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7s3ven · 9 months ago

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WHY DON’T U LOVE ME? (pt 1) human! miles quaritch

[ masterlist ]

IN WHICH… jake sully becomes too preoccupied with the omatikaya to check up on his daughter. miles quaritch uses it to his advantage, luring you in with sweet words and caging you.

Notes: unstable! jake sully’s daughter! reader, daddy issues, toxic relationship, age gap, pet names (quaritch calls reader princess + sweetheart), manipulation, neglect, bi! reader, a little trudy x r if you squint, angst, LONG one shot, implications of sex, intense make out sessions, reader commits suicide, dark, angst, jake lowkey being a bad father, mental health issues, character death

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part 1 | part 2

You were the exact opposite of Pandora. With your wide doe eyes and shorter figure, it was a wonder how you had managed to survive the turbulent flight. As you trailed behind Jake, your father, giving his wheelchair a gentle push when needed, various soldiers turned their heads to peer at you.

You didn’t look like a marine. You didn’t even look like a scientist. Instead, you waltzed around in a daze, curious eyes darting to look everywhere. You had no idea where you were heading; you merely followed after Jake.

His heavy bags weighed you down, making every step a struggle. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment as you stumbled, and a group of men loudly snickered.

You held the heavy steel door for your father as he rolled into the large room. Honestly, you had no idea what you were even doing on such a strange planet. All you remembered was that Uncle Tom had been shot, and suddenly, Jake was swept into a mission that wasn’t his—forced to fill his brother’s shoes. Now, here you were, dragged along with him, feeling out of place on a planet that felt far too wild for someone like you.

You were supposed to be buying makeup, drinking, choosing outfits, and crying when dirt got under your nails. Instead, you were stuck on Pandora without any of your ditzy friends, relying on your father to keep you company.

You stared at the Colonel, who stood at the front of the room, his back turned to the new recruits. You slowly sat down on a stiff metal bench, fiddling with your fingers. You glanced at the marine next to you, briefly smiling.

"You are not in Kansas anymore. You are on Pandora, ladies and gentlemen." He turns, and you stiffen, feeling the breath suddenly knock out of your lungs. He was... handsome. His features were rough and rugged, and three long scars dragged through his cropped hair. "Beyond that fence, every living thing that crawls, flies, or squats in the mud wants to kill you and eat your eyes for jujubes." You could hardly hear his low voice, too enamoured by his looks.

"As head of security, it's my job to keep you alive. I will not succeed." He strode down the empty aisle, hands clasped behind his back as he paused. "Not with all of you." Your gaze followed him until he stopped in front of you. You stared up at him through your lashes, lips softly parted.

You could smell the faint scent of his cologne. It overpowered you, flooding your senses. He continued talking, but his words never fully reached your ears. He placed his hands on his hips, his elbow almost whacking you in the face.

"Class dismissed."

You were the first to stand up. The Colonel, out of the corner of his eye, saw you. He turned his head, eyes trailing down your figure. You picked up the last bag before lifting your head, your gaze locking with the Head of Security.

It was a brief moment of eye contact before your father called out your name. "Sorry, sir, excuse me." You brushed past the Colonel, hurrying after Jake.

The corridor was a mess, filled with luggage and crowded with people of all sorts. You squeezed past them all, struggling to breathe in the claustrophobic air.

"Hey! You're Jake, right?!" A scrawny man staggered under the weight of his overpacked duffel bag as he jogged to catch up with you and your father. "Tom's brother? I'm Norm Spellman. I, uh, went through avatar training with him." Norm glanced at you, "And you must be Y/N, right? Tom's daughter, I'm guessing? He talked about you a lot."

"She's mine, actually." Jake interrupted. "My daughter."

Norm's brows raised for a second before he smiled. "Right, of course. Sorry."

Your focus trailed off as Norm and Jake conversed. You merely followed after them. Your eyes widened in awe as you came face to face with Tom's, now Jake's, avatar. It looked just like your Uncle. You pressed a hand against the transparent amino tank, deeply inhaling.

"Grace Augustine is a legend!" Norm exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. "She's the head of the Avatar Program and wrote the literal book on Pandoran botany."

"So it's like the Pandoran botany bible?" You finally spoke up for the first time since arriving on the alien world. You heard Max, another scientist, let out a quiet snort.

"Yeah, you can say that. She wrote the book because she likes plants better than people." Max said over his shoulder.

You almost jumped in shock when a link compartment door was slammed open with a loud bang. Grace Augustine, a fierce woman, sat up. You watched as she stretched her neck, lowly groaning. "Okay, who's got my damn cigarette?!" She shouted as she stood up.

Grace's eyes were anything but kind as she watched the four of you approach her. She deeply scowled.

"Grace, I'd like you to meet Norm Spellman, Y/N Sully, and Ja"- Max attempted to introduce the three of you, but Grace abruptly cut him off.

"Norm. I hear good things about you. How's your Na'vi?" She practically ignored you and your father, her attention focused solely on the one person who actually belonged on Pandora.

"Grace." Max tried again, "This is Y/N Sully and Jake Sully."

"Yeah, yeah. I know who they are." Her lips curled into a frown as she turned to Jake. "I don't need you. I need your brother. The PhD who trained three years for this mission."

"He's dead, " you said. You had always possessed a sharp tongue, but in situations like these, you really needed to learn to bite your remarks back.

Grace looked even more unimpressed to see you. "This Tom's daughter?"

"Mine." Jake corrected for the second time in an hour.

"Funny. She looks just like Tom."

"What a surprise. It's almost like he was my twin."

Grace huffed in slight amusement. "Whatever. I guess we can use her for... something. A secretary of sorts. Let's hope Quaritch takes a liking to you. Maybe he’ll stop annoying the shit out of me with a new play toy.”

"Hey, no, no. You can't talk about her like that." Jake piped up, "She's a person, not an object."

Grace ignored his jab. "How much lab training have you had?"

"I dissected a frog once in high school chemistry," Jake answered. He glanced at you, "Y/N's better. She won a science award."

"In what, primary school?" Grace sharply retorted, rolling her eyes.

You scoffed under your breath. No, you won the state science competition.

"You see? They're just pissing on us without the courtesy of calling it rain. I'm going to Selfridge." Grace shoved past you, storming down the corridor.

"Parker, I used to think it was benign neglect, but now I see you're intentionally screwing us. I need a research assistant, not some jarhead. " Grace grumbled, furrowing her eyebrows in frustration.

Selfridge merely shrugged as he looked down at his golf ball, gently hitting it towards a cup. Grace kicked it aside, frowning in annoyance. "Actually, I think we got lucky."

Grace scoffed as Selfridge leaned down to retrieve the ball. "Lucky?" She groaned, " How is this in any way lucky?"

"Well, lucky your guy had a twin brother, and lucky the brother wasn't an oral hygienist or something. A Marine we can use. I'm assigning him to your team as a security escort." Selfridge folded his arms over his chest.

"The last thing I need is another trigger-happy asshole out there with a bimbo daughter!" Grace abruptly shouted, slamming her hand down on the table.

"She's smarter than she looks. You ever heard of that kid who won the US State Academic Award?" Selfridge flipped through a series of folders before pulling one out and showing the front paper to Grace.

The woman stared at the picture of you, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. "That... was her?"

"Yeah. Maybe you can, I don't know, teach her to become a scientist or something. She learns fast from what I've heard. Jake only dragged her along because if he left, there’d be no one else to take care of her."

"So? She’s an adult."

"Well, no. She was a teenager before leaving for Pandora. But anyway, she went a bit loopy after high school. Took a bunch of pills. If Jake left her alone, he’d only return to her grave."

“What, so we’re taking in suicidal kids now? We ain’t a help shelter, Parker.”

“I think she can offer us something. Quaritch took one look at her picture and accepted her into the operation. So, clearly, he sees something we don’t. But, whatever keeps him happy, I guess. As long as he gets his job done.”

Grace scoffed for what felt like the fifth time today. "Whatever." She muttered.

"Sully, Colonel wants to see you in the Armor Bay." Trudy Chacon, a pilot and former Marine, strode into the lab, still dressed in her flight suit. Jake lifted his head, sending Norm a puzzled look.

Nevertheless, he followed after Trudy. She led him past numerous planes and AMPSUITS. "He's down there," Trudy uttered, pointing to the makeshift gym where Jake saw Colonel Miles Quaritch bench-pressing massive weights.

"This low gravity makes you soft," Quaritch grunted as he pushed through the last rep. "You get soft; Pandora will shit you out dead with zero warning." He racked the bar and sat up, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. "I pulled your record, Corporal. Venezuela, that was some mean bush. Nothing like this here, though. You got heart coming out here. Especially with your daughter, no doubt."

Jake shrugged, "Just another hellhole, sir. And if I left my daughter, she'd practically be an orphan."

"You weren't planning on returning to her?"

"I'd probably be dead, sir. And if it takes six years to travel back, she'd want nothing to do with me. Even now, she almost despises me."

"She looks a lot like you, apart from the eyes."

"Yeah. Her mother had the same big doe eyes."

Quaritch only chuckled as he clapped Jake on the shoulder. "I was in First Recon a few years ahead of you. More than a few. Two tours in Nigeria, not a scratch. I come out here, and on the first day, I get this." He pointed to his scarred head, lips curling into a sneer. "They could fix this if I rotated back. But you know what? I kinda like it. Reminds me every day what's out there."

Jake listened attentively as Quaritch explained a proposition: "I take care of my own, son. Get me what I need, and I'll see you get your legs back when you rotate home—your real legs."

Jake let out a chuckle, not being able to suppress his wide grin. "That sounds real good, sir." He paused, "But what about my daughter?"

Quaritch raised an eyebrow as he watched Jake shake his head. "I can’t take care of her. I could barely take care of her on Earth. I need to make sure she ends up somewhere safe before I…" He trailed off.

“Before you run away.” Quaritch finished. “Don’t worry, Sully. I’ll take care of her if things get too tough.”

If only Jake noticed the crude meaning behind his words.

The first time Quaritch approached you was when your father was out on another mission. You were lounging around in the laboratory, tapping a pen against the table in boredom.

Norm was gone too, so was Grace. Trudy was with them as well. Max was… your eyes trailed around the room, searching for the friendly scientist. He was working on another project.

You sighed, tilting her head back. Your lips settled into a pout as you spun around in the chair, relieving your boredom for a few short sentences. You were interrupted when two hands slammed down on either side of you, effectively trapping you.

You looked up, eyes wide as you stared at the Colonel. You expected a scold to roll off his tongue. He merely grinned down at you. “We haven’t formerly met, Y/N.”

“You know my name?” You whispered. As far as you were concerned, nobody batted at eye at you. Sure, you were nice eye candy, a stark difference from the actual workers, but there was nothing else to you. You felt your cheeks heat up as he leaned closer.

“You’re Sully’s girl.” He grinned, “Plus, I read your file. You had a bright future. Early acceptation from Harvard law. What happened?”

You slowly swallowed. Right, you had forgotten about that. Your life had been going great until your high school graduation. It was the same day your Uncle Tom was shot. You didn’t turn up to graduation. In fact, you barely left your room after that.

Jake Sully was your father on paper but Tom Sully was everything else.

Your life fell into pieces after your Uncle’s death. You were already on the verge of a mental breakdown and his death was the breaking point.

You glanced back at Quaritch, silent for a moment. “An accident happened.” You murmured. “My Uncle died.”

“And I’m guessing your father didn’t help? He told you to suck it up?”

Yes, those were Jake’s exact words.

“Why are you talking to me, Colonel?” You muttered, fidgeting with your hands.

“I need you to do something for me, pretty.” His face was barely an inch from yours, his lips almost brushing yours. You had the urge to close the gap yet you remained still, waiting. “I need you to keep an eye on Augustine and her team. Can you do that for me?” His hands grazed your collarbones as he rested them on your shoulders. Your breath hitched. You hadn’t been touched so gently in years.

“Okay.” You whispered without thinking.

“Good. If that smart little brain of yours suspects anything, tell me.” He stood up straight.

“I’m not smart, Colonel.” You said as he began to walk away. You watched as he slung his jacket over his shoulder and turned to look at you once more.

A smirk pulled at his lips. “Oh? Then how come Harvard wanted you so bad?”

It had been days since your last interaction with the Colonel but his words seemed engraved into your head. You softly bit down on your bottom lip, jolting when Norm’s link suddenly opened. “Hey.” He greeted you. He was probably the only nice person to you. Him, Trudy, and Max. Grace didn’t like your presence looming around but she tolerated you. And Jake didn’t bother checking up on you; he wanted you to get settled in by yourself.

“Hi.” You replied, staring at him. You noticed his tired eyes. “Busy day?”

“Yeah. Decided to take a break. You doing alright?”

You silently nodded. Between you and Norm, there wasn’t much to discuss. You knew nothing about Pandora while he seemed to know everything, constantly spewing out knowledge in your face.

“You wanna grab lunch together?” Norm asked but you politely declined. You had already eaten after taking a short nap. Grace said she’d get you some work to do but she never did.

“Hey, Sully.” Another marine soldier whose name you didn’t know called out for you, “The Colonel’s asking for ya. Says he has a job for you.” You were secretly glad to have a task to do. Days on Pandora were so boring.

You scrambled out of your seat, following the Marine into a part of the base you had never been to. You mainly stuck to the science compound where Grace could keep an eye on you.

“Colonel, I got ‘er.” The soldier announced, briefly saluting. Quaritch turned away from Selfridge to look you up and down, nodding.

“Just make her file papers or copy. I don’t care.” You heard Selfridge hiss as he poked Quaritch’s chest and walked away. You felt self conscious standing in a room jam packed of soldiers. They all craned their heads to get a look at you, eyes flickering to your low cut top.

“Here you go, pretty. That’ll be plenty to keep you occupied. Just copy them and I’ll check back with you in an hour.” Quaritch shoved a pile of files into your arms, his hands grazing yours. You blushed at the sudden contact.

“Yes sir.” You squeaked. His gaze remained on your figure, almost scrutinising you before he turned his head.

You admired his side profile, your gaze not so subtly staring at his sharp jawline. He noticed but made no comment. You hurried off, almost crashing into people due to the files covering your vision. Quaritch watched you with an amused glint in his eyes. Oh, you were going to be fun.

You sat in front of the printer, your eyes drooping at its slow pace. You would have fallen asleep had Trudy not interrupted you. “Hey, mini Sully, what’cha doing?!” She ruffled your hair, jolting you awake.

“Printing papers for the Colonel.” You murmured, giving the printer a firm kick when it paused.

“You so bored that you started listening to the Colonel? Ha!” Trudy chuckled as she slung an arm around your shoulder. “Augustine really ain’t making it easy for you, huh?”

You simply shook your head. “She doesn’t seem to like me.”

“Oh, nonsense! She’ll warm up eventually!” Trudy slapped you on the back, leaving you winded. You lowly grunted, almost sent forward by the sudden force.

“Yeah, sure.” You muttered, still not believing the pilot’s words. The room was peacefully silent before Trudy swore under her breath.

“Sorry, babe, gotta fly some more avatars down. Duty calls.”

Her teasing pet name made your cheeks flare up. Somehow the RDA has managed to send the most attractive people to Pandora. You were stuck with the whirring printer as it paused again, clearly struggling. You gave it another kick, forcing it back into action.

“Whoa, slow down, sweetheart. Don’t need ‘cha breaking our equipment.” Quaritch leaned against the doorframe, gaze lazily trailing over you. You were sitting backwards on a chair, arms propped up.

“It’s too slow.” You complained. Though, your voice was quiet. Quaritch had to strain his ears to hear your words.

“Where’s your dad?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Out.” You replied, suddenly feeling bitter at how Jake was almost ignoring you.

“He plans to abandon you.”

You ceased all actions as you slowly turned your head to stare at Quaritch. “What?” You whispered.

Jake wasn’t the best dad, that was for sure. At least, not to you. But you could barely blame him. You were the result of a college hook-up, just another burden forced into his hands when your mother didn’t want you. He liked you at first. He treated you with care.

You were his precious little girl for a brief moment in time. And then you grew up into your own person, almost like a stranger to Jake. You looked so much like him that he seemed to hate it. He hated seeing another copy of him, reminding him of what his life could have looked like had he not lost control in his legs.

Deep inside, you were still his little girl who believed you were his whole world when, in reality, you were the last thing in his mind.

“Said so himself, sweetheart. He can’t look after you, not like this.” Quaritch stepped closer to you, softly tilting your chin up with a flick of his fingers.

You knew your presence made life difficult for Jake but he never complained. Hearing the Colonel’s cruel words was a snap back to reality.

“I suppose it’ll be easier for him…” You muttered, your tongue darting out to lick your dry lips.

“I told him I’d take care of you.” Quaritch muttered as he leaned down, his warm breath hitting your ear. “So don’t get into trouble, sweetheart.” He teasingly tapped your cheek as the corners of his mouth twitched into a sly grin.

You had a feeling that Quaritch wasn’t trying to act as a second father finger as his gaze lingered on your lips for a second too long.

Your theory was proven correct when one night, weeks after your arrival, Quaritch cornered you in the dim kitchen. It was late and you had snuck out of your room to retrieve a cup of cold water. You didn’t even know the Colonel had entered the room until he closed the creaky door behind him.

“Up for a late night snack, sweetheart?” He called out, using your endearing nickname. You stared at him through your lashes as you leaned over to grab a cup from the dishwasher.

“No, sir. Only some water.” You softly replied, never breaking eye contact. In one swift moment, he snatched the fragile cup from your hand and shoved you against the stone-top counter. The edges dug into your clothed back as you merely blinked up at him.

“You’re in my personal space, Colonel.” You said, lightly mocking him. He said nothing as he effortlessly lifted you onto the counter, grabbing your chin with his hand.

“It was easy to ignore those science pukes and my soldiers but you waltz around here in low jeans and cropped tops.” His brows furrowed together in frustration, “I can’t even remember the most beautiful woman I’ve seen because it’s always you in my goddamn mind.”

You tilted your head to the side, adjusting your shirt that was beginning to slow down your shoulder, showing a silver of skin. “I don’t understand, sir.” You murmured. What was the point behind his words?

He leaned in, lips brushing yours but never actually colliding. He seemed to hesitate but the doubt clouding his head vanished when you wrapped your arms around his neck and closed the distance between you.

You were moving eagerly, taking away his ability to breathe. Literally. He had to forcefully pull away to inhale some much needed oxygen to relieve his dizzy head.

You didn’t let him take a break for long. You tugged him forward by his shirt collar, muttering muffled words against his lips. “Don’t leave me, Colonel.” You whispered, tucking your face into his shoulder.

Quaritch pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, dragging out a low sigh from you. You allowed your head to loll to the side, granting him further access. He nipped and sucked on your exposed skin, listening to the quiet sounds slipping past your lips.

From that night on you, were obsessed with Colonel Miles Quaritch and you only drowned deeper into the guilty pleasure each time you shared stolen kisses in the empty corridors.

You barely saw Jake anymore, too preoccupied in keeping Quaritch company. You were sure Lyle Wainfleet, Quaritch’s second-in-command, could hear the squeak of his superior’s bed. Lyle had even caught you sneaking out of the Colonel’s room late at night a few times, hair messy, lipstick smudged, and your shirt barely covering the bruises that lay upon your collarbone. Yet, you didn’t really care and neither did he. Lyle had seen much worse things in his lifetime.

You were lying in your own bed when you heard a knock on your door. Begrudgingly, you crawled out from under your warm blankets and stumbled through the dark.

You opened the door, expecting to see your father, maybe Norm or Trudy, even Grace. You were expecting anybody else but the Colonel himself.

“Sir.” You greeted him. He brushed past you, entering your room without your permission but you let him. You were already closing the door behind you, locking it for safe measures.

“Felt lonely without you.” Quaritch sighed as he fell onto your soft mattress. You could faintly see him beckoning you over through the darkness. “Missed the smell of your perfume too.” As you lay down beside him, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, your perfume hitting him like an avalanche.

You thought he was merely here for sex, like he always was, but he grabbed your wrists when your hands travelled to the waistband of his pants. “Just wanted to see your pretty face and hear your voice.” He uttered, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You felt a warm, giddy feeling seep into your chest as he pulled you close. When had you last been touched so lovingly? Quaritch was so gentle. His hands rested on the curve of your back, thumb rubbing affectionate circles into your skin.

You allowed your eyes to flutter closed, leaning into his warm embrace. For the first time in a while, you felt safe. Quaritch shifted, his arms now wrapped around you as he pulled you close. The lingering smell of his cologne hit you, clouding your mind of every rational thought.

The effect he had on you was dangerous but you loved it.

You were aimlessly braiding Trudy’s hair when Grace stormed towards you. She grabbed you by the shoulder, practically dragging you towards the door. Trudy looked up, confused, but not questioning it.

“Ow! That hurts!” You exclaimed, trying to swat Grace’s hand away. She ignored you.

“Are you out of your mind?!” She hissed, harshly flicking your forehead. “Messing around with Quaritch of all people?”

“How do you know about that?” You didn’t bother denying it.

“Well, he isn’t exactly secret about it. Doesn’t even bother wiping the lipstick marks off his neck. And nobody here wears lipstick apart from you.” She poked your chest, her eyebrows furrowing. “You could do so much better. Why him of all the idiotic people here?”

You silently shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “He makes me feel… loved.” You whispered, lowering your head. You had never been ashamed of being involved with the Colonel but Grace’s judgemental glare suddenly made you feel self conscious.

“He isn’t capable of love, kid! And that’s what you are. You’re like a kid compared to him! There’s plenty of younger marine soldiers.” Grace paused, looking you up and down. “Unless… this has something to do with Jake. If you’re looking for anything resembling a father, you won’t find it in Quaritch.”

Tears glazed over your eyes as Grace said nothing but the truth.

“If you’re looking for stability, protection, and emotional support because your relationship with Jake lacks that, choose someone else. Not Quaritch.”

Your cheeks burned up. You barely understood yourself, but Grace was psychoanalysing you in a matter of seconds. You swallowed hard, your throat tight as Grace’s words cut deep. You wanted to argue against her brutal honesty, but she was staring right through you, her gaze sharp.

"I'm not looking for a father figure."

"Then what are you looking for?" She pressed, her voice softer but still relentless. "Love? That’s not in his arsenal, kid." Grace saw your trembling lips. She sighed gently, "I'm not trying to beat you down. Quaritch has his motives, and whatever feelings you have for him won't change his agenda. Trust me, I’ve seen men like him. They’re good at giving you what you want—until they don’t." Her voice was almost motherly, starkly different from how she usually spoke to you. She never talked to you like that, not with such tenderness, making the truth even more challenging to swallow.

Her words haunted you as she walked away. You felt vulnerable. Grace had peeled away a layer of you that you weren't ready to face. Your chest felt tight as you stumbled towards Quaritch's office, your eyesight blurry with unfallen tears. Grace's voice lingered in the back of your mind, attacking you.

She was right—you knew it deep down. But the ache of Quaritch's attention, his intense affection, felt too good to give up. It was intoxicating, in a dangerous way that clouded your judgment. He made you feel important and seen; it filled the hole in your heart.

The warmth of his presence, the subtle touch of his hand when no one was watching, the guarded smiles he flashed—it was enough to make you forget, even for a fleeting second, how dangerous your obsession with Quaritch could be.

His possessive gaze from across the room always made your stomach somersault. His attention was a drug, and you weren't sure if you had the strength to walk away.

You slowly lifted a hand, hesitantly knocking on his door. "Come in." He gruffly called out. You twisted the knob, gently pushing the door open.

"Hello, sir." You murmered.

He instantly noticed your distressed face and the way your brows creased together. "What's on your mind, sweetheart?" He asked, beckoning you forward.

"Sir..." Your mouth ran dry. "Is it true? Do you really view me as a..." You couldn't even finish your sentence. He played with the hem of your shirt, nodding his head to encourage you to continue. "Someone told me you don't care about me."

"Of course I do, princess." He caressed your waist. "Who told you that?"

"Grace." You murmured, kneeling in front of him and leaning your cheek against his knee. He softly stroked your head, bringing you a speckle of comfort.

"Don't listen to those science pukes, sweetheart." He told you, tilting your head up. "They don't know you like I do, baby." His thumb traced the shape of your lips. All your doubts flew out the window as he pulled you up, kissing you.

You peeked into Jake's room, searching for your father. You noticed how his bunk was almost empty, stripped of his belongings. The only thing left was a framed picture of you and him on his nightstand with a short note under it. You knew what the letter meant. He was leaving you all over over.

Suddenly, you were five again, begging your father not to go on another mission because you still wanted- no, needed- his love. You held the photograph of you together close to your chest, your emotions overwhelming you. You didn't even know he still had this picture, let alone kept it beside him while he slept. However, the fact that he had forgotten or purposely left it didn't sit right with you.

Your hands trembled as you removed the picture from the frame, delicately folding it and shoving it into your pocket. You grabbed the note, almost crashing into the wall with how fast you ran out of the room. “Sorry!” You exclaimed as you shoved past two scientists.

You frantically knocked on Quaritch’s door, knowing it was his day off. When he didn’t open it, you started wildly banging your fist against the surface. You even kicked the door a little, almost knocking it off its hinges. “I’m coming! I’m coming! Hold on, fucking hell!” You heard him shout. He angrily opened the door, raising his eyebrows when he saw you.

“My dad. He left.” You blurted out. You felt bad for snitching on your own father but that wasn’t enough to stop you. A part of you would always crave Quaritch’s approval and you knew you’d go to great lengths to prove it. “He left this.” You handed him the note Jake had placed on the nightstand, announcing his abrupt departure with Norm, Grace, and Trudy. As Quaritch’s eyes scanned over the note, you couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder when you heard a quiet groan.

Your heart almost stopped. There was a woman in Quaritch’s bed. All you could see was her brunette hair but you immediately knew it was. Paz Socorro. The marines liked her as much as they liked you. She was beautiful, much closer to Quaritch’s age than you. She was curled into a ball, the blankets softly draped over her undressed form.

Quaritch saw you stiffen but only raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘we weren’t exclusive’. He shoved the note back into your hands and closed the door on you, not even bothering to even utter a word. You stood in front of his room, frozen and shocked. Once you realised he had no intention of speaking to you, you slowly dragged your feet in the direction of your room.

Your body felt heavy as you forced it to move. You were sure you would have fully collapsed when your knees buckled if it wasn’t the person who swiftly caught you. “Thank you.” You murmured.

You barely got to your room in time before everything started collapsing. You slammed the door behind you, slowly sliding down it. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to wipe them away with no avail.

Your father had left you like he always did even though he promised he’d never do it again.

Norm and Trudy, your only two friends, were gone too.

And Grace, who you were beginning to view as a slight mother figure, left with them.

Not to mention Quaritch, the man who your twisted mind claimed to love, had another woman in his life. Grace was right. You should have listened but you thought you knew better.

You felt numb as you crawled into your bed, ignoring your given duties. Selfridge had knocked on your door hours ago, demanding you to file and copy some paperwork, but you tuned his voice out. Nobody except for you knew how to properly work the printer. What a bunch of idiots. Weren’t they supposed to be the smartest and toughest bunch?

Your hair stuck to your flushed face as you buried yourself deeper into the comfort of your blankets. You barely registered the sound of your door creaking open until the dim light from the hallway suddenly flooded in.

“Princess, I promise you she meant nothing.” You heard Quaritch call out into your dark room, “She was just a fling, that’s all. I missed you.”

A part of you didn’t want to believe his words, but as he leaned down to kiss the side of your head, you lost all common sense. You couldn’t resist his sickly sweet words, which made your stomach churn and your heart flutter.

He embraced you, and you let him, knowing there was no point in fighting when you would ultimately lose. You kissed him back as he crawled into your bed, cornering you without a chance to run.

You were tightly wrapped around his finger as he placed you on his lap, your lips never leaving his. You were barely inhaling any oxygen, sacrificing your need to breathe to spend more time pressed up against Quaritch.

Grace was right, but you were already in too deep to remember her words. It was your mistake, really. And you realized that when Quaritch's gentle grip became bruising, and it became impossible to escape his controlling gaze.

Quaritch watched the monitor in anger, staring at Jake’s avatar. His hands clenched into fists as he immediately spun around, searching for the one person who would give him the leverage he needed. You.

He burst into your room. You screamed out of surprise, papers flying everywhere. “Get up, princess.” He yanked you out of your seat, his tight grip enough to bruise your shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You asked, your gaze nervously darting around.

“To get your dad. You know where he is, right?”

You stared up at Quaritch, your lips sealed. Jake had briefly mentioned the location to you in his note, but you had scribbled it out before showing Quaritch the letter. He merely chuckled, leaning down to match your height. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me where he is, and I’ll reward you.” He caressed your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin. You leaned into his touch, your mind clouded.

“A reward?” You quietly questioned. “Anything I want?”

Quaritch smirked, “Anything.”

You thought for a moment, thickly gulping. Your eyes darted up to meet his and you parted your glossy lips. “The Hallelujah mountains.” You whispered, almost wishing he didn’t hear you.

“Good job, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you give you want you want when we get back.” He patted your head and you opened your lips to ask what he meant by we. Your silent question was answered when he tugged you towards an aircraft.

“Your dad’s crossed the line. It’s time he remember who he’s fighting for.”

You stiffened as Quaritch suddenly pricked your skin with a sharp knife. He held it against your throat. One wrong move and your blood would be everywhere. The blade dug into your flesh, cutting a thin line. Tiny drops of blood oozed out, staining your white-collar top.

You were scared for your life but you made no attempt in fighting against Quaritch. Because surely he wouldn’t actually slit your throat, right? He loved you too much… at least, that’s what you thought in your mind.

Quaritch, satisfied with your dormant state, slowly slipped the knife back into its holster. He held onto you securely, making butterflies erupt in your stomach. To you, it felt like a loving touch. To others, they knew it was a way of ensuring you didn’t run.

You looked foreign to your father. He hadn’t gazed at you in so long that he forgot what you looked like. He felt a small pang of guilt as he watched the way Quaritch took a step to stand closer to you, too close to be merely acquaintances.

Grace has warned him about the Colonel’s new suddenly interest in you but Jake was too stubborn to listen. Now he realised what she meant. Jake, after years of letting you fend for yourself, had officially lost you. And you had fallen into the hands of a greedy and cruel man.

You stood beside Quaritch as the recording of Jake destroying a bulldozer camera played on repeat. It suddenly paused on a frame revealing Jake’s angry snarl. “You let me down, son.”

You watched the scene with wide eyes. Grace, Norm, and Jake were thrown into a cell for siding with the Na’vi. You turned to Quaritch, tugging on his shirt to gain his attention. “Sir, is this really necessary?” You murmured, glancing at your father.

Quaritch wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you away. “He doesn’t love you, sweetheart. He doesn’t care about you.” He whispered in your ear as he stroked his thumb over your cheek. Your mind instantly believed any lie he shoved down your throat and you slowly nodded. “I’m here. I care about you, not him.”

You blindly trailed after him. You’d walk off a cliff for Quaritch and he knew it. He used your loyalty to his advantage because all it took was a murmur of sweet words in your ear for you to follow him.

You didn’t visit Jake until hours later. You adjusted your top to conceal the marks Quaritch had left on your body. The guard standing in front of the cell nodded in acknowledgment at you before walking off to give you some privacy. You halted in front of the cell, red eyes looking up to meet Jake’s. It had taken thirty minutes for you to stop crying after Quaritch convinced you that Jake wanted you gone.

“Quaritch said you don’t care about me.” You uttered, staring at Jake. You heard the quiet sound of Grace scoffing.

“And you believe him?” She asked.

“You left me. Why wasn’t I allowed to come?” Your brows furrowed. Jake was sitting right in front of you in his wheelchair, wanting to reach out a hand to comfort you but he knew you’d only pull away. His touch felt like hot iron on your skin.

“It was too dangerous.” He muttered, unable to meet your gaze.

You kneeled so that he was forced to lock eyes with you. “Why don’t you love me?” Your words came out as a whisper but when Jake didn’t answer, you grew angry. “Why don’t you love me?!” You reached through the bars, gripping onto his shirt. “You don’t love me! You don’t care about me! Why?! Why don’t you love me?!” You screamed.

Jake couldn’t answer. You leaned your head against the bar, tears rolling down the apples of your cheeks. It felt like you were a child again, crying into his arms about a scraped knee. Only, it was something bigger than that.

You sniffled, your tight grip on Jake’s shirt loosening. “Why are you leaving me for her?” You didn’t even have to say Neytiri’s name. You saw the look in Jake’s eyes when he spoke about Neytiri with Norm and Grace. It was the same way you looked at Quaritch.

After your short outburst, you were ushered away by the guard. Jake could only helplessly stare at your retreating form. You were his little girl and he had let you down.

The last time Jake ever saw you with his human eyes was when he jumped on a plane with Grace, Norm, and Trudy. You had been in the control tower with Quaritch when you heard the sound of a whirring engine. The moment you realised Jake was leaving you for good, you kicked open the door and rushed out without an oxygen mask.

Jake could still remember your teary eyes as you outstretched an arm, silently begging him to come back. You would have fallen over the metal railing if it wasn’t for Quaritch heaving you back. The Colonel swiftly lifted an oxygen mask to your face, forcing you to breathe.

You never saw your father again.

It was clear that Jake’s departure meant war. Quaritch barked orders at his soldiers and pilots with you hot on his heels. He only spared you a glance when you were in the safe confides of his office.

“You know I have to go, sweetheart.” He murmured against your skin. You shook your head.

“Don’t go, please.” With Jake gone, Quaritch was your last lifeline.

“I’ll come back, princess.”

Lies.

“We can start that family you always wanted.”

Lies.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

LIES.

“No, don’t leave.” You whimpered, a futile attempt to convince him to stay with you. “If you leave, that means you don’t love me.” You received no answer. “Do you love me?” You asked, “Or are you lying? I don’t like liars.” Your nails dug into his skin.

“I have to leave, baby.” Quaritch repeated.

You were on your knees in an instant, tugging aggressively on his shirt as you sobbed. It was an exact repeat of what had happened with your father. You were starting to notice a pattern. “Why don’t you love me?! Why are you like him?” You cried. “He left me! And you’re leaving me!”

You had given him everything. Why did he still not return your desperate feelings? Quaritch almost felt bad for you. He flattened out your tousled hair, quietly shushing you. “Princess, stop crying.” He wiped your tears and smeared mascara away.

“Do you love me now?” You whispered, your hopeful doe eyes staring up at him. You were beautiful, even with red eyes and tears streaming down your face. Quaritch hesitated. Would it be going too far to lie about such a thing to you? Especially given your current mental state.

You didn’t wait for him to reply. You forcefully pressed your lips against his, pushing him back into his seat. “I love you.” You murmured in between kisses. You were barely letting him breathe, suffocating him with your presence in hopes it would get him to reciprocate your feelings.

Maybe you were reaching for something unattainable, desperate for a connection in a place that would ultimately kill you. And yet, deep down, you knew this wasn’t love. It wasn’t even affection in the way you craved. It was something darker, but that didn’t stop you from wanting more. Every time Quaritch was near, you let yourself sink deeper into the dangerous game you were playing.

It all dawned on you as you watched Quaritch suit up. He looked handsome in his army uniform but a bitter feeling was still gnawing at you. He was leaving you just like Jake. He was abandoning you just like Jake.

You held onto Quaritch tightly, begging him once more not to go. Selfridge had to pry you off the Colonel as you sobbed and reached out your hands for him. “Why don’t you love me?!” You repeated in a loud screech, screaming at the top of your lungs. “You’re leaving me like him! You don’t love me! You lied to me! You fucking lied!” In anger, you threw your necklace at him. It hit the ground and you didn’t have a chance to retrieve it as you were dragged away screaming and swearing.

You never saw Quaritch again either. Nor Grace, Trudy, Norm, or Max.

Grace was dead. Trudy was dead. Quaritch was dead. You were under the impression that everybody was dead.

You had been forced into a dark room until you called down out of your maniac state, only seeing the light when a hatch opened to deliver you food. You didn’t know how long you had been sitting on the ground for. It felt like days had passed.

You slowly blinked, hands reaching for a gun hidden in the pockets of your cargo pants. You had taken it from your father’s room out of pure curiosity and forgot to return it. It was only loaded with one bullet but that was all you needed.

You pressed the gun against your head, biting down on your lip. You tasted metal in your mouth and it brought you an odd sense of comfort as your finger squeezed the trigger.

Nobody heard the loud gunshot ring through the air as your limp body fell to the side with a loud thud, blood staining the rough concrete floor.

The last time Jake truly saw you was when your dead body was being buried, the image of your bloodied hands engraved in his mind.

AVATAR TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @gruffle1

#miles quaritch #atwow quaritch #recom quaritch #recom lyle wainfleet #lyle wainfleet #na’vi avatar #avatar x reader #avatar quaritch #avatar wow #jake sully #neytiri avatar #xreader #avatar frontiers of pandora #avatar pandora #quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x reader

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gardenofhearts · 11 months ago

Text

From a seed grows

Chapter I: Thyme

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Synopsis: To claim a dragon one must be prepared to give up their life, yet this is the one thing you never wished to give up.

Wordcount: 3.5K

Warnings: implications of death, mentions of death, but really light nothing graphic.

Author's note: It's done, the first chapter! Fun little fact: every chapter will be named after a plant/flower that represents an emotion/theme of one of the characters :) I put a lot of thought into this story, the chapter names, and the character so I hope you will feel that as you read.

One last thing, a huge thank you to @madame-fear for showing interest into the story which prompted me to continue working on it! I adore her and her work, you should check out her blog!

English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

Happy reading <3

‎⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡Masterlist♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Blood dripped from your hands, the dagger clattering to the floor. The sound echoed through the dark, empty alleyway and reverberated in your head. Soft, sharp gasps left you as you staggered backwards, your legs struggling to keep you standing as you buckled to the ground.

“What have I done?” your voice whispered to the night, your hands gripped the stone of the street as you struggled to regain your breath. You couldn’t stay here; staying here meant getting caught, getting caught meant being punished, and the punishment would most likely be death.

A life for a life.

You looked around you, hoping you were concealed enough that you wouldn’t be recognized. The only light was a single street lantern at the entry to the alley and the moon. You knew you had very few options: leave the city, leave and hope you’ll never be found out, be found out and flogged, tortured, flayed, or hanged. None of them sounded particularly great, but one sounded the best.

You crawled to where you had dropped the dagger, knowing you couldn’t leave it behind, no matter how rusty or stained it was. You took out an old handkerchief you always carried and wiped the blood off the blade, before stuffing the dagger in its holder. You sat there for a moment, trying to regain your breath before forcing yourself upwards and onwards. You prayed as you walked towards your home, prayed for forgiveness, prayed for mercy, prayed for help.

Prayed to all the Gods you knew of, old and new, to grant you safe passage out of the city. You passed people and shops, pleasure houses and closed homes, you passed by your life, your dreams and hopes. All to be left behind.

A moment later you were at the humble shack you called home, or at least your home was one of the rooms within the shack. Fleabottom wasn’t known for having particularly good real estate, but you and all the others made do. You went to your room, unlocking the shabby door that had seen too many beatings to really be considered safe and entered your little haven.

It was by all accounts small and in an abysmal shape, mold decorated the bleak walls alongside various other stains whom you did not wish to identify. Your bed was on the left side of the room, with a clear view of the door (just in case) and your small, very small, dresser was in front of it.

You dug through the room searching for a bag of any kind, when you found it you filled it with anything that could be considered even remotely valuable. It may have been little, but it should allow you to buy a one-way trip on a ship. The destination mattered little, as long as it wasn’t King's Landing.

As you ruffled through the top drawer of the dresser you stumbled upon what felt like a button. In all your years of owning it, you had never once felt this weird object hidden amidst your possessions. Curiosity beguiled you to push it and a latch opened on the top of the dresser, revealing a small hidden compartment.

Although curiosity had won the first battle, you were unsure if you wanted it to win this one. Alas, you had dipped a toe in the water and the waves were now too strong to get out. A hidden compartment was no novelty, many stories started with the protagonist finding an object of great significance in such a place and then embarking on an earth-changing adventure to save all of mankind.

You, however, felt like quite the opposite of such, even when your fingers felt an object hidden in the dark, hidden place. You almost laughed at the absurdity of this day, perhaps the Gods above were in a jesting mood. Slowly, carefully, you pulled the strange object from its hiding place, and soon you were face to face with something you had never seen before.

It looked to be a necklace, a simple silver chain with a simple pendant, it looked much like the necklaces you saw people wear around Flea Bottom. There was truly nothing notable about it, except for maybe the seven-pointed star of the Seven decorating the front and the small engraving on the back.

An engraving that had faded badly, presumably from the necklace having been worn a lot. It could only be seen when held at a certain angle, with ample light to decipher the words: Naejot issa byka zaldrīzes.

You rolled the words over your tongue, trying your hardest to grasp whatever language it was. It sounded oddly familiar, as if it were something from a dream, a memory unclear and nearly forgotten but now resurfacing. Whatever the words may mean, you presumed them to be words the previous owner must have cherished when taking into account how faded they were.

As you looked at the words more closely you noticed small initials beneath them, your eyes lit up slightly. This necklace must have been a gift. The initials were vague, two letters common enough they could belong to anyone.

A.T.

An odd feeling washed over you as you imagined what must have happened to the owner of this beautiful piece, how it ended up hidden in a dirty old dresser, in a shabby room in an even shabbier house. You did not have much time left to waste pondering the necklace’s history, dawn was creeping up into the sky, you could see small streaks of early morning light on the horizon.

In a hurry you put the necklace around your neck and hid it under your simple clothes. You braided your hair, in a quick manner, so it would not hinder you as you hurried through the maze of Flea Bottom.

You arrived at the harbor quickly through some risky but effective shortcuts, nearly avoiding a drunken brawl. At last you had made it to what would hopefully lead you to safety, or close to it. Sailors were moving around you carrying various sizes of knapsacks and their fellow sailors who had partaken too much in cheap ale. Dockworkers were starting their morning shifts as they moved to unload the various ships laying in their docks.

They carried crates filled with the finest fabrics, with spices you could not pronounce nor taste for they would surely cost more than you’d ever be able to afford. Your eyes wandered around to find someone you could approach and soon enough you spotted a young man with silvery blond hair and shabby clothes moving towards one of the ships. As you looked to see where he was going, you noticed some others moving towards the same ship. All sporting that same silvery blond hair.

You jogged towards the man who was surprised to see you approach him, “excuse me,” you smiled at him as he came to a halt, a silent invitation for you to continue, “where is that ship headed?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows at you, as if you just asked the most idiotic thing known to man. “To Dragonstone,” was all he said before he took off, increasing the speed in his step, almost as if to deter you from following.

You pondered to yourself for a moment, as you watched more silvery blondes approach the ship. There had been rumors, for there are always rumors in Flea Bottom, about the Black Queen looking for Targaryen bastards. Anyone with either silvery blond hair, lilac eyes, or both or even neither was urged to come to Dragonstone for an opportunity to bond with a dragon. Perhaps it was more than a rumor as you saw more and more people board the ship.

It was foolish, really, truly, well and wholly foolish, you thought to yourself as you stood in front of Dragonstone, the holdfast large and formidable. Guards escorted the large group to a small courtyard, as you looked through the crowd most of them had silvery blond hair, some light, others dark. There were a few on the other hand who had come with brown hair, red hair, or even black.

All had come to stand before the Black Queen, to serve her cause by potentially claiming a Targaryen dragon. On your journey, the people had been speaking of nothing else but the dragons, their size, their coloring, their behavior.

Much regarding the opinions of dragons had changed after the Greens paraded Meleys’ head around King’s Landing for all to see. There used to hang an air of unspoken devotion to dragons, they were to be feared, regaled, and not opposed, unless one wished for imminent death.

They were gods flying high above men, and the people who rode them were their only link to humanity. Now the smallfolk knew dragons were mortal, killable, vulnerable, and that the very house who rode them also killed them, paraded them, and unlike the small folk, did not worship them.

People whispered of killing dragons, where before those words were said in bouts of drunken foolishness, they were now said with drunken confidence. The people were hungry, and the dragons were potential food. Food for the stomach of starving men, ailing peasants, and also food to fuel a rebellion.

So now, for one of these dragonriders to actively seek out Targaryen bastards and lure them with a possibility of becoming equals, many could not resist. Not even you. You knew the dangers involved in claiming such a phenomenal beast, knew it most likely meant your death if you truly tried to claim a dragon. You also knew that you were now away from King’s Landing, in what could possibly be the only place safe for no one would dare attack this stronghold with all the dragons that lay within.

A guard came up to you as you were letting your eyes wander, his Kingsguard uniform reflecting the sun caught your attention, “Hoods down,” he commanded as he reached over to pull it down himself.

Before you could stop him, you could already feel the wind tussling your braid and tickling your ear. Now, with your hood down and hair a mess, you were just like all the others.

A silver-haired bastard.

A dragonseed.

What a cruel fate you had.

Not long after, a young man strolled up to a platform in the courtyard, silence befell the crowd as they realized who he was.

Clad in the dark red and black of the Targaryens, his hands crossed on top of the pommel of his sword, brown curls whirling around his face.

Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, daughter to Rhaenyra Targaryen, and he was a beautiful, beautiful man. He addressed the crowds, warning them of the danger, thanking them for their arrival, yet it all felt weirdly aggressive. There was no thankfulness or appreciation to be found in his tone, his brows furrowed and his lips downturned.

You heard a man behind you whisper that he was just a coddled princeling and another chuckled in response, you looked behind you briefly hoping that a stare would silence them. As you looked up back to the prince, you noticed him looking in your very direction. It almost felt as though he was looking directly at you, into your own eyes.

Others who had the same notion as you lowered their heads in reverence, in respect for their prince albeit that some carried an air of reluctance to them as they did. You felt no such devotion, felt no such need and your actions reflected that. There would be no bowing to a man meters in front of you, who spoke to you with contempt, as if your lives meant nothing at all.

His speech was over quickly, and he was gone with a few guards following in his steps. Another guard stepped up and made one last declaration before the group was to go into the dragons’ lair. “All those who wish to leave may leave, no harm shall befall you. You will be escorted back via ship at the earliest possible moment. All the others-” he signaled another guard who opened up the barricades put in place earlier, “follow me.”

Many of the crowd left, deciding that the threat of death so brutal was too large to face in comparison to the one they would face in King’s Landing. You supposed you could not blame them, a death by dragon fire or dragon stomping didn’t sound pleasant, however the fate that would no doubt await you in Flea Bottom sounded worse.

The ones left over were escorted to the inner parts of the castle, staircase after staircase, never once allowed to dawdle or gawk. The Queensguard were strict and didn’t hesitate to employ certain tactics to keep all in line. You winced as one of the guards struck a young man for touching a statue, the guard said nothing as he did so, only pushing the lad back into the line when he was done.

Tears pricked in the corner of the boy’s eyes, his hand cradling his hurting cheek. He had been pushed right in front of you, almost causing you two to collide. You tapped his shoulder as you procured an old handkerchief from your pocket, “here” you said as you practically shoved it into his non-occupied hand. He smiled a soft smile at you in thanks, before taking the fabric and dabbing at his eyes.

He didn’t seem much younger than you, perhaps he wasn’t. You didn’t ponder it too much however, chances were that he would die in the dragon pit just like many others. There would be no benefit in cosying up with the others, knowing that after this most of you will likely be dead or have risen too far in station to consider yourself with your lessers.

You cursed yourself and your cynicism often, however, today you proved yourself right. You were clinging to the walls of the dragon’s cave, hoping for dear life he had not seen you. The only light source you had were the flames that had come from Vermithor as he erupted in a fury that made him worthy of his name.

By now he must have devoured nearly all of the bastards that came to try and stake a claim. You pitied all of them, they tried to improve their standing however now all they were were ash and bones. Growls followed by screams were heard in the distance from yourself, perhaps the distance was large enough for you to get out and run, flee, escape, whatever the apt word might be.

An escape would be difficult, were it not for the fact that Vermithor was deeply engrossed in hunting a few people in the opposite direction of where you needed to go. You stalked through his enclosure with practiced ease, you tried to remain calm with your heart pounding in your chest, clouding your hearing and making your breath erratic. You refused to die here, you refused to be a burned corpse or some dragon’s dinner. No, you wanted to be more, so much more.

You wanted to be more than a peasant from Flea Bottom, a silver-haired bastard, a woman, you wanted to be more than all that. You wanted to be more than a dragonseed, more than what your parents doomed you to be. In order to achieve that, you would need to rise to the occasion and escape. With every ounce of strength, willpower, resentment, and fear you had in you, you ran towards the exit.

As you reached the opening you noticed it didn’t lead to solid ground, no grass or rocks to greet you. As you smelled the fresh air you also smelled the unmistakable smell of the sea. A salty fishy smell filled your nostrils and consumed your lungs.

Into the sea you soon jumped, a stupid, reckless idea, but far better than trying to climb down a mountain. All you hoped for was that the Gods would show you mercy and carry you to shore. The sea was cold, colder than you had expected, it took you great power to swim close to shore and drag your body through the sand before collapsing.

Your chest moved up and down in quick succession, desperate for air, as you tried to regain your strength you closed your eyes, letting the happenings of the day pass through your mind.

Sleep tried to claim you, alas, it was to no avail, for soon thereafter a loud roar resonated into the sky causing you to bolt upright from where you laid. A winged creature flew above you. It was large and formidable, you believed it to be even larger than the dragon you had seen in the Dragonstone caves.

The formidable beast’s shadow covered you as it flew over the sun, for as far as your eyes could see the world was now shrouded in darkness, only in the far distance could you see the sun rays touch the ground once more. The roars it let out were bone-chilling, a feeling of dread had washed over you from the moment you rose but now you were rooted to the ground with the fear of death settling in your veins which ironically left you unable to move. You had never imagined your death this way. Where nobles imagined dying in their canopy beds on silken sheets, you would be lucky if you died by a clean cut to your neck.

Now, however, it seemed you would die from this dragon thinking you made a decent hors d'oeuvre, before finding something larger or more plentiful to truly fill its stomach. Gods you really had a most cruel fate.

Once more a deafening roar resounded to the sky, causing your knees to buckle in fear as your hands shot to your ears in a vain attempt to dampen the noise. You kept your eyes locked onto the large figure as it soared through the sky, going higher and then lower, as if taunting you, playing with you, truly regarding you as prey.

In an odd way it frustrated you, standing there, waiting, baiting your breath as to when the dragon finally decided to end you. Anger rose through you more and more the longer this cat and mouse dance continued. Fear became an afterthought as your anger of a futile death overcame you.

“I’m here!” You screamed at the sky “Kill me! I dare you!” If anyone saw you, they’d be regarding you as a madwoman, which admittedly you were. However, it seemed as though no one was there, on this vast beach with waves continuing their cycle of ebb and flow, you were alone. Alone with the dragon. One last attempt you thought as you opened your mouth to scream, yet no sound could come for that very moment the dragon chose to descend onto the ground.

Your frozen feet suddenly could not move any faster, the large dragon got closer as you scrambled to get away, the sand making for incredibly difficult terrain when you want to be quick. One wrong step and you were sent tumbling down, face first in the sand. With the thought of impending death overtaking your mind, you found the tiniest bit of energy to turn around. In doing so, you were facing the dragon as it descended, shielding your eyes as sand was blown in all directions from the beating of the wings. A loud thud echoed on the empty beach as the beast finally stood on solid ground, its large body covered you in shadow.

Its snout was so close to your face, you could feel the puffs of hot breath. Bright, emerald green eyes were in stark contrast to the pitch black of its scales. The dragon was magnificent as it was terrifying, you gulped and took rapid breaths. Panic had settled in now, panic, fear, and anger, none were a pretty feeling. One of your hands went up to clutch your new necklace as you closed your eyes.

Waiting for the inevitable.

On a distant dune stood a smaller dragon, much smaller than the one hovering over the young woman. Upon that small dragon, with scales of olive green and wings decorated with a pale orange, sat the young prince, a spyglass held to one of his eyes as he witnessed the scene.

A part of him felt a great sense of pity for the woman. She looked young, perhaps around his age, and she had showed great courage in fleeing from Vermithor. A pity she would die so soon, yet at the same time. A bastard less or more would not make any difference

He closed his spyglass and pocketed it inside his tunic. There was no need to watch the scene unfold, he thought. He buckled his saddle tighter and spoke to his dragon, “sōvēs Vermax.”

#house of the dragon #jacaerys valeryon #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd jacaerys #jace targaryen #jace velaryon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen

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st4r-th0ughts · 2 months ago

Text

I’ll let myself get violent for you.

masterlist

Aventurine x gn bodyguard (ex assassin) reader

ʚɞ series masterlist

ʚɞ recommend to read first

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: ambiguous relationship, violence, death, racism, aven’s past is brought up along with demeaning implications, reader protects our bbg bc we aint taking shi thrown at him, graphic descriptions, i dont have a single clue about poker so the terms are from google, also reader has fangs, not proofread!

note(s): it hurt writing this, also this isn’t my best work bc I rlly wanted to write this on a whim so sorry, tags: @walpurg @rxzennia @honkai-star-thirst @sh1-n0bu

summary: A violent dog that defends its owner.

(word count: 2.3k)

ׂ╰┈➤ [𓏵]- your name

The night in Pier Point is lively. Of course it would be, it housed the IPC’s headquarters, and by extension, a lot of the IPC employees, and many rich buisness people or people of similar standings often come to this planet, whether for deals are made under the table, for the most part, rather unimpressive but horrendously expensive cuisines, and for the casinos.

Casinos are Aventurine’s second home, with how often he’s there and how often he’s winning every single game he’s in, his name is a popular topic amongst the gossip girlies who sit at the bar and try to find a rich man to bed and siphon money from.

In the months you have been in Aventurine’s employment, you are very familiar with the bright chandeliers than hang above the large rooms, the roundtables often having people crowded around them, and the arcade machines have people either leaping for joy as they have won, or have people yelling in rage and trashing the area around them before being kicied out of security.

Aventurine gambles in those luxurious, private rooms with people of his stature. You accompany him without any complaint from the security at the zone, partially because you threatened the last security guard who tried to forcefully keep you from doing your job with shoving a heap of casino chips up his anus.

Aventurine always seats himself in one of the red cushioned chairs, his fingers will trace over the sleek black wood while your hands will be crossed behind your back, your form is situated right beside him, your presence serving as a warning for most intelligent people that you were not above violence when it comes to your job.

Every hour, the stack of chips in your boss’s name increases, to the point that it had to be transferred to another table from the staggering amount, the sight itself discouraging a few weak willed to give up and forfeit, while the rest will greedily gaze at the chips as if they were of pure gold, thinking they would definitely win them.

Eveyrtime you see one of those people again, you scoff internally and roll your eyes and give Aventurine a look, your lips will be pursed as the gambler grins back at you through rose tinted lenses. Aventurine plays for the thrill, the rest play for their own greedy desires.

At the end of the night, when the final card is played, Aventurine is always the winner. The people across from him are either resigned, regretful they didnt forfeit with dignity, some keeping their composure from crumbling as they struggle not to breakdown or rage, and the final, most unpleasant type of unsavory character you deal with, the ones who spew insults and make any menacing moves.

You never needed to use actual violence. Your hand slamming with controlled force on the edge of the table, just enough to tilt it and hit the ground with a resounding ‘thud’, your lips pressed into a tight scowl, and your gaze lingering on whoever dares make a move. It shuts them down successfully, no words or blows needed to be exchanged, and you get a teasing compliment from your boss, which makes your heart leap in its chest.

Tonight was suppose to be a regular a night. Aventurine was winning, per usual. But the man across him… the final player in the game, was someone you recognised from your assassin days. He wasn’t one of your targets, but when you were sneaking around mansion, you noticed him making shady deals with the Duke, overhearing that since they followed the same Aeon, they should join forces.

And that man was not a pleasant one. Middle aged and balding, a thick cigar in his mouth, the smoke making you turn your nose up while Aventurine seems unbothered, a pouchy stomach to add to his unpleasant smell of whiskey reeking off him, so much different from how your boss will cutely, drunkenly cling to you on rare occasions.

The moment Aventurine lays his cards on the table, the cards displaying those numbers and shapes you dont exactly understand despite months of trying to study poker techniques to impress the gambler, and the middle aged man in front of you goes into a stunned silence, his cigarette dropping out of his mouth as he gazes wildly at the fact he has lost, lost to some lucky dog from the IPC.

“This- this is rigged! You cheated! There is no way you could have won against me!”

Aventurine, calm and composed as ever, laughs at the man’s enraged state, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he crossed one leg over the other, a smirk gracing his expression as he teasingly tuts his tongue, your eyes widning slightly as your pupils dart between the growing fury of the middle aged man and the way Aventurine doenst care of provoking him.

“Oh? Y’know, if i got a million dollars for everytime i heard someone say that, I’ll be ri-”

“Shut up, you Sigonian dog!”

The way Aventurine’s smile falters slightly as his eyes widen behind his lenses, and the way he seems to remember something he doesnt want to, something he has long since tried to keep buried, and the bubbling fury that starts to simmer under the surface of your skin.

“You fucking Avgin scammer, you think i wont see your tricks and lies? Did you use that mouth of yours to weasel your way to winning?”

The man continues his profanity infused tirade, eyes darting wildly before they landed on the branding located on Aventurine’s neck, his chair screeching back, the whiskey smell assaults your nostrils as he walks around the table, and Aventurine, frozen, almost, just barely shrinks back out of instinct, a hint of fear in his eyes as the man’s hand reach out to try and grab your boss’s chin with his disgusting hands.

“Someone should teach you your place, little slave, someone like you doenst deserve to sit at this table.”

Your hand reaches out to grab the man’s arm before he could touch your boss, giving him a silent glare of warning, your hand clenching at it’s side. It does little to deter the man, as he balls his hand into a fist and punches you right in the face, your vision blurred for a few seconds though your grip doesnt loosen.

“So you’re the so called ‘fearsome bodyguard’ for the IPC, eh? You dont look like much other than a rabid dog.”

The man’s slurred sneer is cut short by his scream as in one, swift flick of your wrist, you snap his elbow in the wrong way. A fury bubbles in your chest, raw and ugly as you send a hard kick to the man’s pudgey stomach with the tip of your shoe, watching him kneel over and cough blood from the sheer force, you make sure it only gets on your uniform instead of Aventurine’s.

Your hands reach out to grab the man’s neck, tossing him effortlessly against one of the tables across the room, the others who were staring wide eyed at the scene panicking as champagne glasses shatter as they rush out of the room or scoot to a corner to keep watching the show. It sickens you, how they see this as a type of entertainment, but you have more important things to deal with.

You growl lowly, your primal instincts of carnage taking over, grabbing the man from the middle of the broken table as coloured wooden shards are embedded in his back, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth and nose, your face edging to the side, your voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“Do you believe in Aeons?”

The man is clearly terrified, considering someone who is half his size has not only given him a broken nose and elbow, that same person just tanked a hard hit to their nose with no substantial damage. Yet, he foolishly tries to intimidate you, and you can feel Aventurine’s gaze on your back, in your haze of anger, you can’t figure out whether he’s staring at you in fear or something else.

“Hah, you’re defending that Sigonian pig so nobly? Do you know who I a-”

You slam him into the floor, your sharp teeth baring as you tighten your grip, only needing your non dominant hand to hold him down, your other hand brandishing a gun that cocks under the man’s jaw, your voice soft, deceptively so, with a undercurrent of threat. Blood trickles from your nose onto the man’s shirt.

“I dont give two shits who you are. I don’t give a damn of what Aeon you worship. Divine judgement doesnt scare me at all.”

“Your Aeon can look me straight in the eyes, asking me why I decided to pull the trigger and let your brains paint the wall behind you right now, I’ll proudly tell THEM I’ll do it again.”

You snarl scathingly, your fingers digging into the skin round the man’s neck. Your enveloped in a shadow of your past. Violence was all you ever knew for a long time, and after meeting Aventurine, resolving to not work for the Annhilation Gang anymore, you have tried hard to pacify your temper. And now, you’d gladly make this pig, and the people who are staring, almost anticipating your next move, as your outlets.

He looks pathetic, in all honestly. The man below you, one you used to stay away because he was in cahoots with eth Duke, was now at your very mercy, currently looking paled and about to have a heart attack, yet still keeps up the act of being all high and mighty. He doesnt know nor remember you, but you’ll make sure he does.

“You really are just the IPC’s pathetic dog, arent you? Defending some Sigonian slave because he sucks you off?”

A single shot rings out as the man lets out a cut off noise, one eye popping out of it’s socket as pink, fleshy brain matter and crimson blood soak the room’s walls, one of the women huddled in the corner screaming in terror as you feel the blood splatter across you face, mixing with your own, watching the man’s body convulse. If he had just shut up, you would have let him go. Oh well.

You get up and smoothen your clothes, red soaking into your tie, your eyes casting upon the group in the corner who were watching the entire ordeal play out. The room is deathly silent as you take one step closer, your gun still smoking at the tip.

“Leave.”

That single word sends everybody save for Aventurine scrambling, and the security guards who take one step in immediately shrink back when they see the carnage that has befalled the room. Your breathing is shallow and ragged, your eyes darting from the corpse to Aventurine, who stares blankly at the floor. You’re able to discern that internally he’s distraught, and you start to panic.

Was he disgusted with your actions? He wasnt supposed to see you like this. Like a vicious predator that gnaws and rips apart it’s prey. It feels as if the months of trying to control your temper, prevent and restrain your intent to shed blood and bathe in the crimson, but it seems in the end, there was only one thing that makes you snap.

“Sir. Sir, are you alright?”

You’ll have your existential crisis later, now, your instinct makes you want to comfort Aventurine, but when your hands reach out to try and touch him, you freeze before your fingers can reach for his, staring dumbfoundedly at the blood that soaks them. The corpse behind you is completely still, blood pooling under his head.

You blink once, twice, before settiling for holding the armrest of the chair, since at least the blood wont be too visible on the dark paint, watching Aventurine carefully, observing how he straightens his glasses, laughing softly, clearly forced in a attempt to calm himself down.

“I’m fine, [𓏵], afterall, my darling bodyguard has protected and taken a hit for me once more~”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your words come out snappy, leftover adrenaline from having killed someone after so long making your heart pace faster, giving your boss a firm glare, not a harsh one, just one that makes him stop putting up that false wall of bravado. You close your eyes when his smile drops at your irritated tone, your blood trickling into your mouth as you sigh.

“I saw the way his comments affected you. I wont pry why he was making those comments, it isnt my business. But my business, is making sure you feel safe.”

You wipe your hands on your pants as you gently take Aventurine’s trembling hands into your own, staring at your reflection in the polished gold of the rings, seeing the blood that spaltters across your features, and the bruise that is forming on your nose from the punch. You widen your eyes a little as the gambler’s hand pries away from yours, his fingers running gently over your face.

“You’re hurt, [𓏵]. I’ll bring you to the medical wing later.”

Aventurine murmurs softly, his smug front gone as he lets himself be just a bit more vulnerable as his hand traces your jaw tenderly, his mouth downturned as he stares at your bruised nose and all the blood, his eyes trailing behind you to the corpse, a piece of brain matter splatting on the floor as your boss smirks slightly.

“I’ll pay for a cleanup crew. I’m not letting my precious bodyguard go to jail tonight.”

You snort softly, walking over to the table full of casino chips, a low whistle escaping as you take one that sits at the top of one of the stacks, fiddling with it clumsily in your hands, glancing at the manager of the casino that was standing hesitantly at the entrance of the room door.

“Cash these in, will you?”

fin.

#ᯓ★ sfw!#aventurine x y/n #honkai star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine angst #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #sub aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #sub honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sub hsr #hsr

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oscquinn · 9 months ago

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would it be possible to request carmy and elementary school teacher!reader like the plot could literally be anything I just love the thought of him bringing food for the class and being surrounded by a bunch of little kids who want to ask him questions and play with him and he’s all shy at first and loves watching reader with the kids…i’m feeling so soft rn 😭

hi my lovely anon!! im so sorry for letting this rot, i hope you're still hanging around to read it!!

field day is one of the best days of the year for a kindergartener. they run as much as their little bodies allow them, play games all school day, and have their bellies full of a delicious lunch. this year, that lunch is provided by none other than your boyfriend's restaurant, catering mini beef sandwiches for the kids.

you step behind the table to kiss carmen on the cheek when your class gets to the lunch station. he smiles and his arm wraps around your waist, muttering to you, "y're so good with those kids, 's drivin' me crazy."

you blush at his implications and smile when he leans in to pepper your cheek with a few quick kisses. a squeal interrupts the moment, the sound from one of your students who points at the scene with a grin. she shouts your name before asking, "is that your boyfriend!?!" her friends giggle, some of them remarking on how boys have cooties, and the little girl continues to stare at you excitedly.

"since you all have such curious minds," you start, the whole class's attention focused on you now, "this is my boyfriend, mr. carmy."

carmen smiles, giving your students a wave. they all giggle excitedly, greeting him with a staggered chorus of hi mr. carmy!

"alright, alright," you say with a smile. "we only have two field rotations to eat. so come to me for some hand sanitizer, then get your sandwich from mr. carmy."

the kids file through the line one at a time, choosing which sandwich they want, and what flavor chips will accompany it. one boy asks carmen, "do you make all the beef sandwiches?"

your boyfriend chuckles, shaking his head. "no, i don't make all the sandwiches bud. usually i'm makin' other sh- stuff." his cheeks heat up a little at his near slip, but the boy just nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and carmen asks him "now, what d'ya want, kid?"

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto imagine #maggie’s musings [blurbs]#my michelin star [carmy]#letters [asks]#secret admirers [anon]#inbox purge #this is so cute 🥹🥹

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de4dlyniightshade · 1 year ago

Text

꩜ QUEEN OF HEARTS

꩜ PAIRING: spencer reid x afab!reader

꩜ RATING: +18, mdni

꩜ WORD COUNT: 3.8k

꩜ WARNINGS/CONTAINS!: smut, public sex, sub!virgin!spencer, cumming in pants, thigh riding(ish), fingering, praise, a little exhibitionism, getting caught(kinda).

꩜ PROMPT: sneaky fooling around with sub spence on the job

[WARNING!] - explicit sexual content! mdni!

A/N: i have mixed feelings about this but i'm posting it anyway bcs i feel like it. also this is proofread but i'm a moron and blind so don't get your hopes up:3

Spencer was, gently put, dumb. Now, obviously, he was intelligent, very, very intelligent, but you can be both in rare instances, and Spencer was a rare instance.

He was completely unaware and blind to his looks, which was obviously due to his childhood of being relentlessly bullied and tormented, causing him to overlook his appearance and how truly attractive he was, no matter how many people told him, flirted with him, or hit on him. I mean his nickname was literally "pretty boy" for a reason, but he just thought it was a sarcastic joke.

"All alone, handsome?" You smiled, noticing Spencer tucked away in a conference room all on his own, surrounded by files, your voice making him look up from the one he was reading.

"Oh uhm, yeah, it just got a little loud out there; I work better in a quiet place," he explained, a tight-lipped smile on his face before he looked back down at the file, furrowing his brows as he scanned it.

"Everything okay?" You asked at his expression, worried that he was struggling and needed a break, which he was terrible at, always overworking himself for the sake of the case, even though he could barely think straight after working himself to the bone for days.

"Yeah, I just- I can't find any connection." He sighed, dropping the file on the table before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Need some fresh eyes?" you offered, closing the door behind you to help drown out the loud chattering in the police station you were working in, slowly making your way over to him and hoisting yourself onto the desk beside him, not missing the way he swallowed, his eyes flicking down to your thighs before looking away again.

"Y-Yeah, sure," he murmured, sliding the file over to you before dropping his hands to his lap to fidget with his fingers, picking at the sides of his nails nervously.

"Spence, stop," you warned, looking at him with knowing eyes. It was a bad habit you'd noticed he had, sometimes picking his skin so much that it was red and raw and sometimes bleeding. You'd told him many times to stop before he hurt himself, but it never really worked.

"Sorry…" he mumbled, flattening his hands on his thighs before looking away from you again, scanning the room to distract himself. Your eyes landed on his hands, noticing a familiar red substance at the side of his nail, making you let out a sigh.

"Spencer, you're bleeding; gimme your hand," you sighed, placing the file down beside you and holding your hand out to him, watching his eyes flick between your face and your hand a few times.

"The amount of pathogens passed through holding hands is staggering; it's actually safer to kiss." He stated, it was completely innocent, but the way your stomach churned wasn't. You'd had a thing for Spencer for a long time, but he was just so naive that he couldn't see it; today he'd see it.

"Is that an offer?" You teased, quirking your brow at him as his eyes widened, realising what he had said and who he said it to—a very attractive woman who was sitting right in front of him in a small, hidden room with the door closed and the blinds drawn, his cheeks flushing at the implication.

"N-No, I was just- I- " He stuttered, averting your gaze and swallowing thickly as you smiled at his flustered state, watching as he lifted his hand, placing it in yours in an attempt to make the whole conversation stop.

"Oh Spencer, does that not hurt?" You tutted, furrowing your brows at him at the raw, bleeding skin on his finger, your thumb stroking the back of his hand, absentmindedly.

"A little..." he spoke softly, lowering his head slightly as you sighed.

"Hold on, just a second," you said as you got up from the table, making your way to the door where you'd left your bag, unzipping it and digging through it for a moment, perhaps bending over to show a little bit of your butt from under your skirt on purpose before you finally pulled a bandaid from one of the pockets and made your way back to him.

"Good thing I'm prepared, huh?" You smiled, sitting back on the desk, but closer this time, with Spencer immediately holding his hand out to you for you to take gently, opening the bandaid and carefully wrapping it around his finger, forcing yourself to hold back a smile as you raised his hand to your face, placing a gentle kiss on top of the bandaid, leaving a faint lipstick stain on the tan material.

"Better?" you asked sweetly, holding back a smirk at his pink cheeks, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears, and you just couldn't help yourself. "Oh Spencer, are you feeling okay? Your cheeks are really red," you feigned concern as you reached out to press the back of your hand to his cheek, feeling the heat radiating from his face.

"Y-Yeah, fine," he said, his voice cracking as he tried to sound sure of himself and failing as his cheeks became redder at your touch.

"Are you sure, honey?" You asked sweetly, slipping in the petname just to see him gulp and avoid your eyes, wetting his lips nervously as he shifted in his seat.

Spencer couldn't even answer you, completely avoiding looking even close to you as you shifted closer to him, your eyes boring into him as you saw a very faint sheen of sweat lining his temple.

"Am I making you nervous?" You asked in a low tone, quirking your brow at him as you saw his eyes widen a little at your question, his lips parting as he let out a shaky breath, gulping down his nerves as he looked up at you shyly.

"M-Maybe a little," he admitted bashfully, looking away from you again, staring down at his shoes as you felt lust stirring in your stomach at the sight of him so nervous, admitting that you had an effect on him.

"Y'know, when I tell you that you're pretty, I mean it, don't you?" You asked him, looking at him with doe eyes as he looked back at you with a similar expression.

"Y-You do?" He sounded genuinely surprised, as if he didn't believe you.

"Of course I do. I mean not to sound like I'm in love with you or anything, but you're beautiful, Spencer, and I mean that." You spoke softly, standing up to shift closer to him, standing between his legs and leaning on the desk in front of him, forcing him to look up at you as you towered over him.

"T-Thank you," he breathed shyly, moving his hands to rest between his thighs and covering his crotch with his forearms as he looked anywhere but your face.

"Move your hands," you ordered suddenly, Spencer finally looking at you, brows pulled together slightly at your sudden change in behaviour.

"W-What?" He stuttered, gulping as he shifted in his seat, his hands still planted between his parted thighs, licking his lips as you heard the faint sound of his breathing picking up.

"I said, move your hands," you repeated, this time more sternly, pulling your lip between your teeth as you watched his hands twitch, taking a shaky breath before he hesitantly moved his hands to rest on his thighs, dropping his head in slight humiliation that he'd been caught.

"Oh my, I make you more than nervous," you stated in a sultry tone, Spencer letting out a breathy whine just loud enough for you to hear. The sound was all you needed to have you standing up abruptly, moving to place your knee between his thighs, your hands lifting to rest on either side of his neck.

"Can I kiss you, pretty boy?" You asked breathily, your thumb stroking over his pulse, feeling his breath hitch in his throat at your question before he gulped, nodding quickly.

"Use your words," you teased, watching as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, visibly nervous under your gaze.

"P-Please," he spoke under his breath, looking up at you with wide doe eyes as you smiled down at him, wordlessly leaning towards him, stopping just shy of his lips for a moment just to feel him lean towards you slightly to chase your lips before you finally closed the gap, feeling a whine vibrate against your lips.

Spencer's kissing was slightly clumsy and clearly inexperienced, desperately trying to keep up with you as you kissed him with fervour, letting your teeth graze his bottom lip, your hands trailing up from his neck into his hair at the nape of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp as he keened into you, his hips rolling upward, the motion piquing your curiosity, shifting your knee forward to press to his crotch, a moan slipping into your mouth as he bucked his hips again.

"That feel good, handsome?" You pulled away just enough to ask him, your lips brushing his and his hot breath fanning your lips as he panted, his eyes still closed.

"Y-Yeah," he breathed, making you smirk as you pressed your knee harder into his clothed cock, a whimper falling from his swollen lips as he rutted his cock into you, moving his hands to hold your thigh, squeezing your flesh in an attempt to compose himself, pushing himself down to the chair to still his movements.

"Keep going," you husked as you moved to press your lips to his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses over his pulse, the feeling making him moan as he couldn't help but rut against you, his cheeks flushed at what he was doing.

"W-what if someone-" he stuttered, cutting himself off with a whine as you grazed your teeth on his skin, licking over smooth skin.

"What if?" you said teasingly, your voice low and sultry as you lowered one hand to hold his that was still on your thigh, slowly moving it up and under your skirt. "Touch me," you breathed into his ear, a moan falling from his lips before he gulped, inching his hand higher and higher until he could cup your clothed core, gasping at the heat that radiated from you.

"W-What do I do?" He asked meekly, embarrassed that he didn't know how to touch you properly and that his inexperience only made you want him more.

"Well, first, my underwear need to be out of the picture." You laughed breathily, Spencer blushing and letting out a shaky breath as he used his fingers to move your damp underwear to the side, the fact that he didn't even remove them making you clench around nothing.

"Now touch me." You breathed, biting down on your bottom lip, watching as he gulped before ever so gently pressing his fingertips to your cunt, his middle finger slipping between your folds, resting at your slick entrance, his eyes widening at the feeling, his mouth dropping open slightly.

"Y-You're so...wet," he practically whimpered, not even realising how attractive what he said was, his words making you moan quietly, "inside baby," you breathed, taking his wrist into your hand to guide him, holding his hand where he needed to be before he slowly pushed his middle finger upward, his fingertip slipping into you and making his jaw fall slack as your walls surround his finger.

"God, you've got the perfect fingers for this, baby," you practically moaned, letting your head tip back as you still held his wrist.

"I do?" he asked, his voice slightly whiny as he gazed up at you.

"Mhm, fit so nicely inside me," you murmured absentmindedly, completely forgetting that this wasn't some raunchy dream you were having, your words making him moan low in his throat.

"Curl your finger towards you for me, love," you instructed softly. Spencer immediately followed your exact instructions, curling his middle finger gradually until you let out a quiet gasp, stopping his movements completely.

"D-Did I hurt you?" He asked worriedly, his behaviour and concern making your heart swell.

"N-No baby, no, felt good, k-keep going," you breathed, stroking your thumb over his wrist as you moved the other to rest on his shoulder, balancing yourself so you could move your leg to the outer side of his thigh, spreading your legs for him so he had more access.

"You can add another, baby," you encouraged softly, knowing that he wouldn't do it on his own out of fear of hurting you in any way.

"O-Okay," he breathed, swallowing nervously as he pulled his finger out almost fully, leaving just his fingertip in before he pressed his index finger in beside it, slowly pushing them both in at once, watching your face intently as your jaw fell slack, eyes closed as a breathy moan slipped past your parted lips.

"F-fuck, baby," you mewled as Spencer curled his slender fingers into you on his own accord, his hips rolling into your thigh at the sound of your voice and the feeling of you clenching around his fingers.

"G-Gimme your hand," you asked, holding yours out to him as he placed his free hand in yours with a slightly confused expression that quickly became a completely infatuated, lust-filled expression as you let go of his wrist to hike your skirt up around your waist, exposing the sight of his fingers buried in your cunt.

"O-oh my-" Spencer tried to speak, his words turning into a whimper as you bucked your hips slightly, his fingers pushing in deeper, the sight of them disappearing into you making his cock throb against your leg, hips stuttering against his will.

"J-Just stay right there and make this motion," you explained breathlessly, placing Spencer's thumb on your neglected clit and motioning circles with yours to show him what to do, watching him nod shakily before he made one tentative circle, watching how you reacted, the gasp you let out showing him that it was good, so he repeated the motion again and again until he had a pace going.

"Oh, Spence, g-good baby, so good, c-curl your fingers at the same time for me," you breathed, Spencer immediately doing as you asked, curling both his fingers into you until they were pressed to that soft spot inside you. The way you moaned when he reached it made him realise that spot was what made you react, so he experimented a little, uncurling his fingers before repeating the motion, a louder but still hushed sound falling from your lips as he did.

"Such a quick learner," you mewled as he continued his steady motions, his thumb circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your praise made him blush and rut into your thigh harder than he had before, and your curiosity piqued.

"You like when I praise you? tell you how good you are?" you asked, the way Spencer whimpered and fucked into your thigh again giving you your answer, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"Be a good boy and go faster for me," you instructed, your words of praise making him completely pliant, instantly picking up his pace and making you almost double over as the pleasure shot through you, the motion making your leg slot right between his thighs, leaving no distance between your thigh as his painfully hard length straining against his pants, a pathetic whimper ripped from his throat as his hips bucked desperately into you, this time at a constant pace, Spencer unable to hold back from chasing any kind of friction.

"So pretty fucking my thigh, baby, you like humping my leg like a good boy?" You cooed, bringing your hand to his jaw and letting your thumb stroke over his plush bottom lip, watching as he let his mouth open, as if inviting you in, and you just couldn't deny, letting your thumb slip past his lips and into his warm mouth, clenching around his fingers as he wrapped his beautiful lips around it.

"Oh my, such a good boy," you praised, your voice breathy and low as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you, the way Spencer's fingers consistently curled into you, his thumb never faltering on your clitoral area, his pace matching that of his hips constantly fucking your thigh, his brain going into autopilot as he sucked on your thumb.

"I-I feel- weird," Spencer whimpered around your thumb, just barely audible, but you heard him, his words making you want to coo at him, knowing exactly what the feeling was.

"You're gonna cum, baby boy; it's okay; gonna feel good; just let it happen." You spoke soothingly, pulling your thumb from his mouth and watching as he opened his eyes to look up at you with a doe-like expression, his lips parted and wet as he let out a constant stream of whimpers and moans, his hips stuttering as he desperately fucked your thigh, chasing his orgasm as he brought you to yours.

"F-fuck baby, you're gonna make me cum; keep going; just a little more for mommy." The word slipped out without a thought. You were so caught up in the moment that you didn't even think about it until Spencer let out a choked moan, delivering a particularly hard thrust onto your thigh, your jaw falling slack at what slipped past his lips.

"M-mommy, 'm gonna c-cum," he choked out, letting out little gasps and whimpers as tears spilled from his eyes. He looked utterly gorgeous, completely fucked out, and cumdrunk, so much so that he was calling you mommy and humping your thigh, the whole thing pushing you so close to the edge.

"Oh, baby, so fucking pretty. Gonna cum, you want that? You want mommy to cum on your pretty fingers?" You husked, watching as Spencer nodded mindlessly, clearly not even knowing what he was agreeing to.

"Oh, o-oh, m-mommy! mommy, I can't, I'm-" Spencer stammered, cutting himself off with a choked sob as his hips stilled, cum spurting into his underwear as his whole body tensed, including his hands, his fingers curling into you as far as they'd go, harshly pressing to your sweet spot as his thumb pressed into your clit, the sudden pressure sending you over the edge with a muffled moan, gushing around his fingers as your walls spasmed and thighs trembled.

Spencer continued to shallowly fuck your thigh through his orgasm, little whimpers and whines falling from his lips as he completely soiled his pants, cum seeping through to your thigh and the warm, sticky liquid smearing on your skin.

"Oh, baby, you made such a mess of yourself," you cooed, pouting down at him as you cupped his cheeks, his eyes looking up at you completely dazed as he whimpered.

"You did so well for mommy," you said softly, stroking his soft skin with your thumbs as he pouted, completely fucked out and submissive.

"Okay, baby, slow for me; you can take your fingers out now and we'll get you cleaned up, okay?" You encouraged him sweetly, Spencer nodding as he slowly, like you'd instructed, pulled his fingers out of you, the feeling of his skin dragging against your sensitive walls making you wince slightly.

Once Spencer slipped his fingers fully out of you, he couldn't help but fixate on the slick, shiny liquid that coated them, watching as it created strings between them when he spread them apart, and he just couldn't resist. Your jaw dropped as you watched him bring his soaked fingers to his lips, burying them in his mouth and moaning around them as he tasted you.

"You like how mommy tastes, baby?" You asked, smiling to yourself as you watched him clean every last drop, nodding with his fingers still in his mouth.

"Sticky," he whined once he pulled his fingers from his mouth, shifting in his seat awkwardly. "...and cold," he whined harder, looking up at you with big eyes as if begging you to do something.

"Okay, baby, let's clean you up," you smiled, fixing your soiled underwear and shimmying your skirt back down before planting your foot back on the ground and scanning the room.

"There's no tissues in here," you sighed, furrowing your brows as Spencer whined harder, pressing his thighs together desperately.

"D-Don't like it, mommy," he sniffled, making you turn quickly to see him with teary eyes and pouty lips. He was completely submissive, which was a problem you'd deal with later; right now he needed you.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay; don't cry," you soothed as you cupped his cheeks, watching as his bottom lip quivered slightly. "Mommy's going to think of something," you reassured him, taking another look around the room. An idea springs to mind, and he's not going to like it.

"Okay, you're not going to like it, but it's the only way, okay?" You told him, making sure to talk softly to him so as not to make him think you were being mean. Spencer was sensitive as is, but in this state? He needed the most care.

"O-Okay," he replied hesitantly, curious about what he wouldn't like but also slightly worried.

You let go of his face to turn around and reach over the desk, picking up Spencer's, now stone cold, coffee cup and turning back to him, seeing the dots connect in his mind at what you were planning, the whole idea making him whine but nodding nonetheless, knowing it was the only cover-up that wasn't going to be too suspicious.

"I'm going to spill this on you, and then we're going to go out there; I'll tell them I knocked it over and I feel terrible, and then we're going to go back to the hotel and get you changed, okay?" You explained your plan fully, making sure he was comfortable with the whole thing.

"Okay…" he mumbled, knowing that this was about to be unpleasant and impossibly stickier, but on the upside, the hotel wasn't far, and he got to spend some time alone with you away from work, so it was worth it in the end.

"Sorry, sweetie," you winced as you poured the liquid over his lap, watching as he jumped at the cold feeling seeping into his clothes, feeling terrible about making him uncomfortable.

"Alright, let's go. I don't want you sitting in wet clothes for too long," you said as you quickly placed the cup back on the desk, taking a Spencer hand in yours to help him to his feet and leading him to the door where your bag was, hoisting it onto your shoulder and swinging the door open. Your eyes immediately meeting hotch looking at you from a desk not far from you.

"I spilled Spencer's coffee on him; thank God it was cold, but I feel terrible. I'm gonna give him a ride to the hotel to change; we won't be long," you explained quickly, all but dragging Spencer through the station to the exit, not giving the team time to tease or make jokes.

"How dumb do they think we are?" Derek snorted to the team once you were out of earshot, the others shaking their head and agreeing with him as they continued their work.

@cancersunthatsit @mindfullycriminal @reidsdaisies @iluvreid @teachugger69 @queermaxwooo @olives-and-sunshine @ac0511 @unimportantweirdo @criminalmindswife @deluluforu @busybeingstrange

(if you wanna be tagged when i post fics just lmk!)

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whumpisgoodwhumpislife · 2 months ago

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LULLABY 3/3

Again, mention/implication of SA. Nothing graphic, as usual. Last episode! Hope you like it.

The day he was brought in, he made the whole block go silent for a minute. A murderer– that was what he was in for. Which he quietly but sternly denied every time someone questioned him. It was hard to believe him though, as he looked built to kill. Six feet tall, at least, a mountain of muscle, and a look that silenced even the worst convicts. He never needed to use his fists to gain respect from all. And fear.

For Lull, it was the latter. A dull, resigned fear. It was just another shoe in his ribs, another hand fisting his hair, another voice laughing at him.

His name was Garrett. Not that it mattered. But the name stuck with the dreamwalker, after one particular day.

Lull was limping back from to the cellblock, his hair damp from the shower. Cold water, as always, since he had found that inmates would leave him alone if he was late enough. The water left was freezing, but the situation was still much better than the alternative. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, desperately staggering forward. He had to reach his bunk before the lockdown bell, or else the guards would kill him. Not literally, that would be too merciful. But he could feel his muscles turning to cotton, his head pounding with the overwhelming need to sleep. Before he knew it, he was falling.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, his head hitting a soft surface instead of the floor. Lull flinched away, his movements sluggish, but someone held him back. He froze, meeting the other man's eyes, and immediately abandoned the fight. It was that new inmate, Garrett, towering three feet over him.

Lull sagged in his grip, going limp in anticipation. He knew how to be away, when it would happen. Hurt less this way.

But this time, the man held him up instead of letting him crumple. The former villain risked an eye contact, and met a frowning face. Bad. Bad. It was always worse when they were in a bad mood.

"Hey. You can't stand or what ?"

Lull's face did something complicated, before settling on confusion. What ? His knees were weak, but he managed to stay on his feet. Garrett's hands were still tight on his arms.

"Are you gonna collapse again? Coz the late shift guards are gonna kill you if you don't make it to the block."

As if he didn't already knew that. Still trying to catch his breath, and to keep his eyes from closing, he reluctantly accepted Garrett's help, leaning on his shoulder for balance. The corridor seemed to be moving, even though he was the one swaying unsteadily on his feet. It was only after a few steps, when the bigger man's hands stayed where they were supposed to be, that Lull started to relax. For some reason, it seemed that the other inmate was genuinely helping. However, the dreamwalker knew better than to hope. Eventually, everything always had a price.

With Garrett's help, he stumbled and collapsed on his bunk bed. The other man didn't comment, taking a few steps away, toward his own cell. Through the bars, Lull could see a group of familiar faces, hovering nearby. Their gazes were aimed right at him, their smiles sharp. Full of unwanted promises. But he was already slipping, unable to resist the tug of sleep. Once again, he would be helpless. Once again, he would wake up covered in bruises. Humiliated, broken.

The mattress bent under someone else's weight. Garrett, still there. He had noticed the other inmates too.

"Hope you don't mind, I think I'll sit here for a little while. The mattress is comfortable."

It took a few seconds for the words to register in Lull's sleep deprived brain. But when it did, his eyes widened slightly in surprise –and wariness. But in his state, there wasn't much he could do but pray, and he quickly fell into oblivion.

It was his first peaceful night in months.

When he woke up, he was alone. As usual, he checked himself up, his surprise growing. No new bruises, no sore points or body aches. Garrett had... Had actually protected him. But why ?

Throughout the day, Lull noticed that Garrett was watching him. Not the creepy kind, when someone would follow him until he couldn't stay awake anymore. Just... Watching. The others must've noticed as well, since no one made a move to approach him. That man was not someone you'd want to cross.

Lull fell asleep during unlock time, in the courtyard. One second he was awake, swaying on his feet, and the second, he was collapsing to the concrete floor. Before anyone could take advantage of it, Garrett sat down on the bench nearby. The others took the hint. Although a lot of them glared at him, muttering curses. Hovering. Waiting. They wouldn't let go of their favourite toy so easily.

It happened during work detail; Lull was sorting clothes for laundry, and Garrett was working in the workshop. Too far. Three men pushed him in a corner. They didn't bother with gentleness. When they finally left, Lull was barely conscious, his breathing hoarse and painful from the new bruises etched on his chest. He was surprised to find that's he was crying. He couldn't feel anything, numb to the world, but tears ran down his face nonetheless. His body remembered what his mind refused to.

The guards found him like this, and didn't bother with questions. They hauled him up, his legs too weak to hold him. And when they dropped him on the floor of his cell, Garrett was there. Waiting. His arms were crossed and his expression blank, but Lull could see the anger in his eyes. As soon as they were alone, he approached, and let out a sigh.

"How did you survive that long in here ?"

Lull eyed him warily, pushing himself up on shaky hands. His vision was going in and out, as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Why did you help me? What do you want from me ?"

"Nothing."

The former villain didn't believe him. But it didn't mattered. What did were the hands pulling him up with surprising gentleness, and taking him to the bunk bed. It was the last thing he felt before passing out cold.

Things changed quietly. None of them was very talkative, and it was often in silence that Lull would fall asleep without fear. Garrett didn't need any warning to catch him before the fall. At night, they'd huddle together. Then, they could speak. Just a few words, whispered.

"I'm innocent. Never killed that guy."

Lull had sleepily hummed, and nodded.

"I know."

It was all they needed. And if the former villain sometimes flinched away from his touch, Garrett never commented on it.

They knew their relationship was fragile, and could shatter at any moment. But for the moment, they were together. And that was the closest thing to happiness Lull had ever experienced. He would never dream again, but maybe he could live.

Taglist : @sausages-things @jumpywhumpywriter @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thataquaticwhumper @alyscat

@whatamidoingherehelpme @fleur-a-whump @ratsupremacy88 @whatiswhump @scoundrelwithboba

@phoenixpromptsandstuff @bacillusinfection @artfulbok @melpomenelamusa

#whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #whump #hero villain whump #villain whump #villain whumpee #cw sa implied #cw sa #cw sa mention #carceral whump #prison whump #jail whump #prisoner whumpee

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cravingpepsimax · 10 months ago

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ok no one asked but i did get a few likes + a rb on the post so here's my modern 30s ford

there are some important things to note about ford:

ford would've been born in the 90s

ford would still have been a friendless outcast

ford would still be intelligent and have an interest in the paranormal

there were approximately 45 million people using the internet back in 1996. the chances that the pines wouldn't have internet access at some point while ford was growing up is low. people who are lonely are more likely to use the internet frequently, since that's where they're getting a lot of their social interaction. filbrick would probably promote this, too -- he's focused on success and the internet's booming, he'd probably want his kid to be well-versed on internet stuff. hell, my parents have never been anywhere near filbrick's level, and they felt the same way, which is how i grew up with unrestricted internet access.

this is all to say that ford is -- at least in spirit -- a neet. not even your typical brand of chronically online, this guy regularly uses 4chan (specifically, i could see him liking the /sci/, /x/, and /tg/ boards).

think about it! so much internet shit comes from 4chan, it's inevitable that he'd immerse himself into it if he's online all the damn time and is interested in weird paranormal shit. i imagine stan's grown used to a lot of his 4chan weirdness atp

(to clarify -- this is pre-bill. ford just looks like that because he doesn't spend time taking care of himself. he lives in the basement. which reminds me: canon ford is literally a basement dweller isn't he LMAO)

the stancest implications are staggering, since 4chan is pretty cool with incest, if not outright pro-incest at certain points.

this also creates the hilarious feelings realization moment where stan's panicking, freaking the fuck out because oh my god he has feelings for his twin, while ford -- due to years, possibly a decade+ of 4chan use -- doesn't really gaf LMAO

#stancest #i don't have an actual name for this modern au take i've just been calling it the #neet ford au #idk if he's actually in grad school or not considering that he'd probably end up being very conspiratorial and anti-authority so i'm not #sure if he'd actually trust academic institutions at all #and would probably think any kind of research on the paranormal would be rejected outright

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reality-detective · 10 months ago

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NASA’s Darkest Secret: The Shocking Truth Behind the Planned Mass Extinction Event in 2025

Official NASA papers, now in the public domain, suggest a dark and dystopian future. These documents reveal that NASA has been secretly preparing for a cataclysmic event slated for 2025—a mass extinction event that threatens the very fabric of civilization.

The implications of this revelation are staggering. It suggests that a powerful institution, trusted by millions, is actively involved in a plan that could lead to the depopulation of Earth. This article delves deep into the details, exposing the potential reality of this impending catastrophe. If you’re reading this, you have the right to know the truth and prepare for what’s coming.

NASA’s Role in a Global Catastrophe. For decades, NASA has been viewed as the beacon of space exploration, innovation, and scientific advancement. However, the recently uncovered documents paint a different picture—a picture of a NASA that is complicit in a plot so nefarious that it defies belief. The documents, which include a PowerPoint presentation by NASA’s Chief Scientist Dennis Bushnell, outline a series of events set to unfold in 2025. These events are designed not just to disrupt but to annihilate civilization as we know it.

The most alarming aspect of this revelation is the precision with which these plans have been laid out. The documents detail a series of inside job terror attacks, combined with biological warfare, to be unleashed on U.S. soil. These attacks are not the result of foreign adversaries but are orchestrated from within, with the intent of causing maximum destruction and societal collapse.

The Timeline of Terror: A Prelude to Extinction. The plans for this mass extinction event are not new. The documents suggest that NASA has been preparing for this scenario for decades. This timeline of terror began long before the documents were made public. It is a methodical and calculated approach to reducing the global population, ensuring that those in power maintain control over the remaining resources.

What makes this revelation even more terrifying is the fact that many of the events outlined in the documents have already occurred. This indicates that the wheels of this deadly plan are already in motion. The global pandemic, widespread civil unrest, and increasing geopolitical tensions are all signs that the countdown to 2025 has begun.

- Julian Assange

NASA is NOT what you think it is, they are evil liars like the rest of the deep state and they have duped millions if not billions of people about the earth, the Sun and Moon and space itself. If you löök at their emblem it has a serpent tongue in plain sight. Their budget is around 63 million a day of taxpayer money. 🤔

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burlowbeanie · 2 years ago

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Locked Tomb Timeline, as far as I can tell

This is a long one, and a bit of a mess. I'll be making other posts about the fun date coincidences and my speculations about their implications, but I figured I should give some of the actual evidence in one solid chonky post so I can link to it and don't need to repeat myself later on.

(BD = before death of the earth; AR = after resurrection; BM = before millennium, AM = after millennium)

Unspecified Pre-Death of the earth: Foundation of Canaan house/the facility that Jod et al used for the cryogenic experiments. Establishment of Kuiper installation, Uranus platform, Mars installation w/ room for 5 million, the Lucifer Telescope, and fusion batteries (Ntn 14, Ntn 74, Ntn 189)

----------------------------------

Now! Some pre-resurrection numbers!

Before 2 BD: C-- sides with the crew (Ntn 13)

1 BD: Governments shift away from the cyrogenics plan (Ntn 13)

0 BD: Jod destroys the world

------------------------------------

Now, the most unclear section of the timeline: the resurrection and its immediate aftermath.

Augustine, from Htn 176: “Alfred and I were there early enough to found the Koniortos Court on the Fifth, but Lyctors like Cyth wouldn’t be born for years and years, and she spent her whole life suffering Seventh House woo-woo theories regarding the value of hereditary cancer … whereas Mercy is the oldest lag except for me, and she was out hammering at the Eighth House before the paint was even dry on the Resurrection.”

The resurrection occurs a few weeks after the death of the earth (Ntn 396). Then things get a bit hazy. We know the approximate order of the resurrections of the original ten disciples, but not how far apart they were staggered - was it minutes? Months? Years?

Similarly, Cyrus/Val and Anastasia/Samael are implied to have showed up before Cytherea/Loveday, when Cytherea was almost 30 years old. Both cavaliers have last names associated with their house, which suggests that either the third and ninth were established enough to at least have a small population by the time that they went to Canaan House, or that they took those names/were given those names later on.

Cytherea-as-Dulcinea says that she "dreamed of being a 9th nun" at age 13, and it's unclear if she's speaking as herself or as Dulcinea or how much she was lying as either persona (Gtn 104). Thus, we don't know if the ninth house was established by the time she went to Canaan House, though it seems like the sort of hint that both Cytherea and Muir would have had a fun time dropping.

Thus, while it is possible/seems probably many/most of the houses were established by the time that any of the newer disciples showed up, especially Cytherea, that is unconfirmed. However, it took until at least 30 years after the resurrection, probably more, for all 16 of the disciples to gather.

A rough order of events during this time, some of which may overlap:

Original disciples resurrected

New disciples arrive

Lyctors ascend; Anastasia fails

Alecto is put in the tomb and Cassiopeia dies

The lyctors and Jod flee to the Mithraeum, leaving the system

Particular questions that remain and would help clarify things:

Were Anastasia, Samael, Cyrus, Valancy, and Loveday born or resurrected? It seems like Cytherea was likely born.

When did Anastasia have a child and found the tombkeeper line?

When did Pyrrha (or G1deon!Pyrrha) paint a nursury? Was it the same time she visited Anastasia "before she got settled" (Ntn 85)? Was Anastasia's child the birth she assisted at (Ntn 121)?

When was the ninth founded? When was the prison installation founded? Was there anything on the ninth before Anastasia was told to prepare for Alecto's imprisonment? Samael seems to have been born or resurrected after the ninth was founded, unless he was given his name later?

-------------------

After resurrection: Actual Numbers. Once we get like 100-200 years out from the resurrection, things start to get clearer. Not clear, but clearer.

100 AR: God names himself Gaius (Htn 521). Is this when Cytherea ascends, since she is given credit for the "naming oneself after one's cavalier" thing? Or was that some God bullshit?

200 AR: Alecto put in tomb (Htn 478)

4000 AR: source gram comes from sixth house to BOE (Htn 529)

5000 AR: BOE comes to the attention of jod and the lyctors; they may have existed beforehand but been unable to find the houses/be found (Htn 154). Augustine begins questioning the purpose of the empire (Htn 483).

Moving into the thousand years before the events of the series:

9000 AR/ 1000 BM: Matthias Nonius lives (Gtn 53)

750-700 BM: New Rho contract drawn up (Ntn 206)

519ish BM: beginning planning of dios apate major (Htn 474)

300 BM: Cyth gets angry (Gtn 402). Last contact between second and first houses (Gtn 456).

100 BM: Jod leaves the Mithraeum (Htn 81).

80 BM: Jod joins the Erebos (Htn 81)

40-39 BM: G1deon starts to really annoy Augustine, who speaking in 1 AM states: “He has caused me more pain over these last scant forty years than I dare to admit" (Htn 268). I think Wake makes the most sense as an explanation for this, though it's off by about five years.

34 BM: Wake reinvigorates BOE (Htn 154). Ortus born? That’s a fun coincidence that means nothing.

30 BM: Mercy thinks Jod should have returned to the Mithraeum then (Htn 81).

25-24 BM: BOE finds out about resurrection beasts (Htn 275) because Wake talks to G1deon (Ntn 155)

21 BM: G1 begins his (final) pursuit of wake (Htn 469)

Sometime after 300 BM, most likely 20 BM, Cytherea teaches BOE about steles and obelisks (Ntn 155)

20 BM approximately, presumably, could be earlier: Augustine and Mercy talk to BOE. BOE gets accurate fleet schematics for the first time in a hundred years and eventually the location of the mithraeum, though those were probably earlier with Cytherea and two decades later with Cytherea!Wake respectively (Ntn 155)

19 BM: Isaac’s dad killed by terrorists on [redacted], presumably BOE (Gtn 459). Mercy and Augustine are “talking” (Htn 87); Dios apate major. Mercy sees Cytherea for the last time and Cytherea laughs so much she insults Mercy (Htn 120), which is an understandable response given that Mercy may have described the dios apate major plan and/or requested her involvement. Mercy sees Sarpedon as a young soldier (about 20 years PM; close enough and matches up with dios apate) (Htn 81).

19–18 BM: Wake dies (Htn 88). Gideon born. Creche massacre.

17 BM: Harrow born.

14 BM Gideon’s first escape attempt (Gtn 24)

13 BM: Gideon is not a necromancer confirmed (Gtn 24)

10 BM: Augustine sees Cytherea for the last time (Htn 120). Wake’s bones get put on rotation (Htn 476).

9-8 BM: Harrow is suicidal. Harrow opens the tomb. Harrow hears/sees the body. Onset of psychosis. Unclear in what order (Htn 49, 247).

7 BM: (Harrow is still suicidal but sees the body?). Harrow and Gideon fight (Htn 477). Gideon sees Harrow opening the tomb. Her parents kill themselves. Gideon gets nightmares about being in the tomb (Gtn 202).

5 BM: Harrow starts puppeting (?girl wtf?? What was going on in the intervening two years???) (Gtn 348). Last ninth house chaplains and adepts are lost in action (Htn 81).

2 BM: Gideon enters Drearburgh for the last time

1 BM: Number 7 estimated five years from the Mithraeum (Htn 125).

0 BM, with rough approximates:

Month 1-3: prepping for Canaan house

Month 4: Canaan house

Month 5: harrow throws up; Camilla nonverbal

Canaan house recovery missions from the emperor and BOE — what the fuck. Who got there first. How and why did they miss the other people. Seems like BOE got there, intentionally left H and I but took G’s body??????????

Month 6: Harrow and Ianthe arrive on the Mithraeum

Month 8: Harrow kills her 13th planet with Mercy. It’s desert and triple-sunned. Wake makes posthumous contact with BOE (Ntn 155).

Month 9-10: When Judith says she begins writing her report; she’s with BOE on a wooded double(potentially triple?)-sunned planet. At one point several weeks (or months?) later Mercy shows up. According to Judith, that is. Judith honey I might need to recuse your testimony for somehow being more of an unreliable narrator than the lobotomized traumatized psychotic unmedicated half-dead triple-haunted 201-souled Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Then I could bump this back to month 8 which would make more sense.

Month 10: Harrow catches G1d!Pyrrah with Cytherea!Wake

Between Month 10 and Month 12: Harrow turns 18. Harrow discovers G1d can drain thanergy. Harrow makes soup. Harrow makes Ianthe’s arm. Dios apate minor.

Month 12: Harrow finds Cam and Pal on a wooded planet and sees Judith. Judith tries to warn Harrow about Mercy’s involvement.

Mercy ditches her for unspecified business. I suspect this is when she meets with We Suffer? Was this when she heals Judith?

1 AM

Month 2: death of the emperor. Quick undeath of the emperor. Nona born(?)

Month 5: Station Red-As-Blood abandoned (Ntn 152). The demons show up on Antioch (Ntn 448).

Month (6?): Nona gets a job (Ntn 41).

Month 7: nona gets shot, cam/pal fusion reveal (Ntn 105 through the end of the chapter)

Month 8: events of Ntn

#locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #nona the ninth #harrow the ninth #alecto the ninth #gtn #This is a mess but I had enough citations I figured I might as well submit it for peer review on tumblr dot com

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