now.

His heart clenched painfully as he stared at your smiling profile picture, the weight of his regret suffocating him. He wished he could turn back time, take back that night, change everything. He had been too cautious, too afraid to push things forward. And now… now he was paying the price.

With a shaky hand, Xavier typed a message into the empty thread.

"I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again."

The words blurred on the screen, and he stared at them for a long moment before pressing send. He didn’t know if you’d ever see it. Didn’t know if you’d even get a chance to read it. But it didn’t matter.

He was coming for you.

No matter what it took, he would find you. Sylus or no Sylus, he wasn’t going to stop until he had you back in his arms. Safe.

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, his heart leaping in his chest.

“Xavier? I heard you were back. Is now a good time?” Captain Jenna’s voice came from the other side of the door, calm but commanding as always. Xavier felt a rush of dread wash over him. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face anyone right now, to lie to Jenna’s face after everything he had just uncovered. But he had no choice.

His gaze dropped back to his phone, to the message he had just sent you, your smiling contact photo staring back at him like a distant memory of a life that felt so far away now. He had to lie. Sylus was watching. Everything depended on him playing his part.

With a deep breath, Xavier shut off the phone, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he tried to steady himself. The weight of it all—the anger, the regret, the fear—pressed down on him, but he couldn’t let it show. He had to wear the mask. For now.

He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. His voice was steady, controlled, even as the storm raged inside him.

"Yes…come in."

The door creaked open, and Xavier sat up straighter, forcing a calm expression as Captain Jenna stepped into the room. His heart still ached, the images of you still burned into his mind, but he would do what he had to.

For you.

You lay on the cold bathroom floor, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your vomiting. The cool tile pressed against your cheek, grounding you in reality, even though you desperately wanted to drift away from it. You felt weak, drained, as though the life had been wrung out of you by your own body’s betrayal. The soft hum of the overhead light buzzed, the only sound breaking through the thick silence that surrounded you. The nausea still churned in your stomach, but now it felt different—this wasn’t from sickness. This was from the weight of the truth sitting heavy in your chest, pressing down harder with every shallow breath you took.

You stared at the boxes of pregnancy tests that sat between you and the bathroom entrance, their neat, pristine packaging somehow mocking you. They were simple—just cardboard and plastic—but they felt like they had the power to tear your world apart. They loomed in the small space like a ticking bomb, waiting for you to take the next step. You knew what Sylus wanted. He wanted confirmation. He had planted the seed—literally—and now he was waiting, watching for the inevitable proof.

His words echoed in your mind, even though he was no longer in the room. "Take your time. I'll be in the room." The gentle kiss he had placed on your forehead before leaving left an imprint, a brand you couldn’t shake off. The way he had looked at you, with that dark, possessive patience, still sent chills down your spine. You hated it. Hated him.

The soft sound of his shoes getting farther and farther away had felt like a death sentence.

Now, you were alone. Alone with the tests and your growing fear.

You curled up tighter on the floor, wrapping your arms around your legs as if that could somehow shield you from what was coming. This can’t be real. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you tried to blink them away. You had to think. You had to focus, but all you could feel was the overwhelming weight of dread pressing down on you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to the boxes. What were your options?

The thought crossed your mind—maybe you could slam your head against the sink or the floor until everything went black. Maybe that would buy you some time. Maybe you could avoid facing this nightmare for just a little longer. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t kill you. You’d wake up with a concussion, maybe worse, and Sylus would simply chain you to the bed, his control tightening even further.

No. There was no escaping this.

Your chest tightened, and the panic began to rise again, bubbling up inside you until it was choking you. The silence in the room grew heavier, like the air itself was thickening, pressing down on your lungs. You could barely breathe.

You sat up slowly, every movement feeling like you were dragging yourself through quicksand. It’s fine. It’s just stress. You’re not pregnant. You’re just sick. That’s it. The nausea, the dizziness, the aches—they’re from being here. From the constant tension. It’s Sylus messing with your mind.

You weren’t pregnant. You couldn’t be.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept in. The signs had been there for days now, maybe even weeks. The constant exhaustion, the strange tenderness in your body, the way your stomach felt uneasy after every meal. Even the smallest things—like how your clothes had started to feel just a little bit tighter, or how your body seemed heavier, more sluggish. No. No.

You swallowed hard, staring at the boxes again. Despite the lavish bathroom being huge, the room felt too small, the walls too close. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as you reached for one of the boxes, your hands trembling.

Fine. You’d take the test, and then you’d laugh. You’d prove Sylus wrong. You could already imagine the smug look on his face melting away when you showed him the negative result. He was toying with you. This was just another one of his cruel games, right?

Your fingers fumbled with the box, your hands shaking so badly that you almost dropped it. The cheap cardboard tore under your grip, and you finally managed to pull the pregnancy test free. The plastic felt cold and foreign in your hand, like you didn’t even know what to do with it.

How did you end up here? How did this become your reality?

You stood up slowly, your legs wobbling beneath you, and shuffled awkwardly toward the toilet. The nausea rose again, a sickening wave that made you gag, but you swallowed it down, willing yourself to keep it together. It’s just a test. Just a stupid test.

The test felt clumsy in your grasp as you positioned yourself awkwardly. You had never thought you’d ever have to take a test until you were ready for a baby. Pregnancy hadn't been on your radar for awhile. You had always been careful, always taken the necessary precautions.

Birth control had supposed to been your protector.

But then Sylus...

You closed your eyes for a second, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, and then you did it. After a few tense moments, you placed the test on the counter and sat back down on the floor.

Now you had to wait.

The seconds ticked by, stretching into what felt like hours. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the room, each sound loud and grating in the stillness. Your heart pounded in your chest, so fast and so loud that it almost drowned out the noise around you. Not pregnant. You’re not pregnant.

You curled your knees to your chest, rocking slightly as you waited, your stomach churning with nausea, but this time from the overwhelming sense of dread that was building inside of you. The thought of looking at that test, of confirming what Sylus had already suspected, made your skin crawl. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not real.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were shaking, and your hands were clammy as you reached for the test. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, willing yourself to have the strength to look. It’s going to be negative. You’re going to laugh at this. You’re going to shove it in Sylus’s face.

But when you finally opened your eyes, the world tilted beneath your feet.

Two faint pink lines.

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind refusing to process what you were seeing. No. You blinked, your vision blurring as you stared down at the test. No. You held it closer to your face, as if maybe, just maybe, you had read it wrong. But the lines didn’t change. They stayed there—two unmistakable lines.

Positive.

The air left your lungs in a painful rush, and the room began to spin. You dropped the test, the small plastic clattering against the tile as your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, your body folding in on itself as the sobs began to tear through you.

No. No. No.

You buried your face in your hands, the sobs coming harder now, shaking your entire body. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. But no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you wanted to deny it, the truth was staring you in the face.

You were pregnant.

Sylus had done this to you. He had taken everything from you—your freedom, your choices, your body—and now he had tied you to him in a way you couldn’t escape. You felt sick, disgusted, and utterly trapped. Your hand moved instinctively to your stomach, hovering there for a moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch it. This was real.

And there was no way out.

The scream ripped from your throat before you could even register the sound. It was raw, primal, and filled with the kind of desperation you hadn’t known you were capable of. Your entire body shook with the force of it, and you dug your nails into the cold tile, gasping for air through the sobs that wouldn’t stop. This can’t be happening. This thing inside you, this parasite that was feeding off your body, off your very life. The thought clawed at your mind, tearing you apart from the inside.

With shaking hands, you grabbed the pregnancy test box, rage surging through you as you hurled it across the bathroom. It hit the wall with a dull thud, the remaining tests scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess. It didn’t make you feel better. It didn’t release the boiling anger inside of you. The sobs only grew louder, more frantic, as the reality of it all hit you like a crushing weight. This was real.

Sylus had forced himself inside you. And now something else of his was also inside you.

You curled into yourself, pressing your hands against your stomach as if you could will the parasite away. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, your chest heaving with the effort.

Get it out. Get it out.

You couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts, the feeling of complete and utter violation.

Then, the sound of hurried footsteps.

Through your tear-blurred vision, you saw Sylus rush into the bathroom, his eyes locking onto you instantly. His calm demeanor was gone, replaced by concern. He took in the scene—the scattered tests, the crumpled pregnancy box, and you, curled up on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

His expression softened as he knelt down beside you, his hands reaching out as though to comfort you, to soothe your trembling body. “Shh…,” he murmured, his voice calm, almost tender, as he tried to get closer to you. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

But the sound of his voice—that voice—only sent another wave of fury through you. You recoiled from him, your body jerking away as his hands hovered too close, your head snapping up as you glared through tear-stained eyes.

“No!” you screamed, your voice raw and broken. “Don’t touch me!”

Sylus froze, his hands still hovering near you, but his face remained composed, watching your every move, your every tear with that same unsettling patience.

“You did this to me!” The words ripped from your throat, your voice shaking as you let the sobs tear through you again. “You put a parasite in me! It’s feeding off me! I hate you! I hate you!” Your body convulsed with the weight of your anger, your fear, your disgust.

Sylus didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened for just a moment as your words hit him, but he didn’t respond with anger. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice lowering as he spoke, "Honey. It’s okay. You’re overwhelmed. Let me help you.”

The tenderness in his voice only made your skin crawl more, and you pulled away again, pushing yourself against the wall as if it could somehow protect you from him. But you knew better. There was no escaping Sylus, not anymore.

“Get away from me!” you sobbed, your voice cracking under the strain. “I don’t want your help! You’ve ruined everything! You’ve taken everything from me! And now you’ve put this—this thing inside me!”

His face remained impassive, but there was something behind his eyes now—a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s not a thing,” he said softly, inching closer again, though still careful not to touch you yet. “It’s a child, sweetie. Our child.”

Those words sent a violent shiver through you, and your stomach turned. Our child. The thought made you feel like you were suffocating. Your breaths grew more frantic, your body trembling harder as the sobs became desperate gasps. No. You couldn’t accept that. You wouldn’t.

“You’ve trapped me,” you whispered, your voice shaking with anger, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “You’ve ruined my life. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

"You were planning to forgive me?" he asked, half jokingly and half confused. You don't respond immediately glaring at him for a few short seconds, as if trying to force his existence away altogether.

"Fuck off!"

Sylus remained calm, even as you spat your words at him, even as you screamed your hatred in his face. He sat back slightly, watching you crumble before him. He didn’t respond with cruelty, nor did he try to argue. He simply waited, his gaze never leaving you, his presence like a suffocating blanket that you couldn’t escape. You hated him for it—hated how composed he was, how in control he remained even as you fell apart at his feet.

He let your sobs fill the room, let you scream and cry and tremble, but eventually, when your voice grew hoarse and the tears ran dry, he leaned closer again, this time more confident in his movements. He reached out, this time taking your face gently in his hands, his thumb brushing the stray tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, steady. “But you will understand. In time.”

Your body went rigid at his touch, but you didn’t have the strength to pull away anymore. You were too drained, too broken. The weight of it all had settled into your bones, and you felt like there was nothing left inside of you but emptiness. Even the rage had flickered out, leaving you with nothing but a hollow pit of despair.

“Let me help you,” Sylus said again, his hands still holding your face, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “I know you’re scared. I know this wasn’t what you wanted. But you’ll see, sweetie. This child—they will change everything.”

His words made your blood boil again, but the fight had gone out of you. All you could do was stare up at him, your body trembling, tears still streaking down your face. The cold tile pressed against your back, grounding you in this horrible reality. You were trapped. Bound to him in a way you could never escape.

And he knew it.

Sylus’s hands stayed steady on your face, his touch far too gentle for the storm raging inside you. You felt like you were breaking apart, crumbling in his grip, but even through the haze of tears and anger, he remained composed, calm. His thumb brushed away the tears still spilling from your eyes, and he let out a soft sigh.

"I don’t like seeing you cry," he murmured, his voice a low hum that seemed to reverberate through the small bathroom. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours, unblinking. "But if you must…then cry on me."

His words made your heart clench painfully, the bile rising in your throat again as the weight of his command—no, his offer—settled over you. Cry on him? The thought disgusted you, but you were too exhausted, too torn apart to resist any longer. The sobs were still clawing at your throat, your body shaking with the effort of trying to keep them down. You hated him. You hated him so much, but he was the only thing there, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality in this moment, twisted as that reality had become.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, your forehead pressing into his chest as the tears came again, harder this time. Your fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt, your sobs muffled against him as you shook uncontrollably. It felt like your mind was unraveling, slipping away from you, and you hated that he was the only option you had for any semblance of comfort. Sylus. The man who had orchestrated all of this.

You despised him, and yet…you clung to him. There was no one else.

You had no other choice.

Your sobs came in waves, each one more broken than the last, your body wracked with the force of your grief. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer, holding you tightly against him. His hand began stroking your back, slow and deliberate, the movement meant to soothe, to quiet the storm inside of you. And it made your skin crawl, made you want to tear away from him, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your hair as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t how you wanted it, but…I love you.” His voice was gentle, almost tender, and the sound of it only made the nausea twist harder in your stomach.

"I love you," he repeated softly, like a promise, his fingers tracing slow, calming circles on your back. "I can’t wait to hold our baby. Half you, half me…perfect."

Your body stiffened at his words, bile rising again, but you didn’t move. You didn’t have the strength. Instead, you cried harder into his chest, the fabric of his shirt wet with your tears as you tried to block out what he was saying, tried to close off the part of your mind that was registering the sheer genuineness in his voice.

He sounded…excited. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to start crying.

Disgust rolled through you like a wave, but it was smothered by the exhaustion that had settled deep into your bones. How could he be excited about this? How could he speak so softly, so sweetly, about something so wrong? So vile? You hated him for it. Hated the way he talked about this baby, this thing inside of you, as if it were some dream come true.

"I can’t wait to see what our baby will be like," Sylus continued, his voice warm with anticipation. His hand never stopped its slow, soothing path along your back. "Regardless, they'll be beautiful, Just like you."

You wanted to scream at him. To pull away, to tear yourself out of his grasp and run as far as you could. But the reality was too suffocating, too crushing. Your body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t obey your mind. You were frozen in his arms, forced to listen to him speak about a future you couldn’t even begin to imagine, a future you wanted no part of.

"I don't want to give birth" you sob into his shirt, gripping your fists tighter.

"I know you’re scared," he whispered, his lips close to your ear now, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of both of you."

His words were like poison, slowly sinking into your mind, and you wanted to shove them away, to reject every syllable. But his hand on your back, his arms around you—it was all so steady, so calm. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t forcing you. He was just… there. Waiting for you to break.

"I’m sorry," Sylus murmured again, his voice soft, but full of that dark possessiveness you had come to dread. "But this…this is how it had to be. Things are just a little hard right now. Soon, you’ll see just how beautiful your life will be." His fingers stroked the back of your head gently, his voice a constant, maddening reassurance.

Your sobs began to quiet, but only because you had no energy left to cry. You hated him. God, you hated him. Every word he spoke made your stomach twist with revulsion, and yet, the sobs were now muffled against him, your body leaning into his, helpless in your own weakness.

"I love you," Sylus whispered one last time, his lips brushing against your temple. "And I love them too. Our little family."

A shudder ran through you, your heart breaking under the weight of his words. Our family. It sounded so wrong. So twisted. But he spoke with such genuine tenderness, with such sincerity, that it made your skin crawl. He meant it. He actually meant it.

And you were trapped.

Tied to him by something you never wanted, something that was now a part of you, growing inside you, linking you to him in a way you could never escape.

You finally tore yourself away from him, the anger bubbling up inside you until it felt like it would consume you whole. His touch felt like a poison, seeping into your skin, suffocating you. You stumbled out of his arms, putting as much distance between the two of you as your weakened body would allow. Disgusting freak. The words echoed over and over in your mind, ringing in your ears like a relentless drumbeat. This monster. He had done this to you. He had planted something inside you.

Your feet moved without you thinking, chain noisily dragging on the floor, carrying you out of the bathroom and toward the bed as if you could somehow escape the nightmare unfolding around you. He put a monster inside me. The thought made your stomach churn, your head spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of it all. You were trapped. Trapped by him, by your own body, and now by this…thing growing inside you.

You could feel the bile rising in your throat again, the nausea twisting your insides into painful knots. You leaned over the bed, clutching the edge of the mattress as your body heaved, but this time it wasn’t just the nausea—it was the sheer revulsion, the overwhelming sense of betrayal. He had taken everything from you. Your freedom. Your choices. And now, he had taken control of your body in the most horrifying way imaginable.

Your mind raced, grasping for a way out, any way out. Hunger strike. You could starve yourself. You could stop eating, let your body waste away until there was nothing left for it to feed on. Maybe then, this nightmare would end. But the thought only lingered for a moment before another, darker idea crept in. Hot showers. You had read somewhere that pregnant women weren’t supposed to take hot showers. Could that work? Could you force your body to reject this thing inside you?

Your mind spiraled, the possibilities flashing through your thoughts in quick, frantic bursts, none of them staying long enough to feel real. You didn’t know if it would work. You didn’t know if any of this would work. But you had to try, didn’t you? You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let Sylus win.

A sharp wave of nausea hit you again, pulling you back to the present, and you gagged, clutching the bed for support as your body threatened to betray you once more. You wanted to vomit, to purge this feeling, this sickness, to purge the very thought of what was happening to you. Maybe you should vomit all over the bed. It would serve him right. His pristine, perfect bed, ruined by the very thing he had caused.

But before you could move, before you could make the decision to act, you heard him behind you.

“Easy, honey.” His voice was soft, infuriatingly gentle, and the sound of it sent a violent shiver down your spine. You felt his hands on you again, his touch light but firm as he gently turned you around, guiding you back toward the bathroom with a patience that made your stomach twist even more.

Why is he doing this? You couldn’t understand it. Your mind couldn’t process the calmness, the care in his movements. After everything he’s done. After all the control he’d exerted over you, the pain, the manipulation…why was he being gentle now? Why was he acting like he cared?

Before you could think any further, your body betrayed you. The nausea you had been holding back surged forward, and before you could stop it, the vomit spilled from your mouth, coating Sylus’s shirt and splattering onto the floor below. The bile burned your throat, and for a moment, you were too shocked to react, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Your heart stopped, panic surging through you as your mind caught up to what had just happened. Shit. You stared at the mess you had made, your body frozen in place as you waited for the inevitable. He’s going to lose it. You had just vomited all over him, all over his perfect, controlled exterior. Surely this would snap his calm. Surely this would make him angry.

But to your utter shock, Sylus didn’t flinch. He didn’t react at all. His face remained impassive, his expression as calm and composed as it had been moments ago, as though the vomit on his shirt didn’t even register.

“Do you feel better at least, honey?” His voice was filled with amusement, almost soothing, as if this were just another normal moment between the two of you, as if you hadn’t just thrown up all over him.

You stared at him in disbelief, your breath still shaky as your mind tried to process what was happening. How can he be so calm? He's seriously asking if you feel better after throwing up on him? You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but give a small, weak nod, your body still trembling from the exertion of vomiting. You did feel better after that...not just physically, the nausea settling at last. Something about seeing Sylus covered in vomit, something he was the indirect cause of, was satisfying.

Sylus let out a low, amused laugh, his eyes softening as he watched you. “Good, that's all I care about” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Without another word, he pulled the vomit-covered shirt over his head, tossing it aside in one fluid motion. His chiseled chest and abs were now fully visible, and despite the disgust still swirling in your gut, you couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed with heat. You quickly averted your gaze, hating the way your body reacted to the sight of him, hating that even now, after everything, your body still betrayed you.

But Sylus didn’t seem to notice your reaction. Or at least, pretended not to notice. He reached out again, his touch gentle as he guided you back toward the bed. “Come on, lie down,” he said softly, his voice laced with that same unsettling tenderness. “I’ll clean this up. Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitated, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You didn’t want to do what he said, didn’t want to follow his instructions, but your body had reached its limit. The fight had drained out of you, leaving you feeling like an empty shell, hollow and spent. Without another word, you collapsed onto the bed, your limbs heavy and weak as you sank into the soft mattress.

As you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but watch him through teary, half-lidded eyes. You expected him to be angry, to snap at you, to make you clean up the mess you had made, but instead, Sylus crouched down and began cleaning up the vomit with meticulous care. He wiped the floor with a towel after spraying some kind of cleaner, his movements precise and deliberate, as though this were just another part of his daily routine.

Why is he doing this? The question gnawed at you, tearing at the edges of your sanity. Why is he being so gentle? So calm. Shouldn’t he be yelling at you? Shouldn’t he be furious that you had ruined his shirt, that you had made such a mess? But there he was, calmly wiping the floor, acting like none of it bothered him in the slightest.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

As you lay there, your body still trembling from the effort of vomiting, you felt a strange sense of detachment settle over you. You were watching him clean up your mess, watching him act like he cared, and it was like you were seeing it all from a distance. He’s supposed to be your captor. He’s supposed to be the monster that destroyed your life, the one who took away everything you cared about.

So why…why was he going to such lengths to take care of you? Especially after ignoring you for days and days on end before his trip?

The questions swirled in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last, but you were too tired, too overwhelmed to find any answers. You hated him. You despised him for what he had done to you. And yet…here he was, gently cleaning up after you, tending to you like you were something precious, something fragile.

When he finished, Sylus turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes met yours. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

“Feeling any better? I have plenty more shirts for you to vomit on if the answer is no” he joked, his voice gentle, almost kind.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and anger and exhaustion that had settled deep in your chest. Instead, you stared up at him, your tear-filled eyes searching his face for any sign of malice, any trace of the cruelty you had come to expect from him.

But there was none. Just that same calm, that same unsettling tenderness that made your skin crawl.

Sylus reached out, his hand brushing the damp hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, soothing, and you wanted to pull away, to scream at him, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were too tired. Too drained. So you let him touch you, let him stroke your hair as you lay there, staring up at him with a mix of hatred and confusion.

“Rest, kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You've had a long day.”

As he continued to stroke your hair, you felt your body begin to relax against your will, the exhaustion pulling you under like a heavy blanket. You hated him. God, you hated him. But you couldn’t fight anymore. Not now.

And as your eyelids grew heavier, the last thought that flickered through your mind was one you couldn’t shake:

Are monsters capable of love?

You were running.

The world around you was a blur, dark and suffocating, your feet pounding against the ground as you sprinted forward. The only sound filling the air was the piercing cry of the baby in your arms—a sound so loud, so shrill, it felt like it was splitting your skull. You tried to hush it, tried to quiet the wailing, but the baby’s cries only grew louder, more insistent, drowning out everything else. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as you clutched the baby closer, but it was no use.

You couldn’t escape.

No matter how fast you ran, no matter how far you went, he was always behind you. Sylus. You could feel him closing in, his presence pressing down on you like a heavy shadow, lurking just beyond the edge of your vision. You couldn’t keep away from him like this—not with the baby. The weight of it slowed you down, its cries echoing in your ears, making it impossible to think, impossible to escape.

You needed to get rid of it.

Your eyes darted around, frantically searching for somewhere—anywhere—to put the baby. Your heart raced faster, your pulse thundering in your ears as you looked for a way out, for a place to hide. And then, you saw it: a box. An old, weathered box sitting in the shadows, half-open as if it were waiting for you.

Without thinking, you stumbled toward it, your legs trembling beneath you as you approached. You looked down at the baby in your arms, its face red and scrunched up as it screamed, its tiny hands clutching at your clothes, and for a moment, a flicker of guilt tugged at the edges of your mind. But this is the only way. You had to get rid of it. You couldn’t keep running, not with this weight dragging you down.

The box seemed to beckon you, and with shaking hands, you placed the baby inside. Its cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing off the walls as you closed the lid, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t let the guilt stop you.

The baby’s screams filled the air, shrill and deafening, but you turned away.

You took a step, then another, walking further and further from the box. The cries became distant, muffled, as if the sound was being swallowed by the darkness. It’s over. The baby was gone. You were free.

But then…a voice.

It was small, almost childlike, but laced with something dark, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

“How could you leave me, Mommy?”

You froze, your heart stopping in your chest as the words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned, your breath catching in your throat as you looked back at the box. The baby’s cries had stopped. Silence pressed down on you, thick and heavy, making the air around you feel too dense to breathe.

“Don’t you love me?” the voice continued, and you felt your blood run cold. The lid of the box creaked open, and your heart sank. You wanted to run, but your legs wouldn’t move. You were rooted to the spot, helpless as the baby climbed out, but it wasn’t a baby anymore.

It had changed.

The thing that crawled out of the box was no longer the small, fragile infant you had left behind. Its body had twisted, morphed into something grotesque. Its skin was pitch black and sickly, its limbs too long, its eyes too wide and gleaming with a cruel intelligence.

The baby—the monster—fixed its gaze on you, a twisted smile stretching across its face. “You’re the monster, not me,” it hissed, its voice dripping with venom. “You’re the one who abandoned me. You’re the one who doesn’t care.”

You stumbled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the creature advanced on you, its twisted body contorting as it moved. You wanted to scream, wanted to turn and run, but your body wouldn’t obey. You were paralyzed with fear, trapped in the nightmare as the creature’s words pierced through you.

The creature lunged at you, its clawed hands reaching out, its sharp teeth bared. “You’re the monster!” it screamed, its voice echoing in your mind, the accusation burning into your thoughts as it leaped forward.

And then everything went black.

You jolted awake, your body drenched in sweat, your heart racing as though it were about to burst from your chest.

You held a trembling hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart after the nightmare. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, your skin still damp with sweat. Just a nightmare. Another horrible, twisted nightmare. You should’ve been relieved that it wasn’t real, but the fear clung to you, refusing to let go. What if the dreams kept getting worse?

The memory of the baby—no, the monster—flashed in your mind. It had lunged at you, screaming that you were the monster. You shuddered, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to push the image away. It was just a dream, nothing more. But why did it feel so real? And why did it feel like it was more than just your imagination running wild?

You hadn’t wanted to sleep in the first place. The only reason you’d fallen asleep at all was because of your outburst earlier having taken all your energy. The exhaustion had finally pulled you under, but instead of the relief you craved, it had brought you nothing but torment. Awful, suffocating dreams that clung to you even now.

Your hand drifted down to your belly, and you hesitated, unsure of what you were even feeling for.

Are you even real?

The thought echoed in your mind, your fingers hovering over your stomach as if touching it would make it all real, too real. Maybe the test had been wrong. Maybe this was all some twisted lie Sylus had fed you.

But then, another, more terrifying thought crossed your mind. When would you feel it move? The idea made your stomach churn with nausea again. The thought of something growing inside you, something moving, living… it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. You pressed your hand harder against your stomach, as if trying to confirm or deny the existence of this thing.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps, and before you could react, the door opened. Sylus shuffled in, a plate of waffles balanced in his hands. His presence filled the room, his footsteps soft but heavy enough to send a chill down your spine. The smell of syrup and cinnamon filled the air.

"Another bad dream?" he asked, his voice far too gentle for the weight of the situation. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge him, but you found yourself nodding despite the effort it took to keep yourself together.

Sylus set the plate down in front of you, the smell of food wafting up, making your stomach turn again. You couldn’t even think about eating, not after the dream, not after the terrifying thought of something moving inside you. You didn't want to eat. Didn't want to nourish the beast inside you. But you stayed silent, gripping the blanket in your lap as you tried to focus on anything but the food or the man standing so close.

He sat beside you, his fingers reaching out to gently stroke your hair, as if this were all so normal, as if you weren’t crumbling from the inside. His touch made your skin crawl, but you didn’t have the strength to push him away.

"I want you to take another test," he said softly, his hand continuing its slow, deliberate strokes through your hair. "No worries, it won’t be the ones you threw on the floor."

You gulped, your throat suddenly dry, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. Another test. You didn’t want to face the reality you were so desperately trying to avoid. Once was enough, wasn’t it? You had already seen those two faint pink lines that had shattered your world. But now, you’d have to face it again.

You said nothing, staying silent as you stared at the plate in front of you, your mind racing. Sylus didn’t seem bothered by your lack of response. His fingers never stopped stroking your hair, a twisted form of comfort that only made you feel more trapped.

"I’d estimate you’re about four weeks and four days pregnant right now, sweetie," he continued, his voice soft, almost as if he were talking about the weather. "At about six to seven weeks, I’m having a doctor come here to do an ultrasound. We’ll also hear the baby’s heartbeat."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Ultrasound. Heartbeat. The reality of it felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you. Your mind reeled at the thought of it—of hearing something inside you. Something that was half him.

You stared at the food, your appetite gone completely now, your chest tightening as you fought the rising panic. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want any of this. But Sylus was already talking about the future, about this baby, like it was a certainty, like it was his dream coming to life.

You felt like screaming, but the words caught in your throat, trapped by the fear and helplessness. All you could do was sit there, nodding numbly as he continued to stroke your hair, his voice a constant reminder that you were trapped in this nightmare.

You finally mustered the courage to speak, your voice trembling as the words left your mouth. “How do you know how far along I am? Are you secretly an OB-GYN or something?”

For a moment, the room hung in silence, thick and heavy with tension. Sylus’s eyes flickered with amusement before he let out a soft, almost casual laugh, like the question had genuinely entertained him. The sound of it made your stomach churn, the lightness of his reaction so at odds with the fear gnawing at your insides.

“No, kitten,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with that familiar confidence that always left you on edge. “I told you. I’ve been tracking your period and ovulation.”

Your body froze. His words were like ice flooding your veins, your blood running cold as realization sank in. You felt yourself recoil, the room suddenly too small, too suffocating. Every muscle in your body tensed, the nausea swelling in your gut as the full weight of what he had just said hit you.

It wasn’t just some twisted joke. He had actually been tracking you—monitoring your body like it was a tool, like he was a puppeteer pulling invisible strings. He knew. Every detail. Every cycle. Every moment when your body had been vulnerable, he had been watching, waiting.

Your thoughts raced back to the night of your so-called “punishment,” the sex had seemed far too strange and easy to even really be considered a real punishment. You had been ovulating that day and he knew it. Now it all made sense. He planned everything. He had known what he was doing—carefully orchestrating every move like a sick game. You had thought he was cruel before, but this… this was something else. Something beyond cruelty.

You felt like your skin was crawling. He had planned it all, down to the most intimate detail of your body. The air felt too thick, your chest too tight as you struggled to breathe, your mind scrambling for some way to make sense of the horror of it all.

"Freak."

The word slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it carried every ounce of your disgust, your revulsion. You pushed the plate of waffles away from you, the sight and smell of food turning your stomach even more. How could you eat? How could you even stomach the idea of him feeding you after knowing the full extent of his manipulation?

But Sylus only chuckled again, the sound light and unfazed, as if your insult hadn’t landed at all. He picked up the fork and speared a piece of waffle, lifting it toward you with a grin that made your blood boil.

“Don’t be like that, kitten,” he coaxed, his tone playful, teasing, as though he hadn’t just shattered your world with his confession. He held the fork out to you, the piece of waffle balanced delicately on the end as if this were some kind of intimate gesture.

“Come on. Eat.”

You stared at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, your stomach twisting in knots. How could he be so casual, so calm about all of this? You wanted to knock the fork out of his hand, to scream at him, to make him see the rage and fear burning inside you, but the words caught in your throat.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your voice weak but filled with defiance. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. The idea of accepting anything from him right now made you feel sick. You turned your head away, trying to block him out, your hands clenched so tightly in your lap that your nails dug painfully into your palms.

Sylus didn’t seem the least bit surprised by your refusal. He set the fork down on the plate, his movements calm and deliberate, his eyes never leaving you. His expression didn’t change. The amusement lingered in his gaze, but there was something else there now—something darker, something more determined.

“You can’t starve the baby,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, more serious tone. The calmness in his voice made the words all the more chilling. “I won’t let you.”

The room seemed to grow colder, his words wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing tighter with every breath. Starve the baby. It was as if he had reached inside your mind, plucked the very thought you were trying to bury, and laid it out in front of you like a threat. He knew. He knew what you were thinking, what you were hoping for. And he wasn’t going to let you escape.

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his control pressing down on you like a physical force. There was no escape. You couldn’t starve the baby. You couldn’t do anything. He was right there, always one step ahead, already planning every outcome. He wasn’t angry—he didn’t need to be. The threat was already clear.

Sylus leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking with yours, his voice steady and unwavering. “I’ll take care of you,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle, but the underlying authority was unmistakable. “You and the baby. No matter what you do, I’ll be here.”

You could feel the rage building in your chest, bubbling up like a storm ready to break, but it was trapped beneath the suffocating weight of his words. The hopelessness. The helplessness. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight—but the exhaustion was already pulling you down, drowning you in the realization that there was no way out.

You glared at him, your teeth gritted, your hands trembling from the sheer force of holding back the torrent of emotions. But Sylus remained calm, his gaze unwavering, patient. He didn’t need to push. He didn’t need to force you. He knew he had already won.

Your thoughts raced, swirling in chaos, the air thick with tension. Your mind kept flashing to the nightmare, the baby’s cries morphing into screams, accusing you of being the monster. You couldn’t bear the thought of this thing growing inside you, something that would tie you to him forever.

But Sylus sat there, watching you, his expression a mixture of amusement and something far more sinister. He wasn’t going to let you escape this. He wasn’t going to let you do anything to harm the baby.

His baby.

And you knew, in that moment, that there was no fighting him. He was in control of everything—your body, your choices, your future.

“Eat,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words felt like chains binding you to him.

And as the silence settled in the room, you felt the walls close in, the hopelessness creeping in around you, suffocating you.

Your hands clenched into fists, your body shaking with a violent, rising fury. No. Fuck him. Fuck this baby. You couldn’t stomach the idea of giving in to his control, not again. You couldn’t let him win. If he was going to force you into this, so be it. You’d fight him every step of the way.

“I’m not eating,” you spat, your voice raw with anger. The defiance in your words was the last shred of resistance you had left, but you clung to it like a lifeline. You glared at him, trying to summon every ounce of strength to hold your ground. “I don’t care what you do. I won’t do this. I won’t be your prisoner, and I won’t nourish this—this thing.”

Sylus didn’t flinch. His face didn’t even shift. Instead, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement that made your skin crawl. There was no frustration in his expression, no anger, just the unnerving calm of someone who was always ten steps ahead. He had anticipated this. He had expected it. And that knowledge made your stomach turn, a chill crawling down your spine.

“Sweetie,” he said softly, his voice far too calm for the storm of emotions raging inside you. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating his next words carefully. “You have two choices. Either you eat and nourish the baby...or Xavier dies.”

The name hit you like a punch to the gut. All the air rushed from your lungs, your body going cold as the words sank in. Xavier. Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to collapse. You stared at Sylus, wide-eyed and trembling, the room spinning around you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to process what he had just said. “No…you’ve killed him anyway! I won’t fall for your tricks!” You needed to believe it—to convince yourself that Xavier was already gone, that Sylus was lying, manipulating you. That this was just another one of his mind games.

But the way he was looking at you, so calm, so sure—it made you doubt. It made you fear.

“Actually,” Sylus cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. “Xavier is very much alive. He’s been looking for you. Quite the determined man, I’ll give him that.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. No. He’s lying. “You’re lying!” you screamed, your voice filled with desperation. “You’re trying to mess with my head!”

Sylus’s eyes gleamed with amusement, his lips curving into that same, unnerving smile. “Sweetie,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was an edge to it now. “I am many things, but a liar to you? I am not. Do you really think that?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, the words catching before you could respond. Of course you thought he was a liar. He was a manipulator, a monster. But something about the way he said it—the confidence, the certainty—made your blood run cold.

Before you could say anything, Sylus stood up, leaving the room without another word. You sat there, frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of Xavier’s name still ringing in your ears. He’s alive? No way. Sylus was playing with you. He had to be.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and Sylus returned—holding something in his hand. You squinted, trying to make sense of it, and then you saw it. Your phone.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto the familiar case. Your phone. You hadn’t seen it in what felt like an eternity. It was as if a piece of your old life had been placed right in front of you, a stark reminder of the world outside of this nightmare.

Sylus walked closer, the phone dangling loosely from his fingers as he watched your reaction with a smug, knowing smile. He unlocked it with ease, swiping across the screen with fluid movements, and it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he knew your passcode. Of course he did. He always knew everything.

But then, he turned the screen toward you.

Your breath stopped in your chest as you saw the text message on the screen, your heart thundering in your ears. The words stared back at you, sharp and undeniable:

“I am coming, my love. When you read this, we will be together again.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as a gasp escaped your lips. Xavier. He was alive. He was alive and looking for you. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing into you with such force that tears sprang to your eyes. All the fear, all the desperation you had bottled up came flooding out. He was still out there.

But Sylus…Sylus had him in his sights.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Leave him alone, you bastard!” The tears spilled over, running down your cheeks as you shook with a mixture of rage and despair. “Don’t you dare hurt him! Please!”

Sylus looked at you pitifully, his eyes softening as if your tears were hurting him. But you could see the satisfaction underneath it all, the way his lips curled just slightly at the edges. “You both love that nickname,” he said with a mocking sigh, as if indulging in a private joke.

“He had similar things to say when I talked to him.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought of Sylus getting anywhere near Xavier. He had spoken to him. Sylus had gotten close enough to Xavier to make him suffer. You clenched your fists, shaking with anger at the thought of the man you loved being at the mercy of this monster.

“Stay away from him!” you yelled, your voice cracking with the intensity of your emotions. You wanted to leap out of bed, to fight, but your body felt weak, your limbs heavy with hopelessness. “If you touch him, I swear I’ll—”

Sylus held up a hand, cutting you off mid-sentence. His eyes darkened, the playfulness vanishing in an instant as he looked at you with cold, unwavering authority. “Eat,” he said firmly, the command in his voice clear and sharp. “I won’t repeat myself.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“If you kill our baby,” Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I kill him. Pretty fair, wouldn't you agree?”

The weight of his words sank into you like a stone, pulling you down into a pit of despair. You felt the ground fall away beneath you, the walls closing in as the finality of the situation crashed over you. This was it. There was no escape. If you didn’t obey, if you didn’t nourish this baby growing inside of you, Sylus would kill Xavier.

You could barely breathe, your chest tightening as the tears continued to flow down your cheeks. You hated him. You hated him so much it burned inside you like fire, but you couldn’t let him kill Xavier. You couldn’t.

With shaking hands, you reached for the fork, your vision blurred by tears. The weight of the utensil in your hand felt like a death sentence, like the final seal on the prison that had become your life. Your fingers trembled as you lifted the fork, your stomach twisting with disgust, but you couldn’t stop. You had to do this.

You stabbed the piece of waffle on the plate, your tears dripping onto the table as you brought the food to your mouth. It tasted like ash, like poison, as you forced yourself to chew. Your body revolted against it, every instinct screaming for you to spit it out, to reject it, but you couldn’t. You had no choice.

As you swallowed the bite of food, more tears slipped down your face. You felt hopeless, broken, the fight drained from you as you sat there, silently crying.

Sylus watched you, his eyes calm and satisfied. He leaned down slightly, brushing a hand through your hair, his voice soft and tender now.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to scream, but all that came out were silent sobs. You gripped the fork tighter, your knuckles losing all blood, as you prayed. Prayed that Xavier would find you.

“Hurry,” you whispered under your breath, your voice choked with emotion. “Please. Hurry.”

But deep down, the gnawing fear clawed at your heart—you knew there was no outrunning Sylus.

And as the silence stretched between you, the crushing weight of your reality settled over you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you gasping for breath.