#rifts writing

[fleurrot]

A WIP of a fic I'm working on >:3

Hermitcraft Royalty AU (this wip focuses on Grian & one of the Watchers) Also the Watchers are lesbians. And they're like Grians parents. (ONE EVEN CALLS HIM THEIR SON HEHEHSHEHAHEAA)

Only CW that I can think of for this part is speciesism

“I’m here on a task.” Grian responded simply, not bothering to sugar coat the statement. “I’m afraid I cannot disclose any more.”

<3

“So…” One of the hybrids in the cell whispered after the nobles left. Grian looked over at them, waiting to see which had spoken. “You’re… new? I never saw you around the empire before.” The mooshroom hybrid stated, staring at Grian.

The three hybrids looked between each other. The mooshroom didn’t look back at Grian, only looking down at the dirt ground after parting from the others. The other two, a phantom and a creeper, just stared at him. The silence was almost deafening, and if Grian wasn’t used to tense silences, he would have been a bit paranoid.

“Sure. Whatever.” The phantom hummed, looking away from him. The creeper followed the action, going back to cuddling with the mooshroom.

Grian watched the three for a second longer before turning away from them. As much as he wished they weren’t there, there was nothing he could do. Nothing he would do. He would not push his home towards the brink of a war.

“Watcher Azur!” Fawlls Emperor greets, the shock hidden on his face. “Pleasant surprise to see you here. How is the wife?” A smile spread on his face as he spoke to the Watcher.

<3

They tugged at the collar of their robe, a soft yet faux expression on their face. “My wife is well. But I’ve actually come to retrieve somebody so I ask that we do not go over a meaningless discussion.”

“Oh? I do not believe we have any Abyssonians here at the palace. Who is it you are after?”

“My voidling. Or, in your peoples terms, my son.”

[starry-eon]

poem excerpt by me | a uquiz i'm unable to find | Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper | Natalie Diaz, A Brother Named Gethsemane | tiktok | tumblr | Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz | The Bible

[happy-hermit]

HELLO HELLO EVERYONE :D

This is a fic for an AU where young teenager TCD Scar comes through Grian's rift :) It's a trauma reveal folks <33

Enjoy!!

===================================

Grian was beginning to believe that the rift had some form of sentience, given that at times it appeared to become quite… temperamental. Some days it would be almost eerily still and slow. Others it would— Well, it would do what it was currently doing. 

The rift was swirling with more shades of purple than usual, dark patches appearing and disappearing with alarming frequency. There was an electricity in the air that made the hair on his arms stick up, and Grian had the strange feeling in his stomach that the thing was emitting some sort of sound that was too low or high for human ears. It felt a bit like a thunderstorm. 

Grian had set up shop immediately upon noticing something was different, resorting to sitting in a chair staring at the Rift waiting on it to do something. It was horrifically tedious. Grumbot — in true Grumbot fashion — was refusing to give him a straight answer. Grian was beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t have one. 

So he waited. With several cups of coffee and messy notes strewn around him on the ground, he waited. 

He was sleeping when the whole thing really started —  because the Universe hated him personally, he was sure. 

He was already sitting up by the time he regained consciousness, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide and darting around in confusion, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was too bright, and his vision was too blurry from sleep, and where in void’s name was that wind coming from?

The rift chose that moment to start spitting lightning at him, and Grian let out a strangled yell as he dove behind Grumbot’s messaging system, abandoning his empty coffee cups to an uncertain fate. He ducked down and shut his eyes tightly as the glow of the Rift got brighter and brighter, as the high pitched noise emitting from it got higher and higher, until finally something in the fabric of reality snapped under the strain. 

From across the room, there was a short, terrified yell, cut short by the impact of something hitting the ground, and a clatter, like the person had dropped something. There was sudden and complete silence, until it was broken by a quiet groan. Heart in his throat, Grian opened his eyes and shifted, peeking over his makeshift shield to check things out. 

The Rift was back to what he considered to be normal, glowing a serene purple, calm as anything. His notes were strewn about the room and burned at the edges. His coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen. 

On the ground was a person. They were curled up on their side, clutching at their head with gloved hands. Their clothes were ragged and torn, bandages peeking out from under them as the figure shifted slowly. And then they sat up, and their face drifted into view. 

Grian’s breath hitched, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blocks he was hiding behind. It was a kid. He had messy brown hair, jagged and uneven, like he’d cut it himself, and a bandage creeping up the side of his face from under his chin. He had a bandana tied around his neck, mostly a faded green, except for the faint splatters of dull red. His face was gaunt and his eyes were wide and scared as he patted himself down frantically, muttering to himself. The kid couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. He did not look like someone who believed he would live for much longer. 

Grian let himself poke his head just a bit higher over the barrier, frozen in shock and confusion as his unplanned visitor started whirling around and looking at the floor. His gaze finally landed on something that Grian couldn’t quite see, and his shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief as he went to pick it up. 

Grian… didn’t know what he was expecting. A sword, maybe? No. 

The raggedy little teenager had popped through an interdimensional rift in Grian’s basement, looking like absolute hell, and he picked up a gun. 

The kid checked that it was loaded in practiced movements, almost with the grace of a soldier. It contrasted sharply with the youth of his face, and the way his shoelaces were untied and tucked into his shoes. It painted a very concerning picture. 

His visitor was just beginning to gather his bearings, hauling himself to his feet with suppressed sounds of pain. He was favoring one leg. The gun was poised at the ready in his arms. 

Never let it be said that Grian was a smart man, given what he did next. 

“You can’t have those here.”

The kid made a strangled noise of alarm as he whipped around to face where Grian now stood apart from his makeshift cover, his hands raised in what he hoped was the universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’. And then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t the usual kind of chaos that happened around here, but he was going to try his best to take it in stride. What was the worst that could happen? He’d get shot? 

He’d respawn. But the kid was staring at him like he wasn’t aware of that. Like maybe he was counting on the opposite to be true. 

Grian forced himself to look past the very threatening weapon pointed at him to get a better look at the person's face, and he met his eyes. They were a striking shade of green, trained on him with pinpoint accuracy and refusing to waver. At first glance, he looked almost angry. Grian knew, though, that it was only a thinly veiled cover for the heart-stopping panic crowding in behind it. For the confusion and pain and fear. (And why could he read a stranger so well?)

“I won’t hurt you,” Grian said, calm as he could manage, wings tense behind him. “But you’ve got to put the gun down.”

“You can talk,” the kid said, quiet and shaky. Like it was surprising. Something about it made Grian’s chest squeeze. 

“Yeah, I can,” Grian said, gentler now. “So can you. Can you tell me your name?”

The gun trembled for a moment, just slightly, and then went eerily steady once more. The kid swallowed hard and glanced around for a second before locking back on to Grian. 

“You’re not… infected?” The kid asked finally. 

Grian frowned a bit in confusion, his brow furrowing and wings rustling in unease. Infected. It sounded like a word with more weight than was really warranted. Like it came with a history. 

“I’m— No, I’m healthy as a horse,” Grian said, cracking an awkward grin. “Eat my vegetables and everything.”

The kid tilted his head, just slightly, and the gun dipped just a bit more towards the ground. Or, well. Towards Grian’s stomach. 

“A horse?” The kid repeated slowly, still in that carefully quiet tone, and if Grian didn’t know any better he’d think that he didn’t know what a horse was. Maybe he didn’t. 

“Yeah, you know— sort of like cows,” Grian said, now feeling absolutely insane. He was explaining the concept of horses while held at gunpoint. “But they’ve got longer faces, I think. And you can ride them.”

The kid, if anything, seemed more confused by that, and Grian gave up on the agriculture lesson for now. 

“You don’t need that here,” Grian redirected, gesturing carefully at the gun. The kid flinched a little at his movement, and Grian softened his voice as much as he could. “You’re safe, here. It’s safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The kid's shoulders tensed even further, the gun recentering itself firmly on Grian’s forehead and those oddly familiar green eyes shuttering back into a mask of calm. Only the slight tremble of his mouth gave away his fear. He was scared. A tangle of frustration and heartbreak and helplessness coiled in Grian’s chest. 

“It’s not,” the kid said, firmly. “It’s not safe anywhere.”

Where had he come from, that he believed that?

“Look, you— You see that behind you? It’s a portal,” Grian explained, motioning to it in jerky movements. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re somewhere new.”

The kid shook his head, desperate eyes flickering from Grian to the Rift and quickly back again. They were shining with unshed tears, his mouth wobbling almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he looked terribly, horrifically young. Too young to be holding a gun. Too young to be scared of the world. Too young to be so convinced that it couldn’t change. That there was no more hope for things to get better. 

“But I— No. I didn’t go into any portal,” the kid said, voice raising a little, accusing. “Then how did I get here? Did— You did something.”

“No no no,” Grian said, hands raised again. “That thing has a mind of its own, I didn’t do anything. I just sat here.”

“Well I didn’t do anything, either!” The kid said, sounding slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grian said, as gentle as he could manage. His protective instincts were going haywire; he didn’t really know why. “Look, just— Weird things just happen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Then where am I?” The kid asked, voice shaking horribly. 

“It’s called Hermitcraft,” Grian said, voice still carefully calm. “We’re in my house. Well— Under it.” He paused, hesitating, and his next question came out hushed. “Where did you come from?”

The stranger let out a shaky breath, gun unwavering and silence hanging in the still air around them. He didn’t answer. Grian could guess that it was nowhere good. 

They had run out of ways to stall the inevitable, in which the kid had two options. Shoot him or don’t. They were at a standstill. Something had to give. 

A soft noise from across the cavern interrupted Grian’s racing thoughts, and it took him a moment to place it as a muffled baa from one of the sheep in his sheep farm. It was barely anything, and yet the kid reacted as if it were a creeper beginning to explode, whirling to face the noise with wild eyes, swinging his gun in that direction. Namely, away from Grian.

Before he could think better of it, Grian rushed forwards, using his wings to propel him, and he disarmed the other before he even had the time to yell. A stray bullet shot somewhere into the ceiling in the brief struggle, loud enough that Grian knew someone would be coming round to check on it soon, and when the dust settled he was holding a gun, looking into the pale face of a terrified stranger.

“No!” The kid shouted, the loudest he’d been since he’d arrived, pushing at Grian with shaky shoves as he grappled for the gun. Grian deflected his attacks, heart sinking into his stomach as he watched the other grow increasingly frantic, breaths coming fast. “It’s mine! Give it back, it’s mine! You can’t have it, it— it’s mine. Please, please, it’s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grian said, out of his depth, practically pleading. “Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? But you— you can’t hurt anyone else, either.”

The kid just shook his head, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes as he backed away, hands in trembling fists at his sides. He glared at Grian with all the fire of a hardened soldier and all the fear of a child, green eyes flashing dangerously. Something prickled at the back of Grian’s neck. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. Déjà vu, maybe.

“It’s mine,” the kid repeated, firmer and quieter. “It has my name on it.”

Grian looked down, mildly curious among the adrenaline and confusion. 

He stopped breathing. Froze completely, hands white-knuckled on the gun. His skin went cold, heart tripping over itself in his chest. 

On the gun, in capital letters, was a name. 

[ SCAR ]

A name that he knew. 

Slowly, Grian looked up, breath hitching in his throat when he met the eyes of the stranger(?), now looking a little confused himself. There was a bandage on the side of his face. Judging by the size of it, it was covering a pretty nasty wound. Likely to leave a scar.

Grian knew exactly what it would look like, when it healed.

“Scar,” Grian said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears, blank and emotionless. “Your name is Scar.”

“I named myself,” the kid — Scar — said, still shaking a little, glancing around near-constantly. 

Grian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, mind void of any clear thoughts.  “It’s a good name,” he said, chest aching.

“Do you have one?” Scar asked. His hands were fisted in the front of his jacket, twisting anxiously.

“A gun?” Grian asked faintly.

Scar shook his head. “A name.”

“I’m… Grian. My name is Grian.”

“Grian,” Scar repeated, nose wrinkling a little, like he thought it was odd. Scar — his Scar — had made the exact same face last week when he’d come across a problem at his park. Grian felt sick. “You’re—”

The rapidly approaching sound of fireworks cut off whatever the kid had been about to say, and he flinched like he’d been struck, turning wide eyes to the sky as he stumbled a few steps back, towards Grian’s content generator. Grian looked up as well, torn between relief and frustration. The kid had finally seemed to be calming down. 

“It’s okay,” Grian said, rushed and panicked as he held out a placating hand towards Scar. “It’s just one of my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“Friends?” Tiny scared Scar hissed, like the very idea was ludicrous, and Grian was mildly offended.

Before he could come up with a reply, there was a call of his name from above, and Grian snapped his gaze back skyward, heartrate accelerating. 

Of course, Grian thought, watching as Scar crashed unceremoniously into the ground a few yards away. Of course it was him. Grian took a steadying breath and prepared himself. This was either the best possible option, or the worst. There was no telling where luck would have him fall, this time.

“Grian, I heard explosions!” Scar said, elytra disappearing as he straightened up from his rough landing. “Are you blowing things up without me? You know how much I—”

The builder cut himself off with a strangled noise, face falling quickly into something haunted. Almost scared. Any doubt Grian might have had about who the kid was vanished. They had the same way of being afraid. 

The way Scar was looking at the gun Grian was still holding confirmed it. He was looking at it with wide eyes and tense shoulders, breathing quick and shallow. He was looking at it with recognition.

“Where did you get that?” Scar asked, in a voice that Grian had never heard from him before, dark and small and shaking. 

Wordlessly, Grian stepped out of the way. 

And he watched as Scar locked eyes with his younger self. Just another day on Hermitcraft.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Sneak peak on a Lena Luthor, Sam Arias, and Kara Danvers fic that has grabbed me by the throat and won't let go till I finish it

(Once I finish it, I'll throw it up on AO3.)

THE EVENT

Lena realizes something is very, very wrong when she feels the heft of a gun in her hand. The fog in her mind lifts slowly as she wrestles back her consciousness. She blinks and realizes she’s in a concrete room with a desk to one side.

But far more disturbing is her brother, Lex, who has pushed himself half-up with one arm, the other hugging his abdomen. The gun she holds points at him. Blood dribbles from his mouth. He laughs, and his words swim through the fog in her brain.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it? The very people you fight to protect. Do you know their truth?” He reaches up to grab a remote and turns on the televisions that make up a wall of the bunker.

Lena breathes in sharply. Bunker?

No, no, she can’t be alone with Lex. Bad things always happen.

Panic rises like bile in her throat. Her brother is speaking again, but his words can’t penetrate the growing haze in her head. She blinks at the televisions, but it blurs into a mosaic of color and faint soundscapes.

Her thoughts spark and sizzle like a broken circuit. She hyperventilates, lightheaded, as tears sting her eyes. The gun’s weight pulls her arms down. The fact her brother is bleeding out in front of her, while laughing, alarms her.

He believes this is checkmate. It’s not. Please, let me handle this.

The thought laces through her alarm and comforts her. The confidence in her other self dismantles her rising panic. Just like the last time in Kasnia during the self-destruct sequence. Time had warped for her, the fog saturated all awareness, until she woke in the cool air, the sky studded with stars. In her hands was an air duct grate, her clothes rumpled, one heel broken, and streaks of dirt on her legs and arms.

Oh.

Her other self must have fronted like in Kaznia. What is the last things she remembers? She briefly closes her eyes.

She had been escorted by armed guards to where her brother and Lillian waited in the Presidential room at the White House. Listened in horror at her brother’s rant of his victory over aliens. Saw evidence of Supergirl’s death. The terror that grabbed her by the throat had the fog boiling through her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she could not escape the Luthors.

Then nothing. Time evaporated until she wrestled her way out of the suffocating fog.

And here she wakes in a bunker, a gun in her hand, and her brother bleeding out in front of her.

“Do you see the lies they’ve woven? How they’ve abused your trusting nature? Your broken mind?” he continues with another irritating laugh.

He seeks to manipulate us again. Trust us. Lean into our anger.

Lena takes a steadying breath. That’s right. Her anger and horror at his brutal experiments and murder of aliens. The prison couldn’t hold him, cutting off his assets also failed — all facts she has factored into her calculations.

But this exact scenario is supposed to be the last resort. Her stomach curdles, bile on her tongue. Kieran, wait, what of the other plans?

We had to end the cycle, Lena. Otherwise, he’ll never stop coming.

Stop being cryptic. What the hell happened? She needs to reassess. There must be a better solution. She can still repair this somehow. Seek the Truth. Focus.

Fine. I confronted him and injected Harun-el as we agreed. He demanded we join his genocidal crusade. We are not his tool anymore. The solidity of the decision warms her from head to toe, even as her heart shatters at the sight in front of her.

Lena clears her throat and summons what strength she has left. “You’ve abused me, Lex. You have no ground to stand on.” She tries to avoid looking at the wall of televisions, for what is surely a cleverly crafted way to destroy her yet again. Like he always does. Her lip quivers, and she blinks back the urge to cry.

“Me? Your trusting brother?” Lex laughs then coughs blood into his hand. “I’ve given you the world, Ace. Only ever been truthful. Honed your skills. Do you still not see the truth? I’ve laid it out for you this time, you stubborn fool!”

Colors leech into grey in her periphery. Her limbs feel puppeted by her other self still. A rare moment of synergy but it leaves her nauseous and her head aching in a growing migraine.

“They’ve all been lying to you,” Lex continues as he laughs and spits up more blood. “Preying on your weaknesses.”

That’s you, Lena thinks. You’ve preyed on us.

But her curiosity overwhelms her, and she can’t ignore the televisions any longer. The scenes capture her gaze, and her ears roar with the orchestra Lex has woven into the security footage he’s stolen. Half the screens are footage from when Mercy attacked L-corp.

<<.....>>

Lena turns to Kara desperately. “No, Kara, you’re safer with me.” She can feel the grey fog pulling her toward the dark maw of her psyche. She reaches out to grasp Kara’s arm, the fabric of her cashmere sweater soft and comforting. As the emergency light goes off again, she slips deeper into her mind’s tumultuous seas.

Kieran rises forward, and her body transforms. Her shoulders straighten, her limbs more agile, her stance that of a fighter. Commands issue from her voice, but Lena can no longer discern meaning.

She wraps herself in the cold of shadows.

Time hiccups and coughs. Shots echo like thunder, safety doors drop like quakes, and the clatter of heels click against metal.

Is Kara okay? She needs to know. She swims through grey fog, until she pushes into consciousness again.

An uncomfortable weight hangs on her arm. Kara stands behind her, but Mercy holds the bigger gun of the Lexosuit. Fear curdles her stomach. Of course Mercy would hack through security to reach her experimental prototypes. Lena had built a lighter suit to be used for good. Not like this.

Lena, don’t. Let me handle this. Kieran’s smug confidence scratches into her thoughts.

Kara is still here!

Lena, we don’t have time to argue. Kieran surges to the front, and Lena watches as her body moves to block Mercy’s shot. “You did not see the upgrade. The arms hold more goods now.” A hint of excitement sweeps through her voice, the onset of a fight a thrill for Kieran, while Lena nears a panic.

Please, get Kara out of here. Lena struggles to keep them moving backward. Kara is behind her still, the door to the lab just a few feet away.

I said let me handle this. Anger filters through Kieran and burns against Lena’s presence.

Lena throws open the door. “Go, Kara.” Kara stumbles backward into the hallway, and she slams the door shut. The fog sears through her mind, Kieran’s anger pushing her back.

A blast tears through the air, but Kieran blocks the shot with their shield.

Except, Lena can’t let go fully. Kieran blocks and shoots, but Lena fumbles with the footwork. Kieran’s the fencer, not her. Mercy spars not only with the gloves but with caustic words. Kieran fights Lena for control, their dodging clumsy, their shots missing.

The fight warps and fizzles in her mind; the fog screeches through Lena’s consciousness.

She fumbles. Slams against metal.

“You aren’t deserving of the Luthor name,” Mercy says, her poison like barbs that sink into Lena’s insecurities.

Heat beams destroy the door, and Supergirl blasts into the room. Mercy is slammed against the wall, Supergirl’s arm against her throat. “No, you got that backwards,” Supergirl hisses, “the Luthor name isn’t deserving of Lena.”

Warmth floods through Lena at the strength and resolve in Supergirl’s words. A massive turnaround from the worldkiller crisis.

Stay focused. Don’t let your guard down until Mercy’s off the property. Kieran releases her hold, and Lena stumbles, back in full control. Already her mind shifts into overdrive to plan the exact route to verify the security of her building and her people.

<<....>>

This is a repeat of the Mercy incident. Where Lena couldn’t let go, and both of them co-fronted. It sparks a migraine, the grey in her periphery darkening, and her nausea worsening. She hates moments like this.

Let me handle this. We have him in a checkmate. The confidence in Kieran’s analysis softens the panic that has started to freeze her limbs. We know the Truth.

If there is one thing that unites Lena’s fractured psyche, it is an overwhelming need to protect those she loves. And her own brother has nearly killed her and her friends a dozen times over.

She’s exhausted, terrified, and wants this endless game of his to stop.

Lena raises her gun and shoots the televisions one at a time. The shards explode outward and rain down on her brother.

For once, Lex shuts the fuck up. His eyes widen.

The fog burns away the rest of her awareness.

She stumbles across wet grass, her clothes wet and clinging to her body, as the heavens pour down upon her. She’s outside the bunker in a stand of aspens. The sky sparks with lightning, the greyness suffocating.

You’re safe now. We all are. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.

Lena shouldn’t dig deeper. She knows it’s not healthy. Kieran has always protected her, held the worst of the horror. It’s how they’ve survived this far.

But this was her brother. And those screens showed Kara as not human. It makes no sense with what Kara claims. How does she reconcile it all?

Kieran, what did you do?!

What was necessary. Kieran’s confidence holds a trickle of grief and pain. We must seek help now, Lena. Focus.

She feels strange, unreal, like a pantomime of herself. The urge to lie in the mud, to let the rain wash her away, nearly overwhelms her. She pushes off a trunk and stumbles forward. Her hair falls in front of her eyes, sticking to her forehead and cheeks.

The images from the televisions ripple through her thoughts. Is that the Truth?

Yes. Now focus, Lena. We must call her.

Has Kara been deceiving her this whole time? She doesn’t want to believe it.

She’s given Kara her heart, far more than she ever meant to do, and yet, those videos sync with the disjointed mess of her memories. Bits and pieces that Kieran has held for her, scattered shards unlocked like the showers above.

Wait, did you know? Shock starts to shiver through her body.

That’s not important now. Call her.

Lena stumbles and falls. Her hands push into the mud and the world crackles with thunder. It’s too loud. Too bright.

It's all so wrong; she gags and spits out bile.

She wishes Kieran would take over again, to call for her, but her protective self has faded from awareness. Fatigue throttles all of her.

Her brother is likely dead in the bunker. By her own hand. Tears mix with the rain and her fingers dig into the mud. Her senses crackle with pain. She feels herself shrinking. The hairs on her arm raise, goosebumps from the cold, her body vibrating into oblivion.

She wants to go home.

Call her now. The thought is weaker, laced with grief.

“I know. I know,” Lena says it out loud to ground herself. To stop the shrinking, to avoid the inevitable pull of a switch. She shudders and leans against the trunk of a tree.

Focus on the goal. Break it into smaller steps.

She hugs her legs to her chest with one arm. Her other hand fumbles through pockets of her suit. Too many. Suit so wet. She feels slimy, gross, slipping toward the warmth of shadows.

Her fingers grasp he phone in her inner suit jacket. There’s two numbers on speed dial: Sam and Kara.

Her fingers hesitate over the two. She bites her lip, closes her eyes, and hits the button for Sam.

(To be continued on AO3, will edit in the link or drop in comments once up.) Note, this playlist was on repeat as I wrote this piece: Shattered Playlist

Edited.

[sssammich]

the romance of an alternate universe

to think that you can imagine a different world so easily beyond this one, if only to pacify, if only to forget. the bittersweetness of your joy in another world where little currently exists here. the longing that doesn't come away empty handed because there, she likes you, trusts you, has no reason to ever question years of friendship and the traces of more.

you only have the one life here, in this one, in this universe, in this timeline, in this moment and that's all.

but the possibility in others, even in just one other, is enough to make you hope that things here will eventually blow over better for you.

knowing the existence of alternate universes, having traveled to them, aches inside your chest because there, your dreams are real. there, your heartbreak is soothed. there, she does not regard you with hatred, disdain, anger, disappointment, heartbreak. there, you did not commit mistake after mistake, each one chained to one another until in the end, you come away with cuffs that lock you, an imprisonment of your own design.

maybe you consider moving to an alternate universe, weighing to suffer the consequences of your choice there instead of here. because it beats being here, it beats having ruin and ashes as the world you live in now.

your friends and family won't understand. they can't understand. all your good intentions remain good, but your impact have been nothing but disastrous.

certainly the rogue alien pummeling you into the rooftop of her tower doesn't understand. but maybe he's traveled here from an alternate universe of his own. and he's just trying to get away. that, you understand.

despite the blood and grime all over you, you wrap your arms around his neck and you don't let go--he's a growing tidal wave as he attempts to rid himself of you. but you hold onto him, locking your limbs around his back, and you don't let go. if there's one thing you'll do right today, it's defeat him.

the rooftop doors open and you see her. she is so beautiful today. and you, bloodied and aching, are exhausted.

you cannot read what her eyes or face are showing--might be the pounding headache and blurred vision on your part. but she is still looking. and it's more than what you can say for the last four miserable months of your life.

you think you hear her say your name, but you're not sure. you don't want to get your hopes up.

he's punching your side and you just tighten your hold around his neck which only pisses him off more. well, get in line, buddy, you're not the only one.

agents rush out to surround your duel with him, and you hear your sister command this small army that has circled you. her appearance just means that you have to hold on even more knowing that one wrong move and you're endangering two people you love.

this alien has just about had enough of you, and you can't agree more, so you try to subdue him by using what remaining energy you have to deliver an unconscious blow, but he gets a hand on your ankle and yanks you off of him before slamming your body down onto the concrete. a crater with your name on it.

there are muffled gasps and you hear your sister order for agents to attack and he wails above you in anger as specialized bullets hit him. his massive hand grabs you by your emblem and he pushes you into the ground, your lungs fighting to breathe at the heavy weight. your hands paw at his wrist to push him away, to no avail. your powers are waning, your energy is zapped, you really are so very tired.

when you look up, there is surprising calm in his onyx eyes despite the rumbling storm around you.

and you think this might be it for you.

you expect pain on the final blow but instead of pain, your body is heaved forward and into nothingness, the weight of his hand on your chest now acting as an anchor.

you hear your sister call for you. but you also hear her, her piercing scream cutting through your consciousness. there is panic, there is worry. for you.

and then they’re gone.

and so are you.

only to open your eyes in the exact same place as before underneath the exact same sky. except there are no agents. there is no rogue alien. there is no sister.

but there is her.

tentative, frightened, curious. she is looking at you and you are looking at her and you realize she is not who you know. and you wonder if the crushing weight on your chest is a phantom pressure from the rogue alien who was seconds away from killing you.

she is kneeling beside your body that's still stretched out flat on the ground. and she is looking at you with just so much.

and she is saying, “who are you?"

and you.

you begin to cry.

[sixteenth-days]

If you want a prompt maybe eldritch!XB? :0

At the bottom of the ocean, something which had been sleeping woke up.

Every now and then, when XB's shoulders started clicking and he developed a cough and a persistent pain where the base of his spine would be, he knew he'd been too small for too long. It was inconvenient, but not catastrophic.

Whenever that started happening, he'd put all his gear away, let the hermits know he'd be away for a few days or weeks, and find a secluded cove to crawl out of his skin and into the blessed embrace of the saltwater. It always felt like a balm against his real self, dried and desiccated from so long spent in the air and sun. He'd slip into the ocean and spread out like an oil slick, all black and blue and eyes, invisible beneath the play of sunlight on the water, slide down to miles and miles of seafloor, and rest.

But now he was awake, and it felt too soon. Something must have woken him. Scales blinked open up and down his spine, searching for any disturbance in the water immediately surrounding the greatest concentration of his mass, but found nothing that might have roused him.

Ugh. He didn't want to get up. But something was wrong, a sense of unease creeping in through all the estuaries and rivers where he lay, rubbing wrong against the rubber and scale and sand of him.

He heaved a sigh that shoved waves against distant beaches, gathered up a pair of forelimbs from where they dangled in an underwater magma cavern, and pushed himself upwards.

Something about the water around him felt strange, as he ascended through the oceanic zones. A slight shift in the salinity, maybe. Up, and up, from the midnight to the twilight, as the water began to slowly lighten around him. Black water turned blue, and bluer, and bluer, until he was drifting the final few meters to the surface, feeling unaccountably hesitant.

Something was wrong.

He broke the surface, blinked a constellation of eyes against the sudden air, reared up and dug claws into a birch-plank bridge that creaked warningly under his weight. It was immediately obvious that he had not come up where he'd gone down, and that was going to be really inconvenient, if he couldn't get back into his skin, but- one problem at a time.

Starting with: if he's not where he entered the water, where was he?

The air against his scales was stagnant, dusty, untouched by breath or word. This world was clearly abandoned. He caught a glimpse of a sign, affixed to a nearby fencepost: By JoeHills and IamSp00n.

Ah. He'd come up in the wrong ocean.

(Send me Hermit fanon switcheroo asks!)

[goodboytown]

oh, right. the flash drive. the flash drive with the emperor's schematics on it. the flash drive the resistance wants. the emperor's flash drive

[riftwalker-limbro]

yknow these little guys?

little sawgaw floofs? yknow them?

i made fanart of em :)

[pixiemage]

"...okay, but if there was an accurate toy version of you-"

"Tango!"

"No, hang on, listen. Okay? Listen - Jimmy!"

Tango stifled laughter as he fended off a sudden faceful of feathers, batting the golden wing away with the hand not already clutching a rather adorable Sheriff plushie to his chest. He flopped backward across the grass he and Jimmy were sitting on, his grin widening and his eyes crinkling at the sight of Jimmy glaring petulantly at him, his feathers all puffed up and his lips curled into an annoyed little scowl.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Tango went on, trying and failing to hide his amused chuckling. Jimmy, to his credit, only rolled his eyes and sighed and waited in silent expectation, his protests on pause for the time being.

"Okay so-" Tango sat up again, the fur-lined hood of his robe falling back off his head to sit fluffed around his shoulders. "So. He made you a plushie, but I dunno if I'd choose that route. I'm thinkin' more like those fancy super-detailed action figures, ya know? Like - made outta wood and paint and stuff, with sturdy metal rods inside so you can pose it properly. Make a real action scene out of it with a lasso and a six-shooter-"

"And a hat?" Jimmy asked, and despite the mild exasperation lingering in his expression, Tango didn't miss the light in his eyes. He grinned and reached out to flick at the brim of Jimmy's cowboy hat, earning a startled little "Hey!" from the Sheriff.

"Well of course a hat!" Tango agreed, as if this was obvious. (To them, perhaps it was. What was a proper Sheriff without his hat? They were both in agreement there.) "And a metal badge and real leather for the vest and a horse and stuff."

"Mhm," Jimmy hummed, casting him a sidelong look. "...an action figure, huh?"

"Yup!" He popped the 'p', then glanced out over Hermitcraft's spawn without really seeing it, his fingers tightening slightly around the plush he still held in his lap. "...although..." He glanced down, a soft sort of smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe I'd keep part of it all soft an' stuff. Mostly badass, but maybe just the torso'd be plush. Since you're such a softy at heart."

"You - Tango," Jimmy groaned, shoving his shoulder, and Tango snickered when he noticed the slight flush in the other player's cheeks.

"What?" he asked, grinning cheekily. "If I'm gonna toy-ificate the Sheriff I've gotta make it accurate! Strong and huggable, like the real you. Perfect for cuddling with extra cuddles."

"Tango!"

Jimmy buried his face in his hands with a strangled sort of sound and Tango couldn't help but laugh, leaning against his soulmate's side and dropping his head against Jimmy's shoulder with a giddy and amused grin.

"Aww, c'mon Jim, you know I'm right," he teased. "Besides-" He poked at Jimmy's cheek, drawing the avian's attention along with his flustered and half-hearted glare. "-I'd love to have a lil' mini-you to keep with me for when we're too busy to visit each other. That little plushie dude that fell through the rift is cute and all, but it's not close enough to the real thing."

Jimmy reached over and tugged the plush in question from Tango's hand, ignoring the netherborn's strangled and aborted protests as he stood from the grass, leaving Tango to fall sideways without Jimmy there to lean on.

"Well you already have the real thing," he told Tango, "so if you don't mind, I'll be destroying this."

"Wh - no!" Tango clambered to his feet, trailing after him. "Jimmy, c'mon, it's kinda cute!"

"You just said it wasn't accurate!"

"Well - no, it's not, but it still looks like you! I was gonna keep it-"

"Tango-" Jimmy spun back to face him.

"Jimmy," Tango mocked back, hands on his hips, his tail curling playfully back and forth behind him.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Jimmy pouting and glaring, Tango mirroring him mockingly and fighting back a grin. When Tango pounced, desperately trying to salvage the Sheriff plushie from Jimmy's hold, and when Jimmy squawked and his wings flailed in his attempt to keep it out of reach, they inevitably ended up in a tangled heap on the ground. If any of the Hermits asked where the loose golden down feathers and scorch marks in the grass around spawn came from, neither of them were about to admit to anything...though perhaps the faint marks of soot on Jimmy's clothes and the victorious grin on Tango's face and the slightly grass-stained toy now perched proudly on a shelf in Tango's base were anything to go by, the story was telling all on its own for anyone who was willing to try and piece it together.

[wolfie-bee]

the lies we tell

could have sworn I'd already posted this old twitter fic to ao3, turns out I did not so naturally I had to add more words and then post 😅

[sapitties]

all the dreams and how they interact with sapnap little heacannons brewing up in my head :D

For cc!dream its pretty obvious childhood friends to lovers he's loved sapnap for so long without realising the extent of his love that grew past platonic but he refuses to loose him because of his feelings as they continue to grow closer. they do eventually get tgt before all the other dreams show up and afterwards he starts to grow possessive now that he has to share saps attention

c!dream its a little more complicated (i assume this is after the c!dreamnap confrontation) he can't shake the fear he has of sapnap despite their looks being completely different. it helps a little but every time he hears his voice he can't help but shrink away to his room and completely avoid him it takes a lot of coaxing for him Tk finally open up and find healing and this new sapnap that's kind and understanding and do right by his wrongs in some fucked up way by treating sapnap they way his own deserved

Nightmare likes to be cheeky, a lot more confident and forward than cc!dream he liked to fluster sapnap a lot, enjoying how red his face gets at the simplest of touches. he hugs him a lot, kisses his cheek, whispers dirty things in his ears (and maybe he also is fuelled by the jealous looks dream give him from across the room) he feeds off the chaos he creates which includes minor pranks throughout the house

Blob is basically the size of patches and spends a lot of time with the kitties. When he's with sapnap while he's working on his PC he likes to stay on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and takes naps in his hair. everytime sapnap sees blob he takes off his hat to let him nestle in his soft hair which is not a privilege he gives most ppl. when they're lying down blob usually stays on his tummy or lap, loving the warmth his body provides

DreamXD is like nightmare but more tame. Unlike cc!dream, cc!sapnap reminds his a lot of c!sapnap but in a positive way, the way he speaks and carries himself. he likes talking to him about random topics, enjoying when he often goes off on tangents about random things. he treats him almost like a pet, petting his head randomly throughout the day or bringing little gifts to see him get excited. he's amused by his actions and can't help but be attached to his human ways

mh!dream is a mix of c!dreams feelings with cc!dreams fear. he's always on high alert around him, keeping a knife that none of them know about at his side incase sap decides to pull a fast one on him. it takes a while for the knoledge that this sapnap isn't here to kill him or hunt him down to sink in and that he can finally rebuild a friendship with his once best friend without the fear of being hunted just like old times

[fleurrot]

I need more whump stories where the Whumper absolutely refuses to touch the Whumpee, not even going within 4 feet of them on most occasions. Whumper just wants Whumpee to themself but doesn't want to chance hurting them. All to the point that Whumper even scares off the people Whumpee surrounded themself with so that Whumper is the only one they recognize w

[inkedroplets]

Wait what Lena/Peggy fic?!? I was scrolling and just had to stop and die a little at the possibility of this existing lol Lena Luthor and Peggy Carter? Two of my favorite characters ever? Together? Time travel? I don’t even care how, just want you to know I would read this ship soooo fast!

Not just time travel but Lena getting yeeted to another Earth.

I don't know where I would even begin to try and explain the plot spaghetti in my head. But essentially it would begin with Lena's portal watch malfunctioning and finding herself on a completely different Earth, scooped up by Coulson.

Much much later, (I cannot stress how much later) the time stone makes an appearance much later and Lena being Lena can't help but run a gamut of tests on it. Which sends her back in time where she happens to meet Peggy...

But here's a really brief snippet just for fun. It hasn't been edited at all and there's very little context but still:

“You wouldn’t happen to be an enhanced individual, would you, Miss Luthor?” Coulson asked

“I’m sorry?” Lena said, the first real hint of discernible irritation shining through her overly calm facade. “Where exactly are you looking, Agent Coulson?” She crossed her arms over her chest, the thin line that was her mouth somehow narrowing even further. There was a flicker of understanding and then horror that passed over Coulson’s face before his expression reverted back to that of a friendly but put-upon bureaucrat that would like nothing more than to punch out for the day. “At your file, Miss Luthor.” He held up a manila folder that he had obscured by his clipboard. “Or rather, what would be your file.” He tossed the empty folder down on the table. “The  problem is there’s nothing in it and not for lack of trying.”

“Does SHIELD not know how to use Google?” Lena glanced down at the empty folder wondering how anyone searching for the name ‘Luthor’  could come back with nothing to show for it. “Funnily enough we tried that too after we exhausted all other avenues. There is no record of, well, you, anywhere. Not a single hit on any of the databases my team scoured and before you try and impugn my team’s tech savviness again, our hacker was incredibly thorough. It's the first time I've seen her so perplexed,” he said. Instead of sounding annoyed or even angry he looked almost impressed. 

“So you think I'm lying,” Lena said, feeling that much was obvious. She was being interrogated, after all. Which was why it surprised her so much when Coulson shook his head. 

“No, Miss Luthor, on the contrary, I believe you are who you say you are. If you were going to try and obscure your identity with an alias, I assume you’d choose something less…” He looked down at his hands for a moment. 

“Less what?” 

“Less conspicuous. Lena. Luthor,” he said, enunciating each word clearly to hammer home the inherent strangeness in the symmetry of her name. 

“One of the many downsides of being a Luthor,” she said self-deprecatingly and gave a halfhearted shrug of apology. “Too many L’s.” 

Coulson who moments ago looked all too happy to let her ramble, perhaps hoping she might monologue her way into revealing something about herself held up a hand to stop her from continuing.

 “That's not the first time you've spoken as if that's supposed to mean something. Your last name,” he clarified. “Should it?” Of course it does, Lena thought bitterly.

[deityoftherain]

isn't that jimmy's hat? - Ranchers during Hermpires Rift Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 2,751

Summary: Tango accidentally grabs Jimmy's hat when trying to grab the hat Shubble gave him and puts it on... oops?

Click here to read on Tumblr

@gumzau MADE ME A ABSOLUTELY STUNNING COMIC FOR THIS GO CHECK IT OUT https://www.tumblr.com/gumzau/748128729759399936/isnt-that-jimmys-hat-deityoftherain-empires

[artblock-tm]

Redesigned my OC Yazmin recently :) she’s gotten SUCH an upgrade in how she looks

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Thief has Now Committed Arson

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 2 Scene 2

June of Doom Day 14: "What were you thinking?" / Surrender / Human Shield / Outmatched

Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- Previous | Next -> (coming soon!)

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1800

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: deception, thievery, being watched, monster, scratches, claw wounds, stress position, explosion, fire, book burning, arson, swearing

A/N: You read that correctly.

----------

The Draigo archives was a majestic building, second only to the Council chambers with its detailed stone pillars and intricately carved architecture composed of both wood and stone. Rift mentally calculated the cost of the construction as he entered through the massive double doors made of thick, dark wood inlaid with reliefs. 

This building alone was worth almost as much as the entire city of Valdove, by his estimation. The Draigo could certainly afford to miss one of their fancy little gemstones. Even if it was supposedly rarer than a kind-hearted magician.

Rift chuckled to himself at the analogy as he surveyed the archives. Shelves upon shelves packed near to bursting with books and tomes and scrolls sprawled before him, a nearly endless maze of knowledge. Artifacts rested on open display on wood and stone pedestals scattered throughout the archives, not even a barrier of glass between them and potential onlookers.

It was almost too easy.

Almost.

He had to find the damned gem first.

His employer had given him a detailed description of the specific gemstone he wanted stolen. Notably, it didn’t even appear to be a gemstone at all, but rather a pretty shard of opaque sea glass, yellowish orange in color. Of course, his mysterious employer had refused to clarify, so Rift was left to wonder why in the depths it was so valuable.

Rift was unlikely to find out even after he delivered the cargo, so he put the thought out of his mind and entered the archives proper, casually strolling through the standing bookcases and pretending to read the titles printed neatly on some of the spines. He subtly scanned each artifact display that he passed, seeking a gemstone that matched the description.

He was so engrossed in his search that he nearly ran into the Draigo woman before noticing her. “Oh!” he exclaimed, grabbing her arm to stabilize her as she stumbled back in shock and nearly fell into one of the nearby bookcases, “my deepest apologies, madam! I was so captivated browsing the tomes that I didn’t see you there.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear, “I must apologize as well. I assumed we wouldn’t have any visitors until after the meeting ended and Miss Sorro returned.”

“Of course,” Rift agreed, chuckling softly, “I would be at the meeting as well, except I have only  just arrived from a long journey.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If I may be completely honest, the last thing I want after my journey is to sit in a crowded meeting hall listening to a bunch of stuffy officials talk in circles.”

The woman smiled at that. “The only reason I’m not there myself is because Miss Sorro—Skylyn, the head archivist—is attending on behalf of the archives and there always has to be an archivist here.” She shrugged. “Everyone volunteered, but she chose me.”

“If she’s the one in charge of this wonderful place, I certainly trust her judgment.” Rift gave a slight bow. “My name’s Theodoric Graves, and I am an agent from the far east stronghold.”

“From across the ocean?”

“The very same. I’d always heard wonderful things about this archive, so I decided to visit while waiting for the meeting to end. And you are…?”

“Oh!” The woman blushed. “My apologies. I’m Amari Kieran, acting head archivist. What sort of business brings you from so far away?”

Rift shook his head. “Unfortunately, that information is classified.”

“Oh… of course, that is to be expected. Apologies for prying, my curiosity got the better of me.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, nervousness curling in his stomach. How much longer was the Council meeting going to last? “Say… I’ve heard many things about the artifacts displayed here, and I’m very curious about some of them. Why don’t you show me around the archives for a little while, until the meeting ends?”

“Oh!” Amari brightened. “I don’t think the meeting will last for much longer, so how about I start with my personal favorites and we go from there?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay!” She spun around and started walking, not even checking to make sure he was following behind her. Rift almost had to run to keep up, her pace was brutal.

The first artifact display they stopped at was a stone mask, carved with intricate symbols that Rift recognized to be runes. “This one here,” Amari began, “belonged to one of the Cardinal Points, the magician of the south herself. The runes are incredibly complex, and….”

Rift tuned out most of her words, pretending to nod and listen while keeping an eye out for the gem. He’d already clocked most of the items he saw as objects of immense power or historical significance, sometimes both, setting them at hundreds of millions worth of gold each for the right buyer. Shame he was only here for one item….

Amari finished whatever she was saying about the mask and moved on, walking just as quickly to the next artifact, this one several rows of bookcases deep into the archives. “This gauntlet is composed of a metal rumored to grant its wielder strength equal to that of ten sang.”

Rift blinked in shock that wasn’t completely feigned. “I… what? Ten sang? From a glove?!”

Amari nodded earnestly, smiling at his surprise. “Indeed! No other artifact has been found across all four strongholds that matches its worth. Of course, we can’t have something like that out in the world to be used for evil purposes. Its first documented appearance was in the year….”

His stomach churned as his eyes darted around the archive. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? No one else was around but Amari, and she had no intention of harming him, no knowledge of what he planned to do.

So why did he feel like he was being watched by unfriendly eyes?

Amari moved on again so suddenly he almost didn’t notice her departure, swiftly vanishing ever deeper among the maze of knowledge and danger. When he reached the display she stopped at, his mouth almost dropped.

There, draped on a smooth chunk of stone, was the gemstone he sought. It truly did appear to be made of sea glass, yellowish orange in hue. The gem was attached to a thin chain of dark metal and didn’t look anything more than a pretty necklace. But Rift’s employer wanted it, so that was what Rift was going to steal.

“What’s this?” He finally said, shoving down his excitement.

“It doesn’t appear like much, does it?” Amari asked, noting the look on his face. What she thought of it, he couldn’t guess, her expression of excitement remained unchanged.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then why do you want it so badly?”

Rift blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Amari’s expression was now cold as ice. “You came here searching for something. Something to steal from the archives, while everyone else is busy at the Council meeting. You deceived everyone you came across, and you attempted to deceive me. Explain yourself, and perhaps I may let you live.”

Rift forced out a laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amari. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It is ridiculous.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ridiculous how a common thief such as yourself thinks he can just waltz into the archives and take what he wants!”

“A common thief!” Rift exclaimed, heart pounding in his ears. “Quite the accusation.”

Amari’s eyes darkened, and this time when she spoke, a lick of flame darted from her lips. It winked out immediately. “You continue to lie to me. You had your chance.”

Before Rift could ask what she was talking about, she snapped her fingers. The sound echoed eerily throughout the archive, bouncing off the stone walls and floor. For a long moment, nothing happened. He wondered if she was bluffing.

And then he was tackled from behind.

Rift cried out as sharp talons dug into his left shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle and sinew and scraping against bone. Pain coursed across his nervous system as his arm went numb and the claws that wounded him began to lift him off his feet and into the air. 

White light streaked across his vision as he screamed, fire flowing through his veins, burning in his shoulder and at his right side.

Wait. His side? That was where… where….

Rift slowly reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the strange object given to him by his employer. It was hot to the touch, like it had been left in a flame for too long. Why was it burning…?

Oh.

Oh!

Rift slowly, the movement sending more pain through his shoulder, more white light through his vision, ever so slowly, withdrew the object from his pocket and, before he could second-guess himself, flicked it behind him, at whatever creature was holding him in place.

No sooner had the object left his hand before an explosion rocked the archive. Rift was flung out of the grasp of the creature and slammed bodily into the stone pedestal, ears ringing, the scent of singed something filling his nose.

He groaned, shoulder throbbing, head pounding, the taste of heat and ash in his mouth as he opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by fire. Starving, ravenous fire that surged towards the bookcases, hungrily devouring the tomes and scrolls that rested on their shelves. Amari was nowhere in sight.

Rift quickly got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his head spun, and frantically searched for the gemstone. His eyes finally found it, lying on the ground a few feet away. He scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket before immediately taking off at a sprint despite how his body screamed at him to stop, to bandage his wounds, to do something other than run.

But if he didn’t get out now, he would never leave.

Either the fire got him, or the Draigo did.

He passed by the gauntlet on his way out and snatched it from its pedestal. “What were you thinking?” He cursed himself as he altered his course and grabbed the mask as well. “You’re just asking to get yourself hunted down!”

He was dead either way.

Disguise or no, he didn’t believe Amari wouldn’t track him down with whatever abomination from the depths she’d used to catch him. Which was why he needed to get as far away as possible with his prizes before the Draigo regrouped.

He’d blown up the Draigo stronghold.

Celestials.

He was so fucked.