#ch: the splintered

[dawning-games]

"Do you ever wonder if the people this world are the way that they are because they don't require sleep anymore?" The Splintered wondered aloud, crossing his arms behind his head. "Think about it with me, if you will. Go on this journey with me. Sleep gives you respite from stress and just having to think and be you for a few hours at a time, and here? Now? There is no such relief, no matter how much you may try. Doesn't that simply sound exhausting, on a metaphorical, emotional, and grammatical level?"

"You sound exhausting," Malcolm muttered.

"Do you take issue with questioning the world around you, Malcolm? The very foundation of human understanding?"

"Nah. What I take issue with is you being a blowhard when I'm trying to ignore you for eight hours."

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

*under my breath* only a little longer until i can write on my computer

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too. 

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God (Part 3)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: Elain questions Azriels whereabouts. While Rhys places a target on your back after you seek the help of two other Death Gods.

Or

Azriel touches what does not belong to him and craves more.

word count: 5.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, attempted SA, angst, hurt/comfort, light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I had the tickle to write smut so I give you crumbs…for now. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

*quote from the chaos of stars

~~

Khaos was to be one of the many shooting stars that showered the Night Court skies. The Night Court would be celebrating Starfall, their yearly event to star gaze as spirits made their migration. Had she made her destination they would recognize her as one of their own and welcome her with open arms. Except for the first time the Night Court had in possession four instruments of conquest. The harp, mask, crown, and the horn, commonly known as the Dread Trove; Therefore diverting her journey to The Autumn Court.

~~~~~~~~

Bryaxis roared as he agreed to fight in the war. The reason for the blast; a form of communication, letting you know his end of the bargain was done. A bargain made with the High Lady cementing his plans- your plans. He requested a window below the library to see the sun and stars and most importantly lightning, conjured by you of course. Gods did he enjoy the spectacle, your wrath illuminating the dark sky striking fear and anxiety in peoples bones. The thrill of watching their faces as they waited for that crack of thunder. The sadist in him couldn't wait to be unleashed and bear witness to your fury, cracking of bones and screams in terror. The sweet scent of blood splattered throughout the field. He was giddy with excitement.

Azriel had rushed to the house of wind only to find the inner circle gathered in the sitting area. “Az! I’m so glad you're safe. Feyre and I figured out why the house was so moody.” Elain bounced over to her lover, wrapping her arms around Azriels neck, bringing his mouth to hers in an endearing kiss, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. Azriels arms remained at his sides, as she embraced him. His brows furrowed when she attempted to deepen the kiss.

He had just held you in his arms moments ago, your frame tucked closely within the shelter of his wings. Just the two of you and no one else existed at that moment. Not the flying of splintered bark or decayed leaves from the blast, or the dust, heavy with smoke and mist. He just saw you. Felt the power in your veins, saw the moon and all its stars in your eyes, the ruler of the skies and ruler of his mind.

He already missed the way the stars danced in your eyes as you looked up at him. He wanted to see his shadows dance along glittered starlight, not dirt covered flower beds and baked goods.

Azriel didn’t allow Elain to deepen the kiss, instead he broke apart from her eager mouth and gently pulled her arms from around his neck. “Elain I think we sho–”

“You smell different,” Elain interrupted, sniffing around Azriels chest and neck trying to find the source. “Just stepped on an orange on my way here,” he replied, rubbing the back of his tense neck. Her eyes narrowed, not trusting a single word out of his mouth.

Azriel met Nestas cold glare, a slight shake to her head followed. He was being put on the spot in front of his whole family. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead, wiping his clammy hands along his thighs, he started towards the stairs, “I’m gonna go shower.”

“I’ll join you!” Elain exclaimed, reaching for Azriels hand, intertwining her fingers with his. He silently begged for someone to stop her. To pull her away from what he knew she wanted, what he’s been giving her for the past six months. For anyone to suddenly need her so he could enjoy the scent of your body a little longer. So he could aggressively fist his cock and imagine he was fucking your throat instead.

Slowly Azriel climbed the steps, each step creaked as the wood carried their weight closer to their bedroom. He’d have to imagine it was you instead of her. Your mouth pressed against his lips as he swallowed your moans, hands trailing down your stomach till he reached your wet cunt. Your perfect body pressed against the shower wall as he sheathed himself inside you, taking you over and over and over–

“Azriel? Did you hear me?” It was Cassian that broke his thoughts.

“Sorry, zoned out for a bit. What did you say?”

“Rhys wants to debrief you.” Cassian jerked his head to Rhys' office.

“Now?” Elain whined, “can’t it wait for morning? It’s late.”

“No, he’s right Elain. Better now that it's fresh in my mind.” Azriel didn’t know if he should thank Cassian, the mother or the Gods for sparing him. Elain began to speak again but it was Azriel who seemed to read her thoughts, “don’t wait up,” he finished; releasing her hand that she so tightly held.

Not sparing her a second glance, Azriel followed Cassian to Rhys office, his shoulders more relaxed than before and his shadows seemed to have calmed down. Throwing his arm around Azriels shoulders in brotherly love, Cassian leaned in close and whispered, “you fucken owe me asshole. Now tell me all about her.”

Azriel tried to play it off with a smirk, but a wide smile danced on his lips. He’d get to stroke his cock to the thought of you after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel didn’t sleep in the room he shared with Elain, her once alluring scent now seemed too sweet. Her hands were suddenly too rough from pruning rose thorns and the leftover dirt beneath her nails made him sick.

He knew he needed to find the time to break things off. Cassian had told him that much. It wasn’t fair to lay next to Elain while he dreamed of you. Although Azriel didn’t divulge too much to Cassian about his fantasies, which wasn't the case when it came to Elain.

With Elain he had told Cass every dirty detail, how many times, positions and even sounds. He knows it was wrong. Didn’t think much of it before, as it was spoken between brothers and no one else. It would be different with you though. You were different. He was going to do it tonight. Tonight he would break things off with Elain and devote his efforts in getting to know you.

~~~~~~~

There were strong wards surrounding the Prison in the Night Court, used to prevent anyone from winnowing inside or flying to the entrance. The power needed to pass through the wards was more than you expected. It wasn't till you reached the stone gate that you realized that only the High Lord of the Night Court's blood would open the gate, something that you couldn't manipulate or conjure. You pinched the space between your brows in irritation as you thought of a way to bypass the blood sacrifice. Starting small in order to regain your power you attempted to push at the stone gate, hoping that it would just topple over. It didn't. Since the prison was on a cavernous mountain perhaps a little quake would loosen the rock and stone exposing the entrance for you to just strut right in.

You knelt in front of the stone gate, both knees firmly planted in soil and moss. You closed your eyes to focus on your magic. The sea breeze caressed your wind-chapped cheeks as you listened to the roar and crash of waves when they met the edge of the mountain. You summoned the power of the land through your fingers, plunging them deep into the soil in front of you. With a roar that echoed the strong ocean waves the mountain trembled in fear. The more your arms quivered in pain the deeper your fingers dug into the ground. Every inch rooted into the land caused the mountain rock to shrivel and rumble till small cracks webbed along the stone gate.

Azriel and Cassian were in the middle of breakfast when the floor beneath them swayed side to side, followed by a rolling motion. Dishes broke into pieces as they crashed to the floor, glass and sharp porcelain scattered the ground. Rhys urgently summoned them mind to mind.

There's a breach at the prison, get over here now before she releases them all.

Azriel and Cassian shared a look before they scrambled into their leathers and sheathed their most effective weapons, knives, daggers and swords, preparing for the worst.

Small cracks etched along the stone wall but it wasn't enough to open the gate. With your power almost completely drained you called upon the light. Seconds from opening your eyes to wield a crack of lightning a cool tendril wrapped around your wrist, carrying the smooth echo of ‘Please don’t do this’ in the whisper of Azriels voice.

The soothing touch jolted you. Your eyes shot wide open long enough to see the sky illuminate in a bright flash. A loud roaring sound boomed through the air as a violent strike of lightning slammed into the stone gate, crumbling it to pieces.

When you looked down to your trembling hands submerged in the rich soil, black tendrils seeped from the ground, wrapping up your arms and cooling your hot skin. “I think you like playing with fire don’t you?” Dusting the dirt from your hands you caressed the little shadow and quickly made your way inside the prison, looking at the sky one last time just in case you couldn't make it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Bone Carver.” You smiled at your old friend, “Remember that favor you owe me?”

The Bone Carver just rolled his dark eyes. “Whatever you're going to ask me, the answer is yes.”

You beamed, “thank you.”

It had been easier getting out of the mountain than getting in, a flaw in the protection wards you’d fix before you left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel trekked up the mountain you were long gone. Upon entering the prison Azriel was easily able to follow your scent which led him to the Bone Carvers cell. Rhys entered and excused the other two males.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into brother?” Cassian questioned, glancing at Azriel with his eyebrow raised. Azriels brows creased as he tilted his head, not understanding what he meant. “She almost leveled a fucking mountain. I love you brother, but I don't think you can handle her,” Cassian smirked, “but I know I can.”

Azriel snorted. They had shared females in the past accidentally and sometimes in the same room. “She’s different Cass. Touch her and I’ll cut off your hands.”

“Don’t need my hands to fuck her Az.” Cassian threw his head back and howled in laughter as Azriel punched his shoulder in jest.

Rhys walked out of the cell and stared at Azriel as if he knew something Azriel didn’t. His violet eyes bore into hazel ones with a look of sympathy, knowing what lay ahead for Azriel.

“What did he say?” Azriel nervously asked.

Rhys didn’t answer as he turned his back away from him, starting his walk back down the mountain. Cassian and Azriel shared a glance, a look of worry in both their eyes.

Back in Velaris, Rhys paced back and forth, his knuckles white from clenching them into fists. The violet of his eyes black with rage.

“She knows about Velaris and can easily bypass the protection wards. Now she knows how to get in and out of the prison. Find her before I do because I'll fucking kill her.” Rhys' tone was low and deadly like a viper ready to strike.

Without another word Azriel set out to find you, again. But this time he was determined to get answers. No more riddles, no distractions. There was a pattern he picked up on. You seemed to befriend the deadlier creatures of Prythian, The Suriel, Bryaxis somehow, and now The Bone Carver. Azriel set his sights on the middle of Prythian where the weaver Stryga was confined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Work out of your home Court was almost complete, the allies that you needed were aware of their duties and were loyal to your mission. Your limbs ached and burned from your travels across multiple courts, the only thing bringing you a sense of peace was this last stop. Possibly the worst, not the person you had to visit but the stench alone turned your stomach.

The severed head in the sac you carried grew heavier and heavier as your final destination grew closer. Crimson stained your clothes leaving them stiff and rough against your delicate skin. Your hair has clumped from the dirt and blood, it’d been days since you had a nice bath. You open and close your mouth as the sour taste of decayed flesh hits your taste buds. Food wasn't easily available but the horrid smell had you doubling over, emptying what was left from your stomach. Sweat now beads down the side of your face. Heavy eyes spot the weavers cottage in the distance. Finally you think.

“Stryga!” You shout, as you rap at the wooden door, “open up!”

Strygas feet shuffle to the door, “must you shout? I’m blind not deaf you insubordinate buffoon,” she scolds as she swings the door open.

Thankfully she doesn't see the way your face falls as you hold in your gag. “I missed you too Stryga.” She beckons you inside, her arm extended towards her cluttered home. “I don't mean to be rude, but I’m in a hurry. It’s not far from now Stryga. You’ll still be able to eat your fill of evil males,” you declare, handing her your sac with the severed head. “I’m going to kill him, both of them. Don’t you worry. Your neck still remains attached to your spine. But I’ll need some help and I’d love nothing more if you fought by my side.”

Stryga lowers her head and you witness her undying loyalty as she motions to kneel before you. “That's unnecessary,” you attempt at grabbing her arm, stopping her bow.

“It would be a pleasure to unleash my wrath for you Khaos, Goddess of creation and decreation,” Stryga pledges as she remains within your grasp. “So, not a buffoon then?” you stifle a laugh at her earlier jab, and for the first time in your presence Stryga smiles.

“No one calls me that anymore.” You remind her, a wave of sadness crossing your eyes as you remember your mission and how far you are from home.

“Buffoon? Or khaos?” She smirks as you throw her a faux glare.

Stryga suddenly stiffened, her ear catching a faint whisper as she tilted her head. Her clawed fingernails digging into the worn wood of the door.

“Stryga?” You whispered, peering behind you at the dozens of trees that seemed unmoving.

“Shadows follow you.” She brings her forefinger to her lips, shushing you, “non threatening it seems,” her brows furrow, "they're captivated.” Her soulless eyes widen as they seem to meet your gaze. “The shadows have stolen from you.”

You don’t have time for her to elaborate. Quickly making you exit and excusing yourself, she shocks you with her parting words. “Do you know what it takes to make a star shine?”

You shake your head as if she can see you. “Darkness,” she replies. “I knew that,” you answer as you take steps away from her cottage, eager to leave before the shadows master finds you. “Then why do you run?” She retorts, crossing her arms as she braces against the frame of her door, a smug expression on her deadly face.

You don't spare her another glance but her words linger long after you've left her cottage. With your work away from home finally done you winnow to your home court, disappearing in a cloud of glitter and smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You inhaled the crisp air, holding it in your lungs for three seconds before exhaling. Calming your racing heart and releasing the power that traveled through your veins. You smile briefly as the pressure of water against your body washes away days of dirt and blood. Finally letting your limbs relax, stretching your arms high above your head, reaching for the blue sky wanting nothing but to hold the warmth of the sun. In the peaceful silence of the forest you give yourself a moment of weakness. You allow the ache that's burrowed deep within your heart to break free from its prison. Your body’s screaming for a day a week or even a few hours of rest, where shifting isn't needed, and glamouring your true form doesn’t eat up most of your power. Where wars dont need to be fought and kings don’t need to die. You let your strength rest; to feel your pain shatter the windows to your soul for just a moment.

~~~~~

Azriel followed the sound of hushed whimpers, his shadows jumping from tree to tree. The soft cries soon turned harrowing then muffled, like a palm over the mouth.

‘Broken’

His shadow informed him.

Taking cover in the darkness below a large tree he heard the faint weeping, the sudden scent of citrus invading his nostrils. Your shoulders shook with the force of your cries as you cleaned off your wings. Azriel tried to look away from your bare back as you bathed beneath the mouth of a waterfall. Immediately he noticed your wings, two forewings and two hindwings that tapered towards the end like those of a luna moth.

You can shapeshift, he realizes, the large expanse of your wings covering your behind from view, leaving Azriel curious. But why were you crying? You didn't seem broken like his shadows had mentioned. That's when he saw it. Blood. You were cleaning off blood from your wings. Someone you had just killed he imagines. No, It was your blood. At the base of your wing closest to your back a large slash cut deep, almost severing your wing.

“You’re hurt, I can help you.” His voice rang out over the rushing water, slowly inching forward so as to not seem threatening. Frightened by his sudden appearance you vanish before his eyes, leaving a cloud of shimmering powder, momentarily blinding him. Weaving through the darkness of the in-between, you swiftly emerge, tackling Azriel to the ground, unsheathing his own dagger in the process.

Clothed in nothing but a thin nightgown, you straddle him, truth teller firm in your grip pushing against the column of his throat. His shadows swirled above your head creating a crown of darkness as if you were their queen. Azriel narrowed his eyes, ‘traitors.’

“Why have you looked for me?

Azriels speechless as he beholds your beauty, ignoring your question. His eyes wander over each of your features as if committing to memory. His hazel eyes land on your pouty lips and his throat bobs as his desire consumes him. Instinctually his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, just in case.

“Why have you looked for me?” You repeat, forcing his dagger against his jugular, a bead of blood painting his tan skin. Azriel smirked, the thrill of a dangerous female only exciting him, causing the scent of his arousal to fill the air. “You plan to kill me with my own blade?”

“I could kill you without it.” You counter, the force of your power sizzling through your fingers.

Azriels eyes flutter closed, the scent of his arousal drifting to your nose, a husky scent with a touch of night. “So the rumors are true,” Azriels brows furrow, “the shadowsinger playing hero to a damsel in distress, bedding any female that bats her eyes.”

Azriel then twists his foot around your ankle, using his weight to roll you over onto your back. You drag the blade across his throat as he tumbles you to the ground. His hand firmly grips your throat while the other wraps around your wrist, pinning you to the forest floor. With his knees firm on the ground, caging your hips, your legs resting on top of his thighs, making it easy for you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Who told you that?” He asks angrily, blood dripping down his throat from the shallow slash you gave him.

“Eris Vanssera '' you gasp, the slight pressure of his fingers around your throat arousing you more than it should. Yet the grip he holds on your wrists sends you in a panic as memories from your morning assault come crashing.

The males rancid breath makes your stomach churn as he licks at your cheek. The whole weight of his grotesque body has you pinned down, barely able to wriggle out from under him. With one hand he holds your wrists down above your head as the other fumbles with his belt.

Mid-flight he had collided into you, both barreling out of the sky crashing to the ground. Furious, he had attempted to sever your rare wings. The impact of your fall momentarily ceasing your powers, causing you to fight hand to hand.

Your crying only eggs him on, excitement in his rotten attempt at a smile. You're not sobbing out of fear. No. You mourn the life you have to take. You mourn every life, weather deserved or not. The spark that creates life remains. Rooted deep within you, pushed to the side in order for darkness to prevail.

Loyal to your duties as a Death God by any means necessary, you sucked in the secretions from your lungs and violently spat. Thick mucus covered the fat bastard's face, briefly losing his grip, giving you just enough time to unsheath your knife and drive into his thick skull. Later, you’d gift his remains to a dear friend.

Azriels eyes widened with shock as he felt a sharp pain shooting through him. Grunting and hissing he clutches his side, finding Truth teller lodged deep into his rib, warm blood dribbles from the wound staining the ground he's crouched at. “ Did you just stab me?” he chokes out, wincing as he pulls the dagger free, fingers splayed wide attempting to stop the bleeding.

Scrambling out from under him, chest heaving as the adrenaline flows through you. “You’ll live,” you pant as you stand, dusting off browned leaves from your back and knees. A sigh escapes your lips as you notice a blood stain on your white night dress. All you wanted was to wash up the violence that painted your skin and even then your efforts were futile. Azriels eyes trail up your body as he remains kneeled still putting pressure on his rib, his magic working to heal the open wound.

Anger courses through him as he zeros in on a purple bruise on your inner thigh, visible from how short your dress is. “Tell me who he is and I’ll kill him for you.” Those simple words had meant so much you almost cried at the gesture. While you slaughtered the bravest of males and brought warriors to their knees, destroyed kingdoms for unworthy kings, defended the defenseless not one person had offered to protect you. Countless times you had braved your own storm with not one soul willing to weather the chaos. Despite being used for your endless power, time and time again you still gave more than what you could ever receive in return. You save everyone but who was there to save you? You were one female and strong enough to fight your own battles and conquer without the help of highlords or kings. So why was this male cracking the shield of vulnerability wrapped so tightly around your heart?

Azriel seemed to notice your internal struggle, “come here,” he rasped as he stared through your troubled gaze. The tousled waves of his hair that fell so effortlessly over his forehead looked so enticing your fingers twitched. His hazel eyes had darkened and the way his thick thighs looked kneeling gripped you so fiercely your legs moved on their own volition. Standing on weak knees, his eyes never left yours as he patted his thigh, urging you to place your foot on his strong muscle. You obey his command with a slow nod. Azriel chances a glance at your exposed leg, “who do I have to kill?” He asks, softer this time. His bloodied fingers wrap around your delicate ankle and for once you don’t mind. Strong hands gently smooth over your leg, wrapping to the back of your calf. A shiver runs through you at the simple touch, his attentiveness relaxing your muscles. Slowly he lifts the hem of your gown, just enough to expose the bruise and nothing else. “Tell me whose entire family line should I butcher for touching you?” he murmured against your skin, circling your tender bruise with his perfect nose. “I killed him,” you breathe looking down at this male whose lips are inches away from your throbbing core.

“Mmmm good girl,” he growls, meeting your hooded gaze as he licks your inner thigh followed by a tender kiss. You nearly buckle at the sensation of his lips against your skin. The way his rough hands are caressing up and down the expanse of your leg. Lustful eyes roll back as he deeply inhales the sweet scent of your arousal, smothering his handsome face against the heated flesh of your leg like a house pet greeting their owner. “Let me worship you,” he purrs, his hot breath ghosting over your covered core as the tips of his fingers kiss the space between your legs. Azriel could cum right now just watching you throw your head back as you gasp from his fingers grazing your pulsing core. His pants are pulled tight from his cock pushing against his leathers, wanting to bury himself inside you. He’s willing to wait as long as you need but right now he’ll take whatever you give him.

When your eyes meet Azriels again you don’t miss the burning desire in his beautiful eyes or the outline of his bulge as it strains against his pants, suddenly it becomes too much too soon and before you know it you’ve shoved him away, the yearn clouding your vision clears and your back to being a powerful Death God.

“Is that what you tell the females you lay with? That you’ll worship their bodies like the Goddess they are?”

Azriel hangs his head between his dropped shoulders. Shame of his past finally catching up to him when it matters the most. When what he wants more than anything is threatened by his past mistakes. What was he thinking? Oh Gods and Elain. He was offering to please and bed you while he still hadn’t broken things off with Elain.

“You never answered my question. Why have you looked for me?”

Azriel remains silent.

“Did I offer a service which benefited you or your court?”

“Not exactly.” He answers

“Do you seek to use my power for your gain?” You continue, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“No”

“Do you seek treasure?”

“No” He replies with a scoff.

“You seek power then?”

Azriel shakes his head, “no, not power.”

“Knowledge?”

“Nope.”

“You do not pursue power, nor do you wish to bathe in coins, and knowledge is neither here nor there, so you must be searching for love?”

Azriel stilled.

“Ah, love it is. I regret to inform you, I cannot make someone love you.”

“That's not it. You healed me as a child. You were a stranger that showed me more kindness than my own family, and I've spent my entire life looking for you. Not to ask for more healing or to share your magic with others who may need you, but to offer my gratitude. All these years I’ve wondered what you’ve made of yourself, if you're happy, successful, have you found love or have you married or.. ” his gaze shies away, “or if you’re mated.” His tone is sincere, like he's been practicing those words for centuries.

You narrow your eyes at him, gauging whether he's telling you the truth or not, though you sense no lies. “What’s your name shadowsinger?”

“Azriel.”

“Azriel, I'm sorry but the person you're looking for doesn't exist anymore, but I’m even more sorry that I don’t recall this interaction.”

You watch as his expression sombers.

“I’m very flattered though,” you give him a tight lipped smile and get closer, deciding to sit next to him on the stone flat rock that rims the pool you were bathing in. Hoping to offer the same sincerity, you gently place your palm on his lap. “I suppose I can answer your questions, I feel it's the least I can do since you’ve indeed stalked me all these years.” Azriel chuckles remembering the night he said he wasn't a stalker. “I’m not happy, or successful where coin is involved. I have found love in all the faces I’ve seen and the wonderful friends I’ve made, but I’ve only loved one male.” while heat flushes your cheeks and a smile escapes your lips, Azriel frowns, unprepared for the hurt your answer would cause. “His name is Lucien, but –”

Azriel doesn't hear a word you say after that, the weight of your confession pinning him where he sits. Thank Gods for that because he's sure he’d topple over if he were standing. His mind imagines what Lucien had done for you to love him. What words did he use to make you sigh, what cheesy jokes he told to hear you laugh.

Does Lucien know that your skin feels like the finest silk known to man. Has he had the pleasure of kissing you and taking you to bed?

Azriel can feel his anger bubbling or jealousy he's not quite sure but he's unable to stop the hateful words from spewing out, “Lucien can’t love you, he has a mate! And she's pretty and sweet, she's sunshine and rainbows. She's gentle and soft.–”

“And everything I’m not.”

You finish as you swallow the tight knot in the back of your throat. You turn away from him, wiping at a stray tear that's rolled down your cheek. The truth in his words hurting you more than they should; since you’ve moved on. Lucien has too at least that's what you've heard.

Moving on doesn't cure the sadness or put together the broken pieces of your shattered heart. Forgetting Lucien doesn't erase the years of longing. You could never blame him for leaving you. Out of left field he grew distant, a silent struggle you knew nothing of. And you haven't seen him since.

Azriel places his scarred hand on your shoulder, an apology on the tip of his tongue as well as clarification for his words. He doesn’t get the chance as his touch burns your skin causing you to jolt and shrug him off. Azriel panics as he notices your red rimmed eyes, wet with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t..what I meant was-”

“No. You're right. How can someone like him love something like me?”

Azriel shakes his head. You thought of Lucien like the sun, brilliant and warm, setting fires to forest floors and warming the coldest of hearts. And you the moon, who only glows with the help of the sun. You had it all wrong. Lucien was just a sly fox sneaking his way into the heart of the moon. How could someone like him love something like you? The real question was how could he not love you?

Females like you were born during a raging storm under the phenomenon of an eclipse. With lightning in your veins, thunder in your heart and chaos in your bones.

He shouldn't feel hope in your sorrow but he’s glad Lucien didn’t choose you. Azriel would choose you; In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, he’d find you and he’d choose you.*

If he had the chance he’d rewind the clock and say what he actually meant. If not for a chance at forever then to ease your heavy heart. The words he spoke out of jealousy would hold a different meaning had he spoken them out of love.

‘Lucien can't love you the way I want to love you. He has a mate! So you were not made for him, but perhaps you were made for me. She’s pretty and sweet, sunshine and rainbows. But you balance strength and femininity like no one else. You're stunning, and selfless, you glow like the moon and shine brighter than the stars. She's gentle and soft but she can never compare to you. Not then, not now, not ever. No one has compared to you.’

But those words remain unspoken as he watches your figure retreat into the orange glow of the forest. Your beautiful wounded wings gracing the ground with your presence, leaving behind a trail of starlight. It was then he realized you didn't need to be saved, you needed to be found.

~~~~~~~~

You could cry tears of happiness as you near your humble cottage. Weaving through the tallest of trees and jumping over a running brook with flat rocks covered in moss. A sigh leaves your lips as you take in the place you call home. The wood creaks a familiar sound as you bounce up the worn steps.

Before your hand reaches the bronze knob, the door swings open and warmth envelopes you in a crushing hug. Your melodious laugh echoes in the air as strong arms spin you round and round. Your eyes meet those of amber as he finally lets your feet touch the floor. “I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, as a warm palm cradles your face, gently tracing circles on the apples of your cheek. He wraps his arm around your waist bringing your body flush with his. His heat offers a comfort not found with anyone else. And you allow yourself to melt into him as he softly brings his lips to yours.

His tender kiss turns desperate when you run your fingers through his auburn hair, lighting a fire that only the wetness between your legs can extinguish. The night runs long as this male beds you over and over and the only name that slips past your lips like a prayer is, “Eris. Eris. Eris.”

Part 4

A/n: The Vanserra brothers have entered the chat. 😏 what do you think happened between Lucien and Reader? any guesses?

taglist: @blackgirlmagicforever @going-through-shit @dr4g0ngirl @mybestfriendmademe @isa1b2h3

[syrma-sensei]

Somewhere In Your Heart, Ch.3: Mirrors.

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader.

rating: explicit.

setting: in the early 80s.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: prostitution, angst, sexual innuendos, violence, cursing...

summary: Soldier boy lives through the ennui of his peak, but everything is about to change when he has a shift in his heart.

“That’s not what I fucking signed up for!”

Legend flinches a bit as Soldier Boy flings the glass of liquor in his hand. Legend's face twitches as he sees it splinter into tiny pieces, which makes him often wonder if he’d end up with his head bashed into pieces if he carried on his career in this damned place. Despite everything, Legend has developed a tight resolve when it comes to dealing with Vought's supes, Soldier Boy in particular.

“You wanted the gal, and now you have her.” Legend answers crudely.

Soldier Boy seethes, “I don't recall being consulted about her fucking pimp tagging along!”

Legend sighs at this point, “Mr. Harold's her manager, and he emphasised his inclusion to be thoroughly considered. He's been her tutor for years. And you heard her yourself, she wanted him in.”

Soldier Boy smacks his lips in deep frustration. Great. Now, he'd have to deal with her manager being up on their asses in their little game of cat and mouse. What he wants is simple, he wants her in his bed after he's won her over. He doesn't want that fuck face to get in his way. Soldier Boy sighs, passing an aggressive hand over his face.

“When do we start the rehearsals?” Ben asks in a tight tone, he's still finding this hard to digest.

“Tomorrow morning, because you know, she's quite busy at night.”

Legend's insinuated smirk didn't go unnoticed by Ben. The little shit.

“Good.” Ben replies, and dismisses Legend, because he too has a busy night.

Ben exhales deeply through his nostrils before he scooches by the swarms of dancing and drunk people. He's donned in a casual outfit for tonight. Casual yet fancy; Ben never skimps on his looks whether it's for business or in his private life. He dresses both to impress (the gals) and depress (the pals). He's aware of his effect on both sides and likes to swagger with his looks; he has black jeans on his legs, black jean jacket wide open to show off his chest which is accentuated by a white shirt. His feet are comfortable in a pair of brown and sleek boots.

Finding his way to the bar, his piercing green eyes catch the visage of a pretty girl by the bar. Once his eyes land on her, she flashes him a grin which he partially ignores on his way to his destination.

He sits on a stool, resting one arm on the bar counter, ordering a drink, then he turns around to have a quick scan on the dance floor. Most of the people dancing are between late adolescence and early twenties. When he was their age he applied to Dr. Vought's Compound V trials to win his father's favour. He scoffs between him and himself.

A real man doesn't take a shortcut.

The words still titillate a bitter taste akin to ash under his tongue whenever he remembers what his father spewed in his face after Ben saw God under those fucking trials. It was perilous and shrouded with uncertainty, but he was willing to do it for his father, to make him proud. He became America's first superhero, the golden son of the states, but what good the golden son title could do him if he was a disappointing coward in his father's eyes.

He closes his eyes for a bit, he can't believe it still haunts him after all this time. His dad is dead. Hell, he's older than him right now, hitting his fucking sixties with ease his dad would've wished he had. The bastard died of cancer, or so he'd heard. It was a long time ago. He doesn't remember, of course, why would he bother? He didn't even attend his funeral. The old bastard didn't deserve the honour.

He gobbles down his drink in one go when it's served, relishing in the momentarily burning sensation. Then, he orders another.

Fuck, sometimes, he wishes he was normal like those youngsters, he thinks melancholically. Hell, he can't even get drunk to forget, to make mistakes, to feel alive again.

He comes to places like this because it's easier to blend in. He's rarely recognised among drunk and stoned people who are looking for some ass.

Ben's head whips to the side when he feels a gentle hand on his arm, caressing it tenderly. “You look sad…” He raises a brow at the girl, she's the same gal he saw when he first entered the club. “I can fix that…”

He lets her despite the fact he knows she can't fix shit.

After hours, Ben is lying naked in one of the club's rooms, beside him the girl who offered him help, the help that did him nothing at all. He knew from the outset this wouldn't work, but he gave it a shot because the girl looked somewhat akin to Rita Hayworth whom he had a crush on growing up.

He rubs his eyes with a groan as he sits up, deftly swinging his feet down on the floor. This is not good. Sex is never not good to him, especially if it's accompanied with some toots on fine breasts like this one had. God, she has two watermelons for a pair of tits. And boy did he fucking like tits. Big, medium, small, he likes all of them.

Ben glances at her, fuck, he didn't even ask for her name, but Rita-Hayworth-knock-off is a new mom. He can sense the milk hormone kicking in her system which she's trying to dial down with meds. Ben twitches his eyebrows; it explains why she's taken this road.

He shakes his head, looking at her, she seems in her early twenties, he can hazard a guess and say it's the same scenario. She met Romeo, got knocked up, Romeo left, big old daddy kicked her out. And now she has hers and her baby's mouths to feed.

Ben grunts as he reaches for his jean jacket on the floor, he grabs something out before he gets dressed in his clothes. He leaves her some money under the pillow.

Rita-Hayworth-knock-off wakes up after a while to find her payment under the pillow, and a piece of paper above it, with no trace of the handsome man. Her eyes widen when she flips it back and forth trying to comprehend what's that.

It's for you and your baby, not for the fucking pimp.

Rita smiles with tears in her eyes, hugging the check to her chest.

When his pursuit of pleasure has failed, Ben heads back home. And by home it means one of his private properties, a penthouse. He sighs as he slips the jacket off, tossing it on the armrest of the leatherd big sofa in the living room. He ambles towards the wet bar and pours himself a drink. He lets out an elongated sigh, it almost sounds longing and craving.

“Fuck…” He groans. You really did a number on him. His bodys is fucking raging with want and nothing besides having you will regale that burning desire to claim you. He guzzles up his drink.

He fucking met a broad twice and his body is acting up like a pussy. He's fucking Soldier Boy, the Soldier Boy. One fleeting girl can't bring him to heels like that. But again, the image of your sensual features, the rasp in your voice, the mystery in your eyes, they're all so fucking tempting him to coax you down layer by layer. He wants to see the girl behind this facade. Oh, he knows there's one behind that eloquent, sagacious mask. He wants to meet the one who's grinding on his vainglory's gears. He wants that woman, and he's intended to own her.

The world of Vought is a dreadful and dangerous place to be, but however the people in charge of making it dazzle with such glamour, they earn each penny they make.

You were fast to acclimate to the somewhat new atmosphere. Jack was proud of you, and you were happy you managed to do so.

You're always on time, with utter competence and professionalism; any lack of diligence is frowned upon. Your business is mostly tied to none other than Soldier Boy, the greatest hero ever lived.

Working with America's son is amusing to say the least.

In spite of his big headed self, he's actually good at taking orders and exerting them like a good soldier would. Through the days in the rehearsals, he's been unexpectedly nice to you, which makes you wonder what he really wants from you. You're not an idiot. Jack made sure of that. You know that Soldier Boy wants you; him practically eye-fucking you is a bit of a giveaway. However, he doesn't verbally express anything of the sort.

During the days at Vought, you've come to learn more and more about Soldier Boy, bits reporters would kiss your ass to divulge to them. But of course your professionalism and the NDA you signed prevent you from doing so.

You find Soldier Boy — or Ben as he emphasised to call him, is an interesting individual, as expected from a man of his rank and fame. But as any performer he's a complete hypocrite. Just like yourself. The first time in which he almost made you gasp was when he invited you to his headquarters in the tower so you could sniff some crunched crack with him. To kick back, as he put it. That shit is good, I'm telling ya. You discovered that America's golden son isn't as godly as his media pretence claims to be.

He's flawed, tremendously so. Just like you are. He has a short and firing temper that threatens to blow off at any second. And he isn't kind to those who don't make him happy. One time, he burst in the face of a poor assistant for not bringing his right order of coffee. Iced. He snarled at him.

And to add insult to injury, he's hard to please.

However, and oddly enough, he isn't as crass with the gentle sex. Especially with you. Maybe the fact he would fuck you at some time has something to do with that. Be that as it may, you enjoy the companionship of the supe, because there's a lot to him that intrigued you. Despite everything, his what is akin to giddiness that he shows when he's with you is growing on you.

Anywho, within the deepest layers of you, you envy him. He isn't on a leash like you. He comes and goes whenever and wherever he likes. He takes shit from nobody, and does whatever he wants. You wish you had anything close to what he had. The power, the money, the connections. You want to be like him, and not some bitch tied to her owner for life.

Today's the day you and Soldier Boy officially record the cover song after days of arduous rehearsals with the latter. Again, he's hard to please; you can't help but to think whether he made you and the rest of the crew reiterate when he didn't like that note, or when he disliked the harmony of the rhythm, or he was doing that on purpose just so he can spend more time with you.

You internally sigh, you shouldn't read much into the lines, but considering, you relish in the attention and you give him yours, the thing he wants the most as of yet. You wonder when he's going to get bored of you. Up close, Soldier Boy is the kind of a man who falls fast into ennui. It's only a matter of time before he tosses you aside and moves on to his next stimuli.

You're playing with fire, and you know that. Much like he is seeking the pleasurable sting, so are you.

Despite Soldier Boy's faults, he knows how to get the job done, whether it's on field or up on the stage, Legend muses. The latter can't but acknowledge that Soldier Boy is a talent. A magnificent and pure one at that.

Legend is glad about the fact this gal is being in Vought's favour. She has the voice and the looks, and he can feel it, everyone working in the studio can feel it. The chemistry between the two. Maybe, just maybe, he can consider making them a screen couple after the song hits the audience on cloud nine.

It's been a good day today. The records are going smoothly. The only thing that might've disturbed it was Jack Harold's presence in Soldier Boy's. The latter has a thing about the former. And casting professional shit aside, the man is hubristic and kind of unpleasant. Luckily, he doesn't come by often. Jack dropped by from time to time to establish his presence. Nothing harmful, yet.

Legend only hopes Soldier Boy keeps his cool in front of Jack just for a couple of days more. Legend watches the duo sing in a flawless consonance.

Everything is at ease until a rambunctious Noir barges in the studio, seeing red.

The music of “Just The Two Of Us” slowly dwindles away, as yours and Soldier Boy's melts into the walls of the recording room.

“You’re standing in my place, Soldier Boy.” Noir enunciates.

Soldier Boy wries a brow the young supe.

The palpable tension is a clear cue for the crew to scramble out of the recording room, because they know better not to get in between two supes. Legend watches from the control room, he notices that you aren't running like the rest of the staff. Instead you take the spot behind Soldier Boy.

The latter can hear your heartbeat quicken up and can distinguish it from Noir’s; each has its unique pattern like a thumbprint. And at the moment, Noir's is gushing with fury, and yours… Well, yours is bumping with fear and… excitement?

Soldier Boy scoffs at Noir, a small grin playing on his lips. “Your place?” He snickers, “Listen up, kid—”

“No, you listen to me, Ben.” Noir spits, “This is where you fucking stop getting in my way!”

Soldier Boy bursts out laughing, “Getting in your way? Kid, this is my hit, before your old man knocked up your mama.”

That's it. Noir couldn't take more insult into his wound and marches forward, launching an attack at Soldier Boy. However, the more seasoned supe grabs his fist in his first with ease.

Soldier Boy tilts his head, glancing at you over his shoulder, “You might as well get outta her, sweetheart, things are gonna get a little bit messy.”

You don't need to be told twice. Your feet hit the air as you scurry out of the room. But… Noir takes the shot and hauls you in his free hand and hurls you to the wall. You wail as you fall on the floor.

“You little shit!” Soldier Boy grits his molars and grasps Noir’s arms and fixes him to his spot before he headbutts the younger supe. Three hits were enough to make Noir stagger backwards, giving Soldier Boy the chance to punch Noir's cheeks, then depositing him unconscious onto the floor.

Soldier Boy lips twitch at the pathetic little shit, before he walks in your direction, crouching down to your level.

“Hey, are you okay, sweetheart?” Unlike the brutal scene from moments ago, Soldier Boy's touch is gentle when he holds you up to check for any injury. Luckily, and thanks to Soldier Boy, Noir couldn't exert enough power to cause any severe damage to you but manageable bruises and a sprained ankle.

Legend watches at the mess from behind the scenes as supe crisis staff pour into the room to clear that mess up. He doesn't heed anything of his attention but how Soldier Boy insisted on carrying you up in his arms to get patched up in his own personal quarters.

Legend lights up a cigar and wonders what kind of spells you cast on Soldier Boy that he's so smitten with you. Could it be you're a supe with hypnotising powers? Maybe, but if so, you'd have been within Vought's records.

But nothing of the sort was found on you. You're just a human with a pretty face and vocal talents that happened to captivate the mind of the current most important asset of Vought. He expected Soldier Boy to get bored and toss you aside after a couple of days when he was done with you. But Legend was gravely mistaken. For the past weeks, Soldier Boy only got more enamoured by your charms and was putty in your hand with only a bat of your pretty eyelashes. Legend kept an eye on both of you everyday to see how that was coming along, and it surprised him to say the least.

Perhaps they can use you to their benefit for a better communication with the supe, Legend says. Because as the days pass by, Soldier Boy is only getting older and out of touch with each day. He's become more tenacious and hard to deal with each day. Maybe you could become a key for a new affair. Who knows, maybe when the song is all the rage in the country, people will like the idea of pairing you together better than Soldier Boy with Countess. People would find a human girl paired up with Soldier Boy more appealing and more relatable. Legend flick the cigar in the ashtray on the dashboard in the control room. He shakes his head, and gets back to reality. There are two injured people in the mess today which makes him release a series of expletives as he huffs a vapour of smoke.

He sighs. The things he does for talents.

“Oww!” You groan as the medic dabs an alcohol-soused piece of cotton on your ankle.

“Careful with that one. She's delicate.”

Soldier Boy tells the medic as he patches you up.

When he's done, he leaves you with several plasters on your body and a swollen ankle wrapped with a white bandage.

Great. Now you're gonna be useless for few days. You sigh, already picturing the querulous frown on Jack's face. You're gonna miss a couple nights at his clubs.

“Relax, you’re gonna be fine.” He offers you a glass of whiskey with rocks. “I know you're no snowflake.”

You take a gulp of your drink and the searing sensation temporarily numbs the bitterness you've held for the most of your life.

You sigh again, placing the glass on the coffee table in front of you. In times of vulnerability like this, you can't be but haunted by the memory of your brother. The only family you had before your life took a shitty turn and snatched him away from you. Before you met Jack. Before you've become this.

You drown yourself in self pity and scoff. Life wasn't just a bitch by depriving you of your care-taker and protector, it also threw Jack Harold in your way who moulded you into what you are now. A complete hypocrite, who lives off kissing ass and sucking dicks.

Soldier Boy studies you before he pours you another. He knows you need another shot.

“You know…” You say after you feel the tantalising burn in your esophagus. “I didn't remember being roughhoused by one of you folks in our contract. Plus, what did he mean by you getting in your way?”

You usually won't care, but you're really curious what rubbed Noir the wrong way that he hurled you across the recording room. For all you know, and from what you've heard from the halls of Vought, he was on a solo mission.

Soldier Boy jeers. “The kid's delusional. He thinks I pulled the song from under his feet when in fact, Legend begged me to do it.” He swallows a mouthful of his drink.

You sigh again, “But isn't he a member of Payback? I thought you guys are like family.”

Soldier Boy sneers, “The kid needs to be reminded to respect the chain of command every once in awhile. He shouldn't have crossed me with such impudence.” Then through his fleeting ire, a sly grin pulls at his lips as he tips your chin up, “And he shouldn't have touched what belongs to me.”

A bemused shiver roils through your spine at his claim of ownership of you. You can't be his. You're Jack's. The latter made sure of it. Being Jack's property would be a dread to any woman, but wanting to be Soldier Boy's is frightening. You saw what he did to Noir with a sliver of his strength, the fact he can snap you in two halves like a toothpick makes your bowels liquid. However, you can't ignore the twinge in your core when he said it. No, no. You learnt how to lie and be a fake bitch to other people, but not to yourself. You don't misinterpret the aching throb between your legs for this man. No, no. You crave to be his, you wish he'd snatch you away from Jack the way life snatched your brother away from you; once and for all.

You drum up what remains of your deteriorating aplomb and keep your chin up. “I wish to be compensated.”

Soldier Boy quirks a brow up. “You want compensation?”

You nod at your bruises, “If you want me to be yours, you must show me.”

He falls silent for a moment that elapses like a year. Then, another grin curves his lips up. “Show you…”

“I want you to show me something I've never seen… Can you do that?”

His grin widens, it almost resembles a shark's. “I think I can, dollface.”

After a few days, and after your bruises fade away into yellowish smudges, Soldier Boy keeps his words.

He sneaks you out of Vought after you two finish recording the damn song. Pleasure after business as he told you. You only thank Christ that you conducted the visuals a day before Noir came back and almost ruined your work.

He takes you to a building in the heart of the city, the sliding spyhole glides open, an eye peeks through it, and as soon as it perches on Soldier Boy, the door immediately clicks open.

You step in, dogging Soldier Boy's steps. He turns to you and smirks. “Welcome to Herogasm, sweetheart.”

🦅 Previous Chapter: A New Window

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Taglist: @thebiggerbear, @zepskies, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deansbbyx, @deans-spinster-witch

@venus-haze, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @ketchupjasmin, @demodemo909

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[333creolelady]

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.8

Roman Reigns (Pirate) X Black Afab! OC

Warnings: Mentions of su*c*dal ideation, use of the word Su*c*de, Death of animal, Gore, Cursing, Water accidents, Scary creatures, Angst (with fluff). Paranoia. This is a lengthy one guys.

Official Story Playlist link Here

Alternative Playlist link Here

Chapter 7 <-

Next chapter : TBA ->

Official story PL songs this chapter: Igloo, Will you help me, Going in, The sixth station, Too close, The Legend of Ashitaka

Alternative songs this chapter: Slow life, St Jude, Nothing but trouble, Time, Nice Dream, Motion picture soundtrack, Suzanne

Cover by: @joannasteez

Tags for those who asked about new chapter: @2-muchsauce @sortudademais @joannasteez

Roman POV

Roman sat on the Cabin floor watching Jane sleep in his arms while wearing her soaking wet clothes. His fingers brushed the sides of her face as he recalls the day he met her. It was much like this but in somewhat different circumstances. He could only describe this place as the feeling of being in a dream. Disconnected from his body, perhaps floating above it but still present. Tunnel visioned.

He remembers the feel of her heart racing against his flesh as they stared at the Dragon head on. Facing one’s own mortality was a humbling experience. He was as terrified as she was. He found no point in trying to avoid what would happen. All he could do was accept their ending. At least he would meet his end holding the woman he loved. Had he been alone, he wasn’t so sure if he would have accepted his fate so easily.But to have death graze his flesh and beckon him forward? To feel his soul bend, twist,and tear from his flesh. To feel the crash of the boat, the frigid water, the splintered wood. To feel the terror and the despair. It was simply unimaginable.

Through it all, he blanketed himself around her the best way he could. Reality bent around them. Screams of terror echoed in the gut of the beast. Her fingers clung to him and his to hers. They flipped, spinned, whirled, and were ultimately swallowed and submerged. And then…they were spat out into what could only be described as uncharted land.

It would seem as though this place was not of the world. It was foreign, alien, different. From what he could see out of the window, even the sand was a different color from what he was used to.

Some of his comrades woke up laying outside of the ship on the sand bed, others were still inside of the splintered ship. Jane and Himself ended up on the cabin floor, him at the door and her in the back of the room. He crawled towards her, ignoring the calls for him in the distance. He hadn’t moved a muscle and wouldn’t until he saw the light come back into her eyes again.

As she slept peacefully, her key was warm and glowing. He suspected that the dragon spared them because of that key. However, as long as she wore it, her life would be in danger. Her body was littered with bleeding scratches and deep purple bruises. His skin suffered the same fate. It felt like the boat itself had been ripped apart and then miraculously put back together.

An unrecognizable sense of gratitude washed over him when he saw her in their room, banged up but unscathed. To know that she had been spared. To know that he will feel his mouth on hers again, he will hear her voice, see her smile, feel her skin. Gratitude…sheer gratitude to be alive. Grateful to feel the heart beating in his chest, to hear waves crashing, to feel the dampness of his clothes. Grateful to be alive. Grateful to know the story didn’t end here. That they still had time. Yet, he was fearful of something that he could not place.

He could only surmise it as the fear of God. The same fear of God that many people around him possessed that he didn't quite understand before.. He never feared death. He didn’t have a particular God that he believed in or a religion he subscribed to. But some force…be it the Dragon, Universe, or something else entirely…spared him. He was spared and it was riveting and terrifying. Terrifying to be acquainted with the Black, quiet, stillness of Death and to be pulled out of it in an instant — reborn like a child.

Jane woke with a gasp calling his name, “ Roman…Roman ”, she rasped. The salt had burned her throat. His name was the first word she spoke after such a horrific thing. Almost as if her thoughts of him hadn’t stopped in her slumber.

“ You’re alive. We’re alive Jane”, he whispered in the crook of her neck.

“ Are you…are you sure ?”, she sniffled. He hummed against her cheek, pressing soft kisses to it.

Roman shrugs.“ The universe knew I promised you that ice cream ”, he chuckled. A cautious smile spread over her face as she finally opened her eyes. She cracked them open, blinking slowly to adjust to the light of the room. Her brown orbs looked around the cabin and then finally they focused on him, her pupils dilating in size when she saw his face. She smiled sweetly at him and him at her.

He could see that same gratitude on her face as well. “ I’m happy to be alive”, she whispered softly, closing her eyes again. And knowing what he knew now about Jane, that wasn’t always the case. He grateful for it.

“ I’m happy to be alive with you”, he said quietly. He pulls him to her with ease, and places her in his lap. They embrace in a comfortable silence. She pulled away holding his face..“ What will we do? Where are we? How will we get out of here ?”

“ I’m not sure.I don’t know. We still have a map. The compass is spinning on itself constantly. I don’t know if we’re actually anywhere …?”, said Roman. His face mirrored the same confusion as her own.

“ What do you mean ?”

“ I mean…I don’t think we’re in a place that’s to be considered…Worldly. ”

“ Worldy..”, she tried the words on her lips.

“ Yes…do you remember what happened ?”

“ I remember feeling like I was falling and now I'm here.”

“ The Dragon…?”, he hinted. Her eyes widened in terror thinking back to that fateful night on the boat. He adds, “ I don’t think we’re in some distant ocean anymore Jane. I think we’re inside the Dragon.”

A peculiar questioning look danced on her face as if she was not entirely convinced. She went to stand and Roman followed suit. She looked around the drenched cabin, looking at the ruined items.

“ If we get out of here, what I buy for you will pale in comparison to what you own now. Don’t worry, Dove.”

“ It’s not just my things Roman…yours too. All of it. All our belongings. Things that cannot be replaced.”

He looks at his soaked booked collection with pages ripped out. The room resembled the aftermath of a poltergeist “ Were alive…it’s all that matters. We will have more memories to make.”

“Not if we can’t leave this place”, she warned.

A voice calls out in the distance. “ Is she awake ??!”

The two walk out of the cabin to see Caden standing outside with a worried look. He rushes to inspect her. “ Are you alright ?? You were the last to wake up.”

“ I’m okay. No worries”, she urged, squeezing his hand in reassurance. Other voices call to for Roman’s attention.

“ Cap!!!!!’ “

“ Captain! “

“ Cap’n!”

Jane POV

Jane looked at him knowingly, not minding that he was clearly needed by his crew. He looks at her hesitantly.. a look that says “are you sure you’re okay?”. She smiles knowingly and nudges his arm in approval. He kisses her temple and heads back down to the sand to assist his men.

“ How long has it been?”, she asks Caden.

“ We’ve been here since the Sun was the highest. We are a couple hours from sunset I believe.”

“ That’s no good. It will get cold fast”, she warned

“ A couple of the men are in the tree line trying to find some dry wood to burn. We’ve found a few pieces.”

“ Was any food salvaged?”

“ Half of the jarred items. We don’t have enough food to last us on the way back. Maybe 2-3 months if we spread out the meals.”

“ We’ll have to live off the sea if it comes to it. Do we have any fresh water left ?”

“ No, it was lost to the sea. We’ve found a tree bearing fruit with water however”

“ Coconut. It will hold us over here but it won’t last if find a way to journey back. Rainwater will have to do but don’t drink it fresh– lest it turn your stomach. Boil it first”

“ Aye”, Caden leaves her to spread the word to the other members of the ship.

Worry fills her gut. Even if they live off the land and survive here for a few months, they won’t be able to survive the journey back without clean water. Their only hope was Roman—who’s descended from people who lived off the land for centuries. She overheard him explaining which plants were poisonous and which weren’t. He’d already known which fish were the best to eat ..which was helpful. However his memory failed him at times because of how long he’d been removed from his home. Two months without food was difficult but survivable. Without water however? Impending Death. The ship needed repairs that could take months to actually finish. This situation was impossible. Was the treasure really worth it if they wouldn’t live long enough to see use it ?

Instead of mentally spiraling she decides to start collecting personal items and mementos from the shore, sorting them into a large pile. She sees Roman in the distance talking with such conviction and frustration. Everybody looked so tired. Perhaps being reunited with their photos and personal belongings would bring them back some cheer.

She focused on her task until nightfall. Some of the men were able to find some dried wood behind the tree line and made a sizable bonfire. Everybody gathered around it. She walked through the crowd trying to find her love. Roman was on the opposite side, adding more wood to the flame. The heaviness of his eyes subsided when he saw her. She rushed over to his side, gluing herself to it like a second skin. She could feel his muscles relax as he wrapped his free hand around her waist. Things were bad but with him near…it was all manageable. She’d never felt that way about anyone before. “ Hungry?” He asks her. She nods.

One thing about living on the sea, every man had experience with fishing. Tonight they found a plethora of sea creatures to eat. Fish, crabs, muscles, a few lobsters, and even a baby squid. They pushed everything on sticks and broiled it over the fire before tearing it away with their teeth. Everyone was so hungry that barely anyone spoke but a few words during dinner. Too sun drunk and hungry to care about anything.

Roman fed her pieces of raw fish…the safe ones of course. She only really agreed to it because it was an excuse to feel his fingers in her mouth. She bit him playfully during the bigger bites which made him twitch away before his eyes darkened.

“ Oh how lucky you are that we have no room to ourselves”, he warned quietly. She chuckled quietly.Coming so close to death and being stranded had changed her feelings about many things. She smiled knowingly. If they made it out of this…the things she would let him do…

Her mind turned back to their current issue at hand. Food. Water. Fire. Boat. Treasure— in no order.

“ Do we have a plan?”, Caleb asked out loud. The men chewed in deep thought.

“ I’ve heard stories that the pirate who finds the treasure gets three wishes. Maybe if we find that treasure we can find a way to get out of here sooner and put an end to all of this ?”, said Cortez.

“ But there’s no way to know for sure. What if we make it there and there is no wish?”, asked Adhar.

“ What do we have left to lose at this point? We’ve already lost everything?”, Said Rory.

“ We have the coconuts and we’ll collect the rainwater. Everybody here can miss a meal… we’ll be okay but we must have the water. The seafood is plentiful..we can eat that along with our rations that we salvaged. I know a few plants that are edible. We can keep searching the forest for fruit”, Roman suggested.

“ What if it doesn’t rain and we run out of coconuts ? And what about the boat?”, said Jane.

“ We can rebuild a boat using the scraps we find. There is plenty of plank wood here from other ship wrecks. If it comes to it we’ll try to start this from scratch”, Said Roman.

Jane winced. “ I don’t know…that could take months.”

“ The time will pass anyway. Everyone is stable for now. We’ve got food and water. All that’s left to do is find that treasure and figure out how to use it to our advantage”, Roman urged.

“ Captain is right. We don’t have much else to lose”, Caden agreed.

Adhar spoke up. “ So when do we go?”,

“ Dawn. We all need rest first”, said Roman.

“ I volunteer my services Cap’n”, Said Rory.

“ As do I”, said William

“ And me.. Obviously ”, says Adhar.

“ And I”, Jane squeezes Roman’s hand reassuringly. She can already see the protest etching itself across Roman’s face. “ Remember..what you promised me.”

Roman sighs in frustration. “ I know…but this is more dangerous Jane. We don’t know what could come from this. There could be dangerous animals…poisonous insects. We don’t know what we’re up against.”

“ You feel it..I feel it. Remember ? We do this together. Besides, I have the key. The creature said I can’t take it off unless I open the treasure. I was meant to be by your side for this”, Jane pleads.

Roman looks at her in deep thought, “ I just want to protect you…”, he whispers quietly to her.

“ I know you do. You’ve done the best you can. I can’t ask for a better…”, the words fall short of her lips.

Roman’s brows furrow playfully. “A …Better ?”, he chuckled, wondering what she would say. She didn’t squirm or shy away from his teasing.

“ A better…. Match”, she muttered softly looking down at her half empty coconut.

“ That most certainly works”, he smiled, pouring the rest of his coconut water into her shell.

The rest of the night was filled with strategizing, the occasional chuckle thanks to Rory, and more eating. Rest followed and it came swiftly.

Roman POV

He was up before the sun, stomping out the weak flames left from the bonfire. He checks his map once, twice, thrice. His stomach was turning with an unexplainable anxiousness. This treasure would determine if everything was worth it.

If he was a better man he would say that finding Jane was the real treasure and to some degree it was. She came into his life and filled it with unimaginable joy. However, now the goal post has moved. It was his duty to make sure that the rest of Jane’s life was spent in comfort. Those riches were no longer his the moment his eyes laid on her and deep down he knew that. She was his greatest weakness and rarest Jewel now. It's said that pirates do not have a weakness for women. The sea was their betrothed, rum was their mistress, a good woman was a small vacation. Jane became an all encompassing paradise even at a time like this.

William awakened next, helping him sharpen blades and swords. Crossbows were prepared, Meat rations organized, Coconut water collected. Extra pairs of shoes and clothes were salvaged. After a brief meeting on the terms and conditions of this journey with his men, he was ready. Roman wakes Jane last and she’s quick to come to her senses, readying herself and her hair for the long journey ahead. He laces her boots for her when she’s done. Her fingers comb through his hair as he takes care of her. He noticed he enjoyed being in servitude to her above all else.

As the sun broke the horizon they headed off into the bushes. Roman was first in line and Jane was immediately behind him. He swatted their path with a machete, sinking deeper into an alien jungle with sounds they’ve never quite heard before.

In all the books he’s read about pirates and treasure, they never seem to emphasize just how much the walk winds you before anything else. 5 miles in heat with patches of sunlight peeking through at just the right moments to singe the skin. Biting gnats, snakes, loud fucking birds screeching every moment of the goddamned day. Breathing feels like being under a blanket. The humidity is dizzying. This part may very well be worse than the boat wreck.

“ Break… please for the love of god”, William groaned.

“ Alright. We’ll stop here until the sun gives some reprieve—Jane”, Roman beckons her to him and hands her some coconut water that he collected in a canister. She takes it gratefully.

“ Not to sound like a wuss but this might as well be soup”, Adhar sighed.

“ Better than nothing”, Jane laughed.

“ I’ll drink to that”, William chuckled

The group set down their bags and supplies to take a much needed rest. Roman checked his compass and it continued spinning just like it had on the boat. He looked at it questionably and put it back into his pocket. Jane caught his expression, sharing the same worried look.

“This was certainly not how I pictured it. Nothing like the rumors I’ve heard”, Rory spoke up.

“And what have you heard ?”, says Jane.

“Myth says that the place that holds the treasure is full of diversions and tricks of the eye”, said Rory.

“Ay… they say that entire crews slaughtered themselves from sheer paranoia”, Cortez warns.

“ Umm, you didn’t think that would have been a helpful piece of information to mention before we’re miles into the jungle”, Jane scoffed.

“ You all forget that many of the rumors that we’ve heard have not been true. Few have held up to their gossip. There is no need to worry yet”, Roman interjects.

“ And if it is?”, says Jane.

Roman’s tone is flippant now. “I’ll cut any tongue that rises against you”.

Jane’s brow raises in suspicion. “Even your own?”

“Especially my own”, Roman smirked.

A mischievous look appears on Jane’s face. “Spare it for me. I’ve grown fond of it.”

Noises of gagging and disgust roll across the group like school children. Jane laughs.

“ Alright you love birds. What we really need to be worried about is what god forsaken creatures lurk in the night “, Adhar warns.

“ Indeed. I’ve heard noises out of nightmares seep from the tree line when we were on the beach. They sound rather large”, says Cortez.

Roman scoffs “ We have enough knives and gunpowder in our inventory to turn whatever that is into beef tartar as far as i'm concerned. Instead of worrying about what’s to come, why don’t you all shut your mouths and preserve your breath. You’re going to need it”, Roman dismissed the crew. Jane playfully saluted him with an “Aye Aye Captain” gesture which he secretly found amusing.

And they indeed needed it. When the sun hid behind the trees they set foot towards the center of the island. The descent was hilly and rocky, requiring core muscles and quick recovery. And then suddenly the terrain changed from a vast jungle to damp, humid, and muddy. Adhar fell on his bottom and the others followed suit eventually. Roman was lucky enough to stay upright, which tickled Jane. She found it peculiar how a man so large seemed to have the balance and agility of a cat.

The night ended cold. They started a fire and put 1 person on guard at a time. Camp was set up and tents were rolled out before everyone had a quick bite to eat. The morning came stiff. Jane pulled herself to her feet, stretching to relieve the ache in her joints. She looked around at the crew. They were all sweaty, dirty, and flushed from the exhaustion and the heat.

Roman holds up a large jar. “I Have pickled eggs if anyone wants breakfast.”

“Yes”, said Jane.

“Thank fuck. I’m starving”, said Adhar.

“Is it your goal to make us shit ourselves in the middle of the damned jungle with so much as a leaf to wipe our asses ?”Rory asked seriously.

“Beggars can’t be choosers”, Cortez shrugged with a smirk.

Roman shook his head. “ Look, It’s either that or beans”, Roman declared.

The entire group groaned at the word beans.

After a painfully humble breakfast, the journey continued for another day. More hot terrins, more mud, more mosquitoes, more sweat. As if the universe finally decided to give the group a break, it started raining again. At first it was welcomed as they all sat in a circle cooling off from such a difficult day of walking. Twenty minutes pass and it’s still pouring hard, so hard that the rain pellets begin to sting. The greenery was sparse in this part of the island which meant there was nowhere to hide. Jane looked to the sky wondering how many more days of this could she endure? Her joints were aching, her hair was dry and brittle, she even had a sun rash. She grew up running barefoot on beaches as a small child, knowing her skin absorbed every bit of the heat that shined down on her. Now her skin was tight and raw like the skin on her lips.

“This was a mistake..” she whispered quietly, head hanging between her crouched knees as she sat on the sparse wet grass.

Maybe life on the boat was treasure enough. Maybe a new found love was the treasure. Maybe a handsome man with generous pockets was the treasure–not this. NOT this.

Roman turned to Jane, just as dried out as her. He didn't look tired like her, strangely enough. He assessed his crew. They were dirty, tired, and sizzling out of the motivation from the reduction of food.

“ Dove.. we are close. Another day or two and we should be there “, He mused.

“ I know, I know. I underestimated this journey is all”, she confessed.

“ We are on the right track… trust. Everything on this map has come to pass”, Roma explains.

Jane turned her defeated eyes to his compass and then back to him warily. She inspected the caked dirt under her nails. Maybe she should have stayed behind but she couldn't rest knowing that he might be in danger. She would be just as miserable back at the beach as she was now. However, she had the key. It would not have mattered anyway.. A deep chuckle tickled her ears and a sneer paused just behind her teeth. She was days shy of her period and incredibly irritable.

“What's so funny?” she snapped at Roman.

He looked at her quizzically. “ I didn't say anything love”, He frowned.

“ I heard you fucking laughing. You think this is funny?”, Jane grew increasingly angry. The laughter played in her head over and over again. Strange inquisitive eyes looked back at her. Did they all think she was a joke for coming on this trip? Better yet, did they find her to be a burden? Someone they always had to look after? Undoubtedly weaker. She could feel her composure cracking. She stood up, gathering her pack and started walking away. Roman was on her heels, calling out to her.

He grabs her forearm and spins her around. Her face is pulled back in a tight annoyance that he’s never seen before. If the circumstances were lighter he would chuckle at the cuteness of it. A slow smile spreads across his face thinking of all the times he would provoke her to annoyance on the boat just to tease her.

“And you have the nerve to do it again?”, she scoffs at that sly smirk. She would melt underneath it had she not been so upset.

“This place is playing tricks on your mind, on your heart and soon your desires I'm sure. Stay focused Jane….there is no time to crack under the pressure”, he reasons.

Her face dropped in confusion and embarrassment. He smiled softly at her, smoothing her hair back under the slick of the rain.

“ It’s not just you.. Adhar believes something is following us. William isn't sleeping. Cortez is talking to himself. Rory is paranoid. As for myself, recurring nightmares that are even worse than when I was on the ship. It’s not just you who’s feeling the pressure. Remember why you’re here. Remember why we did this Jane”, he spoke carefully and firmly in that soft and disarming tone that always unraveled her defenses. She looked behind him at the group. They looked just as defeated. How hasn't she seen it before? How was this place already crumbling their composure? Nothing has happened yet?

“ I- I’m sorry”, She muttered.

“ S’okay. Come. Let’s take a nap. You are over tired and clearly very cranky”, he coaxed.

It pained her to admit to herself that she was indeed tired. She woke up warm and damp from the sun's feeble attempt to dry everything the sky had drenched. Her mood had not lightened. The boys collected rain water and boiled it, bottling it in the leather flasks they brought with them. The hike continued and continued with no breaks in between. Roman was growing increasingly restless and the lack of sleep had not helped. Cortez looked like a zombie and William was silently losing it by the hour. Adhar had gone blank hours ago. Rory was having full conversations with himself. Jane’s paranoia was etched across her face and she wasn't hiding it all that well.

Roman POV

That night they set up camp in a drier terrain and everyone became increasingly withdrawn. Roman sat by the fire with some large insect skewered onto a makeshift shank that he cut from his knife. He twirled it over the fire watching its hairs singe and trickle into the flames. In his peripheral he can see Jane sharpening her knife while looking over her shoulder. She was becoming increasingly hostile and anti-social despite his attempts to settle her. Adhar was rocking back and forth in front of him, staring into the fire. Williams looked anxious, looking over at Jane as if she herself was anywhere near his equal in size and height. Rory was walking in circles angrily, torching large flies that circled the camp. Cortez's eyes darted to him and then Jane's in a worried manner.

Roman began to worry that this journey would end in the bloodshed of one another. In just a few days the crew had become shells of themselves, personifying their worst fears or habits. Was it this island? Was it the hunger? Was it the heat? His thoughts ponder the stories he’d heard in Pubs and Taverns. There were talks trips that ended in bloody murder with crews turning on each other. Other stories said crews went mad and ate each other. It all started to come back to him and soon he realized that he should not have let Jane come.

Suddenly Williams stormed over to Jane and she stood defensively, knife in hand at the ready.

“Give me back my fucking flask”, William sneered at her.

“ I don't have your flask you ignorant Ogre”, Jane snapped.

“ I saw you hide it in your fucking boot. I won't ask again. Give me my flask or so help me I will fucking –”,

Roman shouted, “ Hey ! Cut it out!”

“ Stay away from me. I’ll gut you like a fish if you get any closer!”, Jane warned.

“ That’s it!” William took a step forward pulling Jane's arm which prompted her to slice her blade across his arm drawing blood. Roman sprung into action, tackling William to the ground in a blind rage. He begins to hit him repeatedly. Cortez and Adhar rush to pull him off but his brute strength makes it a task. Jane snaps out of her haze and screams.

“ Roman, stop it!”, she cries. Tears fill her eyes watching William’s bloody face curl in confusion and anger. He wraps his pinned leg around Romans calf and flips him over. Now William is wailing against him but not for long, as Roman pulls William’s face towards his mouth and bites him.

A long, groaning, agonizing, high pitched screech floats through the thick night air. The sound is so distinct that it freezes everybody in place. They all quiet down to inspect– to see if what they just heard was real. Jane’s tearful face is pulled back in fear as she looks at Cortez. Cortez’s eyes are scarily wide, like saucers. He looks past her, staring at something in the distance. She slowly turns her head to look behind her. At first her eyes didn't catch the figure because it was pitched black outside the boundary of light that the fire provided.

However, once her eyes adjusted to the contrast, she could make out the shape of what she assumed was a man. Her eyes started at the feet first. The soles of the black boots were missing, exposing the gray withered feet underneath them. What little clothes were left on the body hung off in shreds which allowed the rotting flesh to peak through underneath them. It was a person, or rather, it once was a person. What once held two healthy eyes were now clouded with blue and gray tones. There was no iris in sight. The skin on the face was pulled tight, exposing the angles of the skull in a harsh light. The nose was half eaten by decay and the top part of its lip was missing, showing rotten upper teeth. The jaw jutted from its skull as it drooled a thick black substance. A gaping hole where its heart should be, mirrored the plants and trees that it stood in front of.

“ C…C”, Jane fought to get a word out. She was paralyzed, jaw slack and frozen with fear.

Before any sudden movement could be made the creature made another shrieking ear piercing cry and darted straight for Jane, knocking her flat on her butt with a thump. It began to claw at her as Jane held her hands out protectively. The men were on it in seconds.

There was no question that 5 men on 1 man would be an easy win. Yet, no matter how many times Roman or William sheathed their knives into the creature, it would continue snarling, roaring, and snapping at the group completely unfazed by the injury. Roman looked just as disturbed as Jane who still sat on the damp ground in shock. In utter disbelief, Roman pulled out his pistol and pressed the barrel against the forehead of the creature. Roman experimentally pulls the trigger and it bursts rotten brain fragments everywhere.

In a quiet shaky voice Cortez whispers “ Amalanhig.”

“ On a scale of 1-10 how fucked are we ?”, Rory groans. He studies the headless corpse on the ground. Another snarl in the distance jolts everyone on their feet. A second scream pushes everyone to grab their packs. A third screech sends multiple bodies of the undead barreling towards them, revealing themselves from behind the treeline.

“ Royally… Run!”, Adhar yells.

Roman hauls over his shoulder. There would be no room for mistakes, tripping, or falling behind. Jane didn’t protest at all, and he could tell by the fear in her face that she would completely disappear from this situation if she could.

Jane POV

What she did not expect was for these creatures to be so fast? They were agile on their feet, snarling and convulsing as they ran after the group. Jane counted 10 and then 20….30 or more? She slipped the gun from Romans holster on his waist and began to shoot with the ammunition he left inside. It was difficult to get a good shot because of the bouncing. Head shots were the only thing that got the creatures to stop. Eventually she was able to take out two of the creatures. Williams pulled his musket from its case and briefly stopped every few meters to shoot. Jane tried to help him as best she could but after a few minutes the men were getting winded and the undead started to gain on them.

“ FUCK!”, Roman snarled angrily.

Cortez called out in a worried winded tone as he sprinted alongside the men, “ If anybody has an idea..now would be a good time to say something!”

Before Roman could say anything Jane shouted, “Trees!”

“ And if they don't disperse!?” Rory shouted over the noise.

“ I smell water. I think there may be a clearing up ahead !”, said Roman

The last 2 minutes to the lake felt like ages. William nearly got bit and Jane ran out of gunpowder. Guns were to be used sparingly.

“ I see it! just up ahead guys!”, Adhar yells. Jane turns her neck to look behind her. A paddle boat can be seen in the distance. Jane could feel a scream rising in her throat thinking of all the things that could go wrong in these next pivotal moments. She whimpered, “ The boat isn’t big enough!”

“ I’ll push and you all paddle. You stay in that boat. Do you hear me?!”, Roman scolded. He could see the wheels turning in her head. He needed to ensure her safety.

The group descended into the water like a life raft. Roman harshly shoved Jane into the boat, in fear that she would protest or try to help him. Only 5 people could fit inside the paddle boat. Roman pushed the boat deeper into the water as quickly as he could. The creatures descended into the shallow shore, heavy on his tail. Rory and Adhar picked up the oars and began to row to add to the momentum. Just before Jane could let out a breath of relief, Roman is pulled under the water by the dozens of creatures that had sunken to the bottom. A blood curdling scream spills from Jane’s mouth,“ ROMAN NO!! NOO!!!!”. She lunges for the water but William holds her back.

“ LET GO OF ME! FUCKING LET GO!!”, She screeches as she tries to throw her legs over the side of the boat. She is no match for William’s strength.

William’s face hardens, “Captain's orders, nothing is to happen to you”, he explains.

“ You won’t have a Captain to take orders from if you do nothing!!”, She cries.

“ We swore to Roman to protect you and that’s just what we’ll do”, says Rory. His eyes were filled with tears as he continued to push the oar in sync with Cortez.

Jane looked around in disbelief. It would seem that she was out of the loop on this agreement. She kept checking the water for signs of him. Signs that he would spring back up. Unfortunately there was a heavy fog that persisted across the entirety of the lake and the shore had disappeared behind it.

After five minutes there was no sign of him as the night fell quiet and the groans of the creatures were distant and far away. The group was completely silent, all looking ahead with solemn expressions. All she heard was the oars hitting the water and the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. An unimaginable wail spilled from her mouth so violently that she had to brace her hands on her knees. The panic and grief washed over her in unrelenting waves as she looked around in disbelief. She could not catch her breath. She could not hold in the pain and the betrayal of his sacrifice.

“ He– this cant... I can’t. —”, she hiccuped. She began to feel dizzy. William pressed both of his hands on her shoulders. Adhar looked at her with a worried expression.

“ Breath Jane…. ”

Williams' attempts at calming Jane were useless. It was a second. She was in his arms moments before this and now he was gone? She blinked and he was gone? She was trembling now. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing that would change this. She sobbed despite the kind words that the group tried to pacify her with. What followed was a numbing silence.

She had no interest in finding the treasure now. She never really cared about the treasure. She came along with Roman because she had fallen in love with him. This was Roman’s dream. This was Roman’s story and she was happily a supporting character in it. What could any of this mean? What was the point of her falling for this man all those months ago, just for fate to rip them apart? Why would life give her this sweetness to take it away? She knew this was too good to be true. She knew it was only a matter of time before everything that she had was ripped from underneath her.

For the next hour, she stared at the boots she wore. He bought them for her at a small port where they only spoke Spanish. He dazzled her with his fluency when he purchased them. He laced her shoes for her a few mornings ago before they left. She counted the laces over and over again. One by one. She decided that she must never take the shoes off especially when it was the last thing he had done for her. Within 20 minutes, they reached the other side of the island. She physically had to be removed from the boat. Adhar grabbed onto her protectively, guiding her to sit on a beached log just a few meters from the water.

The men began to set up camp. This is where they would sleep for the night. Rory made a Bonfire. William heated up some of the jarred food items. Cortez loaded the pistols. That night she sat in front of the bonfire thinking. Rory had taken her weapons. He explained that Roman had told him to do it in the event that he passed. The thought earned a bitter chuckle out of her.

She woke up before everyone else. She was all vinegar, nothing but bitterness wafted from her. Another day in this inescapable hell. She thought the rest of the men would be lucky if they got out of this place. The boat rocked against the pebbled shore causing a scraping sound that got her attention. The very least she could do was look for him. She couldn’t let his body stay here, she wouldn’t stand for that.

She took the paddle boat out before anyone could stop her. The fog was thick, too thick to see that far in front of her. It didn’t stop her from calling his name. She didn’t know why she called for him knowing she saw him go under and never come up. Somewhere in her heart she wanted to be wrong. She could not fully accept the truth. There was not a single sign of life in the water, it felt just as dead as the corpses that still snapped and growled along the other side of the shore. She watched them in disdain, wondering how she could torture something that was already long gone.

She eventually turned the boat around, deciding to make a full perimeter of the Lake instead of cutting directly across. There could be no inch unchecked or disregarded. She knew that if she returned to the shore without his body she would not make it through the night.

It began to rain heavily which made it harder to see or hear. She screamed his name into the rain, wondering how much the downpour drowned out her voice.

Nothing…just stillness and rain. She began to cry again as her eyes scanned the water. She gave up the boat to the movement of the current. The tears wracked her as if it had happened all over again. A large thud pulled her out of her hysteria because the force of it knocked her forward onto her knees. She scrambled onto her feet to see a Giant piece of driftwood. She steadied herself and carefully walked to the edge of the boat. She assessed the boat for any damage and just over the edge she saw swirls of raven colored hair. Then she saw light skin, a nose, a mouth, ears, a face. She dove into the water without question.

She felt cold skin, hard muscles, hair, lips. She grabbed his limp body into her arms and positioned her body underneath his.. She mustered up as much strength as she could, a strength that she didn't even know was physically possible for her own body. She pushed him onto the boat gradually, screaming against the boat with each push forward. Eventually, she got his legs over the boat and climbed into it. With trembling hands, she placed her palms on either side of him and really looked at him. His full lips were blue and he practically had no color left to his skin. There weren’t any scratches on him or bites. He succumbed to the current. She bit her lip to hold in another cry. She placed her hands on his neck and she stilled in surprise. A light pulse….just a single flutter every few seconds. She scrambled to open his mouth and slotted hers against his. She blew hard, pushing her air into his lungs before she pressed on his chest. She pushed as hard as she could and gave him another hard gust of her air.

“ Pllleeasseee”, she cried. She continued with chest compressions. Thirty seconds rolled onto a minute. Another 30 seconds passed and then two minutes. At five minutes she began to panic, moving frantically to hold his nose and force more air. Two more hard pumps to his chest and he begins to sputter water from his mouth. A gust of relief floods her and she begins to sob.

“Baby….my baby…”, she whimpered. She could barely recognize the tone of her own voice. His eyes fluttered open as he began to cough up water. She sat him up, patting his back harshly to help him push out the fluid. The coughing went on for a good minute as he weakly slouched into his own lap. She grabbed his face and pressed it to her own. His bloodshot eyes remained closed as he took in big gulps of air, almost as if they were his very first.

“ You were gone ...I lost you”, she wailed against his weak form. A fragile hand pressed itself to her cheek.

“I-I’m here–”, he choked before choking for more air. She rested her forehead on his watching the comforting rise and fall of his chest. A chest she slept on every night.

“ Don’t you ever… EVER do that again. Do you understand me?! ”, she spat. She grabbed his face, forcing him to focus his eyes on hers.

“ Do you hear me!?”, she cried frantically

“ Okay… Okay”, He whispered delicately. He lost his voice and it was barely audible but his nod confirmed it. He was shivering and soon the cold would take him if she couldn’t get him warm. She picked up the oars and began paddling as quickly as she could back to the shore.

“ Adhar !”, she called out as they closed into the pebble bank.

“ Rory! I need your help!”,She yelled.

The men come flying out of the tent followed by Cortez and William.

“What the fuck!?”,Adhar rushed for the pair, dropping his sword on the ground.

“ I came just in time. Please we have to get him warm. Start a fire in front of the tent. He’s very weak”, she stepped out of the boat and three of the men picked him up infirmary style and placed him inside of Jane’s tent. She sprung into action, peeling off his clothes.

“ What happened ?”, said Adhar.

“ I went looking for him. I went to find his body. I wouldn't leave him in this place dead or alive. The boat mashed into driftwood and I found him floating in front of it –sinking to the bottom. I think he overexerted himself and the current pulled him under”, Jane’s tone was rushed as she pulled off his boots, throwing them behind her. Next came his shirt, weapon belt, and pants.

Roman’s teeth began to chatter, “ Jane…” he groaned.

“ I’m here… I’m here honey we just have to get you dry or you’ll get worse”, she assured in a panicked tone.

A tinge of embarrassment crossed Adhars face as he made prolonged eye contact with Roman’s bloodshot eyes, “ I’ll step out, give the man some dignity.”

Jane peeled off Roman’s underwear and placed his wet clothes in a pile at the front of the tent. She found a cotton blanket and began to rub his body with it vigorously, turning him over to dry his back and limbs. She then wrapped him in all the blankets she could possibly find . She reopened the tent to let the heat from the fire waft inside. Roman sits up now, though still very weak, he looks more alert now. William hands Jane a broth made from the animal bones that they cooked the night before. She places the mug under Roman’s lips and periodically feeds him the soup base. He takes it willingly and quietly.

On the other side of the fire Rory, Adhar, Cortez, and William sat patiently until Roman was ready to speak. Roman, still slow reacting and fairly tired, finally cleared his horse throat.

“ I….appreciate you all for taking care of my Jane while I was …gone”, he says quietly.

“ Cap’n’s orders, remember. We wouldn’t have let anything harm Jane. She’s one of us”, Saiid Rory. Jane smiles sadly knowing what she was planning to do.

“ How did you survive ?”, asked Cortez.

“ Those things pulled me down. I was able to get away but it was so dark that I could barely see. I was swimming in circles all night. I’d completely lost my sense of direction. I kept hearing things. I suppose I succumbed to my own exhaustion. There was nothing to hold onto so that I could rest. There were times I had to tread water just to catch my breath. Eventually I was able to make out a large piece of wood that was floating a couple feet away. I assume there was a current in that space or at least a light current. HadI not been so exhausted, I would have probably been able to swim through it but it swallowed me. A couple mouthfuls of water and I was …comatose. Dead to the world as far I knew,” Roman looked at Jane. She was still very upset at the whole ordeal but was holding back the tears.

“ You are very fortunate. Amalanhig are vicious creatures and they are relentless. I have never seen one before. If they are here, it means they were murdered here. If they would have dragged you to the bottom they would have likely eaten on your flesh for days”, Cortez warns.

Jane speaks up. “ He had a light pulse…I was doing compressions on him for ages. I can’t believe he even survived ”.

“ Well…what matters now is that we are all together. We’re finishing this journey how it was meant to be finished—as a group. Roman is here to guide us once more –after a few days of rest I suppose?”, says William.

Jane nodded, leaning into his side, “ No question about it. He’s too fragile for travel and now he’s at risk for infection. I’ll have to nurse him for a few days”, She sighed.

Roman snorted with humor, “ I’d protest but you’re fortunate I like you as my nurse.” He wrapped a protective arm around her.

The group said their goodnights individually, all heading off to bed. They grabbed the blankets that Jane borrowed to keep Roman warm. Rory went last, walking around the campfire. He crouched down and placed a firm hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman looked up at him comically, just waiting for Rory to say something absurd and funny as always. A necessity at a time like this.

“ Glad to have you back. Just wanted to say…You’re lucky I respect you so much, otherwise I’d be royally pissed about you getting your ball sweat on my

Blanket Cap’n. No offense”, Rory smirked. Roman wheezes out a hearty, crackly, raspy laugh and Rory follows with an even crispier one. Jane shakes her headand rolls her eyes at their boyish humor. Rory takes his leave for the night.

Then it was just the two of them sitting in front of the fire. Roman flexed his muscles stiffly, clearly still in pain from moving them for so long. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

Roman grunts in agreement, scooting himself further into the tent. Jane closes the tent and pulls off her boots. Roman watches her from a lying position, enjoying the view of her after such a horrible night. She turns to him and notices that he’s pulled off his blanket and was stark naked now that they had privacy. She decides to strip down to her undergarments. The fire had made it warm now, maybe too warm. When she was ready he pulled her onto his chest.

“ Are you okay?”, she asks quietly in the dark.

“ I’m okay. Are you okay?”, he says.

“ Not until we’re safe”, she sighs. He doesn’t respond but instead squeezes her hand reassuringly.

Jane nuzzled her face into his neck. “ I wish we were back on the ship…Or at some port where we could get ale and really greasy food. The simple things are what I miss the most. I don’t want to be here anymore”.

“ I know”, he says gently.

A beat of silence passes. Jane becomes distracted at the feel of his strong heart beat. A rhythm that she memorized a while ago. She remembers how weak it felt just a few hours ago.“ Why did you tell them to go on without you?”

“ I just wanted you safe. They can’t do that if they’re worried about rescuing me. I can take care of myself. I have for a very long time”, he sighs. She can hear the exhaustion settling in but she couldn’t help but protest. She didn’t want to argue.

“ Do you understand how close I was to joining you this morning in the lake ? I agreed to be a part of this crew because I fell in love with you. As much as I care for all our friends—the loss of you–I– I ”, she became flustered. He was unflinching.

“ If you follow me in death then I have failed you Jane.”

She inhales sharply. She doesn’t argue now. She let the words marinate and bounce around her head.

“ I would have hoped that if nothing else, I have shown you why life is a gift. Not something you waste behind anybody. Or any man for that matter”, he speaks softly and disarmingly. That tone. That tone he always takes with her in disagreements. Gentle, stern, vulnerable. He even presses his mouth to the top of her hair.

“ You knew what I would do…”, she said.

“ I did. That’s why I asked them to take your weapons just in case. Looking ahead you’re set up to live without me. You’ve got a home, a job waiting for you. You’ve even got an admirer in Adhar if you're willing. He would be more than happy to protect you in my absence. He already has as far as I’m concerned. You are so much more than just me Jane…”, rubs the side of her cheek with his finger lovingly. He can feel the wetness on her face and swipes it away.

Her tone turns wobbly. “ The way you’re speaking right now…as if this was a suicide mission.”

“ It wasn’t…but there is always a backup plan. Yet, fate has decided that we have more to do together. I found you…you found me. Clever how the tables turn. I should be thanking you.”

Jane said nothing. She just sniffles, trying to stop her nose from running. She cried enough today.

“ I’m sorry that I scared you. I’m sorry it even happened Jane. Allow me to make it up—-

“ I don’t want you to make it up. I don’t want anything else. I just need to feel you…I-I need to make sure you’re really here”, she sighs. She presses her face against his and he wraps his arms around her waist firmly.

The two of them fell asleep in an embrace. She woke up in the same position, face pressed into his neck and his arms still holding her. In fact, the next two days were spent mostly inside of the tent. Roman needed sleep and rest. The ambush with the undead called for a new strategy. The day time was reserved for sleeping and the night time would be reserved for traveling.

They packed up camp and rolled up their tents at sunset and restarted their journey. Roman’s accident was a hard reset on just how mind bending the island was. There was no more paranoia or anger. The only thing that mattered now was survival which outweighed the need for the treasure.

That same night of travel they evaluated Roman’s map. They had a full day of travel left which would be broken up in two nights. They would walk until dawn. Jane held onto Roman’s arm, happy with being the last two in the end of the line. She couldn't help but to keep glancing at him periodically to see if he was still himself. He was moving slower than usual and she knew that she was not completely healed from the event. On the fourth glance he caught her and smiled, placing his hand over her own.

“ Listen up you Ingrates”, he called out in a joking manner.

The group paused, giving him their full attention. He held up the map in his hand.

“ This map has an illustration on it suggesting that we are approaching the territory of hostile animals. All weapons should be loaded and ready for fire”, he warned

A slew of curses rolls throughout the group.

“ What Kind of animal ?”, Asks cortez.

“ I am not sure. It’s just an illustration of animal teeth with large canines. My bet is on some kind of large cat with how tropical the area is. It is imperative that all guns are loaded now. Be ready to run if need be. Jane you’re in the middle”, he speaks with an authoritative tone. Jane’s face drops in disappointment.

Jane rolls her eyes. “ You are playing the martyr again?”

“ Jane…. Please”, Roman sighs tiredly.

“ This is bullshit”, she scoffs.

“ Jane, you forget your necklace makes you a hot commodity. These creatures will likely go for you first. Why not make it harder for them?”, says Adhar.

She says nothing as she walks to the middle of the line. She tucks her necklace into her shirt and folds her arms. “ Alright, Let’s get this over with”.

The terrain turned into a dense, wet, thick jungle. Cortez had to cut through it with a machete. The landscape is slanted uphill and much more slippery. The sounds of birds chirping and squawking during the night was alarming, as this was usually an early morning to mid day occurrence. Large snakes slithered up trees in bright colors. Jane was not a fan of this as she was incredibly fearful of them. Spiders and scorpions darted out of the group's path. She frequently jumped from the feeling of plants touching her arms.

After 30 minutes of walking something cries out similar to the sound of a weeping man. The group stops, looking around in pure shock. Was someone stranded here? A Moorner perhaps? Another voice speaks Mandarin Chinese and a third speaks Portuguese. Women call out for help and screams yell out in agony. The panicked voices close in but they cannot be seen. Guns rise in the defense. The group forms a circle around Jane, looking for the threat.

“ HELPPPP MEEEE!!!”, A Woman screams.. The sound is so close it causes Jane to flinch and cover her head. She looks up and she can finally see it. Elongated canines the length of her hands, grey fur, stark yellow eyes, a muscular body measuring around 4 - 5 feet. It was a baboon dangling from a vine, but not just any baboon. This was the largest primate that shes ever seen. She didn’t know that baboons could even become so large. The animals stare at her, puffing thick clouds of foggy air into her face threateningly. A low rumble vibrated deep within its chest.

“ Jane…..do not…..move…. A muscle”, William says quietly.

“ We’re gonna take this niceeeee and slow…”, Roman walks up behind Jane, joining her in the circle. William is stationed behind the beast, pointing his gun for a headshot.

The creature begins to howl and hoot, getting progressively louder and louder directly in her face. Cortez, Rory, and Adhar covered the front, back, and side.

The primate opens it’s mouth. “ SHOOT THEM!!!”, a sound falls from the monkey's mouth like a puppet. It frightened her hearing what seemingly was the last words of someone who died by it’s hands.

The monkey drew closer “, NOOO!!”, it hissed. Jane flinched and the baboon dove for her. William opened fire into the back of its head. Roman pulled Jane backwards. Gunpowder flies as Jane dropped down and covered her head. Groups of Baboons screamed from the trees as sets of them set out to attack the group. Roman is back to back with jane as they shoot for the vital organs. With a swipe and tug of her left leg, Jane is knocked off her feet. She falls on her stomach dropping her weapon along the way.

“ AHHH!!”, Jane claws at the ground trying to gain leverage. Teeth poke the bottom of her ankle and she tenses waiting for the pain. Roman dives for the beast and begins to stomp it with the bottom of his shoe, before kicking it directly in the face. It stumbles back and Roman shoots it dead. Adhar screams in the distance as one of the creatures clamps onto his arm. William takes the back of his gun and slams it into the temple of the beast.

“ We have to make a run for it. We’re running out of ammunition!”, Cortez yelled over the noise. Jane grabs Adhar and rips a piece of his shirt off to wrap around his forearm.

“ Everybody run to higher ground!”,Roman bellowed over the sound of his gun.

The group took off uphill. The creatures were tailing them but the gunshots disrupted them enough to scare some of them off. Jane became worried for Adhar who was bleeding profusely and running made it worse. In the distance they saw the opening to what they assumed held the treasure. It was carved into the side of a rocky black mountain with an opening similar to a giant mouth. The entrance was lit up with torches of fire and that gave the crew an extra push for the last hundred meters. Cortez quickly grabbed two of the torches, throwing one to Roman and waving it towards the screaming primates. The fire was the only thing that pushed them back. After another five minutes of Cortez and Roman on defense, the monkeys finally fall back and return to the trees.

The cave was dark, damp, rocky, and unwelcoming. Droplets of water and the sound of shuffling feet reverberated all around them. Adhar was in pain and his hisses of discomfort popped and echoed against the walls.

“ Break”, Adhar called out. There was a much needed regroup after such a violent encounter. He slid down the wall and sat on his bum. Jane unwrapped his coverings and poured some of her water over the deep puncture wounds.

“ He will need stitches. It could begin to fester well before we reach the shore again ”, Jane stressed.

“ I know some herbs that will help”, Said Roman.

“ A poultice ?”, she confirms.

Roman nods. “ Ay”

“ I’ll be okay ”, Adhar reassured. Jane wasn’t convinced but the sooner they got to the treasure the better.

Everyone drank water and did a recount on their supplies. Cortez stayed behind with Adhar near the cave entrance. Roman, Jane, William, and Rory decided to keep going.

“ I hope this isn’t some trick or some dead end”, Jane sighed.

“ I don’t think so, look “, Rory pointed to the walls lit up by the fire. The walls of the cave were glittering with speckles of something. Jane stepped closer and her eyes widened. Gold ?

From the floor to the ceiling the deeper they walked, the more intense the specks of gold, silver, blue, greens, red, oranges and pinks became. Gemstones and Gold were etched in silver. A vibration on her chest made her clutch her key that was now glowing and warm.

They jogged down the entrance now, winded and anxious. Pretty soon the sounds of their feet touching the ground was interrupted by the crunch of them walking on rubies, diamonds, gold, silver. Minutes later they were knee deep in their riches. Every part of the cave was covered. Gold cups, necklaces, whole diamonds like the size of a clenched fist. And to think she imagined this reveal being more dramatic. Now the silence seemed louder than words. Pure shock. Pure disbelief. And then their shock came to a head. There it sat in all its glory. The treasure room that could put the British empire to shame. In the middle of the room sat a large chest. Jane’s key nearly floated off her neck.

“ This is it….I can’t believe it”, Jane scoffed. She glanced at Roman and he looked beside himself. She holds her hand out to him and he walks up beside her.

He chuckled. “ Well, it’s your key. Open it”, he urged.

Jane bit her lip in anticipation and stepped forward, positioning her key right over the keyhole.

“ Well this was not what I was expecting”, A deep, thunderous, incredibly raspy, feminine voice called out. Jane jumped back from the chest. The men stood with their weapons ready. Was this an ambush? A trap? What would it be this time?

“ And here I thought our introduction would be warmer. After all,you’re standing in my horde. Where are your manners? ”, The voice chuckled.

“ What is this place?!’, said Jane.

“ Your final test of course Don’t tell me you thought I would make it easy for you all? No, no. I had to truly be sure.”

“ This place. This island “, Jane emphasized.

“ This place is where all men go to die. The unworthy ones at least –which happens to be all”.

Fear grew and prickled along Jane’s skin. “ Will you let us have this treasure ?”

“ Not before your final test….”, the beast hissed.

Jane looked around cautiously. “ Okay…..”

“ Open the chest …”, the beast taunted.

Jane bent down slowly to her knees and grabbed her key. Carefully, she pushed the key into the lock and twisted it until she heard a click. Placing her hands on either side of the trunk, she lifted the lid to reveal a large crystal. It was red with an iridescent glow of several other colors that fragmented and twinkled under the light of the torches. It was shiny, glowing, and one of the most beautiful stones she’d ever seen. She cupped her hands and held it In her palms. With a closer view she could see a fleshy material on the inside that was beating like a heart.

“ And now your final test. The treasure from my horde and two wishes or…”, The beast trailed off . A pregnant pause fills the room.

Blackness fills her vision and suddenly she’s in front of two palm trees and sand is pooling between each of her toes. She looks out on the horizon and a woman in a long skirt, cotton shirt, and no shoes runs behind a toddler. Her hair is covered by a scarf that almost sits like a crown around the perimeter of her head. In the distance the child runs to a tall and lanky man who’s dipping his toes in the water. He’s wearing long cotton shorts that he rolled up to his calf and no shirt. His hair is cut short to his head. He picks up the toddler running to him and throws her in the air before catching her again. The woman joins them both and they kiss the toddler on either side of her face before heading towards Jane. They walk past her to the tiny houses that littered the shore. This woman was Jane’s mother and beside her was her Father.

“ M-Mom”, she calls out. The woman looks back curiously but her eyes never meet her daughters.

“ Mom”, she calls out in disbelief. The woman turns around and continues walking with her small family.

Jane follows them inside of their home. To her left sits an older man in his late 40’s smoking a pipe and drinking tea. He’s holding the toddler now, who’s tugging on his chin hair. He smiles fondly at the little girl with a heart aching reverence and adoration. The woman–her mother, begins to cook and her husband sits next to the older man. Jane’s grandfather who taught her how to read.

Then suddenly all four of them disappear and Jane’s mother reappears, gracefully older with her hair longer. Tiny streaks of gray peak through her hairline. It’s coily and long like her own and she can see herself in her mother more than ever before.

“ Mother, I’m heading out now”, A young teenage Jane walks out of her room and kisses her mother on her cheek.

“ Okay, enjoy yourself. Be back here by sunset. Tell your friend he’s welcome to join for dinner”, Her mother calls out. Young Jane looks like every possibility, every hope, every daydream, every unbroken thing. She is better…she’s happier. The young Jane joins a young man out on the porch and they walk to the market to meet friends.

“ Jane Ramlal. I offer you a life apart from the one you’ve come to know. A life without the pain, the loss, the fear, the suffering. I offer you parents and grandparents who never succumb to disease. A family intact. A young love that comes easy. I offer you friends who you grow old with. I offer you an ancestral home that is strong and standing. I offer you comfortability. Not a rich comfortability but just enough to be satisfied. I offer you a life outside of England.”

“ And if I accept?”, she asks carefully.

“ Roman is still a pirate on the Black pearl. You never meet. You never make it to this place. All for the small price of the life you were supposed to live. No harm comes to your friends but it is a life apart”, the dragon speaks in a conniving tone.

She goes back to the house and sees her mother sitting on the porch with her father and grandfather. They talk freely, cursing to the wind without a care. They all look so beautiful. She would be crazy not to accept this offer. She reaches her hand out to her mothers cheek and for a moment she can almost feel the heat of it. Her grandfather blows Tobacco in the air. Now she remembers why she liked the smell of Roman’s smoke. It reminded her of him.

With a long sigh she pulls away “ I…decline”, says Jane.

There is a long pause and for a moment she believes she’s trapped in this reality. Invisible.

“ May I ask…why”, the beats asked in a curious tone.

“ I wouldn't change who I am. I’m proud..of who I am. Without the pain of my life…I could not savor the sweetness that I know now. And I can’t…leave him. No matter how much I want this. I want him…more”, she whispers.

And with those words the facade falls away into Gold. Tears rim her eyes and she looks for Roman in a panic. Almost as if those minutes away from him would cause him to disappear forever. She sighs in relief when their eyes meet.

“ Clever girl. There are many men who would fall victim to their deepest desire. You’ve surprised me and that is difficult to do. I am in a good mood. For this I grant you four wishes and as much gold you all can carry”, The dragon chuckles. The stone turns to coins in her hands.

The room rumbles in laughter and cheer as bodies swarm Jane. Rory lifts onto his shoulders. Cortez and Adhar race further into the cave with shocked faces. They cheer for her. Roman is beside himself. This was it. It was over….it was finally over. They were rich. But most importantly they were alive. They could go home..or find home..

“ Rory put me down”, Jane laughed. He set her down on her feet and placed a fat wet kiss on the back of her hand.

Roman rolls his eyes “Watch it”, he hissed. Rory blows him a kiss and dives into coins like a warm summer lake. Roman pulls Jane into his chest and she wraps her arms around him. His mouth meets hers and she sighs from his touch.

“ What did you see?”, he whispers.

“ I’ll tell you later”, she says with another peck against his lips. He kisses her forehead, cradling her head against his hand.

“ Dragon… errr–miss”, Jane called out.

“ Yes”, the creature sighed with annoyance.

“ Can I cash in my wishes at any time ?”

“ If you must”, the creature said flippantly. Jane smiled at that.

“ My first wish. I wish for an elixir that cures any illness or affliction that refills itself every time it’s empty”, said Jane.

“ At once”, says the dragon. A bottle appears in her hand filled with a brown liquid and a dropper.

“ Adhar”, she calls over to him. He obliged her.

“ You- you didn’t have to waste your wish on me. Really. I would have been fine”, he stutters. There’s a flustered urgency in his tone.

“ We have to look out for each other. No matter what. It would be a shame if you got sick and died before you could go and spend your money “, she smirked. Jane places a few drops of the liquid onto his wound before wrapping it again. “ Better ?”

“ Ay…though it’s a bit itchy”, he says.

“ Means it’s healing”, Said Roman.

“ For my second wish, I wish for a device that will repel any evil creature or entity, land or sea, away from myself and the Entire crew in this cave which includes every member of the ship on the beach to ensure our safe travels”, she commands.

“ ……….Done”, says the Dragon. A talisman appears in her palm, a gray stone that’s tumbled smooth. It has some sort of protective marking on it. She closed it around her fist and put it into her pocket.

“ Why don’t we all collect what we can. We can talk about the last two wishes with the group?”, she says to the men. They all agree and begin dumping handfuls of the treasure into the chest that held the dragon stone.

Not only did they fill the chest, they filled other containers. Flasks. Buckets, their own chests, whatever they could find. By the time they left the cave the sun was shining over the trees.

They were expecting a long journey back to the beach but once they passed the treeline, they stepped out onto the sand. Dazed and confused, Jane looks back to see that they’d only traveled a couple hundred feet in the last 4 days.

“ I won’t even question it. Not the worst shit we’ve been through these past few days”, said Adhar. Everyone agreed.

A celebration that commenced the minute the rest of the pirates took notice of the six of them. That night a bonfire was made as Rory retold the dramatic and mind bending story of their journey. Jane sat in Roman’s lap laughing along with Rory’s impression of the Baboon that tackled him. Tonight there was a comfortable breeze. The perfect weather to sleep under the stars. Jane feels eyes on her and she lets them simmer onto her skin.

Roman leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck to get her attention . “ Are you going to tell me what you saw now ?”, he asks quietly. With everyone so distracted there was no better time.

Jane sighed and pressed her forehead to his. “ I was given the choice to go back to Trinidad and essentially live a fairytale. No one ever dies, I never go to London. Everyone would be happy. The catch was that we would never meet. You’d be a pirate and I’d be..far far away.”

“ Why didn’t you choose it?”, he asks curiously. He knew the answer but Roman felt that there could be more to her reasoning. It was hard to believe it was just himself.

She shrugs. “ Besides not wanting to leave you. Who says my life isn’t a fairytale ? And if it’s not already..why can’t it become one..one day?”, she asks him.

“ If I was a better man I would say that you should have chosen the story that would leave you unscathed. The story where life would have been easier.”

“ I am only looking forward now. There’s no need to look back anymore.”

A group vote determined what the third wish would be. The crew was most agreeable considering that everyone had their own treasure. Therefore, the third wish would be a large comfortable ship that was fully stocked with enough food and water to last them the entire journey back to the West.

The next day they set sail black to Europe. The crew celebrated that night and everyone was in good spirits with the promise of a good future ahead of them all. Pete the parrot was even in his cage as he had been before. Many talked about reuniting with loved ones, settling down, investing, marrying. Adhar had plans to go back to India at the end of the year and win back his lost love and give back to his community. Rory was a pirate through and through and wanted to continue sailing and seeing the world. Cortez wanted to visit his family but his heart belonged to the sea. William planned on figuring out the next steps with his wife and investing in her regardless of her decision to stay or go. Caden wanted to be a pirate and someday ..a Captain.

Jane and Roman sat on the wind deck away from the festivities. They talked for hours about all the exciting things that some of the other members wanted to do with their new freedom.

“ Everybody has this elaborate plan on what they’ll do and who they’ll become now. What will you do next ?”, she asked curiously.

Roman smirks. “ I of course would love to keep traveling and seeing the world. There’s much to be seen, wouldn’t you agree ?”, he asks.

Jane shrugged, “ Much indeed. Will you be keeping the ship?”

“ I’m not sure. I think…I may be ready for a break.”

“ A- A break?”, she stuttered.

“ Yes…this journey allowed room for introspection. Being a pirate is not always pretty. In fact, I only just recently allowed in the beautiful parts of life since I’ve met you.”

“ What are you saying Roman”, Jane grinned.

Roman chuckled. “ I think that you and I deserve a vacation. We also deserve to take that vacation for however long we so choose. Or it can be permanent. I am unmoved with either option.”

“ You wish to be on land for a while ?”, Jane’s brows raise in suspicion.

“ I do…the land of Paris to be exact. There is someone that I would like you to meet.”

“ Who ?”, she asked.

“ Someone a lot like me. I think Paris will be good for the senses.”

“ The senses you say? What aren’t you saying”, Jane squinted.

“ Just trust me”, Roman took another playful swig of ale.

“ Okay…well if you think this will be good. And if you think it is safe then I have no reason to protest. My only worry is my warrant.”

“ I will get that squared away with the courts as soon as we enter Europe.”

“ Fine… there is one other thing however”, Jane perked up. Roman looked back at her with his full attention.

“ What will I do with the last wish? I should let the crew decide, right?”

Roman pulled her back into his chest and rested his head on top of hers, engulfing her in his embrace. He bends down and presses his mouth just above her ear.

“ You spend that wish on whatever your heart desires. It is yours alone..”

End of chapter.

————

Authors note :

What do you think Jane’s final wish should be ?

[artfulacrostic]

new patch i designed and made, inspired by

Firefight, Ch. 25, by @remedyturtles / @remrose on ao3.

"The rumble-roll of wheels on gravel. Donnie reluctantly looked out the window and saw huge sprawling sycamore trees, swaying green grass, and a moderate overcast sky. It didn’t feel like anything in particular to see, churning something unfamiliar and uncertain.

Donnie said, somehow, around the sheer cotton his mouth had become, “Did you know there are sycamore trees alive today that are more than three hundred years old?”

Leo’s shoulders relaxed and he grabbed the hand that Donnie still had pressing against his mouth, pulling it away with a squeeze. “Well, I do now, Dontron.”

“Maybe Dad planted them.” Mikey chimed in from the front, all sly innocent littlest energy.

“Excuse me, I am right here.” Splinter said, delightfully mixed with gruff and amused.

Donnie kept his gaze on the enormous trees with their impossibly large trunks, and thought,

what have you survived?"

[elriel-fireheart]

Elain my darling, how you've grown ❤️

"It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. ... It still hadn’t stopped me from buying her seeds for the flower garden she tended in the milder months, whenever I could afford it." - Acotar ch 2

“I think she's kind, and I'll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven't yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don't forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one's hands dirty along the way." “And torn up by thorns," I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free."

- Acosf feysand bonus chapter

[geevesthevieve]

Deleted scene/alternate opening from "Back to Back" ch. 2

The times when his brain betrayed him by flinging him back into that hell begotten warehouse were always at the worst possible moments.  

It started with him removing his helmet, which was also horrid timing. The filters had a nasty habit of clogging if not regularly cleaned out, which caused the thing to overheat. He’d been sweating as the stuffy air practically had him choking for the past ten minutes. So he’d taken the first opportunity he could and unfastened it, tucked it under his arm, and took clear, blessed breaths… Or as clear as one could at an old, musty factory left to decay with the useless ‘Keep Out’ signs doing nothing for the homeless and the addicts just trying to stay out of the cold or get their fix in peace. Clearing them out while they’d been doing a sweep for the latest wannabe supervillain’s traps that she’d left around this side of town had taken way too long and now Jason just really wanted a cigarette.

Then he heard the beeping. 

Maybe it was the tone or maybe it was how it started soft and got louder and faster with each tick. But Jason’s heart-rate followed suit, ratcheting up.

His vision darkened around the edges and the crumbling plaster and chipped stone became desiccated wood where he was barely managing to drag his mangled body across the floor, his shattered bones shifting as they scraped along the warped, splintered surface. Every fiber of him screamed. His mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood, shaping around nonsensical words that had probably been some pointless desperate plea to anyone that might be around to find him. 

The only reply he got was the ever increasing beeps.

“Hood! Get down!”

Louder and louder, high pitched, grating down on his ears. More insistent like it wasn't the only thing pulsating through Jason at that very moment…well, there was always the laughter. The maniacal laughter and the thud of metal against his ribs. 

It was going to stop soon and then the burning would envelop him. Blisters would form and burst in a matter of milliseconds. His eyes would melt and the world would go dark, but the lightless fire would continue to devour him. It would be fast, but it would take eons. 

“Jason!”

Then he’d be gone again.

Something hard slammed into his side, knocking him behind a pillar, right as the last beep sounded, and the blue and black figure that had shoved him to the ground blew past him as the bomb exploded.

It was bright and hot just like before, and then there was nothing.

Nothing.

Then… 

Ringing.

Piercing ringing replaced everything else, rattling against his skull, making him tremble. Jason blinked hard and coughed as more dust and smoke filled his lungs. He waved his arms in front of him and rammed his elbow into something hard, sending a tingling shockwave through it. He cursed, but his tongue tasted like chalk and dirt. He also was aware that he hadn’t even heard his voice when he’d spoken. 

Pushing past the raucous coughs, and spatting out the powdery taste in his mouth, he managed to somewhat settle the hard thrumming battering against his chest. The constant chiming continued going strong against his eardrums. He clapped his hands over the sides of his head and waited until other sounds started to wash the ringing further back. Then he opened his eyes again, letting them adjust to the new darkness. He squinted around for his helmet, but it was nowhere within his current view. There were only fallen columns and the crushed rusted machinery from whatever had used to be assembled here. 

Jason slowly eased himself up, dodging around the cracked pillar he’d been sheltered by, and gasped as a sharp pain shot up through his abdomen, along with a harsh creaking from his ribcage. His clanging head pounded, and the air hit an open wound at his scalp. He brushed his fingers along it and stared blankly at his bloodied hand when he brought it back around.  

He’d just had to take his helmet off.

Blinking hard, he again tried to do a scan for it in the rubble. It had his comms in it. He hated the little earpieces that went directly in his ear, but he was regretting not having one as a back-up. He needed to let the others know what had happened. Most of the bats were on the other side of the city. It had just been him and—

An icy wave poured down Jason’s back.

“Oh, shit.” He stumbled. He wasn’t sure if it was over some debris or just from his still spinning head. He just managed to catch himself on an overturned conveyor-belt—or what once might have been a conveyor-belt. He barely took the moment to clear the lingering vertigo that had his stomach flipping over too. Bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes raked over the landfill of a factory with much more fervor, the cold flooding through his veins with the force of a burst dam. “Dick!” He yelled out into the dark—screwing protocol. 

There was no reply.

Jason's heart thudded loud again, warring against the remnant ringing. There was enough awareness in him to recall his brother slamming into him. Dick might have actually been speaking to him before that, probably shouting at him to move or something before he’d jumped into action. A blur of the Nightwing suit being flung away seared across Jason’s mind’s eye.

“Dammit.” His chest rose and fell too rapidly. “Dammit!” Shoving himself off the conveyor-belt, he staggered over in the direction he thought he’d seen Dick fly.

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

---This is just what the title says. It's from my fic "Back to Back". This was initially how I'd started the first chapter, but I realized it wasn't paralleling the first chapter like it was supposed to. So I scrapped most of it an kept some of the pieces. It's not much different. I just sort of skip this part and summarize it in the actual fic 😁 But I was going through a few things, while working on a few other new fics (I really hope to be able to post soon) and found this. So... figured I'd post it for fun!---

[crossroads-of-the-raven]

Just a Little Something about Kai being Lloyd's Father

- Lloyd (Splinter in the Blind Man's Eye, ch.6)

This story is between March of the Oni (S10) and Secret of the Forbidden Spinjitzu (S11)

[dawning-games]

Going back over my various googledocs documents and rediscovered orphaned bits of dialogue that I still quite like:

"There you go again asking questions and attempting to understand the world in which you've found yourself. People who hunker down exactly where and how they started off lead much more satisfying afterlives, in my opinion."

1: So your best advice is to suffer in silence forever until one day I don't die?

"Exactly!" The Splintered grinned. "Never take risks or try to improve, that way there be the dragons of self improvement. And who has the time for that?"

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

happy february. im on new meds babes idk if i mentioned that

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. i : Return of the Crabs

Chapter Summary: Valeana Celtigar and her family return to King's Landing after receiving a personalized invitation from King Viserys. She is filled with dread; Val doesn't know how she is going to face Aemond Targaryen after all he had done to her...

Word Count: 3460 

PLEASE READ THE PROLOGUE BEFORE READING CHAPTER 1

Sneak Peak: “Blink, sister,” the tall presence of her brother approached from behind her. Clement bowed over her shoulder, “He isn’t going to appear out of nowhere if you blink.” She blinked, not because he told her to, but because she didn’t realize she wasn’t until he spoke. Valeana looked down at her white knuckles, “I don’t want to be here.”

Warnings: Insults, swearing.

T H E   R E D S

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"I said tighter," Floris seethed, her fingers curling around the wooden column as her maid pulled the laces of her bodice. 

"I am trying, my lady," the little maid said, her fringe stuck to her sweaty brow. The poor thing was trying to keep her footing as the ship rocked to and fro against the tides of Blackwater Bay. 

"You're clearly not trying enough," Floris spat as she threw her a look over her shoulder. "Perhaps I should get a sailor to do it, they seem to have a better grip when pulling on ropes."

Valaena let out a short, loud, laugh from the floor where she sat. 

"What are you laughing about?" Floris casted her eyes at her step sister briefly.

"Nothing, sister," Val bit her lip to contain her smile, eyes concentrating on her task at hand. She looked up at her other sister, who's skirt she was trying to mend. "Shyla, I'm going to need you to stop moving." 

"I can't!" Shyla squealed as she nearly lost her footing on the stool she was balancing on. Her hands were firmly planted on another wooden pillar, trying to keep her balance with the waves that rocked the ship. However, it resulted in her hips moving around and thus swishing around the skirt that Val was trying to mend. 

"Fuck!" Val cursed when her needle slipped and landed in the pad of her finger. Curling her lip into her teeth, she let out a frustrated growl and then sucked on her finger. "This is the last time I'm helping you. This wasn't a dress meant for you to travel in, Shyla." 

"But it is so pretty, I couldn't wait to wear it!"

"And now you've ruined it," Floris added in frustration. Her maid was starting to lace further up her back, pinching her shoulder blades as she did.

"Not on purpose!"

Val rolled her eyes, "Everyone and the Seven warned you not to run on deck." 

Shyla rarely listened. The dress lasted all of two hours before Shyla went running around the deck, which was still sleek from being waxed. She went sliding down the ship on her heel, and the intricate hemming of her brand new gown caught a splinter in the wood and tore the work Valeana had put into it the week prior

Val inhaled deeply and sighed steadily through her nose, deciding to make quick work of the damage, instead of trying to bring back the hem to its former glory. She had to dress herself, and they would be docking at King's Landing soon. A fact that she was dreading with each passing day since they received the royal invitation, personalized by the King himself. 

On any normal occasion, her father would have come with only Clement since it was considered treasonous to refuse a King’s invitation, but he would not have brought anyone else. He was still quite bitter about the event that transpired ten years ago, and so was Valeana. The Red Keep held nothing by rotten memories she had tried to disremember all this time. Alas, this "Royal Conclave" was a proposal that Bartimos Celtigar couldn't resist. Most if not all the high born lords of the Seven Kingdoms would be in attendance with the intention of marrying off their children and forging alliances.

All the Celtigar children, including his step daughter (at the ripe age of four and twenty) were not betrothed, and Bartimos was getting impatient with their ennui of their lack of prospects. Well, Floris seemed far more eager to change her father's name and bare the cloak of her future husband, but finding a suitable match for his wife's daughter was proving difficult. It wasn't the dowry that was the problem, it was her character that seemed to be too bitter on the pallet of any suitor they had conversed with thus far. As for his other daughters -- Shya was still young, she would have time yet, and as the youngest of the girls, she wasn't a high priority. It was Valeana he worried for the most -- There was no man alive that he deemed worthy of her hand. 

Though to be perfectly honest, it seemed Valeana was quite content with her father being so picky. She would be fine becoming a Septa if that is what the fates wished for her.

The door opened, nearly slamming against the wall when the ship bucked. Her step mother, Ursula, entered, looking a bit green in the face as she held a handkerchief to her lips.

"We are almost there," she said, swallowing thickly with her eyes closed. "I can see the spires... Gods, I hate sailing." 

And yet you married a Lord of the Sea, Val wanted to say, but bit her tongue as she finished her mending. 

"Why aren't you dressed yet?!" Her step mother slammed the door shut and gripped the wall. "We dock soon, child, and I will not have you enter the Red Keep looking like a common seamstress."

"I have been otherwise detained," Val stuck her needle in a pillow, then wiped her hands on her grey skirt. She turned to her step mother, back composed, feet planted as if she were part of the ship's skeleton itself. A true born Celtigar, if there ever was one. The Targaryens have their dragons, but the Celtigars and the Valeryons had their ships and the unpredictable chaos of the sea. "Mending the dress your daughter ruined."

Ursula's eyes moved over to Shyla, her frown deepening in disapproval, "You see? Your actions not only cost you a brand new dress, but it cost your sister's time!" 

As Shyla whined and her mother nagged, Valaena went over to where her dress lay waiting for her. The maid had finished with Floris, and immediately went to Valaena's side to aid her. The dress was vermillion, like the crabs that march across their banners. There were pearls strung from shoulder to the dip of the sweetheart neckline on both sides, and loose trumpet sleeves that flared out at the elbow and ended with a thick strip of ivory lace. The hem of the skirt held the same lace pattern, and the vermillion fabric tiered on top of an ivory skirt underneath. Shyla wore a similar coloured dress, though with a more modest cut to compliment her long neck, and her pearls were beaded into a silk choker, and dangled from her ears and hair. Floris was of a different red, deeper and accented with gold, and black silk ribbons laced up her back. They were the colours of House Grafton.

 The three dresses were of Valeana's making, which she had spent days crafting with the help of maids. Ursula insisted on making a statement upon arrival. 

Valeana held onto the column as the laces were tightened around her waist. She flinched and placed a hand on her ribs.

"Make it nice and tight," Floris examined her own body's profile in the floor length mirror, flattening her hand over her chest and stomach, and then squared her shoulders in pride of her slim figure. "We can still see your stomach, Valaena."

"I wish to breathe, sister," Val rolled her eyes, then looked down at her gown and found no such evidence of a stomach's rolls showing through the fabric. She made sure none would. 

It was evident that Valeana was still the thicker and curvier of the three sisters. Shyla and Floris both boasted their mothers impossible slim and tall figure, whereas Valeana would be cursed with her father's wider frame. She supposed it could be worse; she could have still weighed as much as she did as a child. Fat also blessed her with an ample chest, which Valeana would call a burden when given a chance. Her back would ache for hours after horseback because of it, but she couldn't deny it gave her figure a sense of balance. She still retained much weight in her hips, thighs, lower belly, and buttocks, but the size of her breasts equalized her pear shaped body. 

Whilst her maid tied her up, Valaena made quick work of her hair. They had little time to do anything intricate, so she pinned back the thick locks and fastened a matching red rounded hood headpiece to the crown of her head. It too was lined with pearls, which blended in with her platinum hair. At her lobes she hung tear drop pearl earrings, and a matching string of them to disappear into the bodice of her dress.

There was a knock on the door, “We are docking!” Bartimos’ voice boomed through the door. “Are we decent?” 

Valeana tightened the straps and harnesses of her prosthetic leg around her thigh before fastening her red stocking along her leg. She gave a nod to her step mother, who confirmed they were in fact, decent, giving him permission to enter. 

Bartimos donned garments of deep vermillion, a bronze chain with crab broaches fastened his cloak on his shoulders. His daughters have never seen their father so regal and proud. 

“Oh, look at my girls,” the lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. “You will be the envy of all the ladies in court.” 

He said this to all of them, but his eyes were on Valeana, and Floris was acutely aware of that. She was always aware of where her step father’s eyes landed on when he gave compliments.

As the family gathered on deck, they crowded at the bannisters to watch the city as they neared port. Shyla bounced on her feet excitingly, Floris watched with quiet dignity, her nose in the air and a subtle smile on her face, and Valaena gripped the wood with blunt nails. King’s Landing had not changed; it looked just as she remembered. It smelled just like she remembered. 

“Blink, sister,” the tall presence of her brother approached from behind her. Clement bowed over her shoulder, “He isn’t going to appear out of nowhere if you blink.”

She blinked, not because he told her to, but because she didn’t realize she wasn’t until he spoke. Valeana looked down at her white knuckles, “I don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t want you to be here,” Clement concurred. “But it will only be three turns of the moon, mayhaps four, not ten years. Shorter if you find a husband as soon as possible.”

“I don’t want a husband either,” She sighed, closing her eyes. Her father’s pickiness over her suitors really only extended to the sons of the lords that reached the eastern shores of Westeros. Bartimos may find his perfect match with a lord or a lord’s son from a kingdom far from home. 

Clement’s lips thinned, not knowing how to sooth a woman doomed to a life she did not choose. He was sure she was tired of hearing the arguments of a woman’s duty to her house, and how she will one day find love for her husband, and if not, she will love the children she bore for him. All half-truths and poor words of encouragement that everyone young lady like her were given. Instead, all he could do was plant a kiss upon her head. 

“At least we know it won’t be a Targaryen,” he said, his voice light with an attempt at a jest. 

Valaena scoffed and elbowed him. 

When the anchor was dropped, and the ropes were draped over posts, Val realized when she looked around that there were no Velaryon flags attached to any of the ships docked. The invitation had mentioned that the Valyrian houses were to reach King’s Landing before other Lords arrived. She would have thought it odd, since Driftmark and Dragonstone were so much closer to King’s Landing, but the tensions between Princess Rhaenyra and her family were well known by now. 

“Do you think they’ll come?” Val fell into step with her father as they walked off the ship and made their way over to the wheelhouse that awaited them. “Princess Rhaenyra and the Velaryons,” she clarified. 

“When I was at Dragonstone a sinnight ago, she had not made a decision,” he confessed, waiting at the entrance of the carriage, allowing his wife, step daughter, and youngest daughter in first. He placed a fatherly hand on her shoulderblade as he ushered her inside, “If she does, I fear dragons will dance.”

As Bartimos clambered in after the women, his youngest, Arthor, gripped the door and turned to his elder brother, who was mounting a horse. The wheelhouse only carried six. 

“Then let us pray to the Old Gods and the New that she does,” Arthor smirked devilishly. “I grow weary in peace.”

Clement fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead busied himself with adjusting on his mount, “Peace is all you’ve known, dear brother. Be careful what you wish for, or you’ll find out how easily war can begin and how hard it is for it to end.” 

T H E  G R E E N S 

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“Your Grace, the Celtigar banners were spotted entering the Iron Gate,” Ser Arryk stated after he was permitted to enter the King’s chambers. 

Alicent watched with mild astonishment at the way her King husband lit up at the news. The Viserys before her was a man new; a stranger to his wife. She married a man with a broken heart and a failing body. She slept with a living corpse and bore his children. The man standing before her, no longer hunched over, no longer gaunt, no longer pallid like a spoiled egg, no longer weighed with his regrets and or tired from his burdens. 

He wasn’t polished, by any means. His hair did not grow back, but it had a healthier sheen. His hands may be missing a finger each, and he may have to walk with the aid of a cane, but if a stranger from lands unknown saw this man now, they would see an old King that had it all. 

His Queen couldn’t fully comprehend where his sense of hope and happiness stemmed from. She had never been close to death (nor wished to), but some say if you survive the odour of the Stranger’s breath, the scents of the world become more vibrant, and you lust for life like a boy of four and ten lusts for long silky legs and a pair of supple breasts.

“Excellent,” he spoke through his grin, extending his arms as his steward fitted him for the blood red jerkin. “What of my daughter, or my cousin?”

Arryk shared a look with Alicent before shifting his gaze back to his king and gave him a subtle shake of his head, “Not yet, Your Grace.”

Viserys’ eyes shut painfully, and a large sigh filled his lungs and sagged his shoulders. The brief moment of disappointment, of worry, shifted back to optimism, albeit a smaller dose of what it was half a minute ago. 

“That is fine,” he nodded as if the motion would convince himself, “They will come, I know it.”

Alicent stared at her husband in silence, her jaw clenching as she swallowed her words. In his optimism, he was far more stubborn and less willing to listen to her and her father’s skepticisms over this whole “Royal Conclave” he came up with. It wasn’t a terrible idea, in fact, Alicent quite liked the thought of bringing the Realm together; it would serve the Hightowers more than anyone else, should they make marriage alliances with powerful houses. However, it was Viserys’ belief, his hope, that it would end the tensions between the three Valyrian houses. They hadn’t seen Rhaenyra and her brood ever since the day Aemond lost his eye, and it was even longer before they last saw a single member of the Celtigar House. As far as she was aware, they had not left Claw Isle since they returned to their seat, save for Bartimos and his heir when they had business at Pentos, Dragonstone, Driftmark, or in Gulltown. 

“We shall meet Lord Bartimos and his family in the Throne Room,” Viserys continued, eyes focused on his visage in the floor length mirror as his steward brushed off stray threads and hair on his shoulders. “Ser Arryk, call upon Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond to be present as well. We must greet our guests as a family.”

Alicent straightened herself in her seat, “Do you think that is wise, husband? After– Afterall,” she quickly changed her words. “They must be exhausted from their journey.” 

“It would be rude if we do not. They are one of our guests of honour, Alicent,” Viserys shook his head. “They enter our gates with their entire brood in toe, and we shall greet and welcome them with our own.”

Ser Arryk bowed his head and left with the instruction, and all Alicent could do was sink back in her chair with her worries. She was not afraid of Ser Bartimos; blood of Old Valyria they may have, and fortunes plenty, but the Celtigars did not hold much influence outside their corner of the eastern shores. They lived in the shadow of the two other Valyrian houses that still named their children Valyrian names, and still followed the Valyrian traditions. Where the Targaryens and Velaryons still marry near to close relations, the Celtigars had strayed from that, preferring alliances with other houses to keep their coffers full, rather than their blood pure. In that regard, Alicent had much more respect for that house than any other, but at the end of the day, they weren’t regarded with as much intimidation as they ought to be given.

No, a rift between Targaryens and Celtigars wasn't what Alicent was worried about. 

She was worried about her children, particularly her two oldest sons, who had grown up to be arrogant, impulsive, lethal, entitled, and impertinent. Bartimos’ girls had already suffered enough at the hands of her sons, and Alicent's thoughts plagued with the possibility of it only continuing where it was left off. Had she had a choice, she would’ve had the Celtigars raise tent pavilions around the Tourney grounds like the rest of the houses, ensuring that they did not cross paths. Alas, as their guests of honour, they will hold apartments there in Maegor’s Holdfast, as they once had when they resided at the Red Keep. 

Alicent ran the pads of her fingers over her forehead, where she felt a headache bloom with her anxieties. She dare not even think of what will happen should Rhaenyra and Daemon decide to come back. 

“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra had said when her son sliced Aemond’s eye out of his head. 

“It was a regrettable accident,” Alicent had said when her son pushed Valeana down a flight of stairs. 

“And Valeana Celtigar was an innocent where our son is not,” Her husband had said in their bedchambers at Driftmark. “I will not cast a blind eye at your hypocrisy, Alicent. If you want retribution, you will have to give Bartimos Celtigar the same.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Well done, my prince,” Ser Criston said, his brow sweaty, but brown eyes full of pride. “You’ll win tourneys in no time.” 

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond replied, hand still lifted, his sword still poised to the white cloak’s shoulder. His eyes never wavered from his mentor, not even when acknowledging Ser Arryk’s presence. “Ser Arryk. Have you come to join us, or to collect me?”

“Collect,” Ser Arryk replied, looming at the gates of the training yard. “His Grace, the King, Queen Alicent and the rest of your family are in the Throne Room to receive the Celtigars.” 

“I have no taste for crab,” Aemond sheathed his sword and went to collect a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

“The King wishes for all members of the royal family to be present,” Arryk pressed, hands clasped patiently in front of him. 

“Hm,” Aemond stood up straighter, sharing a look with Cole before finally looking at the long haired knight. “Then should we not wait for Rhaenyra and my nephews? I heard their banners have not reached port, so we have plenty of time.”

Arryk casted a glance at Criston, silently pleading for him to speak reason onto his mentee. 

With his own rag, Criston wiped his brow, face and neck, “My prince, perhaps it is wise not to test the King’s patience.”

“He seems to have much of that for everyone outside his own kin,” Aemond’s words had a bite to them as he slapped the rag onto a wooden table. “Fine, but I will not be changing. The Throne room will reek of pigs anyway.” 

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch. 8

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 8 - Desperate Gambit

The energy forming in your hands illuminated the bleak surroundings with a formidable, almost blinding light. Every fiber of your being was focused on this singular moment, the culmination of your grief, anger, and determination. The weight of your promise to avenge Ayumi bore down on you.

Though annoyed that you had disregarded his proposition and were now forging your own reckless path, Sukuna observed with detached fascination as you summoned the powerful bolt, electricity dancing around your fingertips.

But that fascination swiftly turned to a condescending chuckle as the blast you had poured your all into struck—barely eliciting any response from the monster. It was as if a pesky mosquito had prodded its skin.

"Is that the best you can do, little sorcerer?" Sukuna taunted. The staggering gap in power was vast and overwhelming.

Furrowing your brows in frustration, you realized that if you wanted to have any chance of defeating this horrible curse, you would need to target its weakest point—the half-severed head that seemed to mock you, a constant reminder of what had happened to Ayumi.

The blasts lacked precision, veering off course as they missed their intended mark and careened wildly through the air. Some struck nearby trees, shattering bark and sending splinters flying. Others exploded against the ground, leaving smoking craters and rubble in the concrete. The curse, sensing your desperation, grinned from ear to ear.

With a firm determination, you started unleashing a barrage of attacks, each strike fueled by the burning desire for revenge. Cursed energy surged from within you, as your attacks tore through the air towards the cursed spirit's vulnerable neck. The ground trembled with each blast, but your emotions ran high, causing your control to falter.

Sukuna observed the exchange closely, a blend of slight amusement and unmistakable disappointment crossing his features as he witnessed your poor choice of attacking a curse so far out of your league.

With a dramatic shake of his head, he raised his palm towards his face. It was evident you had once again disregarded everything he had taught you about the necessity of maintaining a calm and focused flow in combat.

As the cursed monster launched its own offensive, the difference in damage between your attacks and theirs became glaringly obvious. While your blasts had barely registered, the creature's onslaught quickly began to take a heavy toll on you.

With each hit you took, your body faltered a little more. Until a powerful strike to your stomach finally caused your knees to buckle, and you crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud.

Coughing violently you struggled to breathe as the taste of blood filled your mouth. From the corner of your eye, you saw the monster, preparing for what would probably be its final, fatal strike.

For a moment, you were overcome by a sense of fear at the thought of dying with so many regrets, so much left unresolved.

But to your surprise, it was then that Sukuna, with an expression of mild annoyance, chose to intervene. In a rapid motion he used his technique, effortlessly slashing away the creature's limbs—the same creature you had barely managed to damage.

As he strode over to you, not concealing his contempt in the slightest, it was clear how little he thought of your efforts.

"I'm not about to lose my pawn over some human's pitiful revenge scheme" he sneered.

With the curse momentarily paralyzed, struggling to regenerate its severed limbs, Sukuna acted swiftly. He reached down, yanked you up, and flung your battered body over his broad shoulders with careless ease.

As he began to stride away, you forced out a weak, raspy voice and asked, "Aren't you going to finish it off?"

Sukuna paused, a derisive snort escaping his lips. "Finish it off?" he echoed. "This isn't a charity, brat. You haven’t agreed to my conditions. Why should I waste my precious time?"

It came as no suprise that Sukuna refused. He was selfish and ruthless, only concerned with his own desires and needs. And so for a fleeting moment, you considered accepting his conditions just to end this nightmare. But deep down, you knew you could never forgive yourself if the finishing blow wasn't by your own hands.

With each step Sukuna took, the chance for retribution seemed to slip further away. Realizing you might never get another opportunity, you decided it had to be now.

Summoning every ounce of your remaining strength, you began thrashing violently, your fists pounding against Sukuna's back. "Put me down then!" you demanded, your voice raw with desperation. "I have to finish this!"

Sukuna seemed utterly indifferent to your desperate attempts to free yourself from his tight grip. His gaze remained fixed ahead, his focus unwavering as he left the cursed monster behind in the distance—wounded, but still very much alive.

He knew exactly how important this was to you; that was the very reason he put you through this ordeal in the first place. And now, he was callously stripping away this opportunity that meant everything.

Your frustration and anger at his blatant disregard for your plight finally boiled over. And in a sudden burst of rage-fueled energy, you lashed out particularly hard, driving your knee into his chest.

That seemed to hit a nerve. Sukuna's expression darkened, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared down at you. "Don't test my patience, woman. If you don't quit this pathetic tantrum, I won't hesitate to knock you out, again."

Your body barely had any energy left to resist, and you could tell Sukuna wasn't bluffing. So, not thrilled at the prospect of passing out once more, you reluctantly surrendered to the grim situation.

But, you silently vowed that you would kill that wretched curse one day. You had to, for Ayumi.

Meanwhile Sukuna leisurely strolled onwards, but just as he turned into the quiet residential area, he abruptly halted in his tracks. His eyes widened momentarily, as if struck by a sudden realization.

For a fleeting moment, his gaze sharpened, and you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he pondered over something significant. However, he swiftly regained his composure and resumed his pace as if nothing had happened.

Curiosity nagged at you. What had caused that reaction? You scanned the surroundings, searching for any clue that might explain Sukuna's brief pause. Yet, the silent residential street revealed nothing out of the ordinary; it was just the two of you there.

As Sukuna carried you through the last stretch of the town, you became increasingly aware of the close proximity between you and him. His large arm was draped around your waist, holding you securely against his shoulder, and you couldn't help but notice the suprising warmth emanating from his body. It was in stark contrast to his cold and unforgiving personality.

Each step he took seemed to transfer a gentle vibration, making the awareness of his touch even more pronounced. So, a sense of relief washed over you when the two of you approached the familiar hill where Geto had dropped you off earlier.

With his free hand, Sukuna appeared to retrieve something from his pocket. Glancing over your shoulder, you recognized the object; a smartphone.

The other day you were already stunned to see a recently incarnated spirit, from the ancient Heian era, casually watching a movie, but now a phone too?

The sight of Sukuna grappling with such a modern device was, in a twisted way, almost comical. His brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the screen, his fingers clumsily navigating the unfamiliar technology. It was clearly out of his comfort zone.

After some time, Sukuna seemed to succeed in his intended task, as he reached Geto, demanding his return to the pick-up location. His voice was laced with irritation as he emphasized the need for Geto to hurry, citing his frustration with your "pathetic little tantrums."

Finally Sukuna put you down, as you waited in uncomfortable silence, the air thick with tension.

Left alone with your thoughts, you had plenty of time to reflect on the events that had transpired, emotions flooding back in a whirlwind. You hoped desperately for Geto's swift arrival, just so you could escape the inner turmoil.

The sudden gust of air luckily signaled his return, the massive pelican curse landing nearby as your hair swayed in the wind.

Geto descended with grace, and sensing the palpable tension, the sorcerer attempted to break the silence with a casual inquiry. "Mission complete?" he asked with a polite smile.

Sukuna scoffed in response, the dismissive gesture conveying his clear dissatisfaction with the current state of affairs. It was evident that his plans had not unfolded as he had envisioned.

Geto, deciding not to press the matter, reached out a hand, gesturing for you to join him aboard the massive pelican.

However, Sukuna made a swift motion to halt him. A teasing smile spread across his face as he spoke, "You know, she was quite the bother to me today, Geto... I wouldn't want her to trouble you during the ride."

Before you could react, Sukuna swung you up over his shoulder again, eliciting a startled cry from your lips. "Hey! what the hell?" you managed to protest, but your words fell on deaf ears.

With a malicious grin, Sukuna tossed you into the large, gaping beak of the pelican.

Landing atop the gross, slimy surface, as you felt the curse's warm breath around you.

When you looked up in anger, you saw Sukuna's triumphant expression, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Have a pleasant trip," he purred in mockery.

Sickened by his audacity, you tried to launch forward and throw a punch at him, but before you could, the pelicans beak closed around you, sealing you inside the damp, confining space.

Meanwhile outside of Sukuna's hideout

Itadori's brow furrowed as he surveyed the seemingly innocuous structure. "Is this the place? It looks like a normal building to me," he inquired, scratching his head in confusion.

Gojo responded in his playful yet challenging manner. “What do you think? A suspiciously powerful veil for a random building in the middle of nowhere, no?" His words carried a subtle taunt, testing Itadori's observational skills.

Nobara looked at Itadori with an incredulous expression, shaking her head in exasperation. "Seriously, Itadori? Even you can't be that dense," she scoffed.

Megumi stepped forward, his demeanor calm and analytical as he scrutinized the barrier with a critical gaze. "It's definitely not a normal veil," he observed thoughtfully. "The structure seems far more complicated - the building we're seeing is likely a facade."

Reaching out, Megumi grazed his finger against the barrier, his eyes widening slightly as he felt the powerful aura resonating from it.

Gojo's face lit up with an enthusiastic grin as he raised a finger. "Ding ding ding, Megumi's spot on!" he exclaimed, his tone brimming with approval. "You've got a keen eye, Megumi. This is no simple barrier we're dealing with."

Turning to the rest of the group, Gojo's expression grew more serious. "Sukuna has set a trap for us - think of it as a maze designed to keep us out."

Itadori, though still puzzled, clenched his fists in determination. "So how do we get through? We can't just stand here. We have to find a way to rescue her."

Nobara nodded firmly, her expression hardening. "Yeah, we can't let that bastard Sukuna have her. We'll find a way to break through."

Gojo stepped forward, his expression betraying a hint of fascination as he reached out and placed his hand against the barrier. A small smirk played on his lips, as if he were relishing the challenge ahead.

Turning to the students, Gojo ushered them to stay back, his tone authoritative yet casual. "Let me check this out first. It shouldn't take long if all goes well," he said with a chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the intricacies of the veil.

Gojo's hand then disappeared into the barrier, and for a moment, the air seemed to crackle with unseen energy.

Megumi's brow furrowed with concern. "Gojo-sensei, are you sure we shouldn't go with you?" he asked, his apprehension apparent.

Gojo waved his hand dismissively, brushing off Megumi's suggestion. "It's fine, just wait," he said confidently. "I'm the strongest, remember?" With those words, Gojo vanished fully into the veil, leaving the students to watch and wait.

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Thanks for reading, and until next chapter!

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker

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[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name.  Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @sabbs118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @unnecesarysstuff @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088

[theriverbeyond]

have you seen any breakdown of the political situation on New Rho (in New Rho? is the rest of the planet also populated? I think at one point someone says "down in Ur" but maybe there is an application of 2-dimensional direction terms to 3d space I havent yet thought of). Like who do they mean by militia, who is the government (who is the police?), is there any official house presence, what is the status of the barracks, who manned the spaceport, what power does BoE hold and how are they viewed in the population (Hot Sauce denounces them but who is her faction-that Pyrrha saw her with-then?) and do they know how splintered and farspread it is? what is the siege the blurb is speaking of, just the imperial emissaries showing up?

Also assuming the BoE wings are all named after different planetary settlements which seem in turn to be named after cities in the ancient near east (ur, merv, ctesiphon), why isnt new rho? but i might be misinterpreting this.

Also where does the Empire want non-House humanity to end up? They seem to be turning planets left and right with no endgoal. And how many settled planets might there be?

Sorry I'm dumping this all at you, I havent seen any worldbuilding discussion here on tumblr at all really so maybe you can redirect me somewhere.

Thankies, keep up the good work (posting)

I HAVE seen posts about the political situation on New Rho including analysis posts that were very interesting and I have utterly failed to tag them appropriately, I am sorry -- if anyone who sees this has links to that meta pls add on/reply to help anon!

But to cover the rest of your points:

What is Ur?

Ur is mentioned twice that i can find, in ch 16: Ianthe says that the end has come to the "rebels of Ur", and a person in the crowd says "Ur is fighting".

EDIT: big thank you to @eskildit in replies: "There are four total references to Ur- Corona also says that Judith is in the Ur facility and Kiriona says that the 6th house is "parked outside the Ur system". Could be that Ur is the planet New Rho is located on. While we refer the nine houses as planets, canonically the houses are actually "installations" on each planet with quite small populations. New Rho alone, which is specifically stated to be just one city on a resettled planet, is 3x the size of the 6th house"

It may have been mentioned more times, but Kindle search is giving me the 2,320 times the letters "ur" were used next to each other so I'm ngl I cannot sift through that. Rather than being a city, though, I actually am assuming that Ur is another planet entirely! This is due to multi-planet SciFi in general treating entire planets like countries or even big cities. Like…. planets are huge. There are thousands of different cultures on a planet, but in SciFi planets are often like. One Big City. One Big Country, if you have a particularly ambitious worldbuilder. See: Star Wars, the Nine Houses themselves, etc. not saying that Ur cannot be on New Rho, just that I don't think it is because this is multi-planet Sci Fi.

The militia/civic government?

In chapter 6 a distinction is made between "the militia and the old civic govnerment". Following that, I think the civic government was probably installed by the Houses, as a ruling party that is friendly to them/House interests. I think the militia is a non-unified population of hired guns, that probably revolted at some point priot to the story. It does seem like at least some section of the militia is in power in most of the city, but I do not think there is one coherent government at the moment

Official house presence?

Yes, because there are official cohort barracks. I don't think they have much political leverage by the time NtN rolls around, though

Barrack status?

Under siege due to the people of New Rho hating them/political instability/possible militia revolt, doing badly otherwise because any and all necromancers are suffering from Blue Madness/RB proximity, as seen in ch 20 when Ianthe mentioned some of them were so poorly she had to put them down.

Space port?

I am assuming the civic government/House was originally in charge. unsure of who is in charge during NtN

What power does BOE hold?

Unclear. It seems like BOE itself is fractionated, with a lot of animosity held between different factions, and a lot of both animosity AND collaboration between different factions of BOE, the militia, the population, and the old civic government. It is a very decentralized resistance force, despite sharing a name. BOE do not appear to BE the official government, or BE the militia, though, but I would not be surprised if some groups had ties to one or both. It seems like they have influence both socially and politically but it is unclear what that power is... some factions have some amount of power. Over some parts. But!! it seems that during the events of NtN they had more power than in the past ("best hand they were ever delt", chapter 1)

How is BOE viewed by the population?

My guess is they have mixed reviews. I think a lot of people probably rely on them for resources/protection even if they don't like or fully trust them. I think a lot of people probably see them as extremists and wish they were less extreme (the liberals, u could say). Like Hot Sauce and the gang, a lot of people probably think they aren't radical enough and wish they would resist more, harder, differently. I think a lot of people probably deeply support them, either physically by being part of BOE or by providing resources/etc, or quietly because they are afraid of retaliation by the House or civil government. A lot of the population probably has opinions about BOE versus the militia, BOE verus House, BOE versus the civic government, based on their own interests/position/power. This is a really long answer that can boil down to "idk"

What is the siege?

I think the siege is the cohort being sieged into the barracks. I am guessing there was some sort of revolt in the local government, probably related to Blue Madness weakening the cohort, and they have pushed the cohort into the barracks. , as described in chapters 1 ("the cohort dies like anyone else under seige") and chapter 20 ("the barracks siege").

What group is Hot Sauce in if she denounced BOE?

Hot Sauce specifically calls BOE "fat cats" and "zombie lovers" in chapter 15, after noting that she, Honesty, and Born in the Morning, as well as Born in the Morning's father, are "active" in with an unnamed group at the park. It is unclear what group that is, if it has a name, or if it is organized in any capacity. From what little we know, it appears it is a group of people who are more radical than BOE, which I think is either ex-BOE members that were pushed out for their radial choices/beliefs, or civilians/other freedom fighters that aren't satisfied with what BOE is doing. But beyond that I have no idea

BOE wing names vs New Rho?

So BOE wings are named after historic Earth cities. Ctesiphon, Troia, Merv, Valencia (which is not historic to us, as it exists today, but WOULD be history in 10k years). They are named by BOE, likely to keep connection to Earth, just like BOE people-names. "New Rho", on the other hand, is likely named by the House. Rhodes is a place on the 7th house (see: 7th cavalier is the "Knight of Rhodes"), and I assumed that New Rho was like. The house naming shit. Like how New York is named after York in England, even though that area of land already had a name (Lenapehoking, I think?).

Specifically this difference is important because like, the House is a imperial colonizing force here, and they are naming things after their home system as a part of the imperial violence they are enacting. In As Yet Unsent, Judith notes that the non-house people call New Rho, "Lemuria" -- HOWEVER, in NtN chapter 17, the Angel mentions Lemuria twice in a way that is phrased like Lemuria is Somewhere else, and is Not the city they are in right now ("I was born on Lemuria", "there's still a facility on Lemuria") I am not sure what happened there, honestly. Perhaps an oopsie?

Where does the Empire want non house humanity to end up?

Unclear. Coronabeth notes in As Yet Unsent that even she (who has studied the war in-universe) has no idea what the real goal is. My guess is nowhere, because a forever-war has no end goal. It's a war for resources gained only by literal blood and death. Many analysis could be made about this as an allegory to to oil based forever-wars of today -- I read a few of them and as said before unfortunately failed to tag them, so if anyone has a link and can share with anon that would be awesome! But anyway, I do not think I am smart or learned enough to say a lot beyond this but, yeah. I think there is no end goal to the war besides meaningless revenge and the resources gained via murder, because that's the point. We could learn different in AtN tho! who knows

How many settled planets?

No idea! Thousands. Hundreds of thousands? Hundreds? Unsure! 10k years is a long time, and there are a lot of planets out there in the fantasy universe that could be habitable. EDIT ty @eskildit, unclear how many planets were settled over the course of the Empire, but there are three settled planets by the timeline of NtN: ""Everyone was crammed on one of three planets now, and they all agreed that this planet was easily the worst", from chapter 2

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Thanks for sending this!! I really enjoyed answering it, and I hope it helped -- sorry if I missed any. Ask more any time!!