#Citadel Metal Clad

[citadelbuildingsystem]

The Timeless Elegance of Terracotta Tiles for Exterior Spaces

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Why Choose Terracotta Tiles for Exterior Spaces?

Terracotta, derived from natural clay, has been used for centuries in construction and design. Its organic warmth and durability make it a popular choice for exteriors. Here are some reasons to consider terracotta tiles:

Natural Appeal: The earthy tones of terracotta tiles blend seamlessly with outdoor environments, creating a harmonious connection with nature.

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Slip Resistance: Specially designed terracotta tiles for exteriors offer excellent grip, ensuring safety in wet conditions.

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Low Maintenance: With proper sealing, terracotta tiles require minimal upkeep, retaining their beauty over time.

[jedimaesteryoda]

"I'm Sam the Scared, not Sam the Slayer." "Scared? Of what? The chidings of old men? Sam, you saw the wights come swarming up the Fist, a tide of living dead men with black hands and bright blue eyes. You slew an Other."

-AFFC, Samwell I

Sam admittedly is not a warrior as he was repeatedly reminded by his abusive father, but we see him kill an Other with a knife, slay a wighted Small Paul who was already big and strong in life and beat up Dareon for abandoning their party and the Night’s Watch. Without realizing it, he actually is brave and tough, especially on behalf of those he cares about. 

"In the Age of Heroes it was supposedly the stronghold of a pirate lord who sat here robbing ships as they came down the river."

. . .

"They will take anything these days. Dusky dogs and Dornishmen, pig boys, cripples, cretins, and now a black-clad whale. And here I thought leviathans were grey."

-AFFC, Samwell V

Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.

-ADWD, Davos III

Having fought a brawl, and killed in one-on-one, when Euron inevitably attacks Oldtown, it would be the first battle Sam participates in as a combatant, especially if Euron attacks through the Honeywine that flows through the Citadel after carrying the longships overland to the river like Harwyn Hardhand did. 

Sam, as often befits his story arc, would find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, shoved by fate into a fight he doesn���t want. 

**Slight The Winds of Winter Spoiler**

Euron Crow’s Eye stood upon the deck of Silence, clad in a suit of black scale armor like nothing Aeron had ever seen before. Dark as smoke it was, but Euron wore it as easily as if it was the thinnest silk. The scales were edged in red gold, and gleamed and shimmered when they moved. Patterns could be seen within the metal, whorls and glyphs and arcane symbols folded into the steel.

Valyrian steel, the Damphair knew. His armor is Valyrian steel.

-TWOW, The Forsaken

When Euron attacks Oldtown he will likely be wearing that Valyrian steel scale hauberk that will make him impervious to any weapon directed at his torso, giving him a significant advantage in combat. One could aim for his head, but he would likely be wearing a good helmet. Even Lazy Leo, skilled with a bravo’s blade and dagger, could try to slay him but fail to get past the armor. 

However, there is likely one weak spot that his armor wouldn’t cover: his eyes. The black eye that gave Euron his sobriquet of “Crow’s Eye,” itself evokes the term “bullseye,” the black spot in the middle of the target an archer intends to hit. “Crow” is also a nickname for a member of the Night’s Watch. 

Sam saw the sense in the decree, but he hated longbow practice almost as much as he hated climbing steps. When he wore his gloves he could never hit anything, but when he took them off he got blisters on his fingers. Those bows were dangerous. Satin had torn off half his thumbnail on a bowstring.

-AFFC, Samwell I

She captained the ship's red archers too, and pulled a double-curved goldenheart bow that could send a shaft four hundred yards. When the pirates had attacked them in the Stepstones, Kojja's arrows had slain a dozen of them whilst Sam's own shafts were falling in the water.

-AFFC, Samwell IV

She waited till the longship came within two hundred yards before she gave the command to loose. Sam loosed with them, and this time he thought his arrow reached the ship. One volley was all it took. The longship veered south in search of tamer prey.

-AFFC, Samwell V

Sam showed a steady progression in his skills at archery. When he came to Oldtown, he already made a friend in Alleras, who himself (or perhaps herself) proves to be an expert marksman when first introduced. Alleras will likely help Sam improve further. It’s noted in the last chapter, Sam manages to reach his target, which just so happens to be an Ironborn longship.

Knives and bow and arrows are the tools for a huntsman, the sigil of House Tarly. Sam already killed with a knife with the Other, and killing with a bow and arrow, he would become the striding huntsman of his sigil.

In a dose of irony, Euron is killed not by an axe wielded by some tough, armored warrior or a sword wielded by a gallant knight in shining armor, but by an arrow to his crow’s eye from an overweight scholar. Then again, at Oakenshield, the Reader showed Euron was never good at dealing with those kinds of people. lol. 

Euron’s death will have left the Ironborn at Oldtown leaderless and they will likely be crushed when an aiding army arrives at around the same time. Like Bloodraven, Sam’s deed of slaying the rebel king with his bow may win the battle, but may likely be overlooked by the singers. He would be the unsung hero.

On a side note, Euron’s Valyrian scale armor is too valuable to miss given even Aeron admitted it is the only one that exists in Westeros. I think Sam might keep it, and if it likely doesn’t fit him, he’ll probably give it to Jon, especially after learning about the assassination attempt against him. 

“Here Jon, this will make you less vulnerable to daggers.”

It would fit with the comment Jon mentioned to Sam of wanting to be “Valyrian steel,” and symbolically would serve as a mark of progression for Jon’s character. The red gold and black steel are also Targaryen house colors.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

Archdevil Designs

Note: So I really really like the Nine Hells and all the lore but also really really wanted to do my own take on the Lords of the Nine and their consorts/chief advisors in more humanoid forms (all the women get one so everyone does).  I wrote these like they’re being introduced to a party of adventurers, mostly as a fun exercise.  These are largely based on how I kind of visualized their designs and certainly they’re based on personal viewpoints.  I have them under a cut because the post is a little long.

Zariel-Archduchess of Avernus

Zariel towers over the other devils, broad-shouldered and armor-clad.  Her skin has become ashen pale, marked with three black lines, two like tracks of tears streaming from her fire-gold eyes.  She is no less beautiful, no less graceful in motion and regal in bearing.  She still walks as if gliding, her smoldering, black-feathered wings still folded neatly behind her back.  Chains clink with her gait, the tattered shreds of her once beautiful gown still try to flow as if floating, sending little embers in her path.  Her halo, that once majestic circlet, now burns with hellfire, hot enough to melt lesser metals that come too close.  Her face is an impassive mask, but passion burns in her eyes.

Bel-Zariel’s Chief Advisor

The fiends stand at attention before a wolf-lean, dark-haired devil.  His brassy skin is soot-stained and horns are dull and marked with hundreds of deep cuts, the left sports a jagged edge in place of a pointed tip.  His black, barbed tail lashes like a cat’s, leaving small striations in the granite as he paces the line.  Boiled leather and tattered livery covers corded muscle barely noticeable through deep tears in his black gambeson.  Archer’s bracers shield his arms, folded behind his back where he grips a coiled horsewhip.  His brow is knit deeply, and his lips pull into a deep scowl.  As if a warning, three demon skulls are strung along his left hip, each pierced through the temple by one perfect shot, left deliberately on display.

Dispater-Archduke of Dis

Seated at the desk is a thin, graceful devil.  His elegant, angular features are set over dark gray skin, framed by the framing wisps of white-blonde hair that have been gently tugged loose from his high ponytail.  Gold-rimmed spectacles settle over his golden eyes, the glass within tinted ever-slightly to a pale lilac.  His two horns thin spears curving out from his temples, their tips fading into translucent white as they reach their sharpened points.  His gaze snaps up as the door opens, one gnawed nail tapping against the desk as he studies the newcomers.  He settles his book down and marks the page before closing it, rising and brushing out the folds of his black robes.  A flexible leather vest covers his torso, fitted as if part of the robes’ bodice, and the fine black wool is stitched with blackwork runes barely visible until he passes into the light of a candle.

Titivilius-Dispater’s Chief Advisor

As if on cue, the door opens to a new, pale devil steps out of the citadel.  He is immaculate, his lithe form clad in unblemished black livery and armored in precisely made leather of a milky white, studded in brass.  His head and eyebrows are shaved, and the small horns jutting from his forehead are filed and polished.  His white-leather boots clack against the stone as he approaches, dark eyes judgemental and discerning.  As he draws nearer, his face turns, evermore, into an unimpressed glower.

Mammon-Archduke of Minauros

Seated at the center of the gilded splendor, caught in the golden light of the stained glass skylight, rests a comfortable devil on a throne of emerald green cushions, running his manicured hands across the golden scales of a great dragon.  From the waist up, he is a radiant young man, with skin of a warm dark golden hue, a long ebony braid, and eyes of a captivating green–the pupils slitted like that of a venomous snake.  Verdant scales frame his face and figure, glittering with gold in the light.  Emerald-studded jewelry of fine golden chains adorn his lithe body, and two cuffs link together his curled black horns.  At his waist, his body shifts to the long curling body of a bright green and black snake.

Bael-Mammon’s Chief of Security

The devil ends the conversation by slamming the butt of his glaive into the marble, cracking the stone.  He is a great, tall fiend, broad and burly.  He lacks the lean and corded muscle of Bel and Zariel, but there is tangible power behind his form.  His dark bronze skin is framed with dark green scales, and his ruddy hair is pulled into a tight bun, controlled with careful braids.  The finery of his green livery and bronze-plated armor has faded with time, a pale green patina has begun to mark the edges of his breastplate despite meticulous polishing, and the once carefully embroidered threads of his gambeson have been mended again and again.  His ox-like horns have blunted with neglect, and his stern face is weathered.  His great ox-faced helm is more fearsome, but he is no less imposing.

Fierna-Archduchess of Phlegethos

Amid the throng of dancers, one stands out, for she seems aflame, literally.  Bolstered by her short orange hair’s glow and the vibrant red scales that frame her face and boyish figure, the devil is a captivating sight.  Great dragonlike horns pierce the mane of her hair, and a long, red scaled tail keeps out of the way by coiling around one leg.  Her dance is almost elevated by the flow of a sheer maroon skirt, gilded with gold to match the leotard it’s attached to, and bangles clink at her wrists and ankles.  As she grows still, the tight control of lean muscle along her broad-shouldered build is more apparent, and what seemed an aura dies into flickering embers as she flicks her great red wings out wide.  She was, indeed, on fire.

Belial-Chief Justice of the Hells, Fierna’s Father

Seated at the judge’s high bench, bent over some paper or another, sits a tepid-looking devil that glances up after a moment, brushing aside the strands of auburn hair that fell loose from his hastily tied bun.  His dark eyes narrow, then draw back down to the paperwork in front of him.  He seems to finish one final line before setting his pen down and standing and stretching out his great wings.  Belial is a dull mirror of his daughter, even though their long, oval faces are very similarly pleasant and their skin is the same light coppery color and is marked with the same red scales–though his are ruddier.  His clothes are finely made and bear lovely gilding, but the dark robes are barely red, and his only jewelry is a pair of simple ruby studs in each ear.

Levistus-Archduke of Stygia

The doors burst open with an icy chill, emanating from the devil beyond them.  He is wolf-lean, beautiful, and tall, pale as snow and icy-eyed.  He approaches the great throne with a marked purpose, forcing even the Geryon to tense with one glowering look.  Up close, he seems more hunter than devil, but no less commanding.  His silver hair is pulled back from his face and set in a warrior’s knot, baring the roots of his black horns.  Dark kohl marks around his eyes, smudged out into thick blue-black lines.  Over his dark leathers and woad-blue wools settles a cloak of sky blue, lined and collared with thick white fur.  A spined white and black tail rises from the folds of his cloak and cracks against the floor with a thundering boom.  It is his last warning.

Geryon-Deposed Archduke of Stygia, Levistus’ Rival

The devil knocks aside a frost giant without so much as a flinch, his handsome face marred by his horrid snarl.    His broad-shoulders are corded with lean muscle, making him surprisingly agile despite his size.  A shock of black hair is pulled back into a wolf-tail, keeping it out of his steel-gray eyes and bearing his great black horns with pride.  Dark leathers are strapped over his red wool tunic, the sleeves rolled to bear his brawny arms, unbothered by the cold.  A red cloak with a black fur collar is tossed into the snow, with more reverence given to the hollowed out minotaur horn settled atop it.  As the last giants scatter about the icy plane, the devil relaxes, and rolls down his sleeves, yet his spined black tail still lashes back and forth in irritation.

Glasya-Archduchess of Malbolge, Princess of the Hells

The she-devil leaps from her throne before the doors are even open, bouncing down to her newest victims with a spring in her toe-first step.  She is slender, bronze-skinned and copper-haired with captivating amber eyes and a dazzling smile.  Despite the austerity of her surroundings she dresses in finery, her backless black gown cinched with a girdle of silver filigree and her jewelry complementary.  Her curling horns resemble a ram’s, with little traces of her ringlets catching their tapered points.  She wears a ring shaped like a golden ouroboros on a silver chain around her neck, hanging in the center of her gown’s deep neckline.  She folds her manicured hands neatly, that dazzling, charming smile growing morbid and scheming.

Moloch-Deposed Archduke of Malbolge

This devil was once respectable, that much is clear on his regal face.  Now, his crown of horns pokes through greasy black hair, tied back in a futile attempt to hide the grime.  His once well-kept livery is tattered and torn, his studded leathers dulled and marked with repairs, and his mail missing links.  His dull red skin is weathered and scarred, one of the most brutal cutting up through the center of his lips.  His golden eyes burn with anger, made more intimidating for his tall, brawny build.  Were he not a devil, he would very well fit the picture of a deposed king.

Baalzebul-Archduke of Maladomini

At the end of the great, marble hall sits a winged throne.  Upon it, settled comfortably with his legs crossed, sits a fallen angel more beautiful than any being in the Hells.  His slender figure is suited well by sheer flowing silks of iridescent blacks and greens that are cut in a tasteful display of shimmering sable skin.  His eyes glitter with shifting colors, and his long red hair is pinned back loosely to compliment his silks.  Jewelry glitters a million colors in the light like stained glass, belying how much it all looks like gilded shackles and chains.  His great wings shimmer like the rest of him, their white feathers edged in black and green, while his sparkling halo bears a weathering patina along its coppery edge.

Baftis-Baalzebul’s Favorite Consort

It has never occurred to you that a devil could look dangerous and delicate at the same time.  This devil has managed it.  A willowy, elegant creature with warm golden skin tucks herself into the curtains of her secluded monopteros, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze.  Her dark hair is pinned away from her face, and pale silks adorn her in a way that looks beautiful, especially as the shifting light changes their soft colors.  Her horns are small, poking out of her forehead, shifting seamlessly from her skin tone to a pretty lavender tone.  At her back flutter two blue and purple butterfly wings, tucked back but still radiantly visible.

Lilith-Baalzebul’s Other Consort, Formerly Moloch’s Consort

The devil that enters the audience chamber is no usher of any sort.  Rather, she appears a comely, slender consort.  Her tanned skin is flawless and her long black hair falls like silk threads.  She has a beautiful but severe face, her arched eyebrows making her cool gray eyes ever-more piercing.  Her dark blue gown is cut to accentuate her figure and matched with tasteful gold jewelry.  Even her horns, carefully maintained and polished, accentuate her beauty.  Despite this, her arrival comes with irritation, her tail lashing at her feet like a cat’s.  She attempts and impassive face, but her lips twitch as they fight a bitter scowl.

Neabaz-Baalzebul’s “Voice” and Chief Advisor

The waifish devil that Lilith approaches flits up a little off the ground to look over her.  His wings, as papery and delicate as a dragonfly’s, shimmer in the stained glass of the hallway.  His coppery skin and pleasant face are marked by little shimmering, delicate scales of vibrant blues and greens.  His green eyes shimmer and shift as they move about, seemingly ignoring Lilith.  He is dressed in tyrian purple silks that shimmer with teals and blues in the light.  The ends of his white hair, pulled back loosely, match this coloration, and the jewels that stud his silver jewelry shift colors in the light.  Unlike Lilith, however, his silks are cinched by a leather girdle, boned, studded, and reinforced as if prepared for a fight.

Mephistopheles-Archduke of Cania

He stands at the railing of the library's grand staircase, tall and imposing despite his narrow frame.  Sleeveless black robes bear gray-skinned arms embellished with bands of pale gold, and long white hair hangs over one shoulder in a loose ponytail.  His amber eyes bear a fiery cast that matches a discerning scowl, crinkling a handsome, elegant face.  His wings, great and membranous like a bat's, fold in carefully, and two great black horns rise from his head.  The edges of a tattoo, shimmering in gold, is visible through two cutouts in the bodice of his robes.  They almost look like pieces of a magic circle.

Hutijin-Mephistopheles’ Chief of Security

At the head of the column, a great devil hoists a massive adamantine mace up onto one burly shoulder.  His thin lips curl up into a snarl, bearing razor-sharp teeth.  His face is stern, head shaved so hair doesn't tangle in his crown of bone white horns.  His dull red skin is weathered from wind and frigid cold, deep-set eyes glaring scarlet daggers into anyone they fall on.  Nevertheless his dark blue livery and black mail are well-kept, and the black cloak bundled about his shoulders is held in place by an elaborate sapphire-studded silver fibula.

Asmodeus-Archduke of Nessus, Lord of the Nine Hells

The Ninth Lord settles back on his throne, one lazy hand caressing the great square head of a hellhound.  He and his daughter share the same angular features and curling black ram's horns. His dark hair is short enough that his horns hide most of it, matched by a meticulously trimmed black goatee.  His black and red finery hugs his torso and flares out into a long train matched with slim-fitting breeches and tall boots.  The finery is fitted with black leather and adamantine jewelry, studded and stitched with rubies and black diamonds.  A fine black cane of exquisite craftsmanship spins between the fingers of his other hand, its triangular can topper a vibrant scarlet ruby etched with indecipherable magical symbols.  Just visible poking over the edge of the low V of his collar is a golden tattoo, resembling the edge of a magic circle.

Bensozia-Asmodeus’ Consort, Lady of the Nine Hells, Deceased

Though she is clearly dead, the she-devil seems merely asleep, lain within her glass coffin.  Her copper curls are combed out and her warm bronze skin is unblemished, even by the blow that killed her.  Her full red lips are curled into a warm smile, even as she rests.  Her black gown is matched with a red-lined mantle, and her jeweled arms are folded carefully over an ancient, leather-bound tome, a soul coin set into its center.  One ring stands out amid the rest that adorn her manicured fingers, bearing adamantine serpents coiling around a triangular ruby.

[illusivesoul]

"In Time"

A short Vido/Zaeed story I wrote for a prompt on a discord server. And apparently its also the first fic of this ship on a Ao3 lol

Read on Ao3: "In Time"

800 words. Fluff.

.

The cargo bay in Bekenstein was still on fire. The sound of distant gunfire, exploding barrels of fuel and ammunition and the groan of dead and dying mercenaries filled the air.

Amidst the chaos of the crumbling building, 2 men clad in worn and charred blue armour with a white oval in the chest piece stood near a large container that had been cut in half. One of the men stood guard as the other pulled out several metallic cylinders from one of the broken crates inside it. 

“Not rushing you or anything, Massani, but I think it’d be in our interests to be gone by the time the fire gets here”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fire could fix that mug of yours”

“As if you’d let this precious mug get harmed”

Zaeed let out a half chuckle before throwing out a large metallic box, the numbers XLR-8 emblazoned on the side.

“That 's the one the goddamn elcor asked for. Let’s go before… wait”

“Sure thing. Take all the time you need. Get acquainted with the box. You’ll be fused to it soon enough once the flames get us”

A grunt of effort, and Zaeed threw out of the container another metallic box with a transparent lid.

“Well. Would you look at that”

"Haven't seen one of these in a long time" Zaeed said amidst grunts of effort as he removed the chunks of rubble that had fallen over the box. Inside of it, a small wooden guitar rested, carefully cushioned by some protecting foam inside the box “Let’s bolt before we get all crispy”

Santiago grabbed the box and ran with Massani towards the waiting gunship outside the building.

Later that day, the men sat around a small fire in the middle of the camp, the cold wind of the planet Sanctum making the members of the Blue Suns huddle around the electrical stoves and fires they had around, the light of the flames creating shadows that danced in the night.

"Remember what happened to the last one you had?" Vido’s coy tone evident as he sent out orders to the mercs through his omnitool.

"I bashed it over the head of that turian who was attacking you outside that shithole bar in the Citadel  Fitting that that's how I met you, by saving your ass. And you never did get me another goddamn guitar" Massani answered as he oiled and cleaned the disassembled pieces of his Jessie, the trusted gun that was always by his side.

"Well, I took you on this mission and you found a guitar. I keep my promises, Zaaed"

"Sure you do, lucky bastard"

"I'd say you were the lucky one. Look where you are now. The co leader of one of the most successful mercenary organizations in the Verge and the Terminus. And I know you're happy you saved my ass. What would you do without it?"

"I’d be enjoying a peaceful goddamn life as a farmer in Elysium, of course"

Vido planted a quick kiss on Massani’s lips, the mercenary answering it with a deeper kiss of his own.

“Why don’t you play something? For old times sake”

“‘Old times’. You’re in your 30s, shithead”

“We’re old spirits, you and me, Zaeed. That’s why we get along so well” Vido replied as he rested his head on Massani’s shoulder, his hand softly moving across the man’s brown hair “Now play something and stop being so grumpy”

Massani smiled as he grabbed the guitar. Giving a quick stroke to the chords, the sound of the instrument was carried across the camp. The thought of a human instrument being played for the first time in a world so far away from Earth wasn’t lost on him. Clearing his throat with a quick cough, the scarred fingers in Massani’s hand started moving across the guitar, the tune and sounds of the music filling the air as his eyes closed, the memories of the song he had heard so long ago coming to his mind once more.

“I can hear what you're thinkin'

All your doubts and fears

And if you look in my eyes

In time, you'll find the reason I'm here”

“And in time, all things shall pass away

In time, you may come back some day

To live once more or die once more

But in time, your time will be no more”

Vido’s eyes seemed to get lost in the distance as he heard Zaeed’s song. But Massani didn’t notice. He played his guitar, while the man he loved rested by his side, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

Life was good. For the first time in a very long time, life was actually good.

He wondered how long it would last. 

“I can hear what you’re thinking” 

[anoddreindeer]

In The Market

Datchery watched as Sho and Han walked back towards the statue where the General waited. Sho had a puppy under each arm, and seemed delighted by that fact; Datchery was glad, though it was simply one more thing he'd have to acquire supplies for if the General allowed them to stay. Still, that was his purpose, and if things got too strained he could simply take Brutus to some fighting pits he knew; while the owners were wise to his ways, the participants could never resist the challenge that Brutus presented. Fools and their valuable possessions were soon parted at such places, and Datchery was no fool.

Datchery nodded to the shopkeeper, gave one last look at the white wolf - a white so fine it fairly glowed in the red light of the magma-driven forges nearby - and moved away. The purple one had been unique; the white would simply draw attention like a beacon across the hellscape, attention they could ill-afford if their General left again.

With that thought in mind, Datchery strode away purposefully down the market. The metal attached to the General's bones was clearly some form of leash; the General would never have abandoned them otherwise. So the first order of business was to get rid of it, and allow the General the freedom of leading them into battle under his own cognizance again.

Fortunately, the dwarven citadel was one of the foremost places in the Hell of Wrath to find metal shapers of all sizes, shapes, and types. While Datchery had never properly been to the citadel before, he had seen and dealt with dwarves in the markets of the Hell of Greed and knew approximately who he was looking for, if not which part of the market they were in. He passed weaponsmiths aplenty, though none of them had a blade to match the one in his hat - soul forged metal was rarely sold, after all - and therefore held little interest to Datchery.

There were not nearly so many armorsmiths in their own section further on. While Wrath demons were not, strictly speaking, opposed to armor, most were more interested in dealing damage to their enemies than avoiding damage. Datchery himself only wore his plated trench coat for the multitude of pockets it offered, the better to take and to store the things he needed to keep the team running.

He passed by the armorers without a second glance, and hurried through the next area. While his charges were less interested in taking and holding ground, there were a number of groups who would fortify a small area as a sort of base and this section of the market catered to them. Dwarves who specialized in wall cladding stood side by side with statue makers, and trap makers invited all and sundry to test their creations to see firsthand how well they worked; Datchery had to do an undignified scramble-hop to avoid impalement on a trap whose purveyor had not clearly marked the location of it.

Still, it was the last hurdle to get to the section of the market he needed - and probably deliberately so. The shops here were bland, little trinkets and secondhand items gathering dust on their displays; sharp interest gleamed out of half-lidded eyes that followed him as he made a beeline for the dustiest, most uninteresting stall he could see.

For all his impatience - his team was everything to him, but staying out of trouble was never their strong suit and it itched at him whenever he was gone - Datchery knew better than to rush things. He reached out and picked up some meaningless bauble and turned it this way and that in his hands, before setting it down picking up an equally inane item. All the while, his skin nearly itched with the dwarven proprietor's regard. Standing under the eye of a predator was never his favorite activity; still, he would endure a lot more for his General without complaint.

"Looking for something in particular?"

Datchery set the - fancy pouring bowl? - back on the display in precisely the same position he had pulled it from, the outline in the dust making it easy.

"I do suppose that I am."

The shopkeeper leaned forward slightly, just enough to angle their face away from the other merchants in the street.

"How particular?"

Datchery shifted, matching their casual stance and shifting his own response out of sight as well.

"Extremely."

The merchant nodded, stood and stretched with a well-practiced casualness, and beckoned him forward.

"A demon of taste, I see! Perhaps something in the back would suit you better."

Datchery tipped his hat and followed them into the narrow confines of the small shopfront.

The entry was lined with shelves displaying similar merchandise as outside - small, dusty, and largely valueless. The room behind the shelving, however, was cleaned with an almost mechanical precision. Cold metal work surfaces gleamed under unwavering blue-white light, and the temperature plunged to the point where Datchery's breath frosted the air on every exhale. The temperature played an uncomfortable counterpoint to racks of gleaming tools, knives in every size and shape imaginable resting side by side with things Datchery didn't have names for.

The dwarf leading him went over to a desk and opened a large ledger. Datchery noted with detached interest that their breath didn't steam in the chill.

"I can't say that I have many demons coming into my shop, especially whole ones. Your lot are more likely to graft trophies onto yourselves if you lose a limb, never mind where they came from. Still, business is business; what, exactly are you looking for?"

The ledger contained drawings, most precise and mechanical with two or three more free-flowing illustrations making odd interruptions. Datchery reached over and flipped through the pages; nothing was a precise match - not that he expected one - but the one that was close enough drew a tap from him.

The dwarf frowned, looking at him sharply.

Datchery shook his head at the unspoken question.

"It's not for me. In fact, it's not for anyone, but especially not the person it's on."

The dwarf sucked a breath through his teeth and looked back at the ledger.

"It'll cost you."

Datchery wordlessly pulled an angel pinion from beneath his coat. It gleamed under the lights, golden hues rippling with an almost oily sheen.

The dwarf laughed.

Datchery patiently pulled out a spiraled horn, its pearlescence casting odd reflections all over the shop.

The dwarf stopped laughing.

"You're serious."

Datchery pulled a small cat's-eye marble from his inner pocket. A light gleamed and flickered inside, almost as if it was searching for a way out.

The dwarf let out a surprised breath, almost as if Datchery had punched him. They looked around furtively, though there was no one else in the room, and held out their hand. Datchery wordlessly placed the items in it; for his General, he would even give up the heart encased in amber in his breast pocket.

His General would not ask him to.

His General would never need to ask.

The dwarf opened a metal chest underneath the desk - notable for the way it did not gleam, not even under the blue-white lights - and placed the items inside before turning back to their desk and pulling a small square of tanned hide from a drawer. Instead of a quill or other writing utensil, they scored seven runes into the surface and scraped it smooth with one of the tools Datchery couldn't identify. Careful not to spill a drop, they pulled a small silver pitcher from the same drawer and filled each rune with a blood-red liquid; as each rune filled, it flashed gold before disappearing from sight.

When the seventh rune had filled and flashed, they put away the pitcher and held the hide out to Datchery, who rolled and stowed it in an inner pocket.

"I didn't give you that. You've never been to my shop. But, the next time you see an Abbaddon demon, you give them that and pay them whatever they ask."

Datchery suppressed a shudder; he'd never dealt with Abbaddon demons - nobody who was sane dealt with Abbaddon demons; sane demons chose pre-emptive self preservation - but he'd heard the rumors. Butchery was the very least of your worries if you dealt with an Abbaddon demon, and vivisection was listed among their kindnesses. Their cruelties…

Datchery shelved the thought. For his General, no price was too high.

Between one blink and the next, Datchery was back on the sleepy market street. Voices called his name and he turned.

His General needed him.

[ama2024]

https://www.advancemarketanalytics.com/reports/115666-global-commercial-cladding-system-market

Commercial cladding systems Unlock  Market Study by Key Business Segments

Advance Market Analytics released a new market study on Global Commercial Cladding System Market Research report which presents a complete assessment of the Market and contains a future trend, current growth factors, attentive opinions, facts, and industry validated market data. The research study provides estimates for Global Commercial Cladding System Forecast till 2027*.

Commercial cladding systems are one way to dramatically change the aesthetics of the building and get that wow factor that you hope to the company's customers and partners will love every time they get to the customers. Every company wants to make an impression on visitors, prospects, and customers and make sure that the company remains in the mind in the future or in due course. You want them to remember how when they arrived at the building they knew it felt right and that something special was waiting for them. If you differentiate the building from everyone else, this is a statement that has already been successful. People invest in the building because they plan to be there for some time and appreciate that it is unique compared to all other competitors. All of these things are of course intuitive, but when it comes to how customers and partners view them, they make a huge difference in terms of their belief in the skills. This is why commercial disguise services are important to any business. They change the entire appearance of the company.

Key Players included in the Research Coverage of Commercial Cladding System Market are:

Dryvit Systems, Inc. (United States), STO Corp. (United States), BASF Wall Systems (United States), Master Wall, Inc. (United States), Parex Resources (Canada), Vicwest (Canada), BGC (United States), Citadel Architectural Products (United States), Tata Steel Limited (India), Alcoa Inc. (United States), Etex Group (Belgium), James Hardie Industries (Ireland), Saint Gobain (France), Boral Limited (Australia), CSR Limited (Australia), Nichiha Corporation (Japan), Cembrit Holding A/S (Denmark), Altro Limited (United Kingdom), LOXO (United States)

What's Trending in Market: An Increasing Demand for Sustainable Cladding System Surging Demand for the Use of Sustainable Materials in Commercial Cladding Systems

Challenges: Lack of Skilled Labor Availability

Opportunities: The Increasing Availability of Raw Materials and Manpower, Along With Sophisticated Technologies and Innovations Government Regulations Regarding Zero Energy Buildings

Market Growth Drivers: The Rise in Residential & Commercial Constructions Rapid Urbanization in Developing Countries The Rise in Demand for Metal Claddings across the World

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[thyngland]

No Glory, War in Mauphos 3/3

1st Day of Bloom - 21st Day of Bloom, Gophis' Charge & The Siege of Porpyrea - Gophis' armies rally towards Porpyrea as the fishing town of Porthmaia is swiftly sacked and disregarded as a hasty siege was prepared. Gophis and their troops were running on borrowed time from the distraction caused by the raiders from Saltses and Aksuchori's brave defense. A grand total of 15,500 troops stood on Gophis' side stood against a hastily counted estimate of 9,000 willing defenders, determined to hold out until reinforcements arrived as Lusithina along with most of her council evacuated into the southern area of Porpyrea.

The defenders, lead by Statakles, held out at the ancient northern citadel of Avanta. Flaming boulders rained down upon the city walls and citadel. A miraculous shot struck one of the pillars supporting an ancient temple holding many of the garrison's supplies, resulting in the building's collapse and the death of 200 or so people. Despite this, the Porpyreans continued to defend the citadel. More days passed, as the walls of the city were breached and the citadel's ancient walls crumbled. On the 20th Day of Bloom, a war horn was heard from the distance, signalling the arrival of allied forces from Amphorea and Qionia. As Gophis' army prepared to defend themselves while breaching the citadel, the two armies marched forward, spearheaded by Alyssa Qionis herself. The charge cleared the ash before them, as dozens of Musikants chanted a haunting melody and the Unyielding breached the city in tight formations, with a smaller squad guarding Alyssa's flank nearby.

The citadel was set on fire, and as its ancient walls crumbled and roofs collapsed, many of Porpyrea's defenders fell, including Statakles, who's lungs passed out from the surrounding fire while saving whoever he could. Gophis' troops set themselves up on the remaining walls and inside of taller buildings, attempting to resist the intoxicating fumes and the Musikants' melodies resonating within their helms. When infighting broke out, as a last ditch attempt, Gophis called for a duel between the foe's strongest champion, to at least save her people. The two knew eachother from various past meetings, being seemingly on favourable terms and attending eachothers' feasts with interest - but now must fight to the death, for the sake of their people and themselves.

The two met amidst the burning streets, each covering their faces from the suffocating ash. Both exchanged intimate, solemn gazes.

Alyssa asked a simple question: "Why?"

Gophis scowled.

"Why, indeed. You stand on a side of history doomed to mockery. The despotate hungers, and in time, it will come for you as well, friend."

"You still have the power to change this, Lyssa."

As the expectant crowd drowned any sensible thoughts, the two took deep breaths and engaged in savage combat, striking with wild abandon and unable to look eachother in the eye. Their blades dented against their worn armour, and blood quickly spilled into the muddy street.

Gophis fought with unbridled ferocity, unleashing resonant shouts with each swing of the blade that bound her Smethyng soul. In response, Alyssa stood her ground stalwartly, taking each consecutive impact with increased resolve. Her conflicted thoughts were broken up by the clashing of metal, growing increasingly distance as a feral instinct took over. With a masterful riposte, she bashed her shield into Gophis' exposed flank, knocking her away and proceeding to pelt her with her hooked sword repeatedly.

At that moment, there was no glory - no grace - no love. Only wild beasts, formed and clad to appear as anything more on the outside. A pleading cry was cut short by a ruthless slash to the chest - driving the Malachite Smethyng to its knees. Alyssa had to stop herself from delivering another blow, seeing the battle was over. The onlookers fell silent. The two combatants exchanged a final gaze, with Gophis drawing her final, trembling breath in a sign of relief.

Alyssa threw down her blade and shield, gasping for what felt like the last thrums of air left. She did not feel like herself - another gaping wound opened, not within her body, but her soul.

The siege of Porpyrea was won by its defenders and allies, with Gophis' soldiers either found dead, lost in action or bound in chains. Glyko Skatakis decided to personally visit the despotess, while Alyssa Qionis dissapeared into the ashen mists, absent for both mourning and celebration, with Gophis' bloodied and bent blade curiously following suit.

[seriowan]

a little echo - dad!fives x mom!f!reader (republic victory au)

main masterlist

⭒ summary: mischievous, giggly, and absolutely adorable. what else could you expect from a miniature version of fives? ⭒ word count: 1.8k ⭒ pairing: dad!fives x f!reader ⭒ cw/tw: tooth-rotting fluff, parenting, motherhood, republic victory au where echo died at the citadel ⭒ a/n: i had baby fever and when @stcrmhond came into my inbox with dad!fives, my mind went into OVERLOAD. baby i see u and ur dad!wolffe mention and LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING... that's probably on its way too cause i have no self-control hehe

-

The first thing that you noticed when you walked through the door of your apartment was the silence. 

   It was quiet.

Too quiet. 

   Normally, a pair of big black boots and a two-year-old’s light-up shoes would be scattered by the door. The air would smell of burnt food from Fives’ attempt to cook dinner after your shift or Ekko would come sprinting up to you with his thick little hands making grabbing motions, eyes full of happy tears as he would beg to be picked up. 

   But, your apartment remained silent. 

   There were no boots or tiny blue shoes by the door. The box of toys was closed tightly and everything stayed clean, including the air that smells like… something sweet? You couldn’t name it and you didn’t have the time to sit and think about it. 

   Hooking your keys on the wall, you slipped off your shoes and shut the door, calling out, “Fives? Ekko? Baby, are you home?” 

   Silence. 

   You frowned, unable to hide the touch of worry as you called out their names once more. Steady footsteps walked to the kitchen, dejected to see that everything was cleaned and put away. You’d rather it be messy and chaotic than so dull and dreary. The nervous pit in your stomach only grew when you ventured down the hall toward your bedroom. 

   As the door opened with a hiss, you cringed, half expecting Fives and Ekko to come jumping out with some sort of prank. Instead, you saw Fives’ armor hanging neatly in its corner, right alongside his blaster and helmet. Straightened sheets showed no sign of Fives’ daily nap and Ekko’s blue blanket, crocheted by Cody but gifted through Rex, sat in its spot between your pillows, folded and untouched since the morning. 

   It was unnerving to know that your home was silent when both of your boys should have been here. 

   Biting your lip, you realized that there was one more room left to check before you were going to call Fives’ comm. With a deep breath, you walked to the door just outside the bedroom — the door painted blue and covered in stickers of GAR ships and various troopers. 

   Much to the 501st’s dismay (but the 212th’s delight), many of the trooper stickers happened to be men in yellow rather than blue. 

   You reach your hand towards the panel when you suddenly paused and pressed your ear against the door. 

   Even though the layers of metal, you caught the trace of a deep and heavy snore, followed by a soft yet undoubtedly mischievous giggle. 

   Chewing on your cheek, you opened the door and peeked your head into Ekko’s room. 

   Clad in grey sweatpants and a tight black tank top, Fives lay sprawled and asleep on the carpeted floor, snoring like an angry bantha in spring. While the faint hiss of the door opening didn’t exactly wake him from his coma nap, the little brown-haired toddler sitting on his chest glanced up with wide eyes of shock, frozen from being caught red-handed with a blue marker in his hand. 

   You slapped your hand over your mouth, clenching your eyes shut as you struggled to hold in a series of loud laughter.

Ekko dropped the marker down in his lap and flashed you a shy smile, dimples creasing his cheeks. His small hand nervously slapped over Fives’ face like he could cover the evidence of his boredom, but all it did was simply wake up his father. 

   With a curt snort, Fives’ eyes snapped open. He blinked, glancing at Ekko with furrowed brows as he reached up to move the small hand from his cheeks. 

   “What the he-e-e-y-y, mesh’la!” He gave you a happy smile, oblivious to the shit-faced grin that you hid underneath your palm. “You’re home late! I didn't make dinner so I figured we'd order somethin' and maybe watch a holofilm tonight-” 

   Clearing your throat, you finally lowered your hand and gestured to your face. “Uh, baby, you got a little something there.” 

   He arched his brows, glancing back and forth between you and Ekko before steadily standing up. Hiking the toddler onto his hip, he walked up to the window and lifted the blinds. The moment he was greeted with a tattooed reflection, his eyes bulged and his mouth fell open in surprise — a look that made Ekko burst with laughter, consequently making you fall into giggles as well. 

   Fives scooped the baby up into the air, holding him right above his face as he accused with a grin, “You did this? You pranked me? You’re barely two!” 

   “He’s obviously a quick learner,” you snickered, turning to grab a wet towel from the bathroom.

   When you returned, Fives was back on the floor with Ekko on his chest, grinning as the toddler continued scribbling happily on his face. Ekko was now kicking his feet, speaking in his toddler language to an intently-listening Fives. With a sigh, you settled the towel on the dresser and laid down beside Fives. He reached over your hip, resting his hand comfortably on your thigh as you settled your cheek on his shoulder. 

   Ekko paused drawing on Fives’ face to raise his marker and happily say, “Blue. Daddy blue.” 

   “That’s right,” Fives beamed proudly, giving you a pointed look. “Look at him, already representing 501st blue. Cody's gonna hate this but Rex? Ah, he's going to piss himself crying when I tell him.” 

   “That man needs his own child,” you mumbled as you pressed your lips to Fives’ shoulder. “Or else he’s going to end up stealing ours.” 

   Fives snorted and rolled his eyes. Ekko giggled and quickly mimicked him, echoing the same snort and a half-attempted eye roll. 

   You smiled, playfully running your fingers up his leg to his chest before tickling him, earning a series of happy giggles. Fives kissed your forehead and looked back at Ekko with glistening eyes. 

   Even though two years had passed, it seemed as if he’d never get used to the marvelous fact that he had his own little replica of himself. Not a clone, but a blend of you both, created properly with parents who loved him in a world that was finally safe. 

   But, as much as Fives loved his son, he would always see a piece of someone else in Ekko. The face that had left him far too soon. The man whose chosen name was passed onto his nephew; a perfect decision now that Ekko had truly grown into his personality. Each day that passed, Fives saw more and more of his twin in his son’s eyes. They shared the same laughter; the same shy inclination towards mischief; the same knack to mimic others either intentionally or unintentionally. 

   It was heartwarming and Fives wouldn’t have it any other way… but it was a reminder of what he had lost in order to gain. 

   He talked to you about this, voicing a worry that he would one day come to turn Ekko away for looking and acting too much like Echo. He was afraid that Echo would become too much of a painful memory, preventing him from looking at his son without a gaze of loss. 

   I don’t know how to be a dad, he had said. I…I didn’t have one. The biggest father figure in my life was Rex but even that’s a stretch. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m going to miss something or do something that makes him hate me? You know how they get when they’re older… what if I mess up?

   What if…What if… What if…

   By now, it was instinct to know when he would fall into this train of thought. The silence was the first tip-off, and the subconscious way he’d seek your touch and hold you was the second. When his arm moved to loop around your shoulder, pulling you against the side of his torso, you knew that he was struggling and turned your head to look up. 

   “Fives,” you said softly, causing his eyes to open and flicker towards you. Ekko stood from his chest to seek out more markers, giving you a moment to prop yourself up on your elbow and press a kiss to Fives’ cheek. “You are a good father. He’s too young to tell you this, but what you’re doing? It’s enough. Just being here and doing this?” You playfully pinched his marker-covered cheeks. He softly smiled and swatted at your hand. “It means more than you know. You don’t need to have a father in order to be a good one. And he obviously loves you more than me.” 

   Ekko walked over just in time to hear the last part, causing him to furrow his brows and shake his head. 

   “No?” Fives dramatically gasped, splaying his hand over his chest. “No? So you’re telling me that mom’s better?” 

   Ekko hid his hands behind his back, shyly dipping his chin when he looked at you. You arched a brow, waiting for him to say yes, only for Ekko to suddenly shake his head and point at Fives. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he giggled into his palm when Fives let out a happy holler. You grinned and nodded, patting Fives’ chest for Ekko to sit back down. 

   “See?” You craned your neck to kiss Fives’ cheek. “Told you.” 

   Fives simply nodded, shifting his attention to Ekko as he roughly sat down. An oof slipped past Fives’ lips, twitching into a frown when Ekko raised a red and orange marker instead of blue. “What? Ad’ika, Daddy hates every color except blue.” 

   “Mommy doesn’t,” you smirked, tapping your cheek. “Tat me up, baby.” 

   Fives gave you a deadpanned stare, repeating, “Tat me up?” 

   You paused and sighed. “I’ve been spending too much time with the Corries.” 

   He nodded in agreement, smirking as Ekko uncapped the red marker with a sharp pop. He leaned over, drawing a squiggle up your cheekbone. As you giggled at the ticklish sensation, you caught Fives’ loving gaze and raised a hand, cupping his cheek and swiping your thumb across his goatee. 

   “I love you,” you said firmly, shifting your gaze to Ekko as he drew a circle in your cheek. “And I love you, baby boy. So, so, so much.” 

   Ekko sat back, pressed his lips into his palm, and blew you a kiss. You pretended to catch it and place it against Fives’ heart. 

   Fives chuckled and cupped the back of Ekko’s head, pulling him close to smack a brief kiss onto his forehead. Ekko smiled and continued writing along the side of your face, flashing you cheeky little grins whenever he caught your eyes. 

   “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” Fives said softly so that only you could hear.

   “You don’t have to do anything to deserve something good in life. No one does.” 

   He chuckled. “Sure you’re not a Jedi? I swear, I think I heard Master Plo say something similar-” 

   You playfully pinched his nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. “Smartass.” 

   “Osik, baby,” Fives muttered nasally, reaching for your fingers. “You’re pinching hard-”

   Ekko immediately perked up, causing you to pale and Fives to break out in a big grin right before the toddler could scream out, “OSIK!”

   Fives howled out in laughter while you let out a deep, lamenting groan. 

   “THAT’S MY BOY!”

-

taglist ( + friends who might like this!)

@a-c-lee @eloquentmoon @frietiemeloen @misogirl828 @twistedstitcher27 @twinkofthedink @jedipoodoo @literallydontlook @corona-one @littlemousedroid @fett-djarin @rexxdjarin @pinkiemme

[jonkentt]

Okay but picture this - SamBucky Star Wars AU where one runs the cantina and the other is the sheriff of the town

It was rainy season and the downpour hadn’t let up all day. On the edge of town, the water flowed in rivulets of mud through the streets, bringing with it the refuse of the inner city. No one cared about the worker’s district, the folks whose blood and sweat built the glistening citadels of wealth. Out here was far from the neon lights and music that was the blaring heartbeat of the city. Out here the relentless batter of rain drowned out all other sound, even thought, but not the creak of the rusted sign outside Dry Spell. The old cantina was one of the few buildings in the district that never fell into disrepair. Inside, one could trade the pounding rain for soft jazzy tunes, and sorrowful days for an ice cold drinks in otherworldly electric hues.

Only the barkeep knew what any of the drinks were. Sure, they had names, but the locals knew better than to order. Dry Spell patrons came to talk about their troubles and their dreams. The barkeep always had a tidbit of advice, like which neighbors would help fix a leaky roof or lend a service droid. He knew the time and price of every ship off-world transport. He served drinks that tasted like hope and despair. Tonight he’s quiet, the cantina empty except for the musician and a few sleepy regulars on their way out.

It’s a dreary night and he’s eager for a change of pace when the figure appears in his doorway. A flash of blue lightning reveals a broad silhouette with a wide-brimmed hat. A man clad in all black except for the red of his boots, soaked from head to toe, water dripping from his hat down his heavy coat. The barkeep grins as the man takes a stool.

“Late night, sheriff?”

Just visible beneath his hat, the man’s sly grin is framed by a goatee.

“You gotta stop calling me that. Folks will get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah?” The barkeep leans closer on his elbows and traces the wing crest on the man’s shoulder. “How’s that?”

The man looks up to grace him with the full force of his dazzling grin.

“They might think I’m associated with the law.”

Not for the first time, the barkeep marvels at how a man so beautiful ended up in such a shithole. Not that he would say as much out loud. The sheriff loved this place, or if not the place then he loved the people. Enough to protect them. Enough to face unsavory odds against greater numbers and resources to defend what little this town had.

“So you were just chasin’ raindrops?” The barkeep turns to grab a bottle from the shelf behind him and starts assembling the sheriff’s drink. “Not runnin’ any would-be bandits outta town?”

He slides a glass of bright green liquid across the counter, his black metal knuckles shining in the lowlight. The arm was modified to shake drinks better, so he says, but the real story is shrouded in mystery. The sheriff shrugs and picks up his glass.

“I didn’t find anyone we should expect to hear from again.”

“Couldn’t sell em on our tourist highlights then?”

“Well…” The man grins and downs his glass. It tastes like lime and desire. “Woulda told em about this one place. Makes a mean Queen Lemon of Naboo cocktail, and the guy mixin’ drinks is a sight for sore eyes…” he gives the barkeep a slow once-over. “But then they might get even worse ideas than stealin from Ozi’s scrap shop.”

The barkeep licks his lips, watches the man track his tongue.

“Go home, Max! And lock up on your way out would ya?”

The musician warbles a thank you in another language and pulls a cover over their instrument. The barkeep holds the sheriff’s gaze until Max has locked the door. He reaches out and slowly takes the man’s hat off, setting it beside his empty glass. The man stands and shreds his dripping coat.

“So,” the barkeep joins him on the other side of the counter, “you’ve kept us safe from scavengers and flirts alike.”

The man just grunts, distracted as he unties the barkeep’s apron and tosses it behind him.

“Mm. Shame.” The barkeep’s voice is low as he boxes the sheriff against the counter. “Almost sounds like you were bored.” He leans in and grazes his teeth on the man’s neck. “Like no one gave you a challenge.” He licks the rain from his skin. The sheriff sucks in a breath and pulls him closer.

“You offering?” The man’s voice is strained. The barkeep hoists him onto the counter, runs his hands up the his thighs.

“You accepting?”

“Always.”

~

How do we feel abt vigilantes instead? @thatmexisaurusrex LOVE this prompt babe thank u! *mwah mwah*

[ltwilliammowett]

Floating citadels

It is well known that the French Revolution produced some wild ideas. And that Napoleon liked to have his fingers in the pie anyway, because he was just about to make a name for himself as a general. And he also had an eye on England. To convince the more gullible part of the French public that the idea of invasion was a good idea and should be taken seriously. He created posters with so-called floating citadels to illustrate these plans. But they were never built. The English, on the other hand, used these posters to awaken British patriotism and raise awareness against a possible French invasion.

The St. Malo raft, by John Fairburn 13 February 1798

This engraving, published in 1798, shows the gigantic raft of St. Malo, which was designed in 1791. The engraving informs us that this extraordinary structure was 600 feet long and 300 wide, carried 500 cannons, 36 and 48 pound guns, and was to carry 15,000 troops for the invasion of England. In the centre is a bombproof, metal-clad citadel. These raft was to be driven by 4 large paddle wheels, powered by 4 windmills. Whenever the wind machine was not available, the paddle wheels could be driven by horsepower.

A similar model this time able to carry 60.000 men and 600 guns.

Napoleon Bonaparte wrote to Tayllerand, Minister for Foreign Affairs, in 1797:

"The government must destroy the English monarchy or expect to be destroyed by these scheming and enterprising islanders themselves. The present moment offers a capitalist opportunity. Let us concentrate all efforts on the Navy and destroy England. When that is done, Europe will be at our feet.”

The machine is described as: ‘Flat; 2,100 Feet long, and 1,500 Feet broad; has 500 Cannon round it, 36 and 48 Pounders; at each end is two Wind Mills, which turns Wheels in the Water at every point of the Wind to Navigate; in the middle is a Fort enclosing Mortars, Perriers, &c. It carries 60,000 Men, Cavalry, Infantry, and Artillery.’, by William Hinton 29 January 1798

Contemporary sources report how crazy this plan was. Since it would take far too much material to build one of these rafts. Not to mention the time, the men and the costs. And so the foreseen invasion never happened. Napoleon abandoned the plan because he realised that he could not cross the English Channel while the powerful Royal Navy was patrolling it.

This one by J. Atkin, shows a real monster : 2500 x 1800 feet, with a enormous stone fortification that seems to have been about 500x500 feet, the thing was powered by four water turbines driven by 550 feet -tall windmills, it was supposed to be capable of supporting 500 36- and 48-pounder canon, plus 50,000 troops.  It looks like it was built for calm water.

Admiral Jervis of England proved to be right when he said

"I'm not saying the French can't come - I'm just saying they can't come by sea."

Napoleon also seriously considered using a fleet of troops with balloons as part of his planned invasion force. A tunnel was also considered. Napoleon kept the idea of an invasion alive, but then planned to hit England indirectly by conquering Egypt, where English commercial interests were high. And so he  set sail for Alexandria in May 1798.

[the-most-slytherin-hufflepuff]

Open your eyes (Chapter 1)

And the madness begins Here you go peeps chapter 1. I’m posting it now because I probably won’t have time during the weekend.  I loved writing this one and I hope you enjoy it. Credit for the characters goes to @lumosinlove​. 

There are mentions of blood and injury in this chapter

@clearsuitcasecookienerd I think you asked me to tag you but i can’t remember so I’m tagging you anyway :)) 

Masterlist

Remus was going to murder Finn. He read over the letter one more time to check if he hadn’t missed anything, he knew he hadn’t. Remus had probably read and reread that letter about a hundred times since Heather had handed it to him three days ago. It’s contents always saying the same thing. Finn was getting married. His best friend had been courting the crown prince of Hufflepuff for a year and now they were getting married, and Remus was just finding out. 

He was happy for Finn, his friend had had his eye out for the blonde prince for years now. That, however, didn’t take away from the fact that Finn had conveniently forgotten to mention he had started courting Leo in any of his letters during the past year. If he thought that would stop Remus from threatening Leo Knut with death if he ever hurt Finn he clearly didn’t know him as well as he should.  

Remus put the letter down and picked up a piece of blank parchment, dipping the tip of his quill pen in the black ink. He thought about how he should respond, if he should respond at all. Maybe he should just go home and congratulate Finn in person, right after strangling him for being a complete idiot. Before he could decide on what to do he heard the door to the physician's chamber open, he didn’t need to see who it was to know Sirius was there. He was the only person stupid enough to come into Minerva’s working space without knocking. 

“Remus, are you here?” There was a pained edge to his otherwise casual tone that made Remus’s eyebrows furrow in worry. 

“One second.” Remus put the quill in the ink pot carefully and stood from his chair. Sirius was sitting in one of the stools when he came out of his room, his left shoulder was bleeding. “Snape needs to calm down”, Remus said in an irritated tone, “that’s the third time he’s injured you this month. And before you say something stupid about how injuries happen, or whatever other nonsense I’m sure is about to come out of your mouth, I want to point out that the injury is on your back and Snape has absolutely no business pointing the sword at your back.” During his rant Remus had gathered what he would need to clean, possibly stitch, and bandage Sirius’s injury. 

Sirius flinched when Remus pressed a wet rag to his bleeding shoulder blade. “How did you know it was Snape?” Remus made a noncommittal sound before answering. “Every time you come in here it’s either because you decided it would be ok to not stay up all night to do work or because Snape got aggressive during training.” He paused for a second assessing the damage now that the blood was gone. “And since you aren’t being carried in here passed out cold in Sir Pascal’s arms my guess is it was the latter.” Remus went silent, concentrating in threading the silk string through the needle. He didn’t like stitching when the person was conscious to feel it, but maybe he could do something to help with the pain. He knew using his magic on Sirius was risky, but he didn’t want to cause the prince any extra discomfort. 

“You need stitches, just so you know.” Sirius groaned, he hated getting stitches. “Just nod when you’re ready.” Sirius took a deep breath, then nodded slowly, bracing himself for the feeling of metal piercing skin. He winced slightly, but was surprised when he noticed it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. 

“How come it doesn’t hurt that much?” Remus stayed silent for a moment, concentrating on the repetitive pattern of knitting Sirius’s skin back together, before answering. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe the pain from the original cut is numbing this one a little.” Sirius hummed, trying to relax as much as he could. He winced every now and then, but barely felt anything. When Remus was done Sirius let out a heavy breath. “Be careful until that’s healed”, Remus ordered in a stern voice. 

“Of course my lord. Anything else.” Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius, he didn’t appreciate the mocking tone. 

“Yes actually. You’re banned from training till further notice.” He took incredible satisfaction in seeing Sirius splutter in indignation. 

“You can’t do that.” 

“I can and I will.” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and met Sirius’s eyes. “No harsh movements with your shoulder means no training. I will strap you to your bed if I have to, you are not training for at least three days.” 

“Fine”, the prince grumbled. 

Remus beamed at him. “Great. Now, you’re not dying and I already took care of you so, please leave. I have matters to attend to.” 

“Trying to get rid of me, huh?” Sirius feigned hurt. “And here I thought you liked me.” 

Remus hummed. “You know I do, But right now I’m trying to stay angry and you being here is not helping.” 

Sirius gave him a confused look. “Angry. Why?” 

“Because.” Remus threw his hands up in frustration. “Finn sent a letter saying that he’s getting married and I didn’t even know he was courting someone. And since I don’t really have an excuse to go to Gryffindor right now I have to make do with screaming at him through a letter.” 

A look of shock crossed Sirius’s features. “Wait. Finn, as in Finn O’Hara. The prince.” 

“Yes. My father is a member of the King’s council.” Now it was Remus’s turn to look confused. “He and I grew up together. I thought you knew that.” 

“You never told me.  How am I supposed to know, I don’t read minds.” 

“Obviously”, Remus’s tone took on a bitter edge. “If you did you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” 

“What do you mean.” 

“Mind reading is magic, Sirius. You would be exiled or worse, dead.” 

Understanding settled over Sirius like a cold blanket. He didn’t get why Remus sounded so bitter, maybe he didn’t agree with his father’s laws, maybe he knew someone with magic. Sirius did not want to think about sweet, intelligent Remus anywhere near magic or it’s influence. He couldn’t stand to see his boyfriend be corrupted. 

“Right. Well.” The silence that followed was uncomfortably tense. Sirius was the first to break it. “Well maybe you could come with the party that’s going to Gryffindor at the end of the week. Minerva has been really occupied with the illness that has taken over the lower town and she won’t be able to go.” Sirius relaxed when he saw the small smile that formed on Remus’s lips. “We need someone that knows their way around medicine.” 

“You do know that Gryffindor has physicians, right?” Remus asked, though the smile on his face told Sirius that he was going to go with them regardless. 

“I know that.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “Father doesn’t want…” he trailed off. Remus got what he wanted to say anyway, the smile slipping from his face. Orion didn’t want the physicians that had magic. The irony almost made Remus snort. 

“Right. Magic.” He made sure to keep the bitterness out of his tone this time. “It’ll be nice to go back home. I haven’t seen Jules in three years.” 

“Who’s Jules?” Sirius was starting to realize how little he knew about Remus’s life before he came to Slytherin. It made his chest ache. 

Remus’s face softened. “My brother. He should be turning sixteen this summer.” His smile turned a little sad. “It’ll be nice seeing him again.” 

Sirius didn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all, he didn’t know what not having his brother around was like. “It’s a pity Reg won’t be coming. I’m sure he and your brother would have gotten along.” 

“They would probably tear the kingdom to shreds, Julian is very chaotic.” Remus’s honey colored eyes shone brightly. “Gryffindor already has to deal with the chaos that is Finn, and I.”

“I want to meet all your friends.” 

Remus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why?” 

“What? Can’t I want to meet your friends without any ulterior motives?” 

“No”, he responded simply. 

“Ok fine it’s because I want the embarrassing stories.” Remus rolled his eyes. “I need teasing material Re. I have nothing on you.” 

“Maybe I just don’t do anything embarrassing.” 

“That is a big lie and you know it. You trip on air all the time.” Remus glared at him. 

“Must I remind you that I can leave you out of knight training for a month.” 

Sirius’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Remus crossed his arms, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face. “Try me, sire.” He somehow made the title sound disrespectful, Sirius still didn’t understand how he did it. 

“Ok ok. I’ll behave”. Sirius raised his arms up in surrender. 

“Good.” Remus grinned at him, leaning on his toes to kiss Sirius, nipping at his lower lip. “Come on.” He grabbed Sirius’s hand and dragged him out into the hallway, dropping it once they could be seen by someone else. They spent the afternoon together. They were joined by Logan at one point. The other knight was excited to go to Gryffindor, apparently he and Finn had become friends during the week leading up to Sirius’s coronation, and had been sending letters back and forth for about a year and a half. 

After night had fallen Remus retreated to his room, the letter a distant memory. He passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, his soft snores the only sound in the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*

Two days later they were riding toward Remus’s home country. He was nervous, he hadn’t seen Jules and Thomas in years and last time he saw Finn was two years ago, when Sirius got crowned as heir to the throne. The trip passed him by in a blur. They reached the entrance to the citadel a day and half after departing from Slytherin. By then the nerves had worn off, replaced by a burning excitement. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he had to be careful, but that rarely mattered when he saw his brother, clad in knights armor standing besides Finn and Alex. 

He saw Julian’s hand twitch, his caramel colored eyes, darker than Remus’s own, lighting up when he saw him. His face remained stoic, but Remus could tell he was trying to not smile. Besides him Finn studied the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly when he looked at Orion. The King walked down the stone steps to welcome the guests. 

He and Orion exchanged pleasantries and soon enough the Slytherin party had entered the palace. A group of maids and servants took care of guiding the guards and knights to where they would be staying for the week, some of them nodding towards Remus or saying hello. Julian waited for the crowd to thin before rushing to hug his brother. Remus gave a startled yelp, wrapping his arms around Julian and holding him close. There were tears shining in the younger’s eyes when they broke apart. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were just an apprentice for Minerva.” 

“I am”, Remus answered, “but she couldn’t come. There’s an illness taking over in Slytherin’s lower town.” 

Julian frowned slightly. “That’s awful”, he smiled brightly again, Remus keeping up with Julian’s constantly changing emotions with ease. “I’m glad you’re here though.” He pulled Remus in again, hugging him tightly. 

Remus heard Finn yell behind them. “Jules, don’t be a Remus hog.” 

Julian looked up to where Finn was and yelled back. “He is my brother O’Hara. I will hog him however much I want.” He placed his head just under Remus’s chin, sighing contentedly. 

Remus heard footsteps coming up behind him, Finn appearing on his field of vision. “I would hug you. But I think your hands are full.” Julian glared at Finn, grumbling under his breath before settling into his brother’s arms again. Remus chuckled at his baby brother’s antics. 

He gave Finn a look that promised trouble. “Finn.” The other man visibly paled. “We’re discussing the letter later.” Finn relaxed a little at the small hint of excitement he could hear in Remus’s voice. 

Julian squeezed Remus tighter before letting go, saying he had to get back to training and that he would see his brother at home. Remus looked at Finn who was watching the brothers’ interaction with a fond smile. 

“He looks up to you a lot you know.” Finn said. “The little idiot wanted to use daggers. He got so frustrated when he found out that wasn’t his thing.” 

“What is his thing then?” 

Finn thought about it before answering. “He’s a natural at shooting. Crossbows, knives, bow and arrow.” 

“That’s great”,   Remus said, a proud glint in his eyes. “He spends a lot of time with you I’m guessing.” 

“Yeah. He’s gonna be better than me soon.” Finn sighed. “How do you handle all his energy? I swear even the puppies are less active.”

Remus chuckled. “I don’t handle it. I just let him do his thing until he passes out from exhaustion”, he shrugged, “works like a charm.”

The two of them turned when they heard a squeal. Lily Evans stood near the entrance, her hands covering her mouth. She snapped out of her daze and ran towards Remus. He caught her when she jumped at him, her legs wrapping around his waist. She buried her face on his shoulder, trying to hide the tears that were flowing down her face. 

“What are you doing here? When did you get here? Has Jules seen you yet? How long are you staying?” 

“I’m here because the Slytherin visitors needed a physician and Minerva couldn’t come. I just got here. Yes Jules already tried to strangle me but your giving him great competition.” Lily let her feet drop to the floor soundlessly, but kept her hold on Remus for a little longer. “Probably going to stay for a week.”

“Gods, that’s not nearly enough time.” She looked up at him with shiny green eyes, moving to be at arm's length with him. “I missed you, the castle isn’t as fun without you to help me pull pranks on everyone.” 

Remus laughed, he had missed his friend. “How’s James doing?”  

“Oh you know”, she waved a hand around, “the usual. You just missed him actually.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “He went back to Ravenclaw yesterday.” 

“Maybe that’s for the best. I can’t imagine what would happen if he were to cross paths with Sirius. That’s either going to be a dangerous friendship or they’ll hate each other.” 

She hummed, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the training grounds. “Come on.” He and Finn followed behind her. When they reached the grounds they saw a small group of knights fighting with blunt weapons. Remus noticed that all the sorcerers were conveniently missing from the bunch. 

She guided Remus to the armory. “Go get your things. You owe me a fight after last time.” She had begun strapping leather gauntlets on her wrists. He looked around the armory to where he usually left his personal stuff, everything was where he had left it. Someone, probably Lily, had kept his daggers sharpened and polished. 

After they put on all of their protective gear, Lily and Remus headed out of the armory and went to the sparring square. “Hey Finn”, everyone stopped what they were doing when they heard Lily’s voice, “mediate for us will you?” 

Finn nodded, a grin appearing on his face, and walked to the edge of the square. “You know the rules. One round. First to draw blood wins unless the other yields.” 

The rest of the knights had gathered around to watch the fight. Remus stood at one end completely relaxed, Lily mirrored his stance. They studied each other for a moment, waiting for who would strike first. Tense silence had fallen over the square, everyone held their breath, until finally, Lily moved. 

The only sound in the clearing was the loud clashing of blades. Lily’s steps were near silent, almost like she were floating above the ground. Remus matched her pace perfectly, able to predict her every move like a well practiced dance. Remus punched her in the stomach making her lose balance, falling to the ground with a small thud. He pointed his dagger at her throat. “Yield”. 

Sirius and Logan watched the battle going on in front of them with wide eyes. They had heard the clashing of steel while walking through the castle and went to investigate only to find Remus fighting a red headed girl. His control with the daggers was almost flawless. The girl, who had a knife in her hand and three more strapped to her hips and thighs, battled with deadly precision. She would’ve made a worthy opponent to either of them. She looked at Remus with steely determination, she refused to let him win so easily. If Logan hadn’t been paying such close attention to the battle he would have missed it. Quick as lightning, the red head swiped Remus’s legs from under him, making him fall backwards, his dagger skittering across the ground.

 She stood up, holding two knives now, and lunged at Remus. He got up, stumbling over to where his blade had landed. He felt the brush of Lily’s blade against his back, it was nothing but a feather-light touch, but it was enough to warn him of what would come next. 

He grabbed the small knife that he kept hidden in his boot and turned, quick enough to meet Lily’s blade. There was fire in her gaze, barely suppressed magic burning under her skin. Remus felt the familiar buzz of his own magic trying to get out, but he kept it down with practiced ease. He felt Lily push harder with her blade, saw her other hand move back to slash at his stomach. He jumped out of the way, landing far enough away that the blade didn’t graze him. 

Sirius watched both fighters as they assessed each other with sharp focus, the silence in the grounds was absolute. Remus looked between his dagger laying on the ground and the redhead, he twisted the knife he was holding and smirked. The girl smiled brightly, eyes sharp. Sirius couldn’t figure out who would win, Remus’s usual clumsy self was gone and in its place stood a skilled warrior. 

They met in the middle of the square, the girl’s twin blades blocking Remus’s attack. She pushed back with enough force to make him stumble, before he could get too far she jammed the butt of her knife into Remus’s ribs making him double over in pain. She tripped him, making him fall back again, pinned his hands down at his sides with her knees and put the edge of her blade to the base of his neck. “Yield.” 

Remus’s glare in that moment would have made any man tremble, but the girl seemed unaffected. She put a little more pressure on the blade. “Yield, Remus.” 

He looked at her face for a moment. Whatever he was looking for he must have found, all the fight left him in a gust of air. “I yield.” The crowd erupted into cheers. 

The girl nodded, sheathing her knives and standing up. Remus took her offered hand and stood up, punching her shoulder lightly. She said something to him that made him laugh brightly, the hostile energy between them seemingly gone as fast as it had appeared. 

Remus locked eyes with Sirius from across the field, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. He tapped the girl on the shoulder and pointed towards him and Logan. She said something to him and he nodded before walking over, the girl and another red headed boy walking behind him. Sirius recognized the other man as Prince Finn O’Hara.                              

“Did you know Remus could do that.” Logan sounded as surprised as Sirius felt. Sirius shook his head, unable to form words. 

“Hey guys.” Remus sounded a little breathless, but seemed otherwise unaffected by the fight. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us Re?” The girl’s tone was teasing, but her eyes were looking at Sirius like she was trying to figure out his next move. 

“Right. Sorry.” Remus coughed loudly. “This is Lily. Lily this is Prince Sirius Black.” 

The girl extended her hand in greeting. Sirius shook it. “Please, call me Sirius. No titles unless we’re in my father’s presence.” Lily looked at him with an unreadable expression. She nodded and squeezed his hand lightly before letting go. Sirius felt like he had just passed some sort of test. 

“And this”, he pointed to the other red head behind him who was smiling at Logan, “is Prince Finn O’Hara.” He looked at Logan. “I believe the two of you have met before.” Sirius thought he saw a small blush appear on Logan’s cheeks. 

Finn’s nose scrunched up. “It’s so weird to hear you using my title.” 

“That was a great fight”, Logan praised, “why didn’t you tell me you could do things like that. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting a sparring partner.” 

Sirius made an indignant sound. “I’m standing right here Tremblay.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t know how to use daggers. You almost cut your hand off the one time you tried.” 

Remus looked at Sirius with a disbelieving look, while Lily and Finn tried not to laugh. “You did what?” 

“He’s exaggerating.” 

Logan glared at him. “Really? Because the way I recall it you cut your palm open when the grip slipped.”

A few giggles escaped Lily before she could stop them. She took a breath to try and calm down before speaking. “Let me guess, he tried to handle the dagger like he would a sword.” At Logan’s nod she sighed disappointedly. “Typical.” 

“He never bothered learning how to use them properly afterwards.” 

Remus looked at Sirius, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Well, there’s no time like the present.”  

Sirius made a distressed noise. “No. Remus I can’t.” 

“Don’t worry”, Finn interjected, “Remus and Lily are the best. Besides, Jules will probably want Remus to teach him the basics. You can be his sparring partner.” As if on cue, Julian appeared at Finn’s shoulder, startling him. “I’m putting bells on your feet.” 

Julian giggled, “Sorry.” He moved to stand besides Remus and leaned against his brother, eyes shining with excitement. “You’re going to teach me?” Remus nodded, giving Sirius a look that made him cave in. 

“Alright”, Sirius’s shoulders slumped in defeat, “I’ll try the daggers out.” Sirius smiled weakly at Julian, who was beaming at him and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Finn grabbed Logan’s wrist and guided him inside to explore the castle, leaving Sirius and Remus with Lily and Julian. Remus chuckled when Lily looped her arm through Sirius’s and dragged him away, he turned back to look at his boyfriend with a pleading expression. Remus shrugged, leaving Sirius to his luck and Lily’s mercy. 

“Is he going to be ok?” Julian asked. 

“Yeah.” Remus answered dismissively, putting his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.” The two brother’s walked away from the training grounds and headed to the citadel, laughing and shoving at each other playfully. They were both gasping when they reached their house. 

They walked in, Julian signaling for Remus to stay quiet and go hide before announcing his presence. “Hi mom.” 

“Hey honey. How was your day?” Came Hope Lupin’s from the general direction of her office followed by the soft sound of footsteps. 

“It was great. You’ll never guess who I found.” 

She came into the room and Remus had to hold himself back from coming out of his hiding spot and running into her arms. “Are you going to tell me who it was or am I going to have to start naming people?” 

A soft gasp escaped her lips when she saw Remus emerging from where he had been hiding. “Surprise”. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, resting his cheek on top of her head. She smiled brightly when they separated, a fond look on her eyes. His father entered the room a few moments later, pulling him into a tight hug. There was bright laughter and teary smiles that left a warm feeling in Remus’s chest. They spent the afternoon catching up, laughing and joking like they used to before Remus left for Slytherin.

Hours later, after Jules had fallen asleep with Calliope curled around his shoulders, Remus went into his old room. Everything was the same, the bed sheets had been cleaned and his mess had been organized, but everything else remained the same. His eyes flashed gold, lighting up the candles and stirring the stale air of the room gently. He sighed tiredly, crawling into bed and burying himself under the soft covers, a content smile on his face. 

He thought about Sirius, he wanted to show him everything. All the places where he had spent hours reading or spending time with Finn, the place where he had met Thomas, where he and Lily used to spend time practicing their magic. He knew Sirius couldn’t know about his abilities, maybe someday he could show him, but for now he wanted to share his home with him. Home was everything Remus loved. 

Home were his friends, his family, his magic. Sirius. 

*~*~*~*~*

Two days later Remus found himself alone with Sirius back at the training grounds. Sirius frowned in frustration, trying to make some sense out of what Remus had told him to fix about his technique. He looked to the side, where his boyfriend was standing, staring at him with an amused glint in his eye. “I don't understand why I can’t just use my sword”, Sirius whined, “I’m already good at that.” 

Remus gave him an exasperated glare, Sirius still caught the amused twitch of his lip. “Because, weapon versatility is one of the most important attributes a warrior could have.” He grabbed Sirius’s hand, a small smirk tugging at his lip, and pulled him close. “And, daggers are better when it comes to close range fights.” 

“Is that so?” Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “And, do tell, why would I want to use a weapon that requires me to get that close.”

Remus shrugged, using the motion to slip the small blade from the sheath at his thigh and letting his hand hang at his side, the point of the dagger clutched lightly between his fingers. “I guess you’re right, but what if you don’t get to choose your range, m’lord?”  

Before he could answer Remus flicked the blade into the air and knocked Sirius feet from under him in one smooth motion. He straddled his hips, catching the dagger, the leather grip landing on his palm, and pressing its razor sharp edge to the side of Sirius’s throat with barely there pressure.  

“Like say, someone catching you unawares and pointing a very sharp deadly object to a very”, he leaned in to whisper in Sirius ear, making a shiver run down his spine, “very vulnerable part of your body.” He took the dagger away from Sirius’s neck replacing it with his lips in a feather light kiss that made Sirius melt a little under him. He stood up gracefully, offering his hand to Sirius who was still slightly dazed. “Come on”, he pulled him up with a grunt, “let’s get back to work.” 

Sirius stared at him, heat spreading through his neck up to his cheeks. “You expect me to concentrate. After that.” 

Remus looked at him with an innocent expression. “After what, sweetheart.” 

“N-Nothing. Work right. Let’s get back to work.” 

Remus giggled, shaking his head fondly and walking to the other side of the training grounds, ignoring his boyfriend’s questions. He had asked Lily to come help him with Sirius’s training, she had a talent for teaching even the most stubborn students. Ha saw her coming out of the armory with her knives strapped to her legs and a pair of blunt daggers. 

“How’s my student doing?” She asked, walking besides him back to where Sirius was watching them with a weary expression. 

“He’s fine. I was just showing him why he should learn how to hold his own with short range weaponry.” She gave him a skeptical look. He just batted his eyelashes at her in faux innocence, she shoved his face away with her palm making him laugh loudly. 

“What did you do?” They were close enough that Sirius could hear their conversation. 

“I just did the same thing you did to James when he tried to show off. Back when he was a pining mess and trying to win your affection.” 

She hummed. “Good”.

“I learned from the best.” They stopped in front of Sirius. Remus gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked back to the entrance that led to the palace. “He’s all your Lils. I expect him back in one piece.” 

“Yeah yeah”, she waved dismissively, “I won’t kill your man. Now go, you’re distracting him and Jules is waiting for you.” 

Lily turned to look at Sirius, a smirk on her lips. He swallowed nervously, back straightening slightly. “Now the real fun begins.” She tossed the blunt blades at him, he fumbled with them for a moment, looking at her with pleading eyes. “Don’t look at me like that Black, I’m not torturing you.” 

“Remus couldn’t teach me how to do this properly. I’m no good.” 

She grabbed his face between her palms, staring into his eyes with a steady look. “Don’t say that. I’m here because I’m the best at this and because you’re my friend.” 

“But what if that’s not enough?” He sounded defeated, shoulders dropping. 

“I’m the one who taught Remus how to aim a knife properly. And I can assure you he was much worse at that than you are at this.” Her hands dropped to his shoulders, pushing them back gently so he was standing straight. “Chin up, your highness. Everyone has to start somewhere, and there’s no time like the present.” 

*~*~*~*~*

Logan walked to the library with his heart in his throat. Seeing Finn again after so long had been wonderful and painful at the same time. It hurt to know that the man he loved had fallen for someone else, but it was worse, because Logan had also fallen for the man Finn described in his letters. 

Leo had no face for Logan, no body, no voice, no features. And yet he had crawled into Logan’s heart and settled there, at least the idea of him had. The man that Finn described with such love and adoration was someone Logan wanted, he wanted Finn, too. 

He wanted to put a face to the idea and see if he could still love Leo the same. He at least wanted to put a face to the man that had won his affection without uttering a single word. Logan didn’t know Leo, he knew of Leo, but that was enough. Enough for him to fall so deeply so fast, the problem was that there was no one to catch him when he eventually met the ground. 

He opened the doors to the library soundlessly and walked inside, halting when he saw Finn, lying on one of the vibrant red couches, fast asleep, book clutched to his chest. The sight made him melt a little, he wanted to kiss the other boy awake, wanted to wrap him up in a hug, but he knew he couldn’t. So he settled for taking the book from Finn’s grasp, draping one of the blankets that were kept there over him gently, watching him shift to nuzzle the soft fabric with his cheek before settling again.

 He ran his hand through Finn’s auburn curls softly, a small whisper of I love you leaving his lips in a breath, and then he was gone. Leaving the library and part of his heart behind. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the third day of their visit to Gryffindor Snape came into the physician’s chamber looking like he had lost a fight with a rabid animal. He had cuts going down his left arm and a bruised collarbone. Remus had seen Snape trying, and failing, to flirt with Lily a few times during their stay at the palace and it appeared she had gotten fed up with his attempts. Remus barely suppressed a laugh and motioned for the night to sit down, turning around to look for the things he would need and so that Snape wouldn’t see him grinning. 

Remus had to fight down a smirk when he heard Snape hiss, the pressure of the wet rag making his arm sting. The cuts from Lily’s knives were still fresh, but no longer bleeding. The knight muttered an insult under his breath that made Remus rub the tender skin none too gently. The man winced, shoulders tense, but remained silent. 

A servant approached them cautiously, eyeing Snape like one would a wild dog. She lifted her gaze to look at Remus, a little of the apprehension leaving her eyes. He finished bandaging Snape’s arms. “I’d suggest you lay off training for today.” The knight rolled his eyes, but nodded anyway, leaving Remus alone with the serving girl. 

Once they were alone she spoke up. “There’s a messenger from Slytherin at the entrance asking for King Orion.” 

A crease of worry appeared between his eyebrows. “Did they say why?” 

The girl shook her head. “He just said that the King needed to head back immediately. I suppose he’ll explain more to his highness than he did to me.” 

“Lord Orion is in the Council chamber discussing some things with the king. Can’t it wait until that’s over?” 

“I don’t think so”, she answered, “he looked worried. I don’t think they would send someone if it wasn’t urgent.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” She bowed her head slightly. “Please tell this messenger to wait for me outside the Council chamber.” She gave another small bow and walked out the door. 

Remus followed behind her, turning to go to the library where he knew Logan and Sirius would be. He tried to think of any reason why the council would send someone to retrieve the king from such an important trip, but he came up with nothing. The only thing he could think was that someone had tried to take over, but that didn’t seem like it was it. 

“If you think any harder your brain is going to melt.” Remus jumped at the voice, he hadn’t heard someone approach him, too lost in thought to sense his surroundings. 

“Hey, Alex. Kasey.” 

The man fell into step besides him, his manservant following a few steps behind them, listening to their conversation in silence. “Something’s worrying you.” Alex looked at him with an unreadable expression. “This has something to do with that messenger right?” 

“How do you even know about that already?” 

Alex shrugged. “I have my ways.” He looked at Kasey with a smile. “So.” He turned back to Remus. “What’s wrong.” 

“I'm not sure”, Remus sighed. “Something happened. Bad enough that the council decided to call the king back knowing he could be about to enter into an alliance with your father.” They reached the entrance to the library. “That’s all I know. I need to get Logan and Sirius to the council chamber, the other knights are probably being notified and should be preparing to leave.”

Remus pushed the doors open, silent chatter feeling his ears. “Sirius”, he walked inside, “are you here.” 

“At the fireplace,” came Sirius’s voice from deeper in the room. “The others are here too” 

He sighed, walking to where his boyfriend was sitting, surrounded by Lily, Finn, and Logan. He looked at them with a weary expression, motioning for his friends to follow him. “We have to go.” 

“Why”, worry seeped into Logan’s tone, “what’s going on.” 

“A messenger arrived earlier today asking for King Orion and his party. He says that they’re needed back in Slytherin.” 

Logan looked at the redhead. “I’m sorry, but who are you and how do you know that?”

“Apologies, my name is Alex. I’m Finn’s brother. And, like I told Remus, I have my ways of knowing things.” 

“Stop smirking like a smug idiot and lead the way,” Finn stood up, the rest following behind. “We have somewhere to be.” 

They all walked down to the Council chamber where a boy was standing, looking at the doors with terrified eyes. He nodded nervously when he saw them, stepping back and vowing deeply. The guards bowed to Finn and Alex and opened the doors, cutting off the conversation going on inside the room. 

“Father”, Alex bowed, “an urgent message was sent to King Orion.” 

“And who has sent this message?” Orion’s voice was ice cold. 

 Alex held the man’s piercing stare. He motioned for the boy to step forward, encouraging him to speak up. “I did, m-m’lord.” The boy bowed. “There’s a s-situation that requires your immediate attention.” 

“And this situation”, the king’s voice remained calm, the boy shivered at the cold tone, “it couldn’t wait?” 

“No, sire”, the boy’s voice shook. “I-It’s prince Regulus.” He took a deep breath. “He’s gone.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ride back to Slytherin was quiet, tense. Orion hadn’t said a word since they had departed and it didn’t seem like he would. Something had changed about him. His face betrayed no emotion, as always, but everyone could tell something was different. 

They reached the Citadel in the evening two days later. The King strode inside the castle and into the Council chamber, leaving his horse behind for some stable boy to take care of.

 Sirius stared after him with an unreadable expression. Remus took his hand in his, making sure no one was looking at them. “Let’s go.” He nodded, squeezing Remus’s hand before letting go and walking through the palace entrance, his boyfriend following close behind. 

The prince fell into Remus’s arm, silent sobs racking his body and making him shake. He held him until Sirius was too exhausted to do anything more than walk to his bed and letting himself drop on the soft mattress, pulling Remus down and hugging him tightly, burying his face in the soft fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt. 

They said nothing. It had been two long days of unsaid words and silent reassurance when they were alone. Sirius stayed in his boyfriend’s arms, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. Trying to ignore the fact that his brother was gone, missing, and no one knew what to do. “What do you think about everything?” He asked softly, words muffled by Remus’s shirt. 

“It was a targeted attack. Someone knew we would be gone.” 

Sirius nodded. “I don’t want to jump into conclusions”, he took a steadying breath, “but is it possible this was done by a sorcerer?” 

Remus wanted to say no. That there had to be another explanation, but he couldn’t find any. Regulus had disappeared without a trace, his room was completely intact, there was no sign of struggle anywhere and no one had seen him going out or anyone coming in. “It’s possible”, was the only answer he could give him. It seemed to be enough for now. They lapsed into silence, night had already fallen. No one came looking for Sirius, there was no reason to disturb the prince when they didn’t know anything. 

Remus ran his hands through his love’s hair, eyes flashing golden. The other man gave a small content humm, falling asleep minutes later, an almost peaceful sleep. A small trick Leo had taught him, if the mind feels safe it’s easier to fall asleep. So he let his magic flow through his fingers, let it envelop Sirius in as much warmth and love as he could muster. It was dangerous, he knew that, but when the love of his life was suffering he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Another flash of his eyes and all the candles went out. Remus almost felt sorry for whoever had dared take his friend, hurting his boyfriend in the process. Almost. 

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 13

Pride ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Warcraft

Content Warning: Minor blood and gore.

It was busy in Zaldrannar: the Black Judge. The accursed depths of the floating black citadel belonged to the dead, and lately these desolate halls have been bursting at the seams with all manner of vile reanimated creatures.They had no need for light or warmth, finding solace here in the dark. Filthy abominations lumbered around in the choking shadows, with ghouls and geists crawling along the rafters. Right above them lurked a hundred Death Knights in the dim frostfire torches on the upper levels of the undead sector, and in the center of it all was a sea of countless corpses, and an angelic Val’kyr aglow in a sickly blue light; in silence she worked, either raising them into service for her living elven master, or leaving them to be used as compost for the black citadel.

Rethandus found solace working at the giant blightforge with the mindless skeletal smiths; the monsters were mute, and perfect company for someone who didn’t like talking. Hammering away with his tools helped curb his violent tendencies too -- but like all other Death Knights, eventually he would have to leave and take on missions to slate his thirst for murder, lest the Curse of Undeath purge him of what little sanity he had left. The pile of scrap metal and broken weapons beside him began to shake from approaching footfalls. But the Harbinger didn’t bother looking up to see who it was; only one bastard threw his weight around so shamelessly.

CLONK!

Without warning a bent blade almost as big as Rethandus was tossed at his feet. “Fix my sword.” Grunted the hulking brute. Thurok the Depraved was big, even for a tauren, and his body was made even bigger by the swelling power of blood magic coursing through his rotten flesh. His long black mane remained disheveled, likely since the day of his first death, with cracked horns and a mangled snout. Ugly doesn’t even begin to describe this monster, who continued to surprise everyone with his ability to even speak without half of his lower jaw, and that gaping hole in his throat. Absolutely disgusting.

“How will you be paying for it?" Asked the Harbinger. A gurgled snort bubbled up from his throat-hole as he peeled his lips back in a grotesque attempt to smile. Immediately it got under the Harbinger's frozen skin.

"You fix for FREE." Thurok snorted indignantly. "Or I shove down throat and turn little elf man into popsicle."

Rethandus clenched his jaw as he glowered up at the audacity of this beast. Had he retained his old rank, this halfwit wouldn't have dared demand him for anything; but his usefulness to Councilor Zerethel had waned, and he was replaced by someone more willing to do his dirty work. Now he was just like everyone else in this unholy barrow of titansteel and bones -- except he was still the best blacksmith aboard Zaldrannar.

"Get someone else to fix your sword." Rethandus remained as calm as he could manage. "I'm too busy for charity."

"You fix sword NOW!" Thurok croaked, kicking at his anvil with his peeling hoof. The Harbinger slowly rose to his feet, the air around him freezing as icicles crept along the ground from his boots. He was barely a third of this tauren's weight, barely standing tall enough to headbutt the brute's bloodied snout. Other undead began to take notice and gather around to watch, but at a distance; everyone wanted a good show, but no one wanted to participate. Thurok's meaty finger jabbed Rethandus in the chest. "Angry?" He asked, gurgling with delight. "Try me, little elf. Your kind thinks they're so great… Lich King showed your worth in 'High' Kingdom. Come then… pet project. Show me what a 'Harbinger' can do." He jabbed him with his greasy finger again, and Rethandus almost snapped.

Fights between Death Knights were commonplace even back in the good old days of the Scourge, but using your runeblade against your brothers and sisters in death has been forbidden and strictly enforced since the first pillaging of Naxxramas.s always been a forbidden rule; killing fellow undead didn’t help curb the curse, and the fighting power of your unit has grown weaker as a result. Thurok was unarmed -- he saw no reason not to be. Rethandus was too small to be any real threat without his weapons, and all he had to do was grab hold of him and snap him in half. The Harbinger tightened his grip on his blacksmith hammer partially hidden behind his thigh. He was ready and willing to cave in this bastard’s skull, and he only needed one good swing to do it too. But as he was about to kill him, the memory of the promise he made just a few months prior popped back into his head.

“Mr. Andy? Can I ask you a question?” Said the six year old girl. She ran her tiny fingers through her auburn hair, tucking her locks behind her soft pointy ears. In the warmth of the Eversong Woods, aglow in the orange light of the setting sun, her bright golden eyes shimmering in the growing shadows almost put a smile on the Harbinger’s face. Her mother wasn’t too far behind, letting her spunky daughter put on a good show for the frozen killing machine. “What are those symbols on your swords?”

“What are those symbol thingies on your swords?”

“They’re Frost Runes.” He calmly answered.

“What do they do?”

“They allow me to use powerful magic to fight my enemies.”

“Why?”

“Because we tap into the runes to release their power.”

“Why?”

“… because Death Knights like me need the advantage in combat.” She fell silent for several moments, her soft round face contorted with confusion.

“Why…?” Rethandus clenched his jaw, causing bits of frost to snow from his chin.

“It’s how we were designed, I guess. See…” He paused to think of the simplest way to explain this to a child. “We are bad people. But we also fight bad people, so you and Mommy can live in peace. Do you understand?”

“You’re not bad anymore!” She squeaked defiantly. “You’re good! Do you understand? Promise me!”

Slowly Rethandus crossed his arms and tilted his head. He didn’t know the difference between good and bad anymore; it had been so long since he had to question his own moral standing that he probably couldn’t recall them. But he would humor his ward, at least so she would stop asking him so many questions. “I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced. She reached down and picked up the straightest stick she could find. “Kneel before me, and make a sodomy vow!”

“Solemn.” Rethandus quietly corrected her, before glancing over his shoulder to see her mother not far behind. Thankfully she wasn’t paying attention; if she heard the words coming out of her daughter’s mouth, she would be absolutely livid. Hesitantly he dropped to a knee and bowed his head. The little girl approached him as regally as she could manage in her bulky coat, and placed the end of the stick onto his shoulder.

“Brave sir knight, you are now forever good. You must use your swords for good things. Never bad things.” She then tapped the other shoulder. “Now rise, Mr. Andy! Rise and be good again!”

“Be good again.” Rethandus thought, staring into the pale grey eyes of this bulking Death Knight. His anger was calmed, for now, and he slowly turned his back to begin walking away from this situation; better to let Thoruk have his little victory then to stoop down to his lev-

“Coward.”

He stopped mid stride. He could feel the ice on his teeth splintering from clenching his jaw so hard. Heat rose from his frozen guts, such as it was, until the Harbinger was just about ready to explode. “Ice in pointy ears?!” Taunted Thoruk. “I call you COWAR-!”

Rethandus spun around and whipped his hammer so hard across Thoruk's face that his metal nose ring and a chunk of his snout went flying into the onlookers! Frost runes glowed on his gauntlet in the dim light when he blasted the staggering tauren with rime! Then the Harbinger jumped on him, with one hand firmly gripping a horn as the other raised his hammer high above him! Just as he brought it down to bury into his brains, Thoruk bucked forward to shake him off! Blinded by frost and rage alike, the tauren charged forward and carried the Harbinger across the room to slam into the wall!

THOCK!

Even clad in reinforced elementium from the neck down he felt his ribs and pelvis shatter! Rethandus bucked over, using his runes to refreeze his bones back into place. A fist the size of a cannonball came crashing into his back, snapping a shoulder blade! A hoof whipped upwards and knocked him onto his side! Rethandus swiped his hammer off the ground and brought it up to uppercut the tauren, but with his broken bones it didn't land nearly as hard enough to kill him!

The other Death Knights huddled around them, shouting and cheering for either man in this twisted battle to the death! Thoruk was still struggling to keep his balance from the first swing, with blood shooting from his ruined snout with each exhale. "Kill you!" He grunted, lifting a massive hoof. "Crush you!"

Rethandus barely had enough time to raise his arms before Thoruk stomped him, his right elbow snapping like brittle firewood beneath the surging unholy strength of this beast. Even if he had his helmet the Harbinger knew he wouldn’t survive another stomp, so he grabbed onto the disgusting hoof and overloaded his frost runes, freezing himself to the ground and Thoruk’s lower half. At this angle he wouldn’t be able to reach Rethandus with his own two meaty hands, and before long he would either have to submit and relinquish the fight, shatter his own legs just to kill him, or be entombed in ice until someone with authority could thaw them out. Thoruk in his maddened rage chose the fourth option. His hand stretched toward the forge. Black lightning lashed out from his fingers and yanked his bent runed greatsword from the floor. “KILL YOU!” He bellowed, raising it high above his head! Within the ice Rethandus closed his eyes and prepared for decapitation, ready to see his parents and older brother again before he was doomed to the void…

The voice of a woman calmly but loudly clearing her throat made Thoruk freeze before he stabbed downward, and the crowd of Death Knights parted like a theater curtain to let her pass. Her boots clicked and clacked against the floor as she walked, the sound echoing through the chamber from the dead silence. The tauren turned to look with his pale eyes widening in fear, and he dropped the sword like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Thoruk, Thoruk, Thoruk.” She sighed, shaking her head. “What exactly were you planning to do with that busted blade? I’m dying to know.”

“N-nothing, Istrys…!” He lied, gurgling from his throat hole and his face hole. “Rethandus tried to kill me! I was defending myself!”

“Rethandus.” The woman started, crossing her arms. “Release the cow before I let both of you remain frozen here until the end of time.” Rethandus could barely hear her beneath the ice he made, but he knew what she wanted. A low hiss came from the thawing, and as soon as he was able to lift his hoof off the Harbinger and stand normally, he did. She turned her attention back to Thoruk. “Turning your runeblade against kin is forbidden. Would you like to come with me back to my quarters to learn firsthand what happens to traitors who can’t follow the simplest of rules?”

“No, Istrys! I-it won’t happen again…!” The once hulking beast was reduced to a sniveling coward in her presence, but Rethandus didn’t blame him; Istrys was a true monster. She delighted in the suffering of living and undead alike, and was solely in charge of disciplinary actions within Zaldrannar. She was the one that replaced the Harbinger as Councilor Zerethel’s right hand, after all.

“Get out of my sight before I change my mind.” Her tone was uncomfortably gleeful. Abandoning his greatsword Thoruk did exactly as she commanded, pushing past the crowd to vanish into the black tunnels. She looked down at Rethandus with a cruel grin spreading across her dead lips. “Seems you’re injured, Andy. I guess that means you’re coming with me. Heh heh heh heh…”

[tangleweave]

You Are Here (RP)

@sigynthevictorious

Vision frowned. This wasn’t Earth. Granted, it had grass, tall buildings, and humanoids walking in the open, but any similarities appeared to end there. The structures of the sprawling citadel were rounded, elegant, shining with gilded gleam. His optical sensors made a series of minute adjustments as he cast his gaze to the sky. Blue, yes, but the stars were still easily visible around the horizon. There was a sun, but it wasn’t Sol. Different color, larger, further away. And that was only the nearest star. Amongst the other visible ones – and there were many – he could find no familiar constellations.

He breathed in, analyzing the air. Roughly equivalent to Earth’s, if a bit heavier on the metallic components. He shifted his limbs about, carefully calibrating his molecular density and calculating gravitic resistance. At his standard density, he was heavier here – he calculated approximately 1.16 Earth standard.

He was standing on a large patch of brilliant green grass, near a row of what appeared to be domiciles. If this place was anything like his home planet, he would dare to think it was suburban. And it appeared he was starting to gain attention; people were beginning to slow down, point, and stare.

He ran a quick analysis on their attire. They appeared to be clad in styles slightly reminiscent of Scandinavian sensibilities, though the designs were a unique union of fashion and practicality. Vision tilted his head, fascinated by the intricate weaving of gold and silver threads into leather and lace alike.

He noticed one woman in particular who seemed to be standing closer to the edge of the path than the other citizens, her gaze coolly analyzing him as certainly as he was analyzing her and the people around her. She was taller, blonde, and had at her side two boys of… a not immediately identifiable age. Not infants, not adults, somewhere in between, but his sensors could make neither heads nor tails of them – visual carbon dating suggested they were far older than any human offspring of equivalent size. But the mischievous looks on their faces indicated their level of maturity matched their appearance.

There was nothing for it, really. So he took several steps towards the crowd with one open crimson hand upraised, a sign that was at once a greeting and an indication of non-hostile intent. “Uh, hello,” he said, sounding as confused as he felt. “Pardon my intrusion, but I’m wondering… might you tell me where, exactly, I am?”

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- We’re the Best

“This is Unit Delta-5-9!  We need immediate reinforcements!  We’re getting torn up over here!”

“Copy that, Delta-5-9.  Who are the hostiles in your area?”

“Commander Shepard is here!  Repeat, Commander Shepard is here!”

“Copy that.  Anyone else?”

“There’s one guy in some sort of silver armor.  With a spear!  He’s tearing up our guys like it’s no problem!”

“...repeat last.”

“Yes, he’s got a spear!  And there are these two guys in trench coats, too!”

“What are they doing?”

“Uh… dancing?” “...”

“And there’s some other guy, too.  He’s moving too fast for us to track, and… where did he go?”

“Hello.” 

“Wha-” [Several gunshots are fired.  Transmission ends.]  -Transmission Intercepted from Attacking Force Delta by combined Quarian/Starfleet/Mechanicus operatives

“The elevators in this place are so goddamn slow.”  Shepard shrugged at Drake, a move which made him bump against Vir.  

“Yeah, I know.  Cramped, too.”  

“Got that right,” muttered Quill as he jostled for position with Cooper.  Drake sighed and activated his wrist computer.  

“Might as well do something useful.  Ordelphine!  Saul!  Whoever the hell’s up there.  You might have heard, but we have problems down here.  Every available crewmember is to deploy with full… everything.  Heavy weapons, heavy armor, tell Garang to wear the power armor, and get Kraiker, Mark, Oliver, and Muelka to get down here with all their stuff.”  He paused for a moment, then pressed the transmit button with almost indecent haste.  “And tell Muelka to not set anything on fire!”  He shrugged at Shepard and Quill’s curious expressions.  “I think it would be best if my crew and I were remembered for saving the Citadel, not blowing it up.”  Vir shrugged and nodded.

“Makes sense.  Actually, I ought to get my crew down here too.”  He tapped the communications button on the side of his Iron Eye helmet.  “Simone!  Cannon!  Get the Marines, Valhallans, and Drev clan down here!  This is a full battle.  Extended combat operations, so be ready for that.”

“Understood, sir.  I…  uh… Conn wants me to tell you that… “A vampire masturbating in front of a mirror.  Bet you didn’t see that coming.”  What the hell?  Conn, you little-”  Vir shook his head.

“It’s fine.  So as long as he stays there.  We don’t want to freak too many people out.”  

“Yes, sir.  Although that means I’m stuck with him,” responded a slightly put-out Simone.

“Have fun!” replied Vir with a bit too much cheerfulness than was required.

“I’m sure I will, sir.”  Vir released the comms button on his helmet and shook his head again.  

“I’m not so sure I want to meet Conn,” intoned Quill.  

“Take my advice and just… don’t,” replied Vir.  Quill nodded. 

“Fair enough.”  he rubbed his chin for a moment.  “At least I don’t have to contact anyone.  Everyone from my ship is in the other elevator.”

“Maybe you should have gone with them,” muttered Cooper as he jostled against Quill once more.  

“No.  Drax is there, and he takes up way too much space as it is.”  Shepard shook his head at their banter, and activated his comms as well.

“Miranda, get the ground team down here.  The entire ground team.”

“Should I come along as well?” replied a woman’s Australian-accented voice.  Shepard considered for a moment.

“Yes.  Tell Joker not to get the Normandy too beat up while we’re gone.”

“Understood, Commander.”  Cooper looked over from where he was pressed against the glass.  

“So, we have that down.  Now what?”  Shepard activated a button, and a glowing orange hologram sprang to life around his left arm.  He pressed something else, and a map of the Citadel came up.

“We’re here.” He tapped near the Council chambers.  “There’s a pretty hefty attacking force outside, fighting C-Sec officers and Turian shock troopers outside.  We clear the attackers, set up a space where shuttle reinforcements can land, and proceed from there.”  Everyone nodded.  

“Well, that’s a better plan than most of what we do.”  The group looked at each other speculatively.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, it is,” said Quill.  “Reminds me.  Have I ever told you about the time where I saved the galaxy with only 17% of a plan?”  

Elsewhere on the Citadel

It was decided that Master Chief would take up the rear, as eight feet of muscle and Mjolnir armor would be a reasonable deterrent for most pursuers.  There had been a short but intense argument over who would lead, but Kirk had suggested a combined force of bodyguards to placate everyone.  

Now, a group of various bodyguards led the delegates through the under-tunnels of the Citadel to safety, with Cain, Kirk, and Solo sprinkled throughout the formation.  The delegates murmured to each other, careful to not let their words be overheard.  Each had groups of powerful special forces soldiers at their command, and each was wondering what to do with them, or if and when to deploy them.  

“Councillors!  We are under heavy fire!  Some of the C-Sec officers have turned traitor, and the attackers are taking more of the Citadel.  We need reinforcements!” came a desperate cry over the communication systems.  Sparatus, the Turian Councillor, replied immediately.  

“Hierarchy soldiers are currently on the ground.  We’ll send more, but it will take a while for their shuttles to get there.  You’ll have to hold,” he replied curtly.  Several other diplomats heard the exchange.  Normally, many would not have lent their forces to the fight, but if it meant the difference of getting out alive or dead, it wasn’t even a question.

“Captain Faro, this is Thrawn.  Deploy our troopers immediately.  Have TIE’s escort the shuttles.  Keep the Destroyers in a holding position.”

“Captain, this is Agent Omicron.  Have the ODSTs ready to drop immediately.”

“Watch Captain, this is Inquisitor Vail.  Order the Scions to deploy in high altitude grav drop.  Have the Kill Team and the Assassins ready in the teleportariums.”

“Captain, this is Marder.  Have the Pilots stand ready in their Titans and be ready to deploy.”

Elsewhere on the Citadel

The elevator sounded a clear, high ding! and the doors slid slowly open.  

“Fucking finally,” muttered Drake.  The next elevator over sounded a similar chime and disgorged Quill’s crew, looking none happier than the Scoundrels over the slow ride down.  The sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air from just beyond the indoor plaza at the foot of the Council Chambers.  “Well, back to something I know better.  Actually…”  Drake’s face turned into a sly grin.  “Tali!  Scotty!  Can you two give me control of the P.A. system?”  

“Why do you want the P.A. system?” came Scotty’s, well, Scottish bur.  

“Uh… psychological warfare?”  There was a pregnant pause on the other end.  Drake tried again.  “For funsies?”  

“...fine.”  There was another pause.  “You have control Drake,” came a very tired sounding Scotty.  

“Wonderful!” replied Drake, utterly delighted.  “Now, here comes the fun part.”

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

Major Viter of the Turian Hierarchy cursed as a bullet chipped the wall he was kneeling behind.  The Cerberus attackers and traitor C-Sec agents had his combined forces of Hierarchy soldiers and loyal C-Sec agents pinned down in front of the Citadel Tower.  They had held well enough for the past ten minutes of grueling firefights, long enough to give the Council and the other delegates enough time to escape.  Viter didn’t care much for the other diplomats, but he had been ordered to hold, and death was a preferable alternative to disobeying those orders.  Another volley of fire raked the wall, and he shrank back from it.  Cerberus was getting crafty.  They knew the Hierarchy shock troopers were far superior to the C-Sec agents under his command, so they endeavored to keep the Turians pinned down for as long as possible.  Not good.  He turned to his left and yelled at his communications officer.

“Where are those reinforcements?  We can’t hold the tower without them!”  

“They’re still ten minutes out!  And that’s not including the time it’ll take the shuttles to find a safe landing zone!”  Viter cursed.  “But someone said we have additional reinforcements en-route.  Some kind of special team,” added the communications officer.  Viter calmly shot down a traitor C-Sec agent who was stupid enough to poke their head in the open before turning back.  

“What kind of special team?”  But before the comms officer could replay, the Citadel’s P.A. system fizzed to life.  Cerberus, C-Sec, and Turian soldiers looked up with confusion as an unmistakably human show tune started to play.  

“Yippie yay!  There’ll be no wedding bells for today!”  There was a flash of electric blue, and a Cerberus trooper took a shot to her head, which promptly melted, complete with horrifying screams from its wearer.  Viter looked back to the Tower’s entrance.  Standing there was a black haired, black coated human wielding a silvery, triple barreled rifle.  Flanking him was another masked and trenchcoated human, a small (about up to viter’s knee), rodent-like creature holding a full-sized machine gun, and… Commander Shepard.  Back from the dead?  To borrow a human expression: Oh boy.  This just got interesting.

  As the abominably cheerful tune continued to play, a figure clad in solid grey metal armor and some massive, bare-chested, grey and orange humanoid alien ran past Viter at speeds he didn’t think were possible for a biped to produce.  He did a double take.  They were holding a spear and two knives respectively.  Did they have a death wish?  The Cerberus and C-Sec attackers seemed to think so, as they stepped forward as one to cut the running figures down.  

With no warning, a man wearing a strange set of advanced-looking armor materialized beyond a Cerberus trooper wielding a machine gun, drew a pistol, gave a cheerful “Hi!”, blew the back of the trooper’s head apart, and disappeared.  Farther down, a Cerberus combat engineer looked down at his chest, where a lithe blade appeared through his breastbone.  A green-skinned alien woman gave him a surreptitious wink, and, before his comrades could react, faded into oblivion.  

Within the space of a second, the attacking line devolved into panic.  The gunmen behind the running figures opened fire, forcing the Cerberus personnel to keep their heads down as the two sprinting figures collided with them at full tilt.  

The grey figure’s spear slid through a trooper’s neck armor joint, producing a gurgled sigh as he crumpled to the ground.  The silvery figure spun around, and with pinpoint precision, impaled another Cerberus trooper through the joints of her armor.  The massive grey humanoid went flying into a group of traitorous C-Sec agents with reckless and utterly terrifying abandon, stabbing wildly.  

The green-skinned woman appeared once more, and gracefully cut down two Cerberus soldiers with just as many strokes of her keen-bladed swords.  The Turians and loyal C-Sec agents were now all firing at the disorganized attackers, Shepard was killing with horrifying, lethal accuracy, the rodent-creature was cackling maniacally as it fired it’s huge machine gun, the two trenchcoated men were dancing along to the music over the P.A. system while firing off precise, perfectly timed-to-the-beat shots, there was a walking tree now that was impaling people with wooden growths from its arms, and the man in advanced armor, who had been appearing and disappearing was now running on the walls, almost horizontally, supported by only thrusters on the back of the suit and a hand held out for balance.  In short, utter mayhem.  

The man hopping from wall to wall jumped down and kicked a Cerberus trooper with enough force to crack her helmet.  The grey armored man and green-skinned woman impaled two more opponents with perfect synchronicity.  Viter overloaded a Cerberus soldier’s shields, then shot him in the head.  The last enemy, a panicking traitorous C-Sec agent, turned and ran, only to be gunned down by the black coated human.   

The grey armored figure removed their helmet to reveal the cheerful face of a green-eyed, blond-haired human man.  Shepard and he walked over to Major Viter, who turned and stared at them with an expression that was equal parts confusion, shock, and gratefulness.  

“I’m assuming you’re the team that was sent to assist me?” he asked.  “Pardon me asking, but who exactly are you?”  Shepard opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the black coated man.

“We’re the Magnificent Scoundrels, and we put the laughter into slaughter!”  Shepard’s mouth moved spasmodically for a few moments before the blond haired man stepped in.

“Don’t… don’t listen to… him.”  The black coated man shrugged.

“Yeah.  I get that a lot.”  Shepard rolled his eyes.

“We’re a team made up from a variety of different governments present, and we’re here to help take back the Citadel.”  Shepard looked around, experienced eyes taking in the mayhem around them.  “What now?” he asked Viter.  Viter’s mandibles moved in an expression that Shepard recognized as turian thoughtfulness.  

“Well, we press on and clean up the Citadel.  But we,” he gestured at the group, “Can’t do it alone.  We’re going to need help.”  Shepard and the blond man shared a knowing glance.  

“Don’t worry, ‘cause help you’re going to get.” 

If you have any comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, questions, or requests, feel free to tell me.  For the curious, the song is called “Jingle Jangle Jingle.”  I recommend finding the Fallout New Vegas version ‘cause apparently it’s the only remastered version on the internet.  

[jackxunknown]

The Sith had been brought out in chains, the cell below the Cidael he’d been kept had done its job cutting him off from the Force and weakening him and he was easy to manage. The crime he’d been accused of was mass murder. Dozens had been found dead from a saber blade and the Council had said he had been found nearby. It was all the evidence they’d needed. The rest believed their council with unwavering loyalty.

The man was pushed to his knees, and the metal ring already around his neck connected to a chain fixed to the ground. What was about to happen was clear; a Jedi stood all clad in deep brown robes, a veil of thick woven fabric covered their face, shading their identity. Though they took the solemn oath of loyalty, and had volunteered to do their part to rid the galaxy of the last of the Sith, one from a long line hidden from them but finally revealed, they wished their role as executioner to be anonymous, as all volunteers always did.

The Masters spoke, but the words seemed lost on the condemned, he seemed only to crane his neck to look at the crowed, not to appeal to them, no, he understood these people would never believe them over the Masters that spoke of the crimes he knew he hadn’t committed, that he’d die for because of his lineage, and the saber that he carried. He seemed instead to be looking for someone, and it looked as if that person couldn’t be seen in the crowd. The man hung his head back down in defeat, but his jaw still clenched when the executioner stepped forward when the little green thing stopped talking what vaguely sounded like backwards nonsense. His head only twitched slightly when the red saber ignited (the mans own, bled saber) and lowered to just above his neck.

There was a pause as the hidden Jedi raised the saber to strike the target it had marked....and it swung away from his neck and around the front to sever the chain holding him down in one clean strike and disappeared back in to its hilt. The man was pulled to his feet as the saber hilt disappeared iunder her robes, and the hooded figure pushed at the air with a violent thrust, and the audience was thrown off their feet.

The hooded figure tore the veil off and tossed her hood back, black wild hair and dancing blue eyes to match the grin was revealed. With one arm she clutched his shoulder to keep him upright, the other whipped out another saber that sparked to life; bright pink that sparked and cracked, and she held it up like shield and a declaration.

“What are you doing?” a man shouted from the crowed, trying to get to his feet.

“Quitting.” said the girl, the grin pulling up for a moment

“Leave, you may” came the voice from the little green thing that had officiated just a few moments earlier “but stay, the Sith must.”

There was a pause, for just a heartbeat as the girls eyebrow went up and she looked the creature over. The only sound was the sparks of the saber.

“Go fuck yourself, ya little gremlin.” In a flash the pink was gone and the hilt back where it came from under the robes, and she grabbed the front of the mans shirt, her eyes closing.

In a violent and nauseating moment they weren’t in the citadels courts any more, but in a small ship, and she tripped and fell over their feet.

“Sorry! Sorry Ive never taken anyone with me.” She steadied him, still holding him upright, and looked him in the face for the first time “Im Jack, and we need to get out of here right the fuck now.” Was all she said before she dragged him to one of the chairs by the console and dropped him in it, strapping him in the getting int he pilots chair. The ship was in the air moments later, and speeding out of Coruscant’s airspace far faster than was allowed. It was either that, or the Jedis warnings to them about an escapee that had the squadron of V-19s flying at them. When they opened fire, the shields took the hits hard but wouldn’t last very long.

Jack just flicked switched and pressed at the console like mad, and increased speed, seeming not to listen to any protests from her new fellow fugitive. She just increased speed until they were near collision distance and the computer told them the shields were nearly failing. Suddenly she stood up out of the seat and jammed one foot up on the steering control, keeping them going straight. And with both hands held out, the backs of them together and shaking with the rest of her arms, Jack suddenly  wrenched them apart, and so with them the fleet of ships in front of them were thrown to either side, crashing into eachother and clearing a path for them.

She fell back into the seat, her hand back on steering controls, the other slammed down on the hyperdrive controls, and jammed it them in to lightspeed with a jolt. Jack was staring out the dash window with an extreme concentration that one didnt need when they were following established hyperspace lanes. Then again, people didn’t enter hyperspace from inside a planets atmosphere, either. They were only traveling like that for 30 some odd seconds when Jack slammed them back of it, and quite suddenly the surface of a barren, icy planet about 30 miles away filled the cockpit window, and she jammed the ship upright as quickly as she could, and a rocky and bump few minutes later, they were landing and she was leaning back in her chair with a shaky breath of relief.

[invctus]

Hop smiles softly at the (rather large) Pokemon on his lap, holding onto Zamazenta's long blue fur as he gently runs a brush through it.

"Y'know," he begins, "I dunno how folks still get spooked by ya. I mean, like, you did save Galar an' all - twice. Maybe more." Legends can be false - only recently they rediscovered who the real heroes of Galar were - so another Darkest Day nobody remembers isn't out of the question, right?

The Trainer shifts under Zamazenta to return some circulation to his legs before huffing. "I think it's unfair. They should be thankin' ya, not givin' ya weird looks."

Great fondness swept in gentle waves through the breast of the beast, cresting and breaking in the large chambers of the ceaseless, pounding heart. Though young Hop oft proved his own greatest foe, his anxieties and imagined failings the thorny vines to drag him further still into the depths of his brother's shadow, there seemed none greater in this new Galar, this new world so full of new life and shining citadels, to wield the rusted shield as they had centuries ago.

Certainly, though Zacian would likely scoff in that faux-standoffish way of hers, such a title was helped in no small amount by Hop's dedication to care, nor his peculiar, otherworldly, knack for finding just the right spot.

Heavy though the steeled beast was, the bright shield of their maw dispelled in favour of soft furs and scarred visage, that did not stop them from splaying their head in their Trainer's lap, the full weight of it kept from crushing Hop further only by virtue of that primeval impulse to fit yet more of their body into the boy's lap, to present more of themself for that gentle attention. The likes of the boy's employer, his brother, even those who had once attempted to sunder Galar anew for the sake of a brighter morn, would likely reel in horror at the thought of the Fey King brought low, reduced to a squirming hound and thumping tail with little more than a careful hand, yet Zamazenta found they cared not for the thought, nor those at its core. All that mattered to them was Hop, and they would see the boy's joy and protection through until they could no longer sup the metal from the earth nor rip giants asunder once more.

Their boy spoke and a red-furred ear twitched, the king's great head twisting to better watch the countenance of their charge with a single golden eye. Too oft did Hop lose himself to the shadows of his own thoughts, and Zamazenta would not allow it where they could. A quiet 'Griiiiellld' rumbled behind teeth and tongue, a murmured reassurance nestled low in the throat; the thoughts of Galar's people mattered little to them. Forever would they be a demon in appearance, a savage and battle-scarred thing clad in war to appear only when needed, bound to neither will of man or fellow Pokemon -- the horror of this new world was a small price to pay if it meant the dark claws of Eternatus were kept still from the light and life of the world. A cold nose butted briefly against Hop's jaw, reassuring in its own way.

"It is admirable you worry about me so, ddewr calon." Warm words rumbled in the boy's mind, like deep forests shifting, like rich roots burrowing through the earth. "I am a stranger to them, as I once was to you. They only fear that which they do not know, and I am still a mystery to them."