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redux-iterum · 10 days

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Charred Legacy: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

All things considered, it was a nice night.

Fireheart was half-rolled onto his back, front paws tucked into his upturned chest while his rear end remained on its side. His tail tapped absentmindedly on the still-warm sand as he gazed up at the stars. The weather had loosened up, mercifully keeping the sky clear and even warming the air a little. It was still somewhat chilled, but the ground had softened from muddy slop to dense soil—still retaining a bit of moisture, but not enough to stick to a traveling cat’s paws—and the frost had barely made an appearance before shying away and melting again into dew.

Thank the Three for small miracles, Fireheart thought as his eyes lazily drifted from star to star. They know we needed it.

Caught up in the beauty of the sky and the grainy comfort of the sand, he was only somewhat registering cats talking around him. Faint squeals drifted out of the nursery’s entrance and his ear twitched at what he thought (hoped, really) was Goldenflower gently chiding the kits inside. Frostfur’s litter was already out, but in the past month they had calmed down considerably and come to prefer talking with the one cat in the apprentice’s den who would soon be a warrior, Swiftpaw, as he regaled them with stories of the territory and all the strange creatures they would see there.

Fireheart twisted his head back and to the side a bit—yes, there they were, listening to the black tom recounting his experience going to the Mother on the far side of the territories.

“And I know she looks scary,” he was saying, “but that’s kind of the point, I think. It makes you respect her even more. You just have to be brave and go into her mouth, trusting her. And Yellowfang will be there to guide you, so you’ll find your way.”

The sole molly of the litter, fluffy ginger-patched Brightkit, spoke up now. “I won’t be scared. The Mother wouldn’t hurt us—we’re her favorites.”

Thornkit, dark and golden-brown, frowned at her. “Still gotta be ‘spectful.”

Fireheart’s mouth twitched into a brief grimace in sympathy as the tom’s ears went back in embarrassment at the end of his sentence. Thornkit still slurred and stumbled over his words, even with as much as Frostfur had worked with him on speaking clearly, and he had been speaking shorter and shorter sentences recently, and at a much lower volume. His siblings understood him just fine, save one.

That one, the deaf little white tom directly in front of Swiftpaw, was Snowkit. His bright blue eyes, wide and vibrant, were fixed on Swiftpaw’s mouth as the apprentice said, “Yeah, it’s important to be quiet on the walk in and during the ceremony. Just wait until Yellowfang speaks to you.”

Brackenkit, a thinner and lighter version of Thornkit, tilted his head. “Will Cinderpaw be there?”

“She was when I went.” Swiftpaw’s eyes lifted upwards as he squinted a bit. “I mean, we did ours together, so that’s why, but I think she’d have to go anyway.” He turned to look at his dark grey sister as she limped out from the ferns by the meeting stump. “Hey, Cinderpaw! Are you going to be with these kits when they do their pilgrimage?”

Cinderpaw beamed with a hacking scoff very similar to her mentor’s. “Obviously! I have to learn how to do it myself, and there’s no way I’m missing out on Brighty getting blessed.” She swept her tail, crooked at the tip, in the direction of the toms. “And you guys, of course.”

Brackenkit seemed to take no offense. “I bet my blessing will be from Rokhar.”

Fireheart purred, rolling slowly onto his side. Of all the three gods, the Tiger was the one he understood the least. Then again, it seemed like everyone outside of the seer role had some trouble grasping exactly what Rokhar was all about. The first seer of Fireheart’s life in ThunderClan, Spottedleaf, had described him as being “in-between” and “all-encompassing”. Even after more than a year of being a Clan cat, Fireheart still had no idea what that meant.

“Why Rokhar?” Swiftpaw asked, sounding amused. “Because he’s the cool—?“

“Because he’s the cool one!” Brackenkit said, exactly in tandem with the apprentice. At another frown from Thornkit, he added, “I mean, they’re all cool, but Rokhar’s the coolest.”

Cinderpaw limped up to the little gathering of the young, her bad leg crumpled up towards her belly. “Knowing your dad, he’s probably telling Horoa right now to bless all of you with a Lion’s touch.”

While the kits all started babbling to each other about whether that was true or not, Fireheart’s heart clenched at the mention of Lionface. He had been the deputy of ThunderClan after Redtail, another first for Fireheart when he had joined the Clan from life as a house cat. Both of them had been great toms, Redtail kind and friendly and Lionface majestic and confident (even if he and Fireheart had clashed here and there). Both of them were gone, and both of them had been…

Fireheart’s claws sank into the sand. He eyed Cinderpaw’s crippled leg.

It had been around a month since the trial that shattered the Clan’s collective heart. No one had spoken of it after it happened, and even the mere implication of something that would link back to that night was hushed or ignored. Fireheart couldn’t stand this thing Clan cats had with refusing to acknowledge bad cats or the things they’d done; it didn’t help anyone feel better, it just made things awkward and sad. Supposedly, the spirits of these bad cats could come back if spoken about or named and haunt the territories, but as far as Fireheart had seen, the only thing they haunted was his dreams.

What he’d give to talk about this with Goldenflower.

But she was in the nursery now, and she needed peace and quiet to raise his adoptive siblings until they were big enough to come out and explore camp. Being forbidden from visiting, Fireheart just had to rely on news shared by Brindleface or Frostfur—mostly Brindleface, as Frostfur had left the nursery early to give the crowded den some room and now only came to check on her nearly-grown kits. Brindleface had been incredibly nervous and sensitive when she was stuck in the den, but now that she had been able to leave her kits for walks here and there…

“Fireheart! There you are!”

The ginger tom blinked and got to his feet, shaking off what sand had clung to his fur. The beautiful grey tortoiseshell in question had just climbed up and out of the nursery, her pale green eyes shining as Fireheart approached her.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said when he was close enough. “Well, two surprises.”

Fireheart perked up. “Really? Are they about Cloudkit?”

“They are.” Brindleface’s fluffy tail curled at the delight that must have immediately brightened up Fireheart’s face. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have come seen him before, but that makes this a little more interesting.”

Cloudkit had been adopted into the Clan, the same as his uncle. Fireheart had been given the kit by his frantic sister, Rosy, and ThunderClan took him in with only a bit of reluctance. The two of them did not look similar—Fireheart was skinny and shorthaired and Cloudkit was a ball of white fluff—and with the automatic distance of Fireheart not being able to visit to see his nephew and bond with him, he could only hope that they wouldn’t be so different that they could not find common ground besides being outsiders at birth, especially since Fireheart had promised to mentor Cloudkit once he became an apprentice.

“What is it, then?” he asked, trying not to sound overly-eager.

“Well, for one…” Brindleface turned and poked her head into the nursery. “Babies, do you want to come out now?”

Indistinct squeaks of excitement immediately followed this, and Brindleface purred before turning back to Fireheart, saying, “That’s the first surprise. They’re ready to meet you.”

Fireheart’s fur flared out and he beamed. “I can see him now!”

Brindleface nodded, her whiskers twitching. “And the second…”

She gestured with her paw just in time for the first kits to scramble out of the den: both grey with broken tabby markings, similar in every way except for the molly being both more delicate in the face and fluffier than her brother. They completely ignored Fireheart and bumbled out into the center of camp. Who followed them was—

Not the kit Fireheart had brought in.

This kit was fluffy and round, sure, but ginger covered his ears and nose and was steadily claiming his tail. His fur was quite long and puffed out, even if he was a bit small; if it weren’t for the unusual color, he would fit perfectly in with the rest of ThunderClan. By the way his deep blue eyes blinked owlishly at Fireheart, he was just as surprised at the reunion.

“Cloudkit,” Brindleface said with another paw-gesture, “this is your uncle, Fireheart. Remember how we talked about him?”

“Ohhh,” Cloudkit said loudly. He looked Fireheart up and down before announcing, “You’re short.”

“Cloudkit!” Brindleface scolded. “That’s rude.”

Fireheart chuffed and bent his head to meet his nephew’s eye-level. “And you’re pudgy.”

Cloudkit squinted at Fireheart. “What’s ‘pudgy’?”

“Fat!” Cinderpaw called from across the clearing.

Cloudkit squawked and slowly and clumsily swatted a paw in the direction of Fireheart’s nose. “’Mnot pudgy! You’re pudgy!”

Brindleface stared at the little tom in baffled embarrassment, but Fireheart pretended to be struck and rubbed his nose like it’d been scratched.

“Don’t beat me up, please,” he said, poorly hiding his amusement. “I’m sorry, you’re not.”

Cloudkit nodded in satisfaction—then, to Fireheart’s surprise, he toddled right up to his uncle and bumped their noses together. Him being so small, it didn’t hurt, but it was more of a punch than usual.

“Hi, uncle,” Cloudkit said, pulling back.

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. “Hi, nephew.”

“That’s better.” Brindleface stepped forward to lick Cloudkit’s ear. “Are you ready to meet your Clanmates now?”

The little puffball nearly jumped in place and waddled off after his siblings, who were currently interrupting the discussion between Frostfur’s litter and Swiftpaw. Fireheart watched him go, amazed at the strength of the flame of affection in his chest, even when he hadn’t seen the kit since he’d come to the Clan.

“How did his fur get like that?” He turned to Brindleface now. “He was white when I brought him in.”

Brindleface rolled a shoulder. “Kittypet blood, I’m guessing. I’ve never seen anything like that in the territories. I thought he was sick at first, but he’s been perfectly happy and healthy this whole time.” She gave Fireheart a cheeky squint. “Both of you stick out now.”

Fireheart sighed a chuff. “At least he’ll be warm this winter.”

Brindleface nodded. Then her eyes flicked to the side and narrowed a fraction before she walked off after her litter. Fireheart’s gaze followed where she’d looked.

Darkstripe. Of course. He was glaring at the now-wandering Cloudkit.

Fireheart contained another, much heavier sigh. Since the trial, the dark tabby had hardly said more than one word to anyone, and they had to speak to him first. Fireheart hadn’t dared start a conversation with him—Darkstripe had never liked him to begin with, but since the end result of the trial was largely on Fireheart’s shoulders, the hatred in Darkstripe’s eyes burned Fireheart’s back whenever the two had to cross paths. He’d done his best to give the older warrior space, which was difficult when they shared a den.

Anticipating the glare to turn on him, Fireheart prepared to look away and find something else to engage with. He was saved by the camp entrance rustling to reveal the pale brown tortoiseshell Speckletail leading a patrol in. As her followers trotted to the prey-pile, she approached Darkstripe and said something to him Fireheart didn’t catch. Darkstripe didn’t respond beyond a twitch of his lip, getting to his feet and stalking out of camp. Speckletail watched him go, huffed and shook her head before joining the rest of the patrol.

After the loss of the prior deputy—the one that trial had been all about—Speckletail had been selected to replace him. She hadn’t been the expected choice, but she had accepted the role and immediately went about keeping the Clan busy and organized for the first month of her tenure. Fireheart suspected that this was a tactical decision; giving everyone something to do kept them from stewing in their own thoughts over the events of the past fall. Things had finally slowed down, with the warmer weather gifting the Clan with more prey than Fireheart had been told showed up in the end seasons. This was one of the first nights in quite a while that Fireheart had gotten to stay home and just enjoy the peace of camp.

“Good evening,” he said to Speckletail as she walked past him with a woodrat.

She nodded to him, putting down her prey for a moment. “Any word while I was gone?”

Fireheart shook his head, ears going back sadly. “I haven’t spoken to her since a few days ago.”

Speckletail sighed through her nose. Her eyes were tired. “I’ll talk with her once I’ve eaten.” She picked up her prey again and continued on her way, sitting down with Willowpelt on the far side of camp.

Fireheart’s eyes drifted to the wall of briar that surrounded the sandy clearing. Though he couldn’t see it, his gaze landed on the area where the leader’s den was situated on the outside.

Where Bluestar was undoubtedly sleeping.

The trial and the near-murder preceding it had hurt everyone, but it had broken something in the Clan’s leader. Only a few days after the deputy’s execution, Bluestar had become a rare sight. She now walked alone in the forest or holed up in her den, only coming out to order patrols or respond to something Speckletail asked her about. It had been part of the quiet conversation for some time now, but no one dared to broach the topic to Bluestar—even Fireheart, her former apprentice, or Whitecloud, her nephew.

It wasn’t fair, Fireheart wanted to shout to the stars. Of all the cats suffering, why did their leader have to struggle the hardest? The pain and suspicion and fear clouded her eyes and silenced her voice. It had been her throat the deputy’s teeth nearly crushed, her friends and Clanmates he crippled and murdered to get to her. Now, whenever she looked at her charges, it seemed like she was gauging their intentions, how well they could be trusted. Even Fireheart had been under scrutiny more than once.

She really would benefit from being able to talk about this whole thing…

“Cloudkit, please!”

Fireheart blinked and was back in camp. He turned his head to see his nephew marching for the fallen log that was the elder’s den. The elders were already out—lanky and grey One-eye, dark brown Halftail, and black-and-white Patchpelt—but they were talking among themselves, completely unaware of the kit making his way towards them, his siblings trailing behind with curious looks on their faces. Brindleface was padding after them, calling for Cloudkit.

“Let them be—” she started, but Cloudkit broke into a clumsy imitation of a run and continued on. Just as he reached Patchpelt, he tried to slow down, only succeeding in crashing right into the elder and stumbling backwards, plopping into a sitting position.

Patchpelt coughed (as he had been lately) in surprise and looked round to see the kit. His faded eyes brightened. “Well, now! I don’t remember this one.”

“I’m Cloudkit.” The furball blinked up at him. “My sister is Aspenkit and my brother is Ashkit.”

Halftail tilted his head, eyes narrowed analytically.

“You’ve got some ginger on your face, little ant,” croaked One-eye, peering with her single eye at the kit. “Or you’ve been playing in the sand.”

“No, he’s supposed to look like that.” Brindleface hurried up to them. “I’m sorry he disturbed you.”

“You know we love being disturbed,” Patchpelt said fondly, looking at the grey kits as they approached. “Ah, and this must be Ashkit and Aspenkit.”

The tom kit nodded firmly, standing as tall as he could, while the molly lowered her nose and shyly regarded the ground. Cloudkit, meanwhile, was meeting One-eye’s gaze, looking completely unbothered by the marred face that every kit and new apprentice was a little taken aback by. Fireheart noted with pride that he didn’t broach the topic of One-eye’s accident, only chirping, “You’re tall.”

One-eye chortled. “And old, on top of that. Do you know what my name is?”

Cloudkit shook his head.

“I’m One-eye, unsurprisingly.” The pale molly nodded to her denmates. “That’s Halftail and Patchpelt. Can you guess which is which?”

“Um…” Cloudkit scrunched up his little face before answering slowly. “Patchpelt’s got patches, and Halftail’s brown, right?”

“Very good.” Patchpelt purred. “We have easy names to remember.”

Cloudkit brightened up and wagged his short little tail. “I did it!”

“Yes, you did it,” Brindleface said, touching her nose to her adopted son’s head, adding to the elders, “I can distract him if he starts to bother you.”

“Oh, he’s not a bother at all.” One-eye tilted her head comically at Cloudkit, who trilled in response. “I haven’t had a kit not flinch at my face since I became an elder.”

Fireheart watched on as Cloudkit made his way around to Halftail, who eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. An anxiety he didn’t know was in his stomach settled at the warm looks on the elders’ faces when Cloudkit loudly announced, “Fireheart’s my uncle!” and puffed out his little chest.

He’s bold, Fireheart thought affectionately, watching his nephew respond to Patchpelt’s kindly questions about life in the nursery. Rosy, whether or not you get to see him again, I know you’ll be proud.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter one #book three #arc one #charred legacy

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leviathansshadycorner · 4 months

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Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 1

Summary: In which Cato falls for a tribute from 10.

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Chapter 1 : The Reaping

“And no matter what happens, just know that you’ll be alright. You’re going nowhere.” Amaranto, your older brother tries to sooth you. His man hands on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes as he attempts to stop your sobbing. Teary eyed you just nodded your head. That was easy for him to say. He had reached the cut-off age only three months ago.

“I swear it’ll be alright.” He pulls you into a hug, his tan arms squeezing you to the point where you let out a small laugh.

“Alright…” You reply, wiping away your tears.

“Come on, maybe work will distract you.” He says, picking up his tin foil container which held the rice and eggs you had packed him and yourself.

It’s a little past 6 in the morning. The sun barely pushed the dark blue sky away to take its place. The reaping wouldn’t take place for about another 7 hours or so. Giving people enough time to cry over their loved ones, or finish their final trades before more peacekeepers flooded the area. The two of you decide to go into work today, even though they give off reaping days to the younger workers. You nervously headed out, eyes fixated on the pale yellow of your house, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time you saw it.

District 10, your home, never seemed more somber than on reaping day. The only other time you saw people’s moods this down was when the Capitol decided to take the horses away from the district as a punishment to those who tried to escape on them. Noises of chickens, cows, and pigs echoed throughout the empty space as you and Amaranto walked through the desolate farming sections. You had assumed the farmers were either at the markets trying to buy feed for their livestock, or out in the bar trying to get over the fact that their best farm hands could get taken from them.

The smell of fresh manure filled your nostrils as you neared some of the dairy cows. You hesitantly stopped, trying to keep in line with your routine, your hand reached up and rubbed the snout of a large spotted cow. Its markings were peculiar, since they all looked like rounded shapes rather than blotches of ink. “What I’d do to trade places with you.” You told the cow. Dairy cows were prized in this district, they were the only cows that weren’t sent off to be packaged into meat. They were the ones who got to live a long peaceful life, while their counterparts were met with a bloody fate.

“Come on (Y/n), the faster we get there, the faster we can eat lunch before the reaping.” Your brother said, already miles ahead of you.

District 10 was divided in its work. There were jobs in the production of dairy and eggs, the slaughterhouses, butchery , farming, breeding, and then there were the people who actually raised the livestock. Before making leather was moved to district 8, it belonged to 10. The breeders and farmers were people with a little bit more money than the rest. The breeders being where the smartest of 10 would use their knowledge of science and splicing to breed superior meats to send off to the capitol. Most kids in 10 spend their first few years working as farm hands and helping around in the creameries. The older ones take jobs in the killing and cutting of the meat. It was a shame that so much work went into something that its citizens couldn’t even have. The only good thing about 10 was that they got the capitol’s scraps. Small eggs the size of a cotton ball, cuts they deemed too disgusting to eat, cheese on the brink of its expiration, the list went on and on.

Amaranto and you worked at the slaughterhouse. Ever since your dad broke his leg, you both had to quit your jobs at Farmer Alfie’s and trade in your coveralls for white rubbery aprons. The slaughterhouse always smelled metallic. The smell of iron was one that would stay with you for as long as you live. The ceilings held fans, but they only helped so much to drive the smell away. Metal decorated walls and tables greeted you as you walked in. Your job was to drain the poor animal of its life. Walking past the pen of the to-be-killed animals felt hypocritical of you. You related a bit too much to the poor bovine creatures. Afterall, just like them, you were born to die.

“Dad’s in the building next to ours cutting up some lambs.” Amaranto said as he placed his lunch box in his locker. “And you know where to find me.” He finished, closing up the locker and turning to look at you. “If you feel like you can’t handle work today just go look for him or me ok?” He spoke, his kind voice reassuring you. Amaranto worked out with the men killing them. They were under the close eyes of peacekeepers, since their job was the only one requiring guns.

“Alright…” Was all you could muster up.

“Damn (Y/n), you’re quiet today.” Clarabell, the girl who was sweet on your brother, spoke from behind you. She was your coworker, and quite literally your only friend. “My my, and why is it that you are wearing that gorgeous top to work?” She asked with a fake scolding voice.

“She’s nervous about the reaping.” Amaranto told her as they both exchanged a flash of worry about you.

“I thought I’d get dressed before coming in today, since I don’t think I’d get out in time to change.” You had gotten up early in the morning to go out of your way to put on your reaping clothes. It’s not like you anticipated the event, rather you felt that getting ready earlier would be better than struggling to change an hour before the reaping.

“Oh come on (Y/n)-ie, you know nothing’s going to happen right? The chances of you getting picked are like the chances of your brother deciding I’m finally lady-like enough to marry.” The girl said, trying to throw some humor at you.

“C-can we just work?” Came your reply, dry and hasty. You didn’t want to talk about the reaping anymore. You just wanted to distract yourself from your possible death sentence.

Clarabell gave you a sympathetic hug, draping her dark red hair on your face as she nuzzled into your shoulder. “Sweet girl, you’ll be fine.” She said, then going to grab her apron. You followed, grabbing your own and shakily putting it on over your baby blue gingham dress shirt.

“No- no, here.” Clarabell said as she took off the shirt she was wearing. “You are not getting your pretty little self all bloodied before the reaping.” She said, tossing the shirt at you.

“I can’t.”

“Oh I think you will.” And like that her shirt was now on top of yours. It was stupid of you to wear your best shirt to work, now making people sacrifice theirs for you. Saying goodbye to your brother as he turned and left for work, you finally tied your apron on, and the two of you joined the others for work.

Time passed and the sun arose. Its heat raining down on 10. The only perk about working here was that they were always blasting cold air into the building. The clock seemed like it was against you, time moving both quickly and at a skin crawling pace. Clarabell tried to distract you, but the deep feeling in your stomach only sunk further. Eventually you couldn’t handle it anymore, and went to go speak with your father.

You hung up your apron. You hadn’t noticed how bloody your clothes had gotten until you took it off. “Damn.” You cursed looking over at the redhead. “I’m sorry Clara- I’ll wash it and bring it back to you I swear.”

The older girl just laughed, “It’s alright, now go on- enjoy yourself, go frolic with the sheep, or kiss some boys-” She teased as she waved to you.

You walked alongside the dirt path that connected the slaughterhouse and the butcher’s corners. Many of the men recognized you as your fathers daughter, greeting you as you sped through the halls and into the area where your father was sitting. Your heart stopped when you saw him, on his wheelchair working on slicing some skin off of a cut of meat. This was probably the last time you’d see him like this.

You didn’t know why, but a feeling of impending doom told you that you’d be chosen as one of the kids to die in the arena.

“Hey Papa.” You greeted. His dark head of hair shifted up to look at you. He smiled for a brief second, his serious expression returning. “What are you doing here (N/n). Didn’t they give you the day off?” He asked, his voice deep and old.

“They did, but Amar thought working today would distract me.” Your eyes shifted from the meat he was cutting to his face.

“I see.” He spoke.

“Just wanted to check up on you.” You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, failing to realize that you hadn’t washed the blood on your hands thoroughly enough and staining the light material.

“Thank you dear.” You knew why your Father wasn’t saying much. In fact he was just like you, not speaking much because he was scared. He was scared to lose you like how he had lost your mother.

“I love you Papa.” You said, reaching out to hug him.

“Look, you’re going to be fine. If you get picked or not, you’re from 10. Remember that. The district of hard-ass cowboys alright? Now you’re a badass (Y/n), so don’t let fear get to ya.” He said, turning around to hug you tight.

Tears fell down your cheeks at his words. Nodding your head you agreed with his words. You couldn’t let fear get to you. Everyone had been saying that your chances of getting picked were slim, so they must be right.

…

The cries of children and mothers alike took the place of the bleating animals. Peacekeepers were now circling the district, lining up people with their guns as they ushered them to the square. The commotion made for some of the animals to go loose, but no one cared about them anymore. All that mattered to the peacekeepers was getting everyone to go witness the death of two children from home.

You were already in line waiting to get your finger pricked. You watched as some of the older kids looked more relaxed. Your heart sank when you met the eyes of a teary eyed 12 year old. She looked at you with a scrunched up red and puffy face. All you could offer her was a somber smile.

“God I know how them cows must be feeling.” A blonde girl spoke to her friend behind you. Flashes of the meat cows came into your brian. You had watched Amar do his job a while back, shocked at how he was able to go through with it.

All you remember is the cow’s poor innocent eyes as it awaited its fate. The gun was raised and aimed smack dab in the middle of its head.

Boom

You jumped at the feeling of a needle puncturing your skin. You went to lick it, once again failing to notice the blood on your hands. Of course. You had forgotten to wash this off after helping your dad out with a few of his work. Sighing with no other choice, you wiped your hands on the sides of your shirt. Making your way to stand with your age group, you looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone familiar.

Met with Clarabell ’s green eyes you felt more relaxed, soon catching a view of Amaranto’s face. He looked stern, serious, almost like your father. In fact he was the exact clone of your Father when he was younger. Speaking of which you couldn’t find. Your Father must have been further back. A part of you was glad you couldn’t see him. You knew you’d burst out in tears if you did.

“Welcome, Welcome!” A sultry voice came from the stage. Everyone turned their attention to the announcer. It was a tall asian man, wearing a tan outfit consisting of pants longer than his legs, and a dress shirt littered with feathers that made it seem as if his whole upper body was a chicken. Along with the outfit he wore a hen on top of his slicked dark indigo hair. Pradain Alcomore, District 10’s announcer. Nobody could stop staring. Had he dressed like this in honor or in ridicule of the district?

“Boy is it hot.” The announcer then said, wiping the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. He placed it back in his pants pocket, returning to holding the microphone.

“Welcome All to the annual reaping.” He said scanning the crowd for a reaction. “As you all know, a male and female tribute are to be selected to participate in the 74th hunger games.” He said with a toothy grin as he made jazz hands to the crowd. “Right then, roll the tape!” He commanded.

As he ordered the tape you had all memorized begins to play, its music the only thing making sound aside from the sniffles of children.

“Wonderful, that never gets old.” He giggles to the crowd as he gets their attention back.

“Alright then, let's begin shall we.” He dipped his hands into the fish bowl, swirling it around a couple more times than was necessary.

Being one of the poorer districts meant your name was in there more than you would’ve liked it to be. Amar scolded you when he found out what you did, but he figured since he managed to survive the reaping you would too. You only hoped he was right.

You watched as people held hands in nervousness, awaiting to hear the first name drawn. There was a deadly silence.

Pradain opened the slip, a smile on his face as he announced to the world the female tribute from district 10.

“(Y/n) Cuernos.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream but not a drop of voice came out. The ringing in your ears began as people around you began to back away, allowing a path to be made in front of you. The path that would lead you to death.

Clarabell’s soft sobs were what lured you back into reality. She mouthed the words sorry as you passed by, turning around to see if your brother was crying too. When you did find him he was on his knees, a friend of his trying to console him. You could only imagine what your father was thinking. As you looked around you spotted him, his face as serious as ever. You knew if he made eye contact with you he’d burst out yelling, so you continued to walk the path up to the stage.

“Come Come dear, time is ticking.” Pradair says as you step up. The cameras follow you, focused on your back as you walk. “My what a fashion choice.” He speaks as he notices the blotches of red staining your shirt.

You can’t cry. You can’t. And as you feel your face get warm, look up at the gigantic screen displaying your fear filled eyes. Your hair is braided into two braids, it makes your face look gigantic. The baby blue gingham shirt stained with cows blood looks exhausted, making you look like filth in the eyes of the people watching, or so you assume. The overalls you thought to wear covered the cowboy boots on your feet. You never noticed how long the pant legs were. You hadn’t noticed how much you looked like your mother.

“Onto the boy!” Pradain then says as he shuffles to the other end of the stage to pull out the male tribute’s name.

“Buckley Wheaton!” He calls out and you watch a mother scream for her boy. He’s around your age, though muscular and older looking. No doubt he’d be the winner out of the two of you. He went to school with you, only speaking to you when asking for answers to questions. Other than that the two of you were total strangers. The brunette looked unfazed, but deep inside you knew he was as scared as you.

“Let’s give them a hand!” Pradair says, and the people only place their hands to their hearts.

#fanfic #xreader #cato #cato hadley #marvel #hunger games #74th hunger games #romance #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #district 10 #the hunger games fanfiction #reader insert #x reader

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bitterkarmaa · 28 days

Text

Recognize

“I came back.”

The pencil freezes mid-word, hovering hastily over the paper as its owner processes the voice, noting how ragged and hoarse it sounds. With a soft sigh, he sets his writing utensil down, letting it roll across his uneven desk for a moment before stopping it with one careful claw.

“You still sound dead, my friend.” He moves the pencil back to its proper place, spinning in his chair to face his other self. His face falls into a frown at the sight of him.

They look more and more alike each time this other version is revived, it seems, as the oil that leaks from his mouth and the open wounds that cover his chassis perfectly reflect some of the more calm Eclipse’s own. It’s unsettling knowing that, in his dimension, he’s done horrid acts so cruel that, even in this state, no one is willing to help him.

But can he blame them? Not really.

The other lets out a raspy, humorless laugh that dies off into a fit of coughs before he can manage to spit out some sort of witty retort.

“Do they know you’re back?” He stands, moving swiftly to catch his counterpart before he loses his balance in his weakened state. Much to his surprise, he doesn’t pull away.

“How could they miss it? I wake up in that damn hall every time I come back! The only way to avoid them would be to prance off into the theater, but what good would that do me?”

With a soft hum, the more scarred of the two leads the other over to his own bed, helping him sit down on the nice, soft, plush surface. He pulls the chair he was previously sitting in over beside the bed, plopping down into it once it is situated across from his leaking, bitter self.

“You said it yourself: you’d be avoiding them.” He quirks a brow at the furious look the other shoots at him, a silent challenge hanging in his gaze, daring him to try and take on an opponent such as himself.

The other backs down with a huff, but makes no attempt at a reply. He keeps his eyes down, focused on the floor, glaring holes into its surface as if taking all his rage out through a single scowl. It doesn’t work; he’s still angry.

By the time he looks up, the vest the calm one wore is draped over the back of the chair, his medallion-esk object laying over it. He has gotten up and crossed the room while the other pouts, gathering a few bandages and other various medical supplies in hopes that easing his pain may make him more reasonable- if that’s even possible for him.

“What are you doing?” He asks incredulously, instinctively leaning away once the one-eyed version of himself approaches with the supplies.

The look he is given tells him that the answer should be obvious. “Helping you.”

His arm is grabbed and pulled before he can think to utter a reply, eyes flying wide as he begins to struggle on instinct for a few moments. A gentle hand comes out, laying on his shoulder, and he startles out of his frenzy just long enough to meet the eye of his better.

“You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to help.” He murmurs, so gentle, so soft, an echo of the way he wished the others would talk to him, if only for a day. One day. He’s hurt them, he gets that, he always has, but one day of positive recognition would’ve changed that. Just one. Is that too much to ask?

“You’ll hurt me eventually, whether you mean to or not.” He snaps, the twin white flames in his eyes flaring like viberant stars in a night sky.

“I’m quite careful. I don’t make mistakes like that.” His alternate quips lightly, tone both dismissive and reassuring. The injured one doesn’t know how he does that- makes his voice be two things at once. He doesn’t know whether to be offended or not. Could he have been insinuating that he was better than him? That he doesn’t make the mistakes that his alternative self obviously has?

His head hurts. Maybe he just needed to charge and avoid everyone for a while. Deep thoughts like that only made everything worse.

“How long ago did you wake up?”

He is startled out of his thoughts by the calm, curious tone of his better. A frown settles onto his face at the thought of his awakening, still fresh and just as unpleasant as the moment it happened.

“Two hours.” He mutters, refusing to meet the other’s intense one-eyed stare.

“That’s…not long. It makes sense that you aren’t fully functional yet.” The other says in response, beginning to solder the largest holes along his arms shut, wrapping them carefully with bandages to keep the still-mending metal in place and hidden beneath a protective layer of fabric, lest he get himself into more trouble.

“Fully functional? What does that have to do with anything?” He bristles in an almost defensive manner, moving to pull his arm out of his better’s grip. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much!”

“Are you?” That single amber eye glints with a silent challenge, the frown set on his face still as sharp as the sneer that reflects back at him.

That sneer falls into a grimace. Another pulse of pain radiates throughout his body, flowing through him like lava, uncomfortably hot. It sends a few more drops of oil down his face, feeling it bubble up in his throat in an all-to-familiar fashion. He’s tired of this. He had thought that pushing Lunar as far as he did would’ve been the end of it. As pesky as that little wretch is, he can’t deny the power he possesses. He had hoped that power would put a stop to whatever- whoever had been bringing him back. He had hoped they’d give up, just like him.

But they didn’t.

“I…I guess I’m not.” The admission doesn’t disgust him as much as he thought it would. It’s embarrassing, and degrading, but…also relieving, somehow. He’s not fine. He’s never been fine. The others back home don’t think he’s fine, either. That’s why Moon is forcing him into that god-forsaken therapy session with Earth once he’s in better health.

He just…doesn’t know what to do about it. Doesn’t know how to handle being ‘not fine.’

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” The better of the two begins, fingers still deftly wrapping bandages around soldered metal plating; “It takes a while to learn that. Even longer to accept it. I admit…I’m still working on it myself. But that doesn’t mean I won’t get there eventually.”

“I don’t know if I want to get there.”

The makeshift-medic pauses in his articulate wrapping. “Why?”

A hand comes out, grabbing hold of the wrist that hovers diligently over his unfinished work.

“I don’t want to go soft, like you.”

Clawless fingers dig into fancy sleeves, pressing into the mechanical wrist beneath. One eye slowly trails upwards until it finds the searing white pair above, staring quietly into that vicious glare for only a few moments before…this grin, wild and deranged, takes the place of the frown on his face.

The other can swear the lava that’s been running through him nonstop since he awoke has finally turned to obsidian.

“Soft? You think I’m soft, do you?”

Those white eyes widen, momentary fear striking him down and holding him in place. He pulls his hand back in one swift motion, holding it close to his chest as if having just been burned.

A clawed hand flashes out, but he…he doesn’t really care. The fear he felt only moments before fades into dull carelessness, hand falling away from his chest, head hanging and eyes closed as he awaits the blow.

Maybe dying in another universe again will finally end this. Maybe he can finally be free.

When the rush of air stops and he is greeted by not even a small twinge of pain, he feels rage instead of relief. His eyes open to find his counterpart…gone.

He searches the room in a deranged frenzy, wild eyes cast in every direction and yet seeing nothing. He doesn’t take in the blankets in the corner, or the desk that sits across the room, littered with disorganized piles of paperwork. He doesn’t take in the bed beneath him, the faded orange sheets or the pile of pillows that lay at its head.

He launches to his feet, balling his hands into fists at his sides, unsteady in every way possible- from his mind to his body, he can’t seem to get a grip.

“COME BACK!!” He shouts, the sound ripping itself from his voice box with a cry of static and exhausted feedback. “FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED!”

Silence greets him, stilling the air with its all-encompassing nothingness.

His vision goes black. Flickers between color and monochrome, light and dark.

“The only thing I want from you is to DIE.”

His head shoves memories into his sightline, taking the place of the reality he had been trying to hold onto. Did he really want to hold onto it? Did he want any of this?

“Are you threatening me, Lunar?”

“STOP IT!!” He shrieks, bringing his hands up to tear violently at his eyes, willing them to either turn off completely, or bring him back to the present.

“I’m not threatening you, a threat implies I won’t do something.”

“STOP!” His voice crackles, ripping out of his voice box so painfully that he can feel the gears grind, feel the mechanisms claw at his throat.

“Take your shot you little bastard.”

“SHUT UP!! SHUT. UP.”

“Take your shot you little bastard.”

“SH-SHU-T THE F-CK-“

“Take your shot.”

“UP!”

He hacks up bits of gear and shrapnel onto the floor, oil oozing out of a hole now torn in his neck.

“Looks like I got more than this one life, huh?”

He slowly sinks down to the ground, knees colliding with the hardwood before the rest of his body follows, chest hitting hard enough to make him whimper. He doesn’t want all these lives. He doesn’t want control anymore, either. In all honesty, he has no idea what he does want, other than some peace and maybe a heated blanket to soothe the agony that pulses through him.

Everyone would say that he deserves this. Deserves to die over, and over, and over again. Deserves the hell he’s getting.

Maybe he does. Maybe that’s true.

Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s false.

Maybe he just doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe he just wants to leave this wretched world and all his mistakes behind him.

He hears the door open. He doesn’t care enough to look.

“When the hell did you get here?”

His better, closing the door and ushering others away. How kind of him.

“You- good grief, you’re a mess!”

I know.

“What happened? Did you come back already?”

I thought we already went over this?

“Can you hear me?”

Sadly, yes.

“Eclipse?”

I’m tired.

“Eclipse?!”

Can I rest here for a bit?

“Hey! Stay with me, here- goddammit-“

Don’t worry. I’ll be back. I just need to rest.

“You better not fucking die on my floor.”

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt-“

I really am.

#karma’s bitter #karmas bitter but so am i #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams eclipse #kb eclipse #sams au #sams spoilers #kb special #?#yeah the ending is intense <3 #part 2?

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riddle-me-ri · 7 months

Note

Alice type reader and march hare type readers are all well and good but I'd love to see a general (or Gotham, Arkham, btas) Jervis x queen of hearts type reader!!

a/n: asdfg yes, yes, yes I’m so here for this! Will likely do a dormouse reader in another post in the future especially if there's a mighty need from others lol. I couldn’t really come up with an idea for a drabble, so I decided to just go with headcanons and to just go ahead do all the Mad Hatters hehe Hope you enjoy anon!

The Mad Hatters with a Queen of Hearts-Type Reader

Arkhamverse Mad Hatter:

- Jervis admires you.

- He has to get respect and attention the hard way, it’s fun, but far more difficult than it has to be.

- Not you though, you walk into a room and everyone shakes in their boots.

- They know not to mess with you, to respect you (and Jervis doesn’t have to threaten them).

- Jervis especially appreciates how protective you are of him.

- The only person that gets to see your softer sweet side is him.

- And boy, does it make him feel incredibly special.

- You're his queen of hearts and he's your mad hatter king (it's all nonsense anyway)

BTAS Mad Hatter:

- Jervis is slightly intimidated.

- He prays for the poor souls that ever have to come face to face with your wrath.

- But he does manage to charm you and you allure him.

- You will be a very powerful ally to have and vice versa.

- Soon you two are unstoppable.

- Jervis appreciates your loyalty and your tenacity.

- He has never met anyone so fierce and determined.

- He is forever grateful to have you by his side.

TNBA Mad Hatter:

- Much like his BTAS counterpart, he’s intimidated.

- Unsure what to make of such a strong minded individual.

- He is mesmerized by you however.

- Jervis is used to being behind the scenes…quite comfortable with it until the end.

- But seeing you command a room and take charge…it's captivating to the scientist.

- He's pleasantly surprised when he finds how fond you are of him.

- Jervis still gets nervous when you yell or scream.

- But he does take pride in knowing he is one of the few to calm you down.

Gotham Mad Hatter:

- Jervis is enamored with you.

- Your fire, your rage, your destruction…

- It's something he's always felt but to see it in someone else…

- It's incredible, it makes his heart race.

- You two will paint the town red.

- Gotham will fall to its knees for you two.

- And no one would stand in your way.

- Yes, off with their heads, indeed!

Harley Quinn: TAS Mad Hatter:

- Jervis will pretend he's not impressed with you.

- But in reality he's actually shaking like a leaf.

- However, you do amaze him with just how violent you are.

- Jervis enjoys watching you fight to protect him and your plans.

- It makes him chuckle with glee to see you take down multiple adversaries.

- He has no problem helping you clean blood off your pretty face.

- Jervis relishes in the fact you've only got a soft spot for him.

- You two are a force to be reckoned with.

Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter:

- Jervis is mortified at first.

- The Queen of Hearts is a blind fury.

- He already experiences enough anger and aggression in his life.

- Surely he wants no more of it.

- He also admires your strength and tenacity.

- He’s perplexed when he sees you aim your fury towards those that wronged him.

- You protect him? Y-You care about him?

- Perhaps your fury isn’t all that blind after all.

Secret Six Mad Hatter:

- I just have an inkling he gets a rise out of seeing you get angry.

- Jervis loves to see how red your face can get, how loud you can scream…

- And yes, he’s still referring to when you're angry.

- He enjoys it because he knows that he can quickly simmer your temper.

- Or better yet, you’ll punish him later for making you get upset.

- Either way leaves Jervis snickering to himself

- You can be short and cruel, it's true.

- But Jervis can see the passion and that will always captivate him back to you.

#ri writes #arkhamverse mad hatter x reader #btas mad hatter x reader #tnba mad hatter x reader #ratter x reader #gotham mad hatter x reader #harley quinn the animated series mad hatter x reader #hqtas mad hatter x reader #joker's asylum mad hatter x reader #secret six mad hatter x reader

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spctrsgf · 1 year

Note

Hi. If you're taking requests, could you write like cooking/baking with Steven Grant, like it started as a fun activity but it quickly turned into a competition. Like flour everywhere, playfully sabotaging eachother (not too much ofc). (Gn reader)

flour and powdered sugar

word count: 1.5k

warnings: language

a/n: anon!!!!! thank you for this, you singlehandedly got me off my ass and back to writing! i hope this is what you were envisioning :) also this gif doesnt match the story but its the same energy ykyk

“Love,” Steven calls as he flutters into the room, a mess of flailing hands. “Love, love, love, love-“

“Yeah?”

“We— we should—“ his words tumble so fast out of his mouth they’re barely words at all.

“Hey,” you grab his hands and attempt to center him. “Calm down, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Can we- can we pleaseeeeeeeee bake something?”

“Like what?”

“Well, what do we have in the pantry?” He pulls out of your grip and over to the kitchen, and you collapse again onto the sofa.

“I dunno; it’s your apartment.”

He grunts distractedly, sticking his head into every cabinet.

By the time he speaks up again, you were halfway into a stupor. “So,” he grins down at you from his position above your head. “Let’s bake a cake!” You raise your eyebrows. “A cake? What type?”

“Well, we have the ingredients for a vanilla, lemon, or chocolate cake.”

You sit up suddenly and meet his gaze with light shining in your eyes. “Lemon.”

He nods. “Lemon.”

You squeal with excitement, nearly knocking over Steven in your quick ascent and scramble for the cookbook. Soon enough, the two of you had collected all of the ingredients, each placed in a neat semicircle around the cookbook.

“Preheat the oven, will you?” You turn expectantly to your counterpart, who did as he was told with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s get going!!” Steven said, trying to contain his excitement to a dull hum with little success.

You smile. “Okay, but first—“

“Separate the supplies for more efficiency?”

“You know it.” It only slightly surprises you that he knew you so well.

“Alright, so you do the dry ingredients.” He tries to move the dry ingredients towards you, but your hand wrapping around his wrist stops the movement short.

“I was thinking we separate doing everything.”

He frowns playfully. “What, don't like baking with me?”

“Of course I don't,” you drawl playfully, going along with the act. “You’re the worst person to bake with.”

He slaps his hand to his chest, matching your energy. “How could you say such a thing!”

“It’s true.” You shoot your hand up in front of his face, turning your face away from him.

He grabs your hand and then your chin, making you meet his gaze and big smile. “Don’t do this to me, love! I just can’t go on without you!”

You knock his hand off of your chin with slightly dusted cheeks. “Alright, alright, enough.”

He chuckles. “Back to baking— you really want to split up entirely?”

“Yeah.” you grin at him mischievously.

“Oh no. Do I want to know why?”

“Probably.”

He grimaces. “Why?”

“It’ll be a competition.”

“What-“

“You’ll probably win.” You shrug.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Bullshit, we both know you’ll win.”

“That’s true, but you’ll do it anyway.”

“Yeah, I will.” He sighs.

“I call the mixer first!” You lunge towards the drawer where the said item resides.

“Wha— no!” Steven shoved your hands away, using his proximity to the drawer to his advantage.

“Not fair!” You shout at his triumphant face. “I called it!”

“Finders keepers,” He laughs. “Good luck with the whisk!”

“You fucker.”

“Love you too!”

The room faded into silence as you both got to work on either side of the countertop, the only noise being the whir! of the electric mixer and your huffs of effort.

As soon as you finish mixing up the butter and sugar, you pull out an empty bowl, ready to mix up the dry ingredients. Seeing that Steven was close to grabbing the flour, you crowd the bag in towards yourself. He groans in frustration, and you make sure to take your sweet time with measuring.

The crease between his brows and the deep set frown on his face is almost enough for you to take pity on him, but the adrenaline had pulled you too far to turn back now. As soon as the last speck of flour hits your bowl, Steven is leaning over the counter to grab the flour.

“Hah!” He exclaims, sticking his tongue out at you. “Hey! Rude!” You bite back a smile. He’s so caught up in the victory of getting the flour that he doesn't see the bit of flour left in your measuring cup.

You consider in the moment to not follow through with your plan, seeing as it would end up with the kitchen full of a mess that you two would have to clean up. The prospect wasn’t nearly as enticing as seeing Steven’s shocked face, so the smile on your face grows exponentially larger.

As soon as Steven’s head tilts down, you grab a bit of the flour and prepare yourself to attack. When his head starts to tilt upwards, you launch the flour across the countertop and to its destination. The laugh you let out sounds like it came from a six year old, but you couldn’t care less.

Steven’s face twists into surprise just as you had expected, and his face is dusted lightly in the white powder of the flour. He spits the flour out of his mouth in disgust, glaring at you. One hand comes up to ruffle the flour out of his curls while the other hand goes into— the flour?

The next thing you know, there’s a poof of white dust and flour has been thrown into your face, some even in your mouth which had been open while you’d been laughing. Your gasp of surprise sends the Brit next to you into ear splitting laughter, and you watch bitterly as he grabs the countertop for support.

“You dick!” You yell at him. “I didn’t even throw that much at you!”

“You—“ he juts out between breaths. “You totally deserved that!”

“I did? Really? Well how do you like this!” You toss a glob of flour at him, only half of it meeting Stevens face.

“Oh really?” He throws more flour back at you.

By the time you’re done throwing flour, the floor sports a light sheen of flour for a six foot radius and half the bag is empty. “Damn.” you huff.

“That was a new bag of flour.” Steven pouts.

“I’m glad we’re at your place and not mine.” You shrug, going back to adding your dry ingredients.

“Hah! At your place you wouldn’t even have a bag of bloody flour.”

You throw a puff of powdered sugar at him. “Rude!”

“You know I’m right.” He quips, tossing a dash of sugar back at you.

“The only reason I’m not throwing more sugar at you is because I don’t want to clean up more stuff from the flour, not because I’m backing down.”

“Mhm, tell yourself that.”

If looks could kill, Steven would be absolutely obliterated under the weight of your glare. Your teeth grit together and your nails dig into the skin of your palms in concealed anger, but you still don’t retaliate, instead opting to go back to pouring in your ingredients. Steven too falls back into making his own cake, you both laughing and teasing each other along the way.

Soon (and that’s putting it lightly), the cakes had been placed into the oven and Steven had collapsed onto the couch. You, on the other hand, are busy in the kitchen, cleaning up a bit of the mess. “Funny how this is your kitchen yet I’m the one who’s cleaning it.” You complain, rolling on to your tippy toes to place the sugar away. “Funny how I didn’t ask you to do that.” His retort is lightning quick.

“Oh, I’m sorry for wanting your place to be clean so you can’t blame me for it being messy.”

“You should be, my gods.”

You roll your eyes, dropping the half empty bag of flour onto the table. “Fine, I’m stopping, but you can’t say I didn’t try later!”

“Actually–”

“Shut it.” You interrupt him, rounding the counter and heading towards him.

“Of course, love, at your service.” He mocks.

Your only response is to plop yourself next to him on the couch, tossing your legs on top of his and settling into the couch with a contented sigh. “Hey!” He protests. “Get your stinky feet off of me! They smell bloody awful!” You snort. “You’re not actually mad at me.”

“You threw flour in my face!”

“Mhm.” You snuggle further into the couch.

“Twice!”

“That’s true.”

“And then you threw powdered sugar in my face!”

“Steven, you keep stating facts like I don’t know them already.”

“It’s all in my hair.” You could hear his pout.

“And?”

He deflates. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You shoot up onto your hands, staring up at him with mockingly wide eyes. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t, could you please repeat it?”

He shoved your shoulder. “Fuck off.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that. How else are you going to have some fun in your ever so boring life?”

His arm shoots out and his fingers push into the junction of your elbow, sending you crashing backwards onto the sofa. “I hate you.”

You laugh at him from your debunked position. “No you don’t.”

He sighed with a grin. “No, I really don’t.”

#steven loves to bake prove me wrong #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #marvel #moon knight tv #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #steven grant fluff #moon boys #moon knight imagine

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bearlytolerant · 6 months

Note

Sooooo, are you still taking writing prompts? What about a Starborn PC (aka Shephard) heading into Nishina station and Sam can’t figure out what the hell she’s so worried about? I’m heading in there NG 6 and it’s just such emotional whiplash, depending on how you play. Sweet Jesus, the angst/comfort/smut potential….😁

Love your fics so much, thanks for sharing!

Fandom: Starfield

Pairing: Sam Coe x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2135

🌟Note: Contains Main Story Spoilers🌟

the world can wait

You’ve done this before. More than once. It’s not complicated but it is tedious. Worth it to save both realities again and again. Shifting between the sterilized facility with robot defenses and its survival horror counterpart, complete with alien monstrosities. You make quick work of it all, overriding the obstacles blocking your way to get to the lab. To the artifact.

Only this time, Raphael’s body in the sterilized reality doesn’t contain the slate that’s needed to save everyone. Padding him down, you check every pocket, sleeve, boot, anything you can find. But there’s nothing.

“Shit, Raph, where’d you put the damn slate?” The search spreads wider.

You rifle through lockers and under desks and chairs. You even check the bathroom. Maybe he dropped it behind the toilet? But it’s nowhere to be found and time is ticking. Shifting back to the reality colored apocalyptic horror, you find Raphael, alive and well.

“Hey, do you have the slate?”

“What slate?” he asks and his confusion has your stomach in knots.

“The one with the degaussing instructions.”

“I don't have that.”

If only you’d taken time to memorize it. The regret pools in your gut. Learning the hard way, again.

With a sigh, you thank him and head back to the sterilized reality. At the very least, you can save this version. But new questions arise in your head with the turn of events. Is it a mercy to leave Raph, protecting him from the crushing weight of being a sole survivor? Or will he slowly starve to death, coming back for you in another universe, angry and vengeful?

There’s no time to dwell. You make your choice. Scientists over Raphael.

You disengage every power interlock as quickly as you can. Power down the central control and grab the artifact.

Spinning and swirling and swimming in a sea of stars, the unity touches your mind, showing you the latest thread spun in your particular tapestry of fate.

You wake up, only one thing on your mind.

Sam.

Did this new decision cause a disruption or a disconnect? Will you leave Nishima and find him standing just outside the facility where he said he’ll be?

How badly is this world fucked?

Panic rises, festering and oozing out through your sweating palms. You fret and fumble, stumbling your way back to the main entrance. You don’t even bother to check up on the scientists. They’re obviously fine. Their thank yous roll off your back as you pass them by. You see the exit.

The door hisses and it feels like an eternity before they pull apart enough for you to squeeze through, eyes searching for the place he should be.

“Sam?” You call, your voice dry, rough and cracked.

But he’s not where you left him.

Your heart races. You’re mumbling “no” under your breath, over and over again, like a penitent sinner. Pleading with the heavens, and bargaining with the stars.

“Sam!” You scream.

His name is a choked back sob burning at the back of your throat.

“You better be here,” you croak, eyes searching the horizon and all the places around you.

He shouldn’t be back at the ship but what if he is? What if he’s safe? A glimmer of hope. You need to see. Need to know.

You take another step forward, the tears drying as you tell yourself that he’ll be there.

But then that little worm named worry inches in, whispering to you, what if he isn’t? Then you’ll have to explain to your crew mates. Explain to Cora.

Oh, no—Cora.

You slump to your knees, the voice of worry growing louder. A cacophony of horrible what-ifs brings your heart rate up so high your hands are shaking. You can’t go back to the ship without him. You can’t—you won’t. You know you haven’t searched everywhere. There's one last place before you’ll give in and go to the ship, to face whatever might be waiting there. So you turn around, retracing your steps back to the facility, heading up the stairs and toward the cliff edge. You pass by a tree on the right and pause to watch as the sky awakens in an ambient peach glow. It’s beautiful but it’s not Sam. You hang your head, hopeless.

“Oh Sam,” you whisper to yourself. “Where are you?”

A hand on your shoulder has you reeling around, gun in your hand.

“Whoa, whoa! You alright there, darlin,?”

Sam.

He’s okay. He’s okay! The weight lifts off you and just one look into his baby blues is enough to carry you down from that panic driven high.The air is breathable again as you toss your gun aside, throwing your arms around Sam’s neck. You cling to him, fingers grasping at the bare skin of the back of his neck, tears flowing freely down your face. “Where were you? I looked everywhere and you weren’t—you weren’t—“

Then your hands are on his cheeks, fingers to his lips as your eyes map out the entirety of his face. You wrap your arms around his midsection and squeeze, ear pressed against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum inside your head.

He holds you tight, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Shh, I’m right here,” he says. “I’m right here.”

“I thought I’d lost you.” Again.

“You haven’t lost me,” he says. “I’m here.”

He gently removes your hands from his neck and holds them, studying your face.

You grasp his hands tightly, and bring them to your lips. One kiss for each knuckle and one kiss for each scar. Then you flip his palms over and kiss those too.

The lines of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. “You okay? Need to talk about what happened in there?”

You shake your head. You’d rather forget it all.

“I just—I need you.”

“Okay,” he says in his familiar and calming drawl. He presses his lips to your forehead. “Okay.”

You lift your chin, searching his eyes. Drink up his soft and gentle smile. Then you kiss him. Deep and devoted. His tongue slips into your mouth, hands roving your body, urgent and insatiable.

You back him against the nearby tree, out of sight for anyone that might come along. No one will, though. You’re confident of that. It’s just you and him and the wide expanse of land meeting sky embracing the two of you in a morning haze.

Your fingers are undoing his belt buckle and his hands slide up your back, to your shoulders and then cup your face. His eyes are askance of your audience.

“We don’t—you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not a matter of obligation. But of want. Of need,” you tell him.

It’s a matter of finding some solace in the sighs you can invoke. You want to hear him, revere him, touch him. Immerse the entirety of your essence in him.

“Who am I to protest then?” he says with a chuckle.

How you’ve missed that. Missed him. Those few moments without him were just minutes but felt like days—no millennia.

His belt buckle loosens. Button unsnaps.

You relish in the soft zip mixed with the quiet hush of wind at your ear, kneeling before him as the supplicant pilgrim. He’s already shirking out of his jacket, tossing it on the ground beside you. Your fingers inch under the hem of his shirt, exploring the skin of his body and brushing over the hair of his belly. Sprawling hands out to his sides, finger pads pressing into the black inked tattoos, you rest your forehead against him.

Three deep breaths and you’re grounded for a moment.

One of his hands pets your head, soothing and calming before you press your lips to his belly button. Plant a plush path of kisses down to the elastic of his boxer briefs. Then you dip your hand past the band, tugging, and freeing his cock. Gently you massage his balls, while wrapping your other hand around his length. You pump once, careful not to pull the sensitive skin.

He murmurs something sweet, calls you darlin’ as you slide your hand down his shaft. You lick your lips as you eye his excited cock, bobbing slightly and eager. You kiss the veins and make use of your tongue, testing and tasting. Having a bit of fun.

With satisfaction, you envelope him with your lips.

He shudders under the sudden shock of warmth from your mouth; a flood of sensations to his nerves. You draw him in deeper, massaging him as you delight in his tip touching the back of your throat. You pull free, with a smack of tongue to lips while releasing his balls. A string of saliva catches fractals of light as you swipe it from your bottom lip, glancing up to meet his adoring eyes.

“You’re a sight to behold,” he says, voice deep and gravelly.

He doesn’t realize that he’s the true sight to behold. But you will show him. Show him that he’s all that and more.

You close your eyes, those words washing away all that worry. Lips pressed to his tip, you open your mouth wider to be filled with the entirety of him. Your cheeks hollow out as you suck. Your other hand, snaking around his ass and gripping, steadies you as he hisses a profanity.

His hand has slipped from your head to the back of your neck where he holds you tenderly. Though his cock twitches and hips jerk, begging to thrust, he remains self-controlled.

Your own arousal heightens under his strained moans and self suffocated cries. And you take more of him. More of those muffled sounds and praises that keep tumbling out of his mouth with every lick of your tongue. Every languid drag.

You quicken the pace, driven by the urge to please him and a bit of precum spills. You withdraw, lapping it up with a lewd swipe of your tongue.

Stealing another glance up at him, his eyes are closed, head falling back against the tree bark and that self control wavers with a desperate, “please,” and squeeze of your neck.

You oblige happily, losing yourself to his shudders and sighs. Ravishing his length in your mouth, setting a rhythm that pushes him to the precipice, guides him to the edge. His nails dig into your shoulder as you draw him in and out of your mouth. One great sigh and the grip of his hand loosens. Salt and warmth slide down your throat and you still your lips, gently sucking the remainder of his spend.

You swallow each and every last drop. With one last suck before release, his hands pull you away, drawing you up to his lips as he bends over you. Kisses you, urgent and besotted. After a few moments lost in the taste of one another, you break apart. Breathless. Come together again in a desperate embrace. Suspended in time, the sky brightens to almost blinding within the next hour. You never want to let him go. But the others will start to wonder. Unless—

“We should get back,” you say. “We need to check on the others.”

“Why?” Sam asks, tucking himself away and adjusting his pants. He buckles his belt.

“I had to do things differently this time—in Nishina. It’s why I was so worried I couldn’t find you. I was terrified something happened and—what if that something happened to the others—to Cora.” There’s that little flutter of panic again.

“Shh,” he says, pulling you back against his chest. “They’re alright,” he reassures.

“How do you know?”

He pulls away, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve already checked in on them through the comms. They’re okay. We’re all okay.”

You can feel the moisture in the corner of your eye but you wipe it away.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your forehead, then your cheek. Finally your lips. “Immensely and totally.”

And you know this in every fiber of your being but it is a relief to have it spoken. After everything.

You snatch up his jacket from the ground and dust it off. Hold it open as he stuffs an arm in, shirking it back on. Taking his hand in yours, you squeeze it once.

“I love you Sam Coe, and when we get to a quieter place, I’m going to spend a whole day showing you just how much.”

“Holding me hostage for a day, then?”

“Make that a week.”

With a chuckle and squeeze of your hand, he says, “I’m all yours, darlin’.”

And together you find your way back to the ship.

#bear replies #bear writes #prompt fill #sam coe x reader #starfield spoilers #starfield fanfic #entangled #smut #also this is my first time posting a gen reader fic so I hope it’s okay #and I hope this suits your prompt well enough #thank you for the prompt and the sweet compliment

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starqueensthings · 23 days

Text

WARNINGS: elusions to a traumatic past and an accompanying verbalized dislike for the opposite sex (June). Medical anxiety (Howzer). Moderately graphic descriptions of medical injuries, corrective procedures (incl what a cauterization might look/smell like), needles, the beginnings of an anxiety attack (June). RATING: 16+ for mature themes, mild to moderate whump, mild angst (and a heavy dash of fluff because why the heck not lol). WC: 3500ish. (This chapter and the previous were never intended to be separated but they accumulated to nearly 8k words, and snipping certain aspects of this encounter in the name of brevity would only do a disservice to the story, so I apologize for how abruptly this chapter transitions from the last). PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

Foreword | Prev | Next

Howzer’s eyes had thankfully done away with that ablaze and piercing stare in her temporary absence, though for how much of the intensity they’d lost, that twinkling set of amber had retained all of the warmth they seemed unable to entirely shed.

“Don’t know if I like the look of those,” he jested, though the way his eyes darted between her purple hands grossly betrayed the relentless facade of that feigned poise.

“Doesn’t warm them up, unfortunately, but at least you won’t catch my cooties,” June chuckled, hoping a dash of humour and a quirky wiggle of the fingers might soften the emotional toll she knew would accompany her next assertion. “Captain… I need to give you a pain injection.”

The sfotness of his expression hardened near-instantly, jaw tensing and forcing his lips into a frown that nowhere near-suited him as well as its round cheeked counterpart, and June could only grimace apologetically as he cocked an embittered eyebrow at her.

“We can’t use topical numbant on broken skin,” she beseeched in response to his silent disapproval. “The risk of trapping bacteria in the bloodstream is too high when the wound is as… open… as yours is. We can rawdog this if that’s really what you want, but you’ll have to try and sit still while I'm working. Or you can let me give you an in—”

“I can sit still,” he argued instantly, offering a shrug of the shoulders that was simply too passive for him to have understood the severity of the imminent procedure. “I’m great at sitting still.”

“While someone burns your skin back together with a kriffing hot needle?!”

Watching her words disintegrate that iron-clad intransigence would have been near-comical had his eyes not widened to something that too-closely resembled a trauma response, and despite knowing her brutal honesty was likely the quickest method to ensuring the full comprehension she needed from him before proceeding, her heart sank to lay with her stomach as she watched her words initiate an arrant downturn in his demeanour.

“Well geez, doc,” he grumbled, shirking from her pleading gaze by hanging his chin to his chest. “Why don’t you just give it to me straight…”

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly after swallowing the snort that near-followed his unexpected sardonicism. “Would it maybe help if I showed you the injector? You can see how it works and how tiny it actually is?”

“Maybe.” His response was near-silent, eyes flickering upward to hers only long enough to betray the decorum to which he still ardently clung.

Finally acceding to that inexplicable need to comfort him, and forsaking her better professional judgment, June clambered backward onto the bed beside him, that hovering cot momentarily swaying under the addition of her weight as she shimmied backward until they sat shoulder to shoulder.

“This is the actual USI tool,” she advised him, pulling the Universal Serum Injector from the previously collected pile of tools behind her and a small, orange-capped, crystal vial from her breast pocket. “And this lil guy is the Nociceptor Blocking Agent, or NBA serum. The vial clicks into the injector like this—” she snapped that tiny clear tube into place and pulled a small trigger to eject the cap, “—and the little orange top protecting the needle just kinda pops off. After that, it's as simple as poking it gently into the supraclavicular space right here at the base of your neck and waiting a moment for it to work.”

“And that’s it?” he asked, jaw shifting under the duress of how aggressively he continued to grind those teeth while his eyes remained affixed on the dinky little pin that would allegedly bring forth an excruciating death. “That’s all?”

“I promise.”

“Alright,” he finally conceded, shifting his attention upward to her eyes. “I trust you.”

Her stomach lurched at the way his gaze bore into hers, softly… acceptingly… unassertively… granting her the gifts of both his agency in that moment, and the degree of trust to which these always-suspecting soldiers notoriously only offered each other. Bottom lip nestling itself between her teeth to bridle the atypically bashful smile threatening to emerge, she simply nodded her gratitude and turned away from him.

“I’ll count down from three,” she cautioned, sneakers slapping atop the steel floor as she leaped somewhat ungracefully from the bed and oriented herself in front of him. “Three—” she kept the injector hidden at her side. “Two—” a gentle hand placed on his shoulder to brace his skin for impact. “One.”

The span of a tense blink over those amber eyes saw her expertly plunge the tiny needle home and release the entire vial of that magical serum. By the time his gaze returned to hers, one eye at a time, she’d deftly retracted the empty container and chucked it into the “sharps” bin beside the bed.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded, the grin peeling across his lips surprising her enough to still her hands as they reached for the bottle of disinfectant. “That’s all?!”

“That’s all,” she answered with a small shrug.

“Maker, I am going to murder Gauge when I see him.”

“Who?” June asked, as she unscrewed the lid and peeled back the sanitary foil sticker put in place over the mouth of the bottle to prevent any unwanted microbes from contaminating its contents.

“Gauge. He’s my medic,” Howzer explained with eyes crinkled to near-closed, shoulders shaking beneath each huff of his amusement. “He’s in for it, now. Kriffing sadist jabs that thing into us like it's a spoon.”

“A sadist combat medic?” June snorted, screwing the cap back into place. “That’s a very worrying combination. You better try and stay on his good side.”

“He better stay on mine,” Howzer asserted, shaking his head.

The all-consuming (and mouth watering) recognition of his partial nudity did not make an appearance in her awareness until she sat back on her heels, eyes quickly scanning the position she’d meticulously positioned him in after climbing onto the cot beside him. By leaning him on an incline away from her and resting his arm innocuously atop his head, she’d unknowingly provided herself with both optimal wound access, and an unobstructed view of his remarkable physique. The only thing darker than the smattering of hair south of his navel was the brown of nipples near-perfectly perched on either side of the most divinely-crafted chest she’d ever seen. And rivaling every ridge, every contour of that muscular torso, were arms so immaculately sculpted that the only fight she could wage against the heat boiling below her skin was to strip off her now smothering labcoat and toss it onto the chair next to his armour.

And though she continued to cling to that necessary professionalism as fervently as he’d initially clung to his own stubborn refusal for pain control, there was absolutely no preventing her eyes from hungrily roaming atop the ripples of his ribcage as she scooched into position behind him, and attempting to stay focused as she squeezed that plastic bottle of saline overtop his wound was near impossible as those defined ridges of muscles continued to revolt against every drop of cold liquid trickling down his abdomen.

Something near relief pulled a sigh from her lips when that bottle finally emptied. Patting the wound dry with clean gauze in her right hand, she deftly pulled the medscanner from her pocket with her left and spun the dial on the front to reach the Hematology menu. Once that tiny infrared beam had confirmed there were no lingering signs of any foreign cells or bacteria, she stowed that invaluable tool on the bed beside her and reached, instead, for the cauterizing pen now emitting tiny puffs of white smoke.

“So what happened to you?” she probed moments later, ensuring Howzer’s eyes had deviated from that smoking needle before carefully touching it to his skin. “Get in a fight with a vibroblade wielding droid?”

“I wish,” he snorted. “It was… well, pretty stupid. The guys and I were transferring possession of our base to the relieving battalion. I gave the okay for the gunships to take off and then got distracted catching up with a buddy I haven’t seen since graduating. One of my men saw me getting left behind and decided shooting a grappling hook at me would be the best way to get me on board.”

“Maker have mercy,” she scoffed, brows furrowing in concentration as methodically guided the white hot tool atop that separated skin. “That’s idiotic.”

“Might have been cool if it worked,” Howzer answered. “Geo’s a smart guy, but doesn’t always think things through before he acts. He’s on my list after Gauge for the next time I feel— what's that smell?!”

She barely had time to disengage that red hot pin before every muscle in his abdomen contracted under the urgent and desperate effort of sitting up.

“Don’t look!” she snapped at him as he hastened to peer under his arm in her direction. Clamping one gloved hand atop that crisp and darkened line of fused skin she knew would likely make his stomach turn, she attempted to block his view with the palm of the other. “Trust me, it’s a sore sight right now, especially if you’re squeamish.”

She peeked around her palm, lips pursing to keep from smiling at the sight of him perched up on his free elbow, nose scrunched in utter repugnance as the putrid smell of burnt flesh continued to waft upward into his nose.

“Is… is that the smell of—?”

“Sure is,” she answered curtly. “And it smells as crispy as it looks so while you’re working on not looking, maybe try not breathing too.”

“‘Try not breathing…’” he repeated in little more than a whisper, dropping carefully back onto his side, and June was relieved to hear a chuckle supporting his words. “I know you’re the doctor, but I feel like breathing might be helpful here…”

“My boss would absolutely lay an egg if he heard me offer such heinous medical advice.” Her eyes narrowed under the embrace of genuine amusement as laughter poured from her lips, the image of Challa’s newly introduced perma-scowl forming as clearly in her mind's eye as if he’d been standing at her elbow. “That and the daily reminder of all the cold-hand complaints he has to field from my patients…”

Flooded with a wave of foreboding, June remembered the meeting Challa had requested in his office upon completion of this procedure, and the implications of what his request undoubtedly meant had her eyes near-rolling and the smile yanked from her lips. Challa didn’t often demand a private audience… at least, not with her. The last adventure into the intimidating confines of his windowless space had included a harsh castigation for the excessive overtime she’d shouldered over the last few weeks, and to request that she start walking around between surgeries with her hands nestled into her armpits so he could get through a day without having to apologize on behalf of her poor circulation.

After permitting a sigh laden with repressed dread to pass through now frowning lips, she sat back and peered down at the result of her handiwork. Despite having to battle the distraction of the dimples teasing her from the base of his back, she’d managed to complete a remarkably clean repair job; the cauterized edges of what used to be that oozing laceration were both crisp and dark, indicating the ideal clinical end point for such a procedure. After powering off that trusty tool and placing it back beside the computer, she retrieved the tub of burn salve perched only inches from her hip.

“Can I tell you something now?” Howzer spoke suddenly as she uncapped that pot of that sulfur-smelling ointment.

“Sure,” she answered while scooping a generous amount of the orange paste from its container and beginning to smear it carefully atop his side.

“Your fingers are freakishly cold… but anyone who complains about the hands that saved their lives, maybe doesn’t deserve to have been saved in the first place.”

Whatever distant presumption she’d formulated in that microsecond between granting him that unnecessary permission and hearing his opinion voiced, it was nowhere-near matched the unexpectedly profound admonition that left those now-smiling lips.

She paused, hands stilling in their motion of reaffixing the lid back on the tub as she fought to wrangle the dozen or so fundamental reasons why she did not agree with him… and the one reason she did.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve to be saved?” she settled on asking, collecting one of the several bacta patches she’d grabbed earlier.

“Do you actually believe that? Or is that something they tell you to believe?”

His challenge came so simply… so earnestly, it was as if she’d somehow offered him the exact response that he’d expected, and despite the bold nature of his rebuttal, there was no sign of regret lingering in those charmingly superficial lines around his eyes; his gaze did not shift to timidly follow the movements of her hands as they proceeded to tear off the paper backing from that patch but, instead, remained intently searching her eyes for the truth.

”Well, there’s an exception to every rule,” June explained, feeling her cheeks begin to flush under the duress of the vulnerability he had suddenly requested from her. “But surely everyone deserves the same chance at life?”

He offered only a contemplative hum in response, watching her lower that clear polymer patch onto his skin, and ensuring its complete adhesion by pressing firmly around its perimeter.

“Who’s your exception?”

She’d barely begun to crumple the backing paper when he spoke again, pushing himself back to a seated position so quickly that his return to such close proximity nearly froze the breath in her lungs. Yet, more paralyzing in that moment was the audacious probes into her personal beliefs; his brazen yet polite demands for clues as to who she was beyond this already untraditional doctor-patient exchange. And as her gaze flickered upwards from her rubbish laden hand, attempting to find even a glimpse of derision or contempt between those dark, relaxed brows was a feat near impossible, as those honeyed eyes had upheld much of the same twinkle that had already proven held the power to dismantle her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered atop an artificial chuckle.

It was the most she could offer on the small waft of breath her lungs had managed to thaw, and how close she’d come to conceding his tacit request… to actually uttering her truth… to divulging that forbidden secret… unsettled her more thoroughly than any inexplicable degree of attraction had since stepping into 18-S.

“Yes. I would.”

He leaned ever closer, eyes dancing across her features, each lagging blink wordlessly communicating that he’d sit there for eternity if it promised him even a glimmer of her being behind the guise she upheld with a labcoat; that there was some unidentifiable quality about her that he found equally as enamoring; that perhaps if he poked carefully enough at certain spots in this facade of hers, he may actually truly see her.

“Another time, Captain,” she whispered, wrenching her eyes from his and climbing hurriedly off the bed.

“Will there be one?” he asked before she’d even taken a step.

She looked downward to her shoes and the floor firmly beneath them, eyes unfocussing, heart thumping heavily in her ears, lip twitching beneath the sudden urge to hide itself between her teeth lest she say more. She swallowed.

“Keep trying to grapple your way into a gunship and there might be.”

She didn’t turn to watch that grin peel across his lips, instead making a direct line for the Cleanser Tube to retrieve his long-forgotten shirt. Unable to meet his eyes again, she simply tossed it in his direction, muttering a “you can get dressed,” before hurrying to the safety of her near-hidden perch behind the holocomputer and jabbing it back to life.

A prickle erupted atop her skin entirely different from the series of others that had accompanied each bashful smile since the beginning of this somewhat atypical encounter. She was suddenly uncomfortable; suddenly sweating as if she’d just been thrown center stage and was attempting to hide from the beaming spotlight that she’d never asked to be in; suddenly yearning to have her labcoat back on; suddenly and horrifyingly unable to refute the fortuitous connection to this person that she had once tried to label as mere pity, and suddenly desperate to escape it.

Most dismaying was the nearly irrepressible urge to allow him. To tell him. To share. To accept. Blind and potent attraction to someone was one thing; pity was another… but this superseded all other aspects of this precariously flirtatious conversation despite having not been flirtatious in nature at all, and for the first time in a long time, she felt unequipped… unprepared…

‘You hate men,’ she reminded herself, hoping that long-chanted mantra may hold the power to simply erase Howzer from both this room and her awareness.

“Layer two subdermal laceration–” she typed near frantically as he stood to redress. “–Located quadrant 6... 18.4 cm in length… full thickness separation. Hematology shows no evidence of infection or foreign cells. Patient may experience slight hypertrophic scarring. Treated in situ with precision cauterization, Nifuran burn cream, and bacta patch. Escharotomy is not required at this time. Aftercare discussed. Patient discharged forthwith. Care to be continued by CM.”

Piece by piece, his armour clicked back into place, years of practicing those repetitive yet crucial motions had evidently rendered him a near-master at recladding that broad frame in record time, and chancing even the most fleeting glance in his direction saw her increasingly disappointed in herself; the image of his semi naked form now utterly eradicated by the sheer majesty of seeing his tall figure encompassed in that dominating kit.

She could delay no longer, and feigning ignorant of his perch by the door where he stood patiently waiting with her labcoat draped atop the cleanest section of his arm, dwindled in credibility with every extended second she took to type and retype those same treatment notes.

“There in one sec,” she told him without offering him the respect of eye contact, powering off the computer and stalking back toward the storage cupboard to collect a series of other necessities.

He smiled as she approached moments later, eyeing the assortment of supplies she’d clamped somewhat awkwardly in her still purple hands.

“These are for you,” she told him, the desperation to leave his presence and seek the respite of her office intensifying with every second that he cast a smile in her direction. “This little tub is burn cream— it smells like rotten eggs but it’ll help exacerbate the healing process. That patch needs changing every 24 hours, and sooner if the area gets wet so here’s a bunch more. Twist a corner to rip the paper on the back, and then press hard around the edges to activate the adhesive. It’s in a bit of an odd spot, so Gauge may have to help you. He can access my treatment notes using any MedBay computer if he needs them.”

He took each product with a nod of understanding, turning each over in his hands briefly before pocketing them in a cargo pouch nestled on his lower back. Unable to withstand another moment with the undulation in her stomach, she offered Howzer one last smile before turning toward the door.

“Don’t forget this,” he said as she prodded a button on the control panel to free her.

“Oh, right,” she scoffed, collecting her lab coat from his arm with her lip between her teeth and pulling it back over her shoulders.

“Uh– doc?” Howzer probed as she pivoted to enter the chaos awaiting her across the threshold.

“Yeah, Captain.”

“Er… thank you for– you know. It was really nice to meet you. And— and I’m happy you’re not a droid.”

Though his hands uselessly shifted that battered helmet tucked below his arm, he upheld the integrity of his gaze as she peered over her shoulder at him.

“It’s June.” She answered without thinking, the confession swinging a right hook in the direction of both her professional and personal judgment. “My name’s June.”

She left 18-S without another word, without lingering to digest his reaction, without bothering to offer the proper valediction that she should have. She needed her office, she needed to breathe air that wasn’t polluted with the undeniable connection to this random man, and she needed it now.

Foreword | Prev | Next

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69

#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Howzer #captain howzer x fem!OC #fem!oc x Captain Howzer #3rd pov #medical anxiety #medical injuries #moderate whump #whump #mild angst #angst #anxiety #anxiety attack

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tothepointofinsanity · 3 months

Note

hi! sorry if you've already answered this, but would you mind sharing what art programs you use and if there's any certain brushes you use to achieve the painting like effect? i really like the way it looks (especially in that one sayaka watercolor art) and have wanted to incorporate some painting-like elements in my own work but can never quite get it down. thank you!!

Hello. No worries, I don’t actually get questions on the arsenal behind my works often, and I don’t mind sharing them with you.

As of this period in time, I have only been using the art application known as Procreate. It is not free, as in Procreate, a laundry list worth of brushes are already made available to you, so you won’t have all that much trouble looking for something to use. If you do proceed with a purchase of this program or maybe already have it, have fun. I do not know how to paint, so I rely on very rudimentary tools to try and create the illusion that I can:

1) The watercolour effect for the Sayaka piece you mentioned was done using the Tinderbox brush. I may have moved it down in my own work bench, but you’ll either find it under the Pencil/Sketching set or the Inking Set. Somewhere there. Combine it with the fifty other spray paint tools and you’ll have a messy “splash” effect. That piece you’re referring to [or at least I hope I’m thinking about the right one] is quite old, so I haven’t touched the brush since then.

2) The default round painting brush under Procreate’s Painting set. Very versatile. Skilled artists would prefer its flat-headed counterpart. Dashing it against the screen several times can help you achieve a painting effect.

3) External brushes. I have quite a lot of them but the one I only ever use is one called Petra’s Pencils/brushes, and within it there’s a special brush called the Real Pencil. It’s smooth and gives you a distinct texture. <- Experimenting with different pencils you find or even local to Procreate can help you achieve strange and interesting results.

My own words are so redundant to me at times. I have prepared a sheet here so instead of panning back and forth you can just save the picture down.

I wish you nothing but satisfaction with your works. ^_^ Thank you for the ask.

#ASKS 💌

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neonacity · 2 years

Text

ARCANE | CH.12 | NCT DREAM X READER

Summary: When you decided to apply for a researcher post in an elusive institute, you already had the feeling that you’ll be getting yourself knee-deep into something out of the ordinary. But desperate needs require desperate measures, and so you embraced the invite, despite all the alarm signals urging you to run away. What you found out was nothing you’d ever expected.

Seven boys.

Seven human deviants granted with abilities tied to the legendary Arcana Cards.

Welcome to Project Dream.

Pairing: Various Dream Members x Reader

Trigger Warnings/Themes: violence, torture, trauma, very slight yandere themes, poly dynamics, suggestive themes, language, psychological, mystery, sci-fi. Romance will take a little bit of a backseat on this one since this is more of a suspense-driven plot, but it will still be threaded in the overall story. The concept of the tarot or Arcana cards will be loosely used throughout the series. Note that I am not a trained doctor so there may be some slips here and there about medical things. Again, this is a work of fiction and I am not implying any likeness between the characterization here of the boys to their real life counterparts. I also reserve the rights to all my work—I do not post anywhere else other than tumblr. Minors DNI.

> CH. 1 | CH. 2 | CH.3 | CH.4 | CH.5 | CH.6 | CH.7 | CH.8 | CH.9 | CH.10 | CH.11

Chapter Song:

Beauty > Layto

You have no idea how death feels like.

You've never really given it much thought before, but you've always imagined it to be similar to the snuffing of a candle. Where there was once life, death comes and blows it away until it simply ceases to exist. There is no consciousness or memories. There is not even pain. What was something, simply turns to nothing.

You have no idea how death feels like, but if it is anything like the numb floating feeling that's cocooning you right now, then you'd prefer it over being alive.

"Hyung, I think she's waking up."

The voice sounded muffled and indistinguishable as they reached your ears. You could hear the words, but none of them were making any sense yet to your muddled brain. Taking a slow breath in, you blindly turned your head to the side in the hopes of blocking them out. You didn't really want to wake up, but your consciousness was slowly getting into focus, similar to how one would see the light above the water as they swim closer to its surface. The gentle hand wrapping around your wrist was the first sensation that really shocked you back to a more wakeful state. All of a sudden you could breathe again, but at the cost of your veins firing up with pain.

"Hey. Can you hear me?"

Your eyes slowly opened at the low voice that whispered to you. Things were still moving slowly in your head but you slightly frowned at the two faces that started to come into focus on your line of vision. Jisung and Mark were both peering at you with identical expressions of concern, their faces taut with worry.

"Noona. Thank god you're awake," the younger of the two finally said in obvious relief. "Do you need a nurse?"

You wanted to reply, but your throat felt too dry and tight so you simply shook your head. Mark fortunately noticed your struggle, and he promptly turned to Jisung to answer for you instead.

"I don't think it's a good idea to let the doctors see her this soon. Go tell the others and try not to alert the guards that she's awake."

Jisung still looked on edge but gave a nod towards the other's orders. With one last glance at you, he drew back from what you can assume is your bed and left the room. You heard the closing of a door in the distance soon after.

"Can you talk? It's fine if you can't. Just shake or nod your head. Are you in pain?"

Your eyes drew back to Mark. You weren't sure if it was just the stark lighting in the room you were in, but he looked a little thinner with shadows clinging to the curves of his face when you tried to focus on him. You felt him give your hand a squeeze when you slightly parted your lips to try and speak again. When no words came out, you settled for another shake of your head.

"That's good. I'll go get you a glass of water."

He was just about to stand up from his seat when you tried to hold him back with the little strength you can muster with your hand. The rest of your body still felt on fire but you pushed yourself to finally speak.

"W-Where am I?"

He immediately paused at your question. Mark looked like he was trying his best to control his expression but you could see the way the gears in his head tried to work fast for an answer. He was dreading to give you a reply… and you think you know why.

"Mark… What is this place…?" You asked again, this time with a slightly steadier voice. He slowly lowered himself back to his chair, his gaze looking everywhere but you. His silence gave way for the last memories you could remember to crawl back to you just then. They came in batches... Stumbling over one another.

The glass room. The shocks.

The torture. The pain.

And then the deaths.

"You're at Cypher," his voice rang loud in your ears despite his tone being low and soft. "Not at the Institute, but in the place where they first sent us for the experiments. After what happened, they all brought us back here again. You've been out for almost two days…"

The pain in your throat has intensified. Blindly, you turned your head to look around, your eyes roving around the place for the first time. Just as you expected, you were in what seemed like an infirmary setup, though it looked starkly different from Ten's room back at the Institute. The ceilings were unpainted, with thick steel rafters and reinforced metal crisscrossing across its expanse. Even the bed you were currently in felt roughly made, reminiscent of the ones in military camps than actual hospital wards. You swallowed. Beside you, Mark was silent as he closely watched your face. None of you could bear to say the obvious fact hanging thickly in the air at the moment, but you didn't really need words to confirm it.

You're now a prisoner of the Institute too… Just like them.

"Where are the others? Jeno… Is he…"

This time, you actually saw distress quickly flash through Mark's features. You felt your heart drop to your stomach at his expression.

"We're all here, though we've never seen Jeno since we were moved. We are sure he is here though. He's the reason why they had to ship us back to this fortress after all. Cypher knew they couldn't keep him at the Institute."

"What do you mean?"

For a moment, Mark looked torn. He pursed his lips, before carefully framing his next words.

"I don't think this is the right time to talk about this. You just woke up, you need to recover first," he reasoned, his gaze pointedly avoiding yours. You held on to him, fingers squeezing his this time.

"No. I want to know. Please," you insisted firmly despite your voice still being scratchy. He was right. You still felt like you could break at any moment, but you also couldn't bear to wait anymore. You have so many questions that you need to be answered. Not tomorrow, or even in the next hour—but right now. Mark still looked torn as you tried to keep his gaze locked with yours, and it felt like forever before he finally cracked and gave a defeated sigh.

"You… saw what he could do… didn't you?" he started carefully. You didn’t answer but managed to give a slight nod in reply. To be honest, you were still terrified of the memories from that day at the torture room, but you tried your best not to let your emotions get the best of you right now.

"That's not even half of what he can do," Mark continued. "You see, Masters of the Death Arcana are different from the rest of us. They do not fall within the category of users you already know. Jeno… he can cause physical damage like elemental users like me, but he can also control ether realms similar to how masters like Haechan can. He's a hybrid of both."

"So that thing that I saw… It's…"

"It came from a different dimension. This is going to sound complicated, but the universe that we know is made up of different layers. There's the aether, where the source of the Arcana powers are, the middle world—this plane that we and other regular humans live in—and the nether, the opposite of aether. People know it as—"

"The underworld…" you finished in a hushed whisper. Mark paused and gave you a silent look of affirmation.

"Nether, just like the idea of death, is an abstract plane. It’s a life force that can flow through different dimensions. Jeno's powers are focused on the underworld, but he can also cause damage in the world of the living if he wanted to. If Cypher is looking for a trump card who can almost rival what the Arcana Triads can do, then it’s him."

You processed that slowly. A thought was forming in your head as you tried to piece things together… but you didn't exactly like where it was going.

"If he can control the different dimensions… then does that mean that he can access aether too?"

Mark didn't immediately answer. You wanted him to say no to your question, but his silence was already speaking volumes in itself.

"Theoretically… he can. It has always been a myth among the family, but none of the former Arcana masters of La Morte have been able to do it. He can, but he may need an external force to push his abilities to that level."

Your mind had started going numb again as you tried to process everything. If aether is where the source of all the Arcana are, then that means having access to it will give anyone ultimate control over all the abilities in their purest form, right? When that happens, Cypher doesn't even need any of the boys or even the other masters to have full control of the Arcana system.

"Do you think Cypher has figured it out?" You asked hesitantly. With the way Mark was looking at you, it seemed like he exactly knows what you were thinking.

"Possibly. If Haneul Lee is an Arcana holder and used to be a part of the family, then he might have an idea of what the other masters can do, except for the other two members of the Triad since their abilities evolve and shift every generation. But he got to your father… which means that he knows the ability of the Judgement Arcana. Your father never really told us anything about his relationship with him, so we can’t really know for sure what he knows and do not know."

"So he might also be aware of what The Fool can do."

Mark's jaw ticked.

"I'm hoping he doesn't… because then it will really be the end."

You were on the verge of asking again about the last Triad master, but then you stopped as you remembered what Jaemin said about sparing you from information you didn't really need to know at the moment. He is right. Especially after the torture that Cypher did to you, it would be better for you to be left unknowing of things you might be forced to betray.

"Cypher… created something to copy and duplicate Arcana powers with my father and Haneul's abilities… Do you think that machine and my father are being kept here too?"

Mark looked hesitant to answer but gave a nod anyway.

"We think so. This is where we were experimented on so the chances are high that this place is designed to hold other Arcana masters. You haven't found out what type of machine it was?"

You shook your head.

"No… they just called it a mimicry unit, nothing else. Did you notice any strange devices during your experiments? Have you seen any traces of my father or Haneul during the tests?"

"I… can't really tell. Our memories were always erased by Renjun's abilities so I'm not sure if they were in the same room while it was happening. What I'm sure of though is that they weren't just doing those sessions to study what we can do. They were 'harvesting' our abilities, that's why they were forcing us to show the maximum of what we can do."

"So they could copy and duplicate the most powerful forms of your Arcana with this monster they made.”

The two of you fell silent then. You were both lost in your thoughts for a while, until you finally felt Mark gently tug your hand for attention again. You looked at him, clueless at first, before the look on his face caught you off guard. Ever since you knew him, there were only a few times he’d ever let his mask slip. The way he stared at you now was so open and raw that you felt an unexplainable pain echo from deep in your chest.

"I'm sorry… for pulling you into this. I didn't know you would be hurt this much. If I did, I wouldn't have said yes to any of this."

It took you a moment to understand what he was talking about until it finally clicked. Of course he was doing all of this… for the girl he loves. The woman who was moving all the chess pieces against Cypher—including you.

"Does she know… that Cypher has my father all along?" You asked slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is that why she chose me to be one of her pawns?"

Mark shook his head. "Yes. And No. She knew the Institute was after him, but she didn't really know why. That was part of the reason why she plotted all of this. To know what Cypher was planning with the Arcana and to get one of the Triads back. She wanted to believe that your father was alive and you… were the only one she trusted who could help."

"She's known me all along?"

Mark stopped. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something he’s not allowed to share.

"Yes. And you will meet her too. Soon."

You were about to ask him what that means when he cut you off gently again. This time, the tone of his voice was taut with urgency. Even the way he held your hand was tight, as if he was telling you to hang on to every word he was about to say.

"Listen, I should have told you this before, but your father did everything he could to hide you from the world. That was the reason why he was always gone and hid this part of his life from you—because he didn't want groups like Cypher to know who you are and use you against him. We've dragged you into this mess already, but I promise from now on, we'll try our best to protect you too."

You didn't know what to say. You weren't sure if you felt betrayed or used or made a fool of, if you’re going to be completely honest. All you were sure about, however, is that you wanted this to end.

"What's done has been done. I’m already involved just as much as you are, but if you're going to make a promise, can you do one thing instead?"

Mark kept silent, waiting for your condition.

"...If we're going to get out of here, promise me that we'll never leave without my father."

He froze. The silence rang so loud in the room but you didn't let it deter you. The seconds felt long as you tried to hold his gaze, but you finally felt a wave of relief as you saw the light in his eyes change.

"Yes. I promise."

*******

It took you five more days before you were officially released from the ward.

In that length of time, you've tried your best to try and get as much information as you can about this unknown place you were thrown in. It was hard given the restrictions, but you have been able to paint a basic picture of the predicament you are facing now. For one, you could assume from the way people treated you that you were here for the sake of being kept alive rather than actually being cared for. You were not allowed any access to anything in the outside world and you also have guards constantly stationed by the door of your quarters. Every time you tried to speak and ask someone, the people in the blue coats would either only glare at you or completely ignore you. At one point, you even tried to make a scene just to see how far you could push your luck, but no one ever really gave you attention regardless of what commotion you caused.

It was clear that you don't have a say about anything here, but at the same time, nobody really dared to blatantly hurt you too. In fact, there are times when you felt like people were dreading to get close to you or even look towards your direction. You haven't really seen any of the boys since you talked to Mark so you have no idea if they were being treated the same way, but you could only hope that they are also being spared now from any sort of torture or pain.

Today is obviously a little different from the routine of the past week. For the first time since you gained consciousness, you were actually allowed to be out of your ward room. Your sneakers squeaked now against the grey flooring of the corridor you were walking on, mixing with the heavier thuds of the boots of the guards flanking your sides. Other than the gruff instructions you were given when one of them threw you the black overalls you needed to change to today, they didn't really spare you another word on your way out. And so your eyes silently roamed the halls that you passed now, trying to take in clues, until your trio finally stopped at the end of the corridor.

You surreptitiously watched as the pair moved in unison towards the heavy-duty door that loomed in front of you. Now, you may not know a lot about security systems and other tech, but you know enough to pick up the level of access that you are seeing now. With a slight nod at each other, both men stepped closer at notches placed on both sides of the door. Their actions triggered a low beep before a thin strip of laser burst out from the portals. The blue light made a low hum as it scanned them from head to toe. You swallowed, watching the process of it all.

Eye and full body scans… Systems that are definitely harder to hack because of their unique IDs. You were right all along. This is no longer just a research and testing hub…

But a high-security prison.

You took in a slow, calming breath when the door finally started to part with a whirring sound after a moment. Keeping your eyes ahead, you waited with bated breath for it to reveal what was on the other side. Just as the gates parted enough for you to slip in, however, a sudden force in the middle of your back pushed you inside and sent you toppling forward in surprise. You gasped. Instead of impact, the air froze in your throat the next second as you felt a pair of arms catch you before you lost your balance and hit the floor.

Renjun wrapped his arms around you, his hands immediately going around your waist and upper back to keep you from falling over. You have barely recovered when you saw two figures move past where the boy kept you in place. Mark and Jaemin stopped in front of you, their towering backs covering you from the view of the guards who remained standing by the threshold. They were soon followed by Chenle and Jisung who both stepped in to flank your sides. Haechan silently brought the rear, his own withering gaze set on the door. You were at a loss for words. Everything happened so quickly, but it was enough to entirely shift the air buzzing in the room.

"You know the rules. Try anything funny and she gets a dose of what you get too," one of the men finally spoke to break the silence. You turned to face the door again just as you felt Renjun press you closer against his side. From what little you can see of Mark and Jaemin's profiles from where you stood, both were shooting ice cold glares at the wards in front, their silence radiating deadly intent.

"Big words coming from two apes who can't even take a step beyond the entrance. Balls shrunk so bad because of a bunch of kids?"

You didn't need to look at Haechan to recognize his taunting, lilting tone. Beyond, you saw both guards visibly pale in anger at the verbal attack, with one actually reaching out for what looks like a stun gun strapped to his belt.

"You freaks—"

"Try. I promise you'll regret it."

You felt a quick chill run down your spine when you heard Chenle say that from your side. Instead of his usual good natured humor, his voice seeped with barely concealed venom and threat. You gaped at him openly. You never thought you would ever hear him talk that way, but as it turns out, your shock was nothing compared to what followed. On your other side, small crackles of electricity started forming around Jisung's right hand, sizzling and churning in the air.

"I haven't tried, but I'm pretty sure I'm faster than electric guns…" he said softly in a voice that made the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end.

A short but highly tensed beat of silence followed—in which you could swear you almost stopped breathing—but it seemed like the guards got the message loud and clear just like you. Before anyone can make another move, the same mechanical whir filled the room again as the double doors started to close. You looked up just in time to catch the taller of the wardens lift his lips into a threatening leer before the gates sealed shut again.

"Enjoy while you still can. You don't have much time left anyway."

The echoes of the door's mechanical locks was like a death sentence that hung in the room. You were still frozen in your spot, trying to take in those last words when you felt your body all of a sudden being turned to the side. Your wide eyes met Renjun's worried gaze before it quickly went over the rest of you. Not once had he let you go during the tense exchange and his hands now grabbed at your forearms as if he was checking if you were real. Around you, the others finally loosened their stances—all except for Haechan who still seemed frozen in his spot.

"Are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere are you?" Renjun asked, his voice tense.

You blinked at him, still feeling a little disoriented.

"I'm fine…"

"Did they touch you?" Jaemin quickly followed through as he also closed the distance towards you. You numbly shook your head.

"No. They didn't. I don't—Where are we?"

The boys briefly glanced at each other at your question. Mark was the one who finally offered an answer when nobody seemed willing to break the silence.

"In one of Cypher's dungeons. We've been moved here recently from our individual cells."

His answer made your head snap up as you finally took a look around the place. It was a plain wide room, with double bunker beds stacked on the sides, a table set, and some spare seats smattered here and there. Calling it a dungeon was a fitting term, with its walls made of rough stone and a ceiling held out with steel and rock. You swallowed. When your eyes landed on Chenle, another realization hit you.

You were wearing the same clothes that they are.

"Jeno? Where is he?" You managed to ask despite the sudden tightness in your throat. The pause that followed didn't help lighten the situation at all.

"They… still have him," Jisung quietly answered. He exchanged a quick glance at Chenle who decided to explain the rest.

"We still haven't seen Hyung since that day he showed his Arcana. It's been a while since we've been called for tests but they haven't returned him to us yet."

His words made your gut twist. Blindly, your eyes grazed around the place again before settling on the sealed door. You've already accepted the fact that you are now one of Cypher's prisoners, but you would be lying if you say standing here now is not making you falter. Finally, the gravity of your helplessness is sinking into you in its full, morbid glory.

"You shouldn't be here…"

Haechan's distant voice was what finally snapped you from your thoughts and brought you back to focus. Looking up, you met his brown eyes still staring at you from a distance. He still hasn't taken a single step towards you, though his gaze told you everything you needed to know.

He was right… you shouldn't be here… but so are they. The thought made your mind set off into a different tangent, until it settled into an emotion you were shocked to recognize yourself.

Yes you are terrified. Petrified even.

But you're also very… very angry.

"No. I'm exactly where I need to be," you finally said, your jaw set. All of a sudden, the fear you were feeling was gone and your focus was back. Yes, you may be stuck in one of the worst situations you've ever found yourself in, but you're also exactly in the place you need to be in at this moment.

"Cypher has my father. If I want to get him out of here, the easiest way to do it is from the inside. We can work with this, all of us. Are there other things that have changed since you were sent to this room?"

"We're pretty sure there are no cameras here anymore," Renjun said as his eyes quickly bounced on the other faces in the room. "We are barely being watched or checked on. It's like they are doing the bare minimum to keep us alive."

"Which might not be for very long…" Mark continued and put into words what you couldn't say so yourself. All of you turned your heads urgently towards him as his words sunk in. He nodded towards the sealed door, his expression grim. "It's obvious that they've lost interest. Whatever it is that they need from us, they got it already. We need to get out of here soon."

"But not before we get Jeno and my father back," you interjected. "We also need to find the mimicry unit that Cypher created and break it."

"But how? This place is a labyrinth," Jaemin asked with a frown.

“He’s right. We tried busting ourselves out from this bunker, but they've studied our abilities enough to design this place to be mostly resistant to what we can do," Renjun said.

You tried to bite back your emotions before they even had a chance to make you falter. You were already thinking of a plan, but you'll have to sit on it first to make sure that it will work.

"If they're dead set on keeping us here, then I'm sure they've done everything to make sure that all routes of escape are blocked from the inside. We can't win against that no matter what we do at this point. Which only leaves us with one option…"

You set your jaw and fixed each boy with a pointed look.

"We'll have to make them open the doors for us ourselves."

*******

"Shouldn't you be sleeping already?"

Haechan's spine straightened in surprise as you called out to him softly in the darkness. You have no idea what time it was already, but you figured evening has finally come when the lighting in the room automatically dimmed an hour earlier. Around you, the other boys have already retreated into their assigned bunker beds, retiring for the day. You tried catching rest yourself, but your mind was being too noisy to give you peace.

You smiled a little now as you met his gaze from across the room. He was trying to read a book under the light of a small lamp which threw enough light and shadows on his face. From the moment you joined them earlier, he has barely said a word or even looked towards your direction... And you're convinced you know the reason why. You saw the way his eyes flickered with guilt and uncertainty now as he stared at you, though he did close the hardbound in his hands when you walked over to join him. You made sure to keep your noises to a minimum as you settled next to him, not wanting to wake up the others around you.

"You're still avoiding me… Didn't you want to see me again?" You asked carefully, your tone almost teasing to lighten up the air as you fixed him a small smile. His Adam's apple bobbed at your question before he looked away. It was obvious from his body language alone that he wanted to draw back from the interaction, but you were also set on fixing this tonight. You have to admit... It somehow worries you to see him this way, especially since he has always been so unapologetically forward towads you before. Haechan looked like he was trying his best to avoid looking at you, but then you leaned a little closer to peek at him better. He frowned before finally giving you a quick glance and a sigh.

"Of course I wanted to see you again. I thought it was you who didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore."

"Why would I want that?"

"Well. Because I hurt you."

"Mm… Yeah, that kinda sucked. Anything else?”

He looked at you as if you’ve gone crazy. When he didn’t seem to be able to offer you an answer, you shrugged and continued.

“Look, I know you're still bothered about what happened, but I don't know... I’m looking at it as more of a wakeup call more than anything else if you ask me. I was terrified, I'll admit that, but I also kind of realized why my father chose all of you over me after I saw you what you did…" you explained, carefully choosing your words. He listened quietly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"What I'm saying is that... He may not be right for being an absent parent, but knowing what you can do—and how you can hurt yourselves or other people without a figure like him… I could see why he chose to raise you over me. It still sucks, but it gave me a new perspective."

Haechan was silent. You couldn’t really read what was going on in his head, but you knew he was turning over your words and trying to see your perspective. It took a while, but finally, you heard him give a soft sound similar to that of a scoff. You peeked at him, and sure enough, the boy was looking at you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"Seriously. I butchered your shoulder and all you can think of was—oh okay, that makes sense. My dad abandoned me because he was raising monsters on the side. Understandable. How the hell does your head work, noona?"

That actually made you laugh. Haechan's lips quirked and that's when you knew the worst has finally passed. You reached out to knock your closed fist on top of his head then before pinching his ear. He jokingly gave a small yelp as he drew away and massaged it.

"That's your punishment for accidentally hurting me. Now that's done, will you stop avoiding me?"

He rolled his eyes at the comment but smirked after. "Why? Did you miss me running after you so much?"

This time, it was your time to scoff. You weren't going to admit anything to him, but maybe he was a little bit onto something.

"I'm just not used to you being so broody."

His smirk melted into a more casual smile as he briefly paused. You waited for him to say something, but he simply looked at you as if he was weighing something important in his head.

"For real though… I'm really sorry. I promised myself that I wouldn't hurt you again… and I still did."

His words made you stop slightly in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Haechan only quietly smiled. He angled his body a little sideways then in his seat so that he could properly face you before propping his head against his hand.

"You do know that I like you, right? Unironically."

Your eyes widened in surprise. You were so caught off guard by that curve ball that for a moment, you wondered if you actually heard him right. Your knee jerk response was to think that he was just being his usual teasing self, but you know from the way he was looking at you now that he was anything but. Your face obviously clearly showed your emotions because Haechan laughed seeing your expression.

"Oh come on, noona. I'm sure you're not clueless. I'm also sure you know that I'm not the only one."

You shot him a slightly guilty look before glancing away. Well, he is not wrong… Of course you've noticed things—your job is to read people for heaven's sake—but you haven't really paid much attention to it intentionally because of… well, more pressing things. Haechan obviously is the least subtle of all, but you honestly weren't expecting that he was serious enough to talk about this—now of all times. You tried to avoid his eyes now to try and think of an answer, but he simply dipped his head again to catch your gaze.

"Hey, what do you look so guilty for? Relax, I'm not expecting you to say anything back. You look like I'm trying to keep you hostage or something," he snickered.

"Haechan…"

"Ah, ah, ah. I already know what you're going to say. I know it's the least of your priorities right now and that's fine. I get it. I really just wanted to tell you, okay? Gotta be the first one to do it since those other simps can't. Also, who knows, we might be dead tomorrow, eh?" He said with a wink. You scowled at that last bit in reply.

"Don't say that. We are all getting out of here."

"Will you date me then after~?"

Your face burned.

"Yah. Lee Donghyuck."

The use of his birth name mixed with your obvious flustered expression made him throw his head back in laughter. Of course he is enjoying teasing the heck out of you again. While you don't particularly like it, there was also a part of you that let him enjoy it now, if it means you can see him amused and happy over being sad and distant. You hated the way your cheeks burned, but you also let him have his moment with a roll of your eyes.

"Hey."

"What?" You grunted.

"I do like this side of you too, princess. I really do."

That made you glance at him again. You leaned your head a little to the side as you fixed him with an amused gaze.

"I kinda like this side of you better too."

He raised his brow at you teasingly.

"Even if I can be a madman sometimes?"

You smiled.

"Yes... maybe even especially then."

*******

"Patient 00, step out of the room. Go to the door and wait for it to open."

You all looked up from the sudden female voice that echoed in the room. It was evening, just an hour or so before the lights in the bunker would be turned off again, and all of you were trying to busy yourselves doing random stuff to waste time. You have been sitting idly with Mark and Jaemin on the couch, absent-mindedly listening to their conversation, while Renjun and Haechan played a makeshift game of tic tac toe on your other side. Both Jisung and Chenle have already settled on their own beds, but they popped their heads out simultaneously from their corners when the voice repeated its message over the speaker.

"What the hell? They're giving orders now through that?" Jaemin whispered with a frown as he glared at a point in the ceiling where the sound was coming from. You looked at him, confused.

"This is the first time they did that?"

"They're limiting personal contact with us as much as they can…" Haechan observed from his seat. He scoffed. "Cowards."

"Patient 00. I repeat. Go to the door right this very moment."

"Noona! That's you."

You looked at Jisung in surprise just as he and Chenle walked over to join your little group. He was staring pointedly at something on your chest and you followed his line of sight in confusion. The moment your gaze finally took in what he was seeing, however, all the blood in your face slowly drained. You have never really paid much attention to your assigned clothes before this, but printed on the pocket of your overalls were two zeroes… similar to the patient codes also embroidered on the boys’ uniforms.

You were still trying to process what you were seeing and what it means when you suddenly felt a hand close around your wrist. You turned to see Mark staring at you urgently.

"You're not going anywhere."

Beside you, Renjun fixed his eyes on the door. "He's right. Nobody leaves this room. Don't move," he added lowly.

Well, it's not like you needed to be told twice about it. You don't have any idea what is happening, but the last thing you're going to let happen is to let Cypher's claws anywhere near you again. From the way the rest of the boys stiffened in their own positions and glared at the entrance, it was obvious that all of them were dead set on watching each others' backs too.

The tension in the room has thickened so much that it almost felt like it was going to break at some point. Just when you thought it couldn't get anymore worse… a new voice spoke from the speakers again that made your heart drop.

"Patient 00. You have 30 seconds to get out of the room. Do it...”

“Or Jeno suffers."

Your group gave a collective reaction of shock and surprise. Chenle, who was standing beside you, seemed to be the one to have received the brunt of it all. He looked confused, unsure… before his emotions finally turned into hurt and helplessness. He turned towards you, and you stared at him with the mirrored emotions he was going through.

You thought you saw your own heart break in the boy’s eyes as he said his name.

"Kun-ge?"

*******

You felt numb as you let the guards guide you into a new room in dead silence. Other than the shaking of your hands that you tried to desperately keep steady, nothing else about you seemed responsive at all. You stood, immobile and silent, at the space, completely ignoring the table setup waiting for you on its center. Sitting behind it, wearing Cypher's blue uniform... was the man you swore you could have trusted your life with just a few weeks ago.

It didn’t make sense... and yet it all made sense at the same time too.

Of course, it has always been Kun.

For a few brief seconds after you first heard his voice from the speakers, your initial reaction was to try and conjure excuses for him and the situation. In your head, it's just impossible for any of this to be real... Kun, after all, was the one who was there with you from the beginning. He took care of you. Protected you. He made sure you were okay. Kun wasn’t just your partner.

He was also your friend.

All of your hopes dissolved now as you looked at him from where he was sitting, his expression cold and befitting of the blue uniform that you’ve grown to associate with the Institute’s evils. For the second time that day, you thought you heard your heart break in the deafening silence again. No matter how much you tried to look at him now, there was no longer the trace of the man you knew behind those eyes.

"You should come and sit."

The sound of his voice made you unconsciously flinch. You didn't move a muscle from where you were standing, your gaze remaining fixed on him instead. There were so many things bubbling to burst out of you and you croaked out the first thing that your lips managed to form.

"Why?"

It was one question, but the word still sat heavily in the room like a death sentence. Kun's expression barely changed, but you noticed a storm of something briefly pass through his brown gaze.

"Sit first and then we will tal—"

"I don't want to ever get close to you, you traitor!" You screamed before you could even try to control yourself. The rest of you has turned into a shaking mess now but you didn't care. It was like a floodgate of emotions were unlocked inside of you, this betrayal being the last of what you could take in before you finally, fully broke. Kun looked on as you chipped away, his mask impenetrable. God, it felt like you were screaming at a total stranger.

"I trusted you… Chenle… he trusted you."

The mention of the boy's name made his expression slip just a little. For a split second, you thought he actually looked pained, but the emotion was gone as soon as it came.

"I have to do it," he finally said. "I care for him. For you. But I also can't pass up the chance to do this. You will never understand, but this might be the only chance I will ever have in my life to be a part of something as big as this. Cypher gave me an opportunity and I simply made a choice."

You felt nauseous. So that was it? The only reason he decided to sell his soul to the devil? All for his ambition?

"Since when have you sided with them?" you asked coldly, your voice thin as you tried to process everything. Kun looked hesitant to answer at first but replied anyway.

"...Since you knew about Rosewood."

You gave a slow and shaky exhale. It all makes sense now… He was the only one who was with you when the boys showed the reach of their powers back at the test drill in the arena. He was the one who called you to Cypher the day Renjun was tortured and Haechan lost control. He knew about your plan to sneak in and meet Jeno the night the guard caught you. The random meetings with the head honchos… the consultations with Miyoung.

All throughout the time you thought he was on your side, he was selling you and the rest of the boys to the enemy.

"Oh my god," you whispered to yourself now, one hand going over your stomach as other realizations started flooding in. He let them hurt the boys and you, but that might not even be the worst of it. Ten and Winwin. Did he also rat them out? More than that… Your father… He knew everything about your connection to him too.

"I don't think she's considering changing your mind, Dr. Qian. Perhaps you need a little help?"

You were so caught up in the choking fear consuming you that you didn't even notice that another person had joined you and Kun in the room. Looking around, you felt ice in your veins at the sight of the man who silently stepped from the threshold. You've only seen him once—sitting behind his table in an office that seemed as cold as him—that it almost overwhelmed you now to have him towering over you.

Haneul Lee fixed you with his gaze, like a hawk eyeing his prey.

*******

It felt like having a stare down with the devil himself.

You stayed in your spot, frozen, as your gaze clashed with the man's stare. His eyes roamed your face carefully, before they slowly dipped to take in what you were wearing. Similar to the first time you met him, there was not an ounce of empathy in the way he regarded people. It was only now, however, that you finally realized what it was about him that you found unexplainably unsettling before. You can’t exactly capture it into words, but it was almost like there is an undercurrent of something malevolent that sizzles in the air around him… something that not even Jeno, Renjun, and the other ability users carry around with them. At the back of your mind, you knew exactly what it was.

The power of one of the Arcana's Triad.

"Please excuse us for the unsightly choice of clothing we've given you. My wife was adamant in letting you wear one," he said, finally breaking the silence as he fixed you again with his stare. At first you couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but then you saw the way his eyes briefly dropped to the patient number emblazoned on your chest. You stiffened. He noticed your reaction, and you knew from the way he drilled you with his gaze that he was trying to read you just as much as you were trying to pick him apart.

"Sir. I didn't know you were coming," Kun's tensed voice broke the rising tension in the room. You heard the scratching of his chair against the floor as he picked himself up from his seat.

"I wasn't supposed to, if you did your job well."

"I haven't talked to her about it fully yet. If you can just give me more time to try and convince her, I'll—"

"Time, I'm afraid, is something I do not have the privy of wasting too much," the older man said in a calm tone that effectively cut off the other’s words. Not once had he removed his stare on you during the exchange, and it was taking you everything not to look away and show any sign of weakness as you matched it with yours. If Miyoung is chaos and discord, Haneul is control and boundless power. Both land in different ends of the spectrum, but are equally terrifying on their own.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, addressing the question to him. Something flickered in his eyes at the sound of your voice.

"Your partner here is trying to do you a favor, doctor. He is convinced that he can encourage you to join and help us with our cause. Since he has worked hard to finally earn our favor, I wanted to trust him with his decision. After all, it was not just him, but the two of you, who have done a lot to get the research to where it is now."

You were stupefied. That was the last thing you were expecting to hear as the reason behind you being called here. You briefly glanced at your former friend now paused when you saw the look in his eyes. It's like there was something he was desperately trying to tell you when your gazes clashed, but you couldn’t entirely get hold of it just yet. It looked like a plea for consideration… or was it a warning instead?"

"And why would I do that…?" You asked slowly now, not taking your eyes off Kun. It was slight, but you saw the other's expression tighten, as if he was dreading the incoming answer.

"For a few reasons. You see my dear, I am a very ambitious person. I have a different way of looking at the world—a perspective that, lets just say, righteous people like you can't easily comprehend. But I don't think I am entirely evil. Or at least…" he stopped, only for his next words to make your heart do the same.

"...Not evil enough to kill my best friend's daughter."

*******

The shock that went over you as you heard his answer made you go numb all over. Your eyes snapped towards Haneul once more, disbelieving of the words he just said. The man, on the other hand, remained stoic as he silently watched you start to shut down right before his eyes.

"What... Are you talking about?"

"Aren’t you curious as to what really convinced us to welcome Dr. Qian into our fold? I don't have a shortage of talented people, Doctor… but I do value information more than anything else. It just so happens that he had something to sell to us that no one else can. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the Judgement's daughter herself is right under my nose."

It was like all air was knocked out of you then. You could feel the ice slowly climbing your veins, before sinking into your flesh like small knives.

"You... were his friend?"

The last word made the man's lips twist into an ironic, bitter smile.

"Was I his friend...? My dear, we were more than just that. We were brothers. At least until he left me with no choice but to do things he is too cowardly to deal with himself."

As if on signal, a sudden flicker of light from your side made you turn instinctively turn around. What you thought at first was only a plain black wall came to life now as a huge screen that ran one side of the room from ceiling to floor. At first you couldn't understand what you were looking at, but then your gaze focused on the video that made your lips part in a silent gasp.

It was a live feedback of an unconscious-looking Jeno strapped to a collection of machines crowding around him. Wires stuck out from different parts of his body, which then connected to what looked like small vials fixed to the wall. Before you could even make out what’s inside of them, however, the feedback on the screen changed again...

This time sending you reeling back with horror at what you saw. Lying in almost an exact copy of Jeno's room…

Was the unconscious form of your father.

You stared, petrified, at the blown up video in front of you. The man on the screen was almost unrecognizable with hair chopped close to his head and skin sticking close to his bones, but your eyes can never betray you on who used to be behind the almost empty husk you're seeing now. You will recognize that face anywhere… those kind set of brows that were either frowning at you with guilt or twitching in happiness, and those lips—now chapped and dry—that never failed to give you a goodnight kiss in the rare times that he was home when you were a child.

You were in pain, more pain than any physical anguish you've felt before, because this time, the torture doesn't seem to stop at all.

"I'm sorry."

Kun's voice barely broke through you as you remained frozen on your spot. You couldn't bear to look at him, or anything or anyone else.

"What have you done to him?" You whispered finally, your broken voice barely heard in the room.

Haneul was the one who answered your question.

"What did I do to him? I did him a favor is what… by making sure his ability doesn't go to waste."

For the first time ever since you've heard him, his voice actually sounded a little different than his usual stoic tone. His words came out harder, but for some reason, you felt more emotions from him when he spoke. The sound of it finally made you tear your eyes from the screen and sure enough, his stare burned differently when they met yours.

"Your father and I... go a long way back,” he started, his gaze stone cold as he rolled the other’s name in his tongue. “We were friends—two people who used to look at things the same way, especially when it came to the Arcana. We both believed that we can change the world with it if we wanted. We were both powerful… but not enough to actually turn our ideas into solid plans without the help of someone. Because even as members of the Triad, we pale in comparison to someone else."

"His wife."

All the blood drained from your face. Your breath stuttered, but you couldn't stop yourself from listening.

"You see, your mother was a very special woman. She’s the last of the Triad masters and the wielder of the powers of The Fool. As the trump card of the Arcana, her abilities surpassed any of the other users and ours. She could absorb powers, but unlike me who could only copy one for a time, she could keep them as hers if she borrows the life force of other masters. Magic Unification is how we called it, because she could wield multiple abilities all at once."

"She could have been unstoppable if she wanted to… but she made the stupid mistake of falling for your father, the man who did nothing but cage her. He was so afraid of her potential that he did everything to hold her back. When she could have had everything, he reduced her to nothing."

"What… do you mean…"

The way he stared you down almost made you taste his silent, controlled rage. He had not moved once from his spot, but everything about him seemed ready to combust.

"All users of the IL Matto are born special, even in the context of the Arcana's family of abilities. They are blessed with a different level power, but every single one of its masters are also born cursed. If the wielder of The Fool doesn't use their ability well, it can drive them mad. Your father held back your mother so much that she started going insane from the need to utilize her Arcana. He held her down, until the time came when she snapped and he could no longer control her."

Your vision was starting to spin. You threw a weak hand to hold on to the nearest edge you could reach to keep yourself from falling over.

"Do you ever wonder why all these Arcana masters you are trying to protect now are younglings, my dear? Arcana abilities get passed down to new people only when their masters die. Who do you think was behind the death of the former generation of users?"

Your breaths are starting to grow shallower by the second. You wanted to run just as fast as the pieces are falling into places in your head. You knew it was coming, but you still silently hoped he wouldn't say the answer you were expecting.

"Your mother. She wiped out every single one of them in a mad dash to consume their life force," Haneul said, no louder than his speaking voice. You shook your head in denial. He barely raised his tone, and yet the words echoed and bounced in your head as if he screamed them. You wanted to beg for him to stop, but instead he stepped closer to you, an action that caught you off guard that you stumbled back to get away from him. He was faster than you could move away though and he easily caught your wrist in a tight grip.

"And your father… killed her for it. With his own hands."

That was the last thing you could take before you finally lost feeling in your legs. He let go of his hold on you at the same time which sent you crashing straight to the floor. Your sight has gone blurry, and it was too late for you to realize you were blinded by your own tears. You were numb and in pain all at the same time. Your vision already started to blur at the edges, but you were forced to hold on to your consciousness when cold fingers gripped your chin and forced your drooping head to look up. You blinked, unseeing from the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

"I can't sense any Arcana from you. Could it really be possible that you didn't get any from your parents?" Haneul's soft voice barely broke through the sobs wrecking through your body like tremors. You didn’t answer him—your mind too consumed by everything you just learned.

"We've checked on her thoroughly?"

Kun's voice sounded distant when he answered.

"Yes, sir. The machine she was put on was designed for Arcana holders. If she has any abilities, then they should have manifested already with the level of shocks she got…"

For a moment, Haneul didn't say anything at all. He simply stared at you as if he was trying to desperately look for something in your face. It took a long while before he finally let you go. Like a doll discarded, your fell down weakly again at the lack or forced support.

"What a shame. You look exactly just like her."

You felt his cold eyes drilling on the back of your head as he slowly straightened himself up from his crouch. You could almost taste the panic attack about to take over the rest of you, but you still managed to catch his last words.

"I'm giving you eight hours to change your mind and join us," he said quietly. "You may be powerless, but you're still a member of the Famiglia. I'm doing it for your mother."

You haven’t exactly wrapped your head around what he said yet when you heard him address Kun next.

"Are we almost done with La Morte?"

"Yes, sir. We'll close his case today."

"Then it's time to move on to the last phase of the project,” he ordered as you heard the sound of his footsteps start to finally retreat from where you were slumped on. He was already at the door when you heard him speak again, his order ringing clear like death bells.

“Tell the others that Project Vision is starting."

"It's time to hunt down the Master of The Fool."

CHAPTER 13

*******

A/N: I... really tried with this update. I really did. Also, this is going to be the second to the last chapter before this ends! Before that, I’d like to thank everyone who has supported this story until now. I have received so much support during its run. I truly appreciate all of you. <3

P.S. Some people won’t show up on my tags no matter how much I try. I hope you can all see this update despite tumblr acting up. T.T

Taglist [OPEN]: @negincho, @jhornytrash, @aaasteroidsky, @huangberryyy, @marijmin, @ashkuuuu, @reluctantserpent-101, @huskyhunny, @domojoo, @anaveragefangirl, @lostlovesoul11, @dreamisfelix, @lomlwoo, @coconuttiez8d, @jaehyunenthusiastsworld, @shininginthemoonlight, @bettyschwallocksyee, @w3bqrl, @smolpeyy, @chenlejjang, @kunssouschef, @thesunsfullmoon, @kpopstanforlifeuwu, @chokopocky, @azzygongez, @tito-the-mermaid, @jakeshuneybby, @yutacchin, @baehaechannie, @thefoxsleeps, @caspervoid, @yongboksfreckles, @jaeyuuns, @ssuungchans, @furryllamas, @meiinumaki

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