#note: his scar is based on a scrape he got when he fell off his scooter one time

[spencerreidsmiles]

Skater Boy Spencer Reid

Written by: spencerreidsmiles

Howdy, howdy! I am very slowly going through my remaining requests. This request was for prompts 38, 41, and 47 on the fluff prompt list here. You’ll see them bolded throughout the story!

Also, a short side note that I have no idea how to skateboard at all! This is solely based off my intensive research (/s) on how to skateboard, so if this isn’t accurate, I’m sorry!

Summary - The reader teaches Spencer how to skateboard.

Content Warnings - blood, minor injury, light teasing

Word Count - 1737

MASTERLIST // WATTPAD VERSION

“Skateboarding? Of all things you could’ve chosen, skateboarding?”

“Oh come on, Spencer, you never know, you might be good at it,” you replied, yanking at his shirt sleeve. 

Spencer glanced at you with a slightly withering glare. It was a look you were very familiar with; if there was one thing you enjoyed more than anything else in the world, it was teasing Spencer. It was just so easy to tease him, so why wouldn’t you?

But amidst all the teasing about the skateboarding, there was a part of you that knew Spencer Reid would make an excellent skater boy. 

You leaned closer to Spencer, looking up with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster and a big pout. 

“Remember when I saved your ass? You owe me, Spencer,” you said, emphasizing each word with a poke to his chest. “You said you would do whatever I wanted.”

Spencer glanced away with a pout. “Fine, whatever you like.” 

“Hm, I knew you would say that.” You grinned with satisfaction and squeezed his cheeks. “I’ll see you at the skate park tomorrow! Don’t forget your knee pads!” 

Spencer did not, in fact, forget his knee pads. (Not that forgetting things was something Spencer usually did.) And even though you had told him to bring his knee pads, you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw him walk - no, waddle - up in matching purple knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet. He looked long and gangly and awkward in his gear with his usual converse and for once, a tee shirt and shorts. You hadn’t ever seen him in any of these clothes before but you had to admit, you definitely weren’t disliking it. 

“You look really good. Color coordinated too,” you said with a big smile as you knocked the side of his helmet with your knuckles. 

“You like it?” Spencer beamed. He did a little spin, the clasps of his helmet twirling around. 

“It’s perfect for you. Honest.” You kicked up your spare board, catching the top. “But let’s get down to business. I’m going to make you a skater boy by the end of the day, Spencer Reid. That is a promise.”

You handed the board over to Spencer. It was old and scraped up from years of use and many, many wipeouts. When you’d first bought it years ago, it was red and shiny, but now the red had faded away, leaving only a wooden board with strips of red remaining. The wheels were still functional, if a bit wonky, but perfect for learning on. 

For someone who claimed to have absolutely zero athletic ability, Spencer was quite good at skateboarding. Well, to be fair, he hadn’t actually started skateboarding for real yet. You started him off by placing a single foot onto the board with the other still fully intact with the ground, but it was a start. He got a feel for what it felt like to bend his knees and push his weight around to move the board. But now he had to put both feet on the board and actually skateboard.

“Y/N, look! I’m doing it!” Spencer said as he hopped around on one leg while scooting with his other on the board. 

You couldn’t help but smile. The childlike glee Spencer was exuding could make anyone smile. He carted himself around the perimeter of the skate park as you trailed behind him, keeping a careful eye on him. 

“Alright, Spencer. Well here comes the hard part. Give me your hands, you’re going to put both feet on the board now.” 

Instantly, Spencer’s smile was replaced with a worried expression. He put his foot down on the ground and paused in front of you. 

“What?” he asked. You brushed aside some of Spencer’s hair that had escaped his helmet, accidentally brushing his cheek as well. Shivers tickled your spine and unfamiliar goosebumps covered your body. 

“Hey, I got you. Trust me, okay?” you said.

“Okay.” Spencer nodded and placed his hands in yours. 

“Now push off with your right foot, then put it back on the board, and I’ll pull you, got it?” you directed. 

With a silent gulp, Spencer did as you said. He bent his knees and pushed off with his right foot before placing it back on his board. You started walking backwards and pulled Spencer forward. Slowly, you started walking back faster and faster until you had started to jog. 

“Spencer, you’re doing it! You’re doing it!” you exclaimed. 

Without saying another word, you let go of Spencer’s hands. And for a minute, he was actually doing it, actually skating around with both feet firmly planted onto the board and arms spread out like wings. You were so busy admiring him you didn’t even notice that he had begun to lose balance and wobble.

“Y/N! How do I stop!” he shouted, reaching his hands out for you.

“Oh shoot! Hold on!” 

You started running back towards him, but you were too late. Spencer had already leaned too far ahead. He started making circles with his hands, flapping around in an attempt to keep his balance. Just as you grabbed his hands, the board kicked out from under him and both of you fell flat onto the asphalt. 

You had your eyes closed while you were falling, so when you opened them to find Spencer’s face only a couple inches above yours and his body on top of yours, you nearly screamed. You had never been this close to Spencer in your entire life. Surely if he was this close, he could hear your heart beating out of your chest, no? You were breathless but you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were being squished by Spencer or because of how close you were to him. 

Spencer, however, was completely frozen. His hands were placed right beside your head and he was staring, just staring, straight at you. His caramel curls hovered right above your face, blowing gently from the wind. 

“Hi,” you said breathlessly. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“I’ll be honest, you are crushing me right now.” 

“Oh, sorry!” Spencer rolled off of you, landing on his butt, cross-legged on the ground. You wriggled yourself up and watched as Spencer dusted himself off. 

When you finally made eye contact, you couldn’t help but start laughing. You were just replaying the image of Spencer slipping over and over again. It was incredible. 

“That was the most ridiculous fall I’ve ever seen, Spencer, my god.” 

You leaned back, holding your stomach as you laughed. Just before you fell over completely again, Spencer caught your hand. From that single touch, electricity shot from your fingertips into the rest of your body. The sensation nearly scared you for how good it felt, how alive it made you feel. Touching Spencer felt like you were skating without even getting on a board. You never wanted to let go. 

But Spencer did. He pulled back, forehead scrunching as he winced. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. But then you saw it, his poor hands all torn up from the fall. They were rubbed raw with speckles of red dotting his palms. “Oh my gosh, Spencer, your hands!” 

“I’m fine,” he said. He looked at his own palms, flexing it, moving it around.

“No, come here, at least let me clean it,” you said as you stood up. “Come on, I have a first aid kit in my bag.”

You led Spencer to a bench with all of your things. As you cleaned his palms, wiping them with antiseptic wipes and bandaging them, you could feel Spencer’s eyes watching you. 

After years of working for the FBI, going on case after case for years, Spencer’s hands were rough and calloused. There were scars, too many for you or him to remember where and when they came from now, blending in with the creases of his hands. But still, they were comforting, familiar.

“One more try, okay? I believe in you. No more wipeouts.” You finished bandaging his hands with a gentle pat. Spencer pretended to pout, giving you a half-meaning glare. 

“Oh come on, you’re okay. Do you need a kiss to make it better?” you teased. 

“What?” Spencer’s face flushed. 

“I’m kidding.” You pushed his shoulder lightly all whilst thinking that for the first time (or at least the first time you had truly acknowledged it) you weren’t really joking at all. “Now come on, one more try.”

Spencer was more hesitant this time, but he reached for your hands again. He placed one foot on the board, already beginning to wobble. Come on, Spencer, you can do it, you thought to yourself. He glanced at you as he took a deep breath. 

And he did. Spencer soared around the whole park. He was like a natural as he swerved around with outstretched arms. The sound of the wheels sliding against the pavement surrounded you as Spencer removed his back foot from the board and stopped without flying off the board right in front of you. 

“You did it, Spencer!” You ran up to Spencer and enveloped him in a massive hug. 

Spencer returned your hug, throwing his arms around you tightly. His knee pads knocked against your legs as he pulled you closer to him. He smelt of coffee and baby powder under the sweat and dirt and twinge of blood that lingered in the air. As you stayed there wrapped up in his arms, you wondered if it was possible to stay here forever in the comfort you never knew was so close. 

The two of you finally decided to leave when the sun started to beat down on your backs. While Spencer was prepared for almost everything, apparently the two things he hadn’t thought about were guard gloves and sunscreen. Spencer grabbed the board, resting it comfortably under his arm. 

As you went to get your bag, Spencer tapped your shoulder and spoke. “So uh, can we do this again next week?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I would love that, Spencer. And who knows, you might be better than me soon.”

Spencer looked down with a growing smile on his face. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” you said, fearlessly grabbing Spencer’s hand.

You walked away with satisfaction, thinking to yourself only one thing; you were right, Spencer Reid did make an excellent skater boy.

TAG LIST - @reiding-and-writing @twelveyearoldchildprodigy @philsreidingglasses @marshmellow-mouse  @huntynut-queerios  @sierra—king  @thnksfrbuckybarnes  @hope-hopr @rosyreid @scbcar @ultrarebelheart @headshotsandcanons @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @heyitskatrina @mainstreamqueen @prettyrickyreid @theresnothingformehere @donuts1324 @lookingforgalifrey @doyouheardeansing @stunudo @captainreid @little-pan-trash-can @the-one-and-onlyqueenasf @the-and-sign-anon @princesswagger17 @spoonsandthings14 @nerdyfandom20 @spencerreidsbitch @irjuejjsaa @philspinkyfinger @peter-parker-steve-bucky @biscottibitch @bucky-smiles @youngmalfunctionarts @spacedustdoll @shotarosleftpinky @jjwrites @rosyreid-blog @essayzine-blog @spencerreid9 @madsgraygubler @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence

[commander-diomika]

Pairing: Oscar Wilde/James Barnes/Howard Carter

Word Count: ~5500

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Mild Degradation/Humiliation, Hair-pulling, Creampie (no impregnation), Aftercare, Stretching, Alcohol, Fluff And Smut

Summary:

The promised deleted scene sitting outside the continuity of Strange Company at the End of The World, where Wilde says "yes" to Barnes' proposition for a threesome. (if you're interested in reading the preceding scene it's here .)

Possibly the MOST self indulgent thing I've ever written and that's saying something.

Barnes stood. He swept his eyes up and down Wilde, and Wilde swore he could feel that switch flipping, Barnes’ mild demeanour being tucked away in favour of something darker. His mouth moved in a slow, appraising smile, and Wilde felt his core pulse.

Barnes’ posture was relaxed as he placed a foot between Wilde’s and kicked his ankles apart to stand between them.

Wilde swallowed. “Before we- there’s something I should tell you.”

Barnes leant forward, one hand on the chair behind Wilde's shoulder.

“You didn’t used to be a man?” Barnes asked, mild voice in contrast with his body language. Wilde frowned questioningly.

“Your robe slipped one time. Saw your scars.” Barnes offered with a half-shrug, not having moved out of Wilde’s space. “It don’t bother me. They all healed up?” As he spoke, he touched two fingertips to the hollow of Wilde’s throat, moving them in a slow glide up one collarbone and back.

Wilde nodded, feeling his heart flutter as this all became very real. His skin rippled with chills from Barnes’ touch.

“Anywhere you don’t like bein’ touched?”

Wilde shook his head, realised that probably wasn’t enough of an answer, and convinced his mouth to open. “No, I- you can touch me anywhere.”

Barnes’ fingertips veered off from their exploration of Wilde’s collarbones, slightly parting his robe as they slid over Wilde’s sternum and back up. This time, as they reached the hollow of his throat they continued, coming to rest under Wilde’s chin to tilt it ever-so-slightly upward.

Wilde couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. “Should we- should we wait for Howard to come back?”

Barnes smiled again, that sly smile that made Wilde throb. “He’s quick. He’ll catch up.”

Wilde nodded as much as he could with his chin still resting on fingertips.

Barnes leant down to kiss Wilde, and he expected the sailor’s mouth to be rough and claiming, but instead it was soft, so soft and full of promise, that all the rest would come later. He tasted like whiskey and potential. Barnes brought his thumb to rest on Wilde’s lower lip and gently pressed down until lips parted and he could slip his tongue inside.

Wilde felt utterly undone by it, and part of his mind was chiding him. You’re not blushing virgin, Oscar! It’s just a kiss! But it had been so long, and the energy of what Barnes promised was intoxicating.

Barnes broke the kiss, replacing his mouth with the pad of one thumb on Wilde’s lower lip, sliding over the wetness there.

“You let me know if it’s too much,” Barnes said, eyes level and serious.

Wilde nodded again. He was doing a lot of that but felt caught, unable to do much else.

“What will you say?” Barnes took his hand from Wilde’s mouth and rested it, firm and heavy, on the top of his chest, fingers resting on one collarbone and thumb on the other. Wilde was very aware of the thudding of his own heart beneath that solid palm, but there was something steadying, patient in the gesture. Barnes looked like he would wait there all day for a response. “If it’s too much?”

Wilde wasn’t going to make him wait. “Mercy.” Barnes smirked and it occurred to Wilde that he’d never seen Barnes smirk like that before.

“An’ if you can’t talk?”

Wilde lifted one hand and clicked his fingers, and with the snap, the moment felt complete.

Barnes straightened. He unlaced his trousers and put one hand on the nape of Wilde’s neck, encouraging him forward.

Wilde didn’t need to be told twice, leaning forward to take Barnes’ half-hard cock into his eager mouth. The grunt Barnes gave was quiet and satisfied, and went straight to Wilde’s head. He felt the cock grow firm in his mouth, heavy in his slick mouth, and gave a satisfied little vocalisation of his own.

Barnes wrapped one hand around the base, the other still cupping the nape of Wilde’s neck and started with slow, unhurried thrusts, polite enough with his not-insignificant length.

Barnes’ back was to the door, and it opened with a bang. Carter entered carrying a bottle of sake and was already midway through a sentence.

“-won’t believe what people just leaving lying around I mean, in a cabinet, but who really thinks tha-”He cut himself off with a noise like a surprised cat, a little chirp of interest when he saw his lover standing over the seated Wilde. Depositing the bottle on the table, he immediately started unbuttoning his shirt. “What have we here?”

Wilde had made a similar noise of surprise and tried to lean away as Carter came in, but suddenly found the hand holding his head solid as brick. Barnes’ steady thrusts into his mouth didn’t falter in the slightest.

“What does it look like?” Barnes asked evenly, unruffled as he fucked into Wilde’s pliant mouth.

Carter’s mouth squeezed in wry delight as he shucked his shirt, not bothering to respond as he came to stand behind Wilde’s chair. It had been somewhat of a dumb question.

He reached to put his hands on Wilde’s shoulders, and paused, “Have we already done the ‘what will you say, what if you can’t speak’ bit?”

“Yup,” Barnes responded, and there was the slightest hitch of breath this time as he caught eyes with Carter.

“And?” Carter prompted, hands still hovering.

Barnes smiled this time, properly smiled. “Click his fingers and beg for mercy.”

Carter let his hands settle onto Wilde’s shoulders and laughed, delightedly. “Oh, I like that, very much. Why haven’t we been using that?” Bringing weight into his hands, he leant forward over the chair. Barnes read the action as easy as breathing, and moved to catch his lover’s mouth in a kiss. As he did, he pulled Wilde’s mouth a little further down his cock, eliciting a muffled noise as he held him there for a breath.

“We’re going to go easy as you like, Oscar,” Carter said. Not disrupting the placement of Barnes’ cock in Wilde’s mouth, he first undid the last few buttons on Barnes shirt, then pulled Wilde’s robe open and down, partially pinning the seated man’s arms to his sides. He skimmed hands down Wilde’s chest and eyebrows went up as he felt the scars, leaning forward to look at what his hands discovered.

“Howard,” Barnes said. When Carter looked up, Barnes' face was saying don’t make a big deal of it. (When you were partnered with a man like Barnes you got very good at interpreting facial expressions.) Carter obliged with an easy shrug. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Barnes was right, Carter caught up quickly, energy somewhat frenetic as he leant over to undo the tie at Wilde’s waist, peppering kisses along his neck and ears. Carter flowed over to the side of the chair, onto his knees where he could bring his mouth to Wilde’s chest, kissing and licking along, throwing in scrape of teeth every now and then.

Wilde's head swam at the sudden bounty of sensations.

“Scoot over, James, you’re in the way of the good stuff,” Carter said, crowding into Barnes’ space. Barnes chuckled. He ran his fingers through Wilde’s hair, taking a moment to appreciate how good Wilde looked, eyes half closed, humming with pleasure around the prick in his mouth, before stepping back to make space for Carter between Wilde’s knees.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave!” Carter whined. “Just stand to the side or something.”

“Plenty of time, love,” he replied. He picked up the bottle of sake Carter had liberated and took a seat. He took a swig straight from the bottle and wrapped a hand around his spit-slick shaft. Wilde was already settling into his natural state, mouth wet, hair messed, robe completely open and draped off his shoulders, little red bite marks dotting his neck and chest. “How are we doing, Oscar?” Barnes asked, noting the dazed look on the bard’s face.

Carter was working enthusiastic kisses over Wilde’s chest, hands working at the drawstring of the impeding pants.

“I am very good,” he said, sounding drunk despite his single beverage for the evening sitting barely- sipped on the table. “May I?” He reached out for the bottle of sake.

The sailor hummed thoughtfully. As Carter got rid of Wilde’s pants, Barnes fetched a small glass. Pouring a measure, he came over and ran a hand, easy and affectionate, through Carter’s hair.

Wilde watched Barnes with hazy eyes. His knees fell open at the slightest touch, offering himself up to the man between his legs, but his focus was on Barnes. Carter gave a happy whimper, as he spread Wilde’s lips with one hand and gave an uncharacteristically slow lick up the centre of him, barely brushing the underside of his clit before dipping back down again. Wilde sucked the air in through his teeth and rolled his hips.

Barnes dipped two fingers in the sake, and this time, as Carter reached the crest of his slow lave through Wilde’s core and he gasped, Barnes shoved, not exactly gently, his dripping fingers into Wilde’s mouth. He sucked on the invading fingers instinctively, the subtle flavour of the rice wine a tantalising counterpoint to the tongue in his cunt.

Barnes’ slow smirk surfaced as he pressed the pads of his fingers down on Wilde’s tongue before withdrawing. Wilde made a little choked whimper in the back of his throat, already feeling overwhelmed. They’re only just getting started, he thought distantly. He wanted to roll with whatever they threw at him, but this dual assault might even be too much for the famed libertine Oscar Wilde.

“More?” Barnes asked. His eyes were dark and watchful, assessing every moan and pant as Carter lapped away contently.

Wilde nodded frantically, wondering how for a second he could have thought that this was too much.

Barnes continued with his slow, teasing method of feeding Wilde the sake, wetting his fingers then swirling them around Wilde’s eager tongue. Carter, to his credit, kept a languorous pace as he ate Wilde out. One hand still spread Wilde’s lips apart, slow strokes of his tongue, wet and hot. He was teasing, flicking Wilde’s clit on each upstroke but without urgency or purpose.

Wilde was panting around the fingers in his mouth; Barnes pressed down again, encouraging Wilde to open his mouth properly, then held him by the jaw. Tilting Wilde’s head back and telegraphing his intent clearly, the sailor brought the glass to wet lips and poured the rest of the shot down Wilde’s throat.

He swallowed it all, with a soft gasp.

Putting the empty glass down, Barnes came to kneel at Wilde’s side.

“Here, let me hold that for you, Howard,” Barnes murmured, and slid a hand over Wilde’s stomach, and down to replace Carter’s hand with his. His index and ring finger formed a vee over Wilde’s slit, carefully spreading him open to Carter’s attention. Carter simply made more of those wet, happy noises, licking over Barnes fingers, the vibrations of his lips layering over Wilde’s pleasure

“What do you call this pretty thing?” Barnes asked softly into Wilde’s ear, accenting his question with a squeeze of his hand.

Wilde gasped, finding his voice. He’d left it somewhere around here. “Cunt, it’s my – ah- cunt.”

Barnes quirked an eyebrow, and if Carter had been capable of paying attention in that moment, he could have told you Barnes’ face was saying well, how about that.

Having found his voice for a moment, Wilde was loath to put it back down. “Linguistically, I quite like how the words “cunt” and “cock” work with each other and, also the word clit, and if you look into the history of-”

“Oscar?” Barnes interrupted, mouth close to Wilde’s ear.

“Yes?” Wilde gasped.

Barnes replied in a simultaneously fond and threatening tone, accenting the point by squeezing his hand. “Shut up.”

Carter managed to come up for enough air to give a slight snort at that.

Wilde didn’t think it was possible to feel even more flushed. He shut up, or at least changed tack. He let his head fall back, and he groaned, voice heavy and lush in the quiet of the room. “Fuck, you two.” Not his most eloquent work but it expressed the mood well enough.

“Oh, Oscar,” Barnes murmured, almost sweet. His other hand gripped Wilde’s hair and eased his head even further back. He mouthed kisses across Wilde’s throat and spoke against soft skin. “We’ve ‘ardly even gotten started.”

Wilde swore he could feel Carter smiling against his crotch.

“I think he’s ready for more, don’t you?” Barnes released Wilde’s hair and stepped away, pulling off his unbuttoned shirt.

Without needing any more encouragement, Carter took Wilde’s firm, swollen clit into his mouth properly and sucked, rolling his tongue against the nub instead of skimming over it.

Wilde’s mouth opened in a perfect “o” shape with no sound, and before his mouth could find a noise, Carter's fingers teased his slick hole and eased inside, two fingers to the second knuckle.

He was so wet and open, Carter could have gone faster, but as Barnes often admonished him, there was no rush. Much easier to say that when you’re the one doling out the pleasure that receiving it, anyway.

Wilde rutted, trying to sink deeper onto Carter’s hand, but the kneeling man deftly eased the hand away, clever fingers teasing just so. Wilde gave a frustrated whimper.

Barnes shed his pants as well and brought the other chair over just behind Carter. He sat down, where he could take himself in hand and watch the proceedings closely. Eyes intent on Wilde’s reddening face as Carter sucked and teased with remarkable focus, Barnes asked, “He’s good, isn’t he?”

Wilde gave a breathy laugh. “Thank you ever so much for the loan.”

Wilde had been joking, of course, but Barnes simply inclined his head with utmost sincerity. Leaning forward, he laced one hand through Carter’s hair and leaned into the hand, forcing Carter's face deep into Wilde’s cunt for a breath, muffling his stream of little sounds.

Releasing him and leaning back, Barnes replied graciously. “Anytime.” His other hand worked over his own cock slow and easy, a thoughtful smile on his lips.

“Now, if there’s anythin’ in particular you might like, Oscar, now’s the time to let me know. Otherwise, I thought we might just have you, good and proper.”

Carter whimpered and lost a small measure of composure, plunging his fingers deep. All the air left Wilde’s lungs with a punched sound and he gasped to reply. “No- no requests. Whatever you like.”

“Mm.” Barnes nodded approvingly, and gripped Carter’s hair again, pulling him away from Wilde with a gasp. Carter’s neck was cricked awkwardly for Barnes to speak into his ear, but he managed not to let his fingers slip out of Wilde. “Give him more, would you? Get him ready for us.”

Carter nodded, pulling his own hair in Barnes’ fist. Barnes eased him down and Carter slid his fingers out to add a third alongside, eased by spit and Wilde’s slick. Three was almost too easy, he was that wet, so after a mere few thrusts, Carter narrowed his hand and started fucking four fingers into him, slow and firm.

Wilde started making little huh noises at the apex of each thrust, the noise of fingers wet, obscene and delightful, the sense of pulling, stretching… it had been so long. He felt boneless and filthy in the best possible way.

The next thing he was fully aware of, was Carter pulling him to his feet and like a dance, carefully trading the middle place with Wilde, getting him to straddle Barnes’ lap, easing the robe off his shoulders.

Barnes cupped Wilde’s ass, squeezing his handfuls of rump affectionately. Wilde blinked and took a deep breath to find his face so close to Barnes again.

“You with me, Oscar?” Barnes asked kindly. He was carefully, deliberately still as Wilde sank into his lap, unmoving even as the heat of Wilde’s lips brushed his cock.

Wilde gave another slow blink, then smiled brightly. “Yes, definitely with you.”

“Good. Before any o’ this, I want to ask, is it alright for us to release inside you? Or would you prefer it some other way?”

Wilde considered for a scant moment before nodding, enthusiastically, “Yes, absolutely yes, inside me is more than alright,” and he felt his hips roll, smearing his wetness over the ridge of Barnes’ cock.

A little gasp escaped Wilde’s lips as the warm line of Carter’s chest met his back. Carter looped his arms under Wilde’s, drawing him upright. As Wilde straightened, the man standing behind him kissed him on the neck, something so tender in the gesture. He lifted slightly, making room for Barnes to reach down and line his cock up with Wilde’s hole.

Wilde felt the taut pull of anticipation in his stomach with the touch of his entrance. He was already gasping before Carter lowered him onto Barnes’ cock, unerringly, no moment of pulling back or tease, straight to the base in one thrilling swoop. Thighs to Barnes’ hips he was seated, and then Carter dropped his hands to hold the crease of Wilde’s hips, pressing down, filling him with those last few millimetres of length.

Bliss.

Carter sucked on Wilde’s earlobe, giving it a sharp yet perfectly measured bite and making him yelp. “It’s a nice prick, isn’t it?” he muttered into Wilde’s ear.

A high-pitched laugh escaped Wilde’s lips and he riposted. “I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to properly try it out yet, have I?” He was dazed, disgustingly aroused, and getting fucked for the first time in what felt like forever, but he was still incorrigible Oscar Wilde.

Carter simply laughed.

It had been a short enough episode, but Wilde would already say with confidence that Barnes was a master of slow and steady. He gripped Wilde’s hips and started to fuck him in exactly that style. Wilde let any further cheeky comments die on his lips.

Carter dropped back to his favourite vantage of being on his knees, and encouraged Barnes’ legs to part, to watch him pump his hips into Wilde again, and again. He turned his head and leant in for a moment to lick and mouth at Barnes’ balls; he was good at squeezing into small spaces if he could get up to mischief in there. He was rewarded as Barnes gave a satisfied grunt.

He rocked back on his heels, and placed one hand on Wilde’s lower back, encouraging him to lean forward. Seeing Carter’s intention, Barnes pulled his knees out wider, levering Wilde’s legs out with them, and stilled.

Opened for him, Carter licked his fingers and slid one inside Wilde’s cunt next to Barnes’ prick. Wilde gave a slow groan and pressed back.

When he had three fingers in alongside and Wilde’s breath was coming fast, Carter made a decision. He retrieved his hand and stood, straddling Barnes' knees, letting his cock rest in the dip of Wilde’s lower back.

“I’m going to try something, love,” he whispered to the loose and pliant Wilde. “You let us know if it’s too much, yeah?”

Wilde, melting into Barnes’s chest, groaned an assent. He felt dismantled by want. “Yes, whatever you want, yes, do it.”

Carter spat into his hand, slicking himself and lining his cock above Barnes’ in Wilde’s cunt. Barnes pulled his hips back an inch, reading Carter’s intentions as easily as breathing. Hand around his shaft, the other gripping hard into Wilde’s hip, Carter pressed the head of his cock against slick muscle. Wilde made a hiccup of a sound but didn’t shy away, keeping himself steady against the firm intrusion.

There was a moment of release and the head slipped into Wilde’s already-full cunt.

This time Wilde gave a proper, reedy moan. It was so much, so full, stinging and stretching, intense and he wanted, he craved-

Carter held his breath. It was very tight. He moved his hips, sliding in a further inch, and stopped as Wilde made a pained sound, dragged up from the depths of desire.

“Easy,” Barnes rasped, to both men. As soon as Carter had started this experiment Wilde had dropped his head to Barnes’ shoulder and stayed there. Barnes gripped Wilde’s neck and squeezed. “S’alright, Oscar. Mercy?”

With a shuddering breath, Wilde nodded. “Mercy.”

Quick as a flash Barnes had Carter’s wrist in his hand. Meeting his lover’s eyes, he spoke. “Out, but slow, alright?”

Carter obeyed, moving a hair’s breadth at a time, but it still felt like it happened slowly and then all at once and Wilde gave another sharp gasp.

“Easy, easy,” Barnes repeated and pulled out, running solid hands up and down Wilde’s back. Carter knelt again and massaged his hands into Wilde’s thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Carter said, regret clear in his voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Wilde, without lifting his head, waved a dismissive hand. He spoke into Barnes’ shoulder. “S’ok. Didn’t hurt, just- couldn’t do more.” He laughed manically and lifted his head, his bright and slightly glassy eyes meeting Barnes’. “I used to be able to!”

Barnes chuckled indulgently. “Out of practise at bein’ a slut, Wilde?”

“Uh-uh.” Wilde shook his head and nuzzled his face into Barnes’ neck, breath calmer. “I think you’ll find it’s innate. I still want- I want both of you.” He twisted and looked over his shoulder at Carter. “Use my arse.” It was the most commanding statement he’d uttered all night.

Carter tilted his head, lips twitching. “If you insist.” He was aiming for graciousness, trying to hide his glee and failing.

“Take a moment,” Barnes said, being that firm hand on the rein for Wilde as well. “Howard, go get the oil from our room and we’ll give Oscar a breather.” Carter was quick to obey. He glanced around, picked up Oscar’s discarded robe and put it on before heading out.

Wilde climbed out of Barnes’ lap and happily melted into a supine puddle on the rug. Barnes grabbed a cushion from one of the chairs and popped it under Wilde’s head before nudging his ankles apart and settling between them. “Is it still giving you a break if I-” he spoke as he leant down to seal his mouth over Wilde’s clit.

“Nnnnrghh-” Wilde ground out a surprised sound from deep in his throat and his hands flew to Barnes’ head.

Barnes' mouth on him was a delight, forthright in a way that Carter’s hadn’t been, and as he hooked his hands behind Wilde’s knees and pushed them up towards his chest, Wilde simply flowed there. He was very good at being manhandled, when the situation called for it.

Barnes’ tongue was licking up the full length of his sex, arsehole to slit and Wilde squirmed, but Barnes’s hands were locked firmly into the bend of Wilde’s knees, holding him steady. The tongue explored, probed and licked, spreading his wetness over the whole area. Wilde felt his body shake.

One hand came off Wilde’s leg to join the tongue, and as Barnes’ mouth found Wilde’s clit again, he slid two fingers inside of him, a third resting on the wet rim of his arse, then slipping it in with ease and purpose.

Wilde’s mouth made that silent O shape again, all breath and noise and pithy wits abandoning him in that moment. Then Barnes set about fucking him open with hands in sync, pushing against Wilde’s knee to rock him back and deeper with every push and pull. All without taking his mouth from swollen clit and later, Wilde would reflect on the skilful multitasking on display, but for now all he could do was whine and gasp.

In the haze of sensation and rapture, he barely noticed when Barnes briefly withdrew his hand and returned, pushing two fingers inside his ass and dipping his head to plunge a tongue deep inside the warmth of his cunt. Wilde felt like he was being played like an instrument by an virtuoso, pleasure thrumming and singing under his skin, and when Barnes brought his lips back to Wilde’s sensitised, swollen clit and tongued at it, viciously, Wilde came with a rolling crescendo and a wailing cry.

Barnes came up for air, stilling his hands but not withdrawing them. “Gods, you’re gorgeous,” Barnes said sotto voce, and pressed a kiss to the inside of one knee.

Wilde felt absolutely drunk with it all, but as his breath slowed, he did manage one lazy-yet-coherent thought.

“Where on earth did Howard get to?”

“Oh, it’s a coin flip whether he gets distracted by something.”

“Even at a time like this?”

Barnes shrugged and smiled fondly. Kneeling up, he shuffled in a little closer to Wilde and thrust with his fingers again, firm and decisive. Wilde’s breath was ragged.

The door opened with an unceremonious clatter.

Barnes turned over his shoulder to throw an admonishing look at Carter. Carter responded promptly to the unspoken scold. “I thought our guest might like something sweet!” He held up a bunch of grapes. “And I thought it would look a little strange to turn up in the kitchen in nothing but Oscar’s robe, so I snuck in! And I thought,” he said, nudging Barnes with a foot and returning the admonishing glare, “that you said he should take a break.”

For the first time this evening, Barnes actually looked sheepish. He reclaimed his hand from Wilde’s arse and let him settle both legs back on the floor.

Carter huffed a laugh and came to lie down next to Wilde on his side, propping his head on one hand. “And he says I’m the impatient one. Grape?”

Wilde nodded through his smile. It felt wonderful to have the light of these two shining on him, if only for an evening. He surfaced from the depths he’d been swimming in, gratefully letting Carter feed him grapes. He closed his eyes and relished the cool bursts of juice on his tongue.

Carter brought his lips to Wilde’s and kissed the sweetness from them, tracing lips with tongue and dipping inside to taste. When he broke the kiss, Wilde smiled dreamily. “Your reputation would be in tatters if anyone ever found out what a hopeless romantic you are.”

Carter grinned and ducked his head, almost coy. “Did you still want… both of us?” Suddenly his energy was shy and boyish. For someone who practically ripped his shirt off and dove in at the beginning, this was quite the contrast.

What Wilde wanted was for this evening to last forever. To continue to give it all up to someone else for a little while. To relax, to cherish and be cherished, and hope for a little while that the war wouldn’t come to this doorstep. But that was not within Carter or Barnes’ power to offer, so instead he simply sighed, pulled Carter in for another kiss and said,

“Please.”

---

Wilde settled, straddling one of Barnes’ broad thighs, rutting his wetness against the leg. Carter fucked the kneeling man’s mouth to get hard again.

Barnes, muscular body laid flat on the floor, held Wilde’s hips in firm hands, encouraging the lazy, wanton humping of his leg, “Shit, Oscar, you’re so wet. Showin’ us just much you want us then?”

Wilde whimpered around the half-hard prick in his mouth. Barnes reached to crack an encouraging slap on Carter’s arse. “Fuck ‘is mouth, properly, Howard, get yourself nice and slick and you won’t even need the oil.”

Carter groaned. He loved it when Barnes got like this, all hot and chatty and, well…. Commander-y. He ran a hand through Wilde’s sweat slick hair and redoubled his ministrations.

Carter really was the perfect size for this, Wilde mused. Enough length to just hit his throat, make his spit feel thick in his mouth and eyes water, but not so big that he couldn’t breathe or make the needy little moans, high and musical, that slipped out of his mouth.

Eventually the moment was ready to change. Barnes’ strong hands rearranged Wilde’s legs with ease, bringing him astride, and Carter settled behind, chest against Wilde’s back.

Barnes pumped his cock a few times, sliding the head against Wilde’s lips before entering him again, so wet and open. Wilde thought that, post-orgasm, he could probably try again to take both of them together, but he’d grown fond of the idea of doing it like this. He leant forward for a kiss from Barnes, chest-to-chest, and he felt his arse being grabbed, spreading him once more for Carter’s attention.

As slick as Carter’s cock was from Wilde’s mouth, he was still going to use the oil. He ran his hands up and down the sweat-damp spine in front of him, before uncorking the bottle, dripping it and watching it slide from the cleft of Wilde’s cheeks over his arsehole. He served himself a generous palmful and took himself in hand, stroking and seating the head of his oiled cock to Wilde’s arse. He felt it twitch against him and Wilde took a deliberate, deep breath, humming out the exhale as he relaxed.

There was a slow press, a push back, a gasp and Carter was inside, curving his body over Wilde’s and carefully inching forward, feeling the tightness relax and enfold him. Finally, Carter could lean all the way forward, hips pressed flush to Wilde’s, to bring a kiss to Barnes’ mouth over a shoulder.

“Wh- why do I get the feeling this isn’t-” Wilde was desperate to make a witty remark but was struggling to make his mouth work, for some reason. He gasped and got it all out in a rush. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve done this to someone?”

Barnes chuckled and released Wilde’s buttocks to reach and run affectionate hands over Carter’s thighs. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve had this done to you?” Barnes asked warmly. His gaze met Carter’s over Wilde’s head as Wilde gave a you got me there laugh.

He brought his lips to Wilde’s ears. “Now, Howard and I are going to fuck you, until we both come inside of your pretty cunt and arse. If you come too, that’s all well and good, but you know this part isn’t about you, righ’?”

Wilde said something very eloquent like “Uhnh,” as Carter shifted slightly, sending zings up his spine.

“Is tha’ what you want?” Barnes asked softly. “I want to hear it.” He punctuated this request by pulling Wilde’s hair, not hard but emphatic.

“Yes, yes that’s what I want, I want you both to use me until you come, yes pl-ah!” Permission granted, Barnes snapped his hips forcefully into Wilde, cutting off his begging.

Above all else, Barnes and Carter were a team. They worked together on this as in all things, finding their rhythm without words or argument. Barnes closed his hands over the flesh of Wilde’s hips and Carter put his hands on Barnes’ and they pushed and pulled, steady as rowers’ oars to start with as they took their time with taking Wilde apart.

Wilde felt incredible, stuffed full and pathetic, unable to do anything but take, and take, and he wasn’t even aware of the noises he was making anymore or where one man’s hands on him stopped and the other began, or what was push or pull or thrust and stroke and he could cry from sheer intensity if he wasn’t already.

“Such a nice, uh, treat for us, James,” Carter said breathily. He leant forward, and the change of angle brought a high, keening noise out of Wilde’s throat.

“He’s a beauty,” Barnes agreed, toes curling, Wilde limp and panting against his shoulder.

Together, unspoken, connected, they slowed. Reading a command from Barnes' eyes, Carter gripped Wilde’s shoulder and planted one foot on the floor for better leverage and started fucking him in earnest.

Sounds of damp, sticky, flesh hitting flesh filled the room.

“I’m going to- he’s so- he’s so fucking tight.” Carter said, losing his last shred of composure, outpacing Barnes, rhythm ragged and heart pounding.

“Go on, love.” Barnes was hanging onto something by the barest thread. “You know I love to watch you."

That was enough for Carter and he came, pulsing deep inside Wilde with a cry. Barnes could feel the throb of his lover’s orgasm. He let his last tether snap and followed, low grunt tearing his throat as his orgasm hit him, holding Wilde’s thighs in a bruising grip and spilling inside.

---

This is a good look for you, all used up and dripping.

You stay there and let us clean everything up.

Go grab some water, too, would you?

Do you want to come sleep-sleep with us?

How is it that you’re always the one to miss out on the rug-burnt knees, Barnes?

---

Later, in the dark of Barnes and Carter’s room, the three of them settled in bed, Wilde’s back against Carter’s chest, Barnes already dozing off.

“Wilde, I have a question- and please don’t get upset-” always a reassuring start from Howard Carter, “-but why are you having sex with us, and not Zolf?” Barnes made a sleepy little no don’t! noise, but the question was already out in the world.

In the dark no one could see Wilde put his palm to his forehead, but they could probably hear it in his voice. “Why don’t you ask hi- no wait don’t, his head would probably explode.” Wilde sighed a long-suffering sigh. “How about when I figure that one out, I let you know?”

[headfulloffantasies]

Distress Call

Part3 of Clones and Kings.

Rex couldn’t remember the name Mando had given the youngling, and at this point he was too afraid to ask.

Ao3 link

Rex couldn’t remember the name Mando had given the youngling, and at this point he was too afraid to ask.

“What are you doing?” Mando found Rex leaning over the baby Not-Yoda.

“Nothing,” Rex jumped up. He refused to admit he was looking into the kid’s eyes to try and see Master Yoda in those liquid depths.

Rex followed Mando up into the cockpit of Mando’s rust bucket. The old thing was pre-Imperial. Older than Rex. Though he supposed that wasn’t saying a whole lot considering he’d been an eight-year-old soldier at the rise of the Empire.

The green bean waddled his way into the cockpit and somehow wiggled into the seat behind Mando.

Rex didn’t ask about the coordinates Mando punched into the controls. He just remained grateful to have a ride off Jakku.

They hit atmo and broke into the endless black of space. Rex never got tired of the tiny cold stars. A million worlds lived out there. Rex had been fortunate enough to see a few, even help save a fair number. But seeing them spread out in an endless array of unconnected lights never ceased to send a thrill up his spine.

Those same lights reflected off Mando’s silvery helmet. Mando never took his bucket off. Rex didn’t question it. He’d had shinies in his ranks who’d clung to the safety of the helmet; proud of their paint and afraid to show the fear on their faces during battle. It didn’t really matter. Rex could read his vod’s body language better than he could read Basic. Applying the same to Mando continued to startle and stab at the old wound.

The radio suddenly cackled. Mando reached over and jiggled something. A garbled voice tried to speak.

“It sounds like a distress call,” Mando said.

Rex leaned forward, straining to hear. Mando gave the radio a thump. The signal suddenly came through loud and clear.

“This is CT- 5097. Requesting backup. I need help.”

Rex’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice. Vod. He took a steadying breath.

“He sounds like you,” Mando said.

Rex shook his head. “Most clones do, to outsiders. No offense.”

“None taken.”

The other clone gasped, “CT-5097 in need of assistance. Any troopers receiving?”

Rex shook his head. “Turn it off.”

Mando looked at him sharply.

“Shut it down,” Rex said. He slammed his fist against his armrest. “Turn it off, dank ferrec!”

Mando flipped the switch.

Rex threw himself to his feet. He paced up and down the cockpit running his hands over his shaven scalp.

“What’s going on?” Mando asked. “Do you know who that was?”

“No,” Rex shook his head. “That’s the problem. I don’t know any trooper 5097. Clones don’t use their CT codes. We have our own names.” He jabbed a finger at the silent radio. “Whoever that is knows nothing about clones. He’s not using proper channels, or code phrases, or even a damn name.”

Master Yoda Junior whined in his seat.

Rex realised he’d shouted. His chest heaved and the blood rushed in his ears. He gulped a breath.

“That’s not a clone trooper. That’s someone who wants to catch a real clone trooper.”

Mando nodded. “Alright. It’s a trap. So, avoid it.”

Rex scoffed. “Avoid it? Kriff that. I’m going.”

“What do you mean you’re going?”

“It’s not a trap unless there’s bait,” Rex said darkly. He checked the blaster at his hip was loaded. “Are you in or out, Mando?”

Mando trusted Rex. It probably had something to do with Rex almost sacrificing himself for the foundling. But he also knew something about bonds forged in battle. Rex knew Mando was in before he nodded.

“Then I guess I better suit up,” Rex grabbed his bag and descended to the fresher. Rex couldn’t keep all his armour with him. It was too bulky to carry everywhere and he sure as kriff didn’t want to wear it on the daily in a post-Empire galaxy. But he kept a few pieces.

The blue paint had almost faded from the pauldrons. Rex smoothed a thumb over the stripes. Honestly, he should find some new paint. But every chip and scrape had been earned in battle beside his brothers. He named each piece of armour in Mando’a as he fit them on. He fastened the haalas gaid over his chest and the gadi guards around his wrists. He wished he had his cetare boots, but he’d taken a blaster bolt through the ankle ages ago, damaging the boot beyond repair. Rex looked up at himself in the tiny fresher mirror. He looked like an old soldier, worn and weary with battle.

He pulled out the buy’ce last. The painted eyes on the helmet had not faded. The rows of tally marks, one for every battle, stood proudly against the white. Rex sighed. He pressed his forehead to the brow of the helmet in a keldabe[CS1]  for his fallen brothers.

Rex climbed back into the cockpit with his helmet under his arm. The Mandalorian stiffened.

“You wear Stormtrooper armour,” Mando noted, his voice deceptively calm.

“I wear clone armour,” Rex snapped. “It was ours first.”

Mando tipped his head the way he did when he didn’t understand. Rex huffed.

“I know about Mandalorians,” Rex said. “I know how you feel about your armour. It’s part of you. Seeing someone else wearing your armour would be like seeing someone wearing your skin. Clones are the same.” He pounded his chest plate with his fist. “We are our armour. Think how that feels.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “Think what it feels like to watch your brothers die and then to watch a whole army march around in their skins. Betraying everything we stood for. Everything we were made for.”

Mando bowed his head. “I meant no disrespect.”

“I know,” Rex said softly.

“Did no other clones survive?” Mando asked.

Rex shrugged helplessly. “I hope so. I’ve never met another since the Execution Order.” He sucked his teeth. “Probably I’m the last one. I truly don’t know. I ran, went into hiding with Commander Tano- Ahsoka,” he corrected.

Rex reminisced in the silence. He side-eyed Mando. “You’re not that young that you don’t remember the War?”

“Imperials killed my parents,” Mando said. “After that, I was raised in a strict Mandalorian sect. I had little contact and no interest with the outside world.”

Rex snorted. “You missed a few things.”

“I’m starting to get that,” Mando’s voice betrayed his smile.

Yoda the Younger babbled from his seat. He waved his clawed hands at Rex. Rex wondered again if the child shared memories with Master Yoda. Did he recognise Rex’s armour? Rex offered a hand. The child touched his claws to Rex’s wrist guards and traced the lines of blue paint.

Mando kept his helmet facing the ship’s controls, but Rex knew he watched out of the corner of his visor.

“Don’t give him anything you don’t want chewed on,” Mando advised. “I think he’s teething.”

Yoda Junior bit down on Rex’s gloved thumb. Rex barely resisted the reaction to rip his hand away. He gently extricated his fingers dripping with drool. The child’s wrinkled features twisted into a pout.

A few hours later, they dropped out of hysperspace. The distress call came from a space station. It disguised itself as a derelict, but a quick scan showed a dozen lifeforms and enough weapons to kill a planet.

“Wonder what they’re guarding?” Mando asked.

Rex smirked. “Let’s find out.”

Mando radioed in a distress call requesting emergency landing. The station management probably took one look at Mando’s junker on their screens and gave him permission to dock before he lost another heat shield.

Mando and Rex exited the ship with their blasters ready. Two woefully unprepared guards tried to draw their weapons. Mando and Rex shot one each. Rex scanned for more security. The hanger seemed empty.

“Get back on the ship.”

For a second Rex thought Mando was talking to him. He turned with a sharp retort on his tongue, until he noticed Mando wasn’t looking at him. Rex followed Mando’s line of sight. Baby Master Yoda toddled down the ship’s ramp. The tiny Jedi completely ignored his father and waddled over to grip Mando’s shin.

A sigh crackled through the helmet raised to heaven. “Fine. Stay quiet.”

Mando scooped the little one up and slung him into the pack hanging from Mando’s belt. Rex could only see the tips of little green ears. He shrugged and followed Mando out of the loading bay and into the heart of the space station.

Rex had served on Republic stations. They had order and fluidity to their construction. This Empire base was a nightmare. There seemed no rhyme or reason behind the set up. Rex was not an engineer or an architect, but surely the med bay and mess hall should be further apart to prevent the contamination of sick individuals and food sources.

They ran into guards in flimsy Imperial armour shouting chaotically around every corner. Mando dealt with them swiftly and brutally. Rex hardly needed to raise his blasters. By the time they made it to the correct lab, Rex was pretty sure the only lifeform left on the station was behind this door.

The door slid open to reveal a carbonite chamber. The hiss of pipes extinguished fog into the room. Through the smog, Rex could make out a single slab of carbonite leaning against the wall. He approached with his blaster at the ready.

The carbon fog parted. A gasp fell from Rex’s lips. He surged forward.

“Vod.” Rex reached up for the frozen planes of a face that looked exactly like his own. Rex searched the face for scars, or features to put a name to his brother. He couldn’t tell through the carbonite. The clone looked peaceful, like he’d simply fallen asleep. Rex had never seen a carbonite freeze without the rictus of pain. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“Do you know him?” Mando’s voice ripped through Rex’s clouded thoughts.

“I don’t know yet,” Rex grabbed the controls for the carbonite slab.

An alarm suddenly pierced the room. Mando flinched. A red light accompanied the blaring siren.

“That’s the intruder alert,” Rex said. He met Mando’s visor. “Somebody sent for backup.”

“I’ll deal with it.” The red light flashed over Mando’s helmet. He vanished into the swirl of fog.

Rex returned his attention to the carbonite controls. He started the unfreezing process.

The carbon melted away. Rex held his breath as if he were the one deprived of oxygen. The last of the crabon sloughed aside. The man inside took a shuddering breath.

The vod collapsed. Rex caught him around the shoulders. He lifted the man’s face.

“Wolffe?” Rex recognised the scar carved through his brother’s eye.

The clone’s forehead creased. He groaned. “Rex? What’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here, brother,” Rex said. “Are you alright? Can you see?”

“I still got one working eye,” Wolffe touched the cybernetic implant.

Rex slung Wolffe’s arm over his shoulder and put one foot in front of the other. Carbon sickness sent tremors through Wolffe that Rex could feel racking his body.

Wolffe’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the ground. He gradually gained his bearings. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, obviously.”

“You stupid di’kut,” Wolffe growled. “Can’t you remember your dadita?”

Rex paused. He hadn’t thought of the numerical military code in years. Not since the Clone Wars. “What do you mean?”

Wolffe huffed. “CT-5097? 5097 is a trap, you idiot.”

“No kidding,” Rex resumed dragging Wolffe towards the lab doors. “But did you really think I’d leave you here?”

The doors suddenly swished open. Rex had his blaster up and ready in an instant. The fog parted. Mando stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Rex lowered the blaster. “Kriff, I could have killed you.”

“I lost Grogu,” Mando answered.

“What the kriff is a Grogu?” Wolffe groaned.

“His foundling,” Rex said. “What do you mean, you lost him?”

Mando shrugged. “He does that sometimes.”

Rex rolled his eyes to the ceiling and thanked the Maker for his helmet. “Where did you lose him?”

Mando didn’t respond. “I need you to help me find him.”

“Fine. Split up?”

Mando nodded and slid back into the shadows.

“I’m not hallucinating, right?” Wollfe asked. “That was a Mandalorian?”

“Yeah,” Rex trudged forward. “A kriffing stupid one.”

They left the lab behind and began making their way through the illogical corridors again. Wolffe hung off Rex’s arm, still too weak to walk on his own.

Now, how to find a baby Jedi. All of Rex’s experience with Master Yoda the Elder revolved around riddles wrapped in backwards phrases and a cane that would massacre ankles at every opportunity. That wouldn’t help at all. Rex’s Jedis had all been recklessly dangerous kriffers with a penchant for pulling victories out of thin air. If Rex had a cliff to throw himself off of, he was sure the baby Jedi would come running. But no cliffs presented themselves on the starship. So, what else did Jedi like? Lightsabers, senators, killing droids, and cloaks that reached the ground all came to mind. Still not helpful. What did Rex know of Yoda Junior specifically?

It hit Rex like a lightning bolt. Food. The little one was always hungry. Rex changed course and headed back towards the mess hall they’d initially passed.

They stepped over the body Mando had left sprawled in front of the cafeteria door. The glaring white lights illuminated industrial grey tables and a buffet style offering of food selections at the other end of the room.

Rex leaned Wolffe against the door. “Watch my six.”

Wolffe lifted a limp hand in a salute.

Rex approached the trays of food. He whispered. “Grogu?”

A chirp came from one of the steaming pans. A green ear poked over the edge. The kid sat in a plate what looked like meat rations. Crumbs and sauce smeared his chubby face and dribbled down his clothes.

“You’re going to give your dad a heart attack one of these days,” Rex told him. The baby twitched his great big ears and munched on another stick of meat.

Rex picked up the kid. Predictably, the child whined and reached for the food he’d left behind.

“We got to go,” Rex told him.

A proximity alarm blared, warning about a ship approaching.

Rex raced back to Wolffe.

“I told you it was a trap!” Wolffe snapped.

“You’re very smart, shut up.” Rex slung Wolffe’s arm over his shoulder again and hurried the three of them down the corridor towards Mando’s ship.

Mando came running around the corner. “Did you find him?”

Rex passed Yoda Junior to his father. Mando cradled the baby close. He wiped some of the mess on Yoda the Younger’s face with the edge of his cloak. “What did you get all over yourself?”

“Barbeque sauce,” Rex responded deadpan.

Mando sighed. “Alright, let’s go.”

They loaded onto the junk ship.

“What a piece of crap,” Wolffe muttered.

“You want to go back?” Rex asked.

“It’s a nice piece of crap,” Wolffe cocked him a mischievous grin.

“Buckle up,” Mando yelled from the cockpit. Rex shoved Wolffe up the ladder and followed. Wolffe fell into the co-pilot’s seat. His fingers fumbled on the harness. Rex swatted his hands aside and did the fastenings himself.

They shot away from the station. Mando hovered in space with the station filling the viewscreen. Rex gripped his armrests, waiting for the jolt of hyperspace. The seconds dragged out. Mando sat perfectly still.

Rex cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we-?”

Three Imperial ships dropped out of hyperspace on the other side of the station. Mando slapped the controls and their view melted into the rays of starlight shooting by at faster than light speeds.

“What was that?” Rex demanded. “You let them see us.”

“And now we know who we’re dealing with,” Mando replied.

“You’re crazy as a bantha, you know that?” Wolffe piped up.

“It’s been said.” Mando shoved back from the pilot’s seat and headed down the ladder. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s a long ride.”

Rex stood and approached Wolffe. He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Wolffe shook his head. “They didn’t care to hurt me. They just wanted me to send that message.”

“Why exactly did they want a clone trooper to broadcast into deep space anyways?” Rex asked.

“Because of you,” Wolffe skewered Rex with his single natural eye. “Even the Imps know you run with Commander Tano. They wanted to draw you both out.”

Rex sighed. He ran a hand over his short hair. “I’m sorry, brother.”

Wolffe laughed a choked sound. “You need to let go of that commander complex you have, Rex. I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

“Of course, you are,” Rex squeezed Wolffe’s shoulder. “You’re my brother, no matter what.”

A cooing noise drew Rex’s attention. Yoda the Second sat at his feet, making grabby hands. Rex lifted the kid into his lap.

Wolffe stared open mouthed at the child. “Is that a baby Yoda?”

“Thank Maker you see it too.”

End

[x-sweetestthing-x]

Full Name: Nemo ‘Sweet Pea’ Moon Age: 25 DOB: 3rd January Capricorn Residency: Andromeda, California, USA Birthplace: Jiāngsū Province, China Occupation: Ex-Serviceman - now tattooist & mechanic  Marital Status: Single Height: 6ft 4 Hair: Black Eye: Brown Likes: Motorbikes, Knives, Rock Music, Guitars, Chilli Cheese Fries, Root Beer, Camel Menthols, Sunsets Dislikes: Loud bangs, thunderstorms, pop music, pickles, loneliness. 

Nemo Mun was born in Jiāngsū, China to Xia Mei and Ted Davis. Ted was over on a conference for a couple of months and had met Xia on a trip to the province. It wasn’t supposed to be more than a fling but Xia became pregnant with Nemo and with some small sense of duty, Ted brought Xia back to the States and used his prominance to keep them in the country. 

When Nemo was born, Xia had been placed in the Southside of Andromeda by Ted. Given a small stipend to manage, Nemo has few memories of the man that was his dad. But the beautiful life Ted had sold Xia on wasn’t entirely true when she arrived. Being legal immigrants it was still a struggle to find proper paying and respectful work and it wasn’t long until they fell into poverty. Especially when Ted upped and left completely, leaving Xia in a place she was a stranger in. Nemo grew up around a community of criminals and rough sleepers and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be fostered off with another person whilst his mother worked. Nemo loved his mom though and although his first language was Chinese she was quick to learn him English, enough that he could follow along in school. He’d always been closest to his mom. He didn’t even acknowledge the use of drugs Xia became involved with. It was only when Xia was nearly got in a sting operation when Nemo was 13 did he really realize the damage being caused. His mom, now addicted and a ghost of who she’d been had sunk further into depression and no longer cared for the boy and when he came back from school one day she was simply gone leaving him nothing but a fistful of dollars and a pack of smokes.

Nemo knew if he’d let on something was amiss he’d get placed into the system and so for the remaining five years he lived in the trailer alone and scraped by with petty thievery and scrounging food from school and local restaurant bins. He became part of the Southside Serpents, a wayward outlaw biker crew and fit in well with the younger members. When he was a senior, he caught the eye of a Freshman blonde who seemed to see past the facade he gave and for the entire year mysterious food packages ended up in his locker with a simple note signed H and the smell of Chanel perfume. He wasn’t great in school but he tried his best, he did enough to scrape a pass and when he graduated he was faced with the dilemma on what he wanted to do. 

It was a passing trade fair which ended up with him grabbing a leaflet for the military and knowing there wasn’t much left for him signed up. He spent five years between training and serving. He liked the military. It gave him a sense of purpose. But it was in his second year of serving a missed IED based in an abandoned base detonated, it was due to one of his fellow servicemen shoving him to the ground and covering his body that Nemo survived. But his injuries were severe, alongside the PTSD which followed from his recovery and he was honorably discharged. Due to the incident, Nemo has a permanent leg injury, scarred from shards of detonated glass and nails and on bad days he walks with a pronounced limp. Nemo ended up settling back in Andromeda, not knowing where else he fit in. He needed distractions, it was a few months after being back he finally saw the blonde from school once more who now owned an old bar on the Southside. The one who had helped him without a reason helped him once more and he and Hanna became fast friends and then some. Hanna was a member of the serpents herself, having become a fixture in the Southside and her bar being the Biker meeting house. Soon, Sweet Pea found himself in a vote to become the next King when their present stood down. 

Their relationship was more than friends but less than lovers and it seemed to be something they both needed at the moment in time. But of course, with that came the chance of something else and within a few months Hanna was pregnant and suddenly he was faced with the dilemma of becoming a dad. He loved Hanna, he did, but he wasn’t in love with her and it seemed the feeling was mutual. But what was done was done and nine months later he was holding his daughter, Ember. He and Hanna fell into co-parenting with ease and it almost worked out better that the two of them weren’t in a committed relationship. He had a lot of issues to work out and he knew he wasn’t the right one for her. But she had bore him a child, and in the MC community that made her queen and both serve rightfully to their group. 

But with her help, he discovered his love for drawing and more importantly tattooing. It was something which brought him peace and he began to train, practicing on animal skins and eventually Hanna herself and now he works for the local tattoo shop as an artist. He’s also self-training as a mechanic and fixes motorbikes in his spare time. 

He and Hanna live together in one of the small condo’s adjourning the lower south and trailer park but they’re happy with how they are. Nemo has a bulldog called Nala who keeps him company, another comfort for him since his return. 

Nemo never goes by his first name. The name Sweet Pea landed on him when he was younger, gifted by his mom whilst in her better states. Nemo Moon was a ghost of who he was, Sweet Pea was the present. The motorcycle gang he and Hanna are part of all go by nicknames and Sweet Pea is happy being known by this moniker. 

[lunmelia]

A List of All of Sam Winchester’s Injuries

Now, this list might not be the most accurate. I did not sit down and watch every single episode in full, eyes glued to the screen for every time Sam got injured. I only skimmed. Here’s a gif I made to show how I did it: 

(sorry it’s bad quality, it’s the first gif I’ve ever made) I skimmed through the episode and used the little preview screen to look for any time there was fast movement, blood or a spell that might require someone cutting their palm. I also kept an eye out for angel-banishing sigils. Since I only skimmed, there’s a chance I missed some injuries or even times that Sam was magically healed. So again, might not be an accurate list but I did my best. Feel free to tell me anything I missed. 

Here’s a key to help you through the list: - most of this lists the actual injury, e.g. “cut on left temple” but other times it’ll list an action that may cause injury, e.g. “thrown into wall” - “thrown into / against” means that he impacted the object, but the object did not break / he did not go through it - “thrown through” means that the object broke on impact and he ended up on the other side - “internal pain” means that someone used magic to do something to him, but I have no idea what, all I know is that he looked in pain and was mostly gripping his stomach - “handcuffed” means actual handcuffs were used, “tied around wrists” means either rope or zip-ties were used - “punched” means just punched in the face, any other area on the body will be specified - any episodes that aren’t on the list means he wasn’t injured in them

Some misc notes: - I do not include injuries that don’t actually happen, e.g. future visions, nightmares, hallucinations or a fake reality - I might be inconsistent with the amount of times I specify what was used to knock Sam out, and not specifying. Sorry about that. It’s because I either just couldn’t see the object, or I was lazy that day - I don’t usually specify the size of the injury either, I usually just say “cut”, sorry. I only realised 6 seasons in that I probably should be specifying the size, and also taking screenshots, but I couldn’t be bothered going back back and fixing it, nor could I be bothered specifying the size from then on. I’m sorry, it was just going to feel weird if 6 seasons in I only then start specifying - I don’t include possessions as injuries, but I do specify when injuries happen while possessed - I include some commentary of what kind of injuries I thought should’ve happened based on the action - There’s also a list of Dean’s injuries, but there won’t be a list for Cas. Going into this, I only wanted to know Dean and Sam’s injuries for some redesigns I want to do, I didn’t feel it was necessary for me to know Cas’ because he won’t have scars in my redesign (at least his vessel won’t). Please don’t expect me to go back and make a list for Cas, this already took up so much of my time and I don’t want to do it again.

Let’s begin, shall we?

Season 1

1x1: Pilot - five holes in centre of chest from fingers 1x2: W*ndigo - falls down a hole 1x4: Phantom Traveler - head banged against wall 1x5: Bloody Mary - infected by Bloody Mary 1x6: Skin - tied to a chair around his neck, chest, hips, wrists and ankles - bottle smashed over head - tied around wrists - cut under right eye - punched - kneed  - kicked into bookshelf - hit across face with pool stick - elbowed in face - tackled into table - strangled - cut on left side of forehead 1x7: Hook Man - stabbed in right forearm with hook  - thrown into bookshelf that then falls on top of him 1x9: Home - strangled with lamp cord - thrown into walls and cabinets 1x10: Asylum - mind influenced by Ellicot - punched and knocked out 1x15: The Benders - cuts on both hands  - cut on chin 1x16: Shadow - 4 claw marks across left cheek - wrists tied - cut across nose 1x17: Hell House - choked with an axe handle 1x18: Something Wicked - life force sucked out of him, process interupted before completed 1x19: Provenance - hit by a dresser 1x22: Devil’s Trap - punched - split lip

Hey! The post under the cut is really long! Please be sure you want to continue reading before clicking, because you’ll be scrolling for a while!

Season 2

2x1: In My Time of Dying - in a carcrash - 2 cuts on right cheek - cut near right eye - cut across nose - split bottom lip 2x3: Bloodlust - knocked unconscious with an iron - wrists tied - cut on left forearm 2x5: Simon Said - sprained wrist? his right wrist / arm is in a cast but I searched and it’s not there in the previous episode and nothing happens between then and this episode that would’ve caused it, so I have no clue what happened. If someone does please let me know 2x9: Croatoan - diagonal slice on upper left pec 2x10: Hunted - kneed - elbowed in face - kicked in face and through wall - cut on left cheek 2x14: Born Under a Bad Sign - burned with holy water (while possessed by Meg) - jumped out a window (possessed) - punched unconscious (possessed) - tied to a chair by wrists and ankles (possessed) - binding lock on right inner forearm, that’s a circle with a line going through - burn over binding lock (possessed) - punched 2x17: Heart - 3 slashes on left cheek 2x19: Folsom Prison Blues - handcuffed around wrists and ankles 2x20: What Is and What Should Never Be - strangled - hit in the head 2x21: All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 1 - abducted by Azazel (I’m assuming he was knocked unconscious) - super punched across yard - possible dislocated shoulder - stabbed in the back - DEAD 2x22: All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2 - resurrected by demon deal

Season 3

3x1: The Magnificent Seven - thrown - strangled 3x2: The Kids are Alright - punched - kneed - thrown around 3x3: Bad Guy at Black Rock - strangled - fell over and scraped knees - fell again and knocked himself unconscious - punched - shot in left shoulder 3x4: Sin City - thrown into a windshield 3x7: Fresh Blood - thrown through a wall - thrown into a shelf - kicked in the face - face banged against table - cut on right eyebrow 3x8: A Very Supernatural Christmas - strangled - head banged against wall and knocked unconscious - tied to a chair by wrists and ankles - nail taken off right index finger - punched - thrown into a table 3x9: Malleus Maleficarum - thrown into a wall 3x12: Jus in Bello - handcuffed - punched - thrown against walls 3x13: Ghostfacers! - tied to a chair by wrists and ankles - cut on left cheek - thrown around 3x14: Long-Distance Call - knocked unconscious with a bat - tied (very tightly) around wrists - cuts around wrists where tied 3x15: Time is On My Side - head banged against steering wheel - chloroformed - strapped down to a table 3x16: No Rest for the Wicked - punched - thrown into a wall

Season 4

4x1: Laxarus Rising - tackled into table and chairs - punched 4x2: Are You There, God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester - shoved into metal lockers, a wall and a mirror (probably has cuts on his left hand from it) - head banged on sink - cut above left eye - thrown into windshield - squashed between a desk and a shelf 4x4: Metamorphosis - thrown against a wall  - punched and knocked unconscious - 5 little holes / cuts on left side of forehead 4x5: Monster Movie - thrown through fake wall 4x6: Yellow Fever - thrown around - head banged against floor 4x7: It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester - internal pain - punched - strangled - thrown into wall 4x8: Wishful Thinking - struck by lightning and knocked unconscious 4x9: I Know What You Did Last Summer - thrown down stairs - jumped out a window - horizontal slash on left outer bicep - punched - kneed - strangled 4x10: Heaven and Hell - choked 4x12: Criss Angel is a Douche Bag - tied down by his wrists and ankles 4x13: After School Special - punched (when he was a kid) - stabbed with a pencil on upper left pec - kicked in the groin and face - punched (as an adult) 4x14: Sex and Violence - cut on left side of neck - infected by a siren - punched - broken / twisted arm - tackled through a door 4x15: Death Takes a Holiday - hit in the stomach 4x17: It’s a Terrible Life - thrown into a shelf - thrown against a wall 4x19: Jump the Shark - knocked unconscious with a shotgun - tied down to a table by his wrists and ankles - horizontal cut on inner right forearm - gash on his left side - vertical slashes on both inner forearms 4x21: When the Levee Breaks - thrown around into walls - tied down to bed by wrists and ankles - punched - kneed - kicked

Season 5

5x1: Sympathy for the Devil - kneed - punched - broken left leg - lungs taken away (put back) 5x2: Good God, Ya’ll! - shoved into a shelf - strangled - hit with a bat - hit with a shotgun and knocked unconscious - tied to a chair by middle, wrists and ankles - cut above left eye 5x5: Fallen Idols - strangled - thrown into tables - thrown into a column - knocked unconscious - tied by wrists 5x6: I Believe The Children Are Our Future - thrown into a wall - strangled 5x7: The Curious Case of Dean Winchester - strangled 5x8: Changing Channels - hit in the groin 5x9: The Real Ghostbusters - super slapped - thrown around 5x11: Sam, Interrupted - tied down to a bed by wrists and ankles 5x12: Swap Meat - hit in both sides of neck with darts and passes out, body swapped with teenager - tied to a chair around middle, wrists and ankles 5x13: The Song Remains The Same - thrown through a wall - kicked - stabbed in the stomach with a pipe - DEAD (revived by Michael) 5x14: My Bloody Valentine - punched - handcuffed 5x15: Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid - handcuffed 5x16: Dark Side of the Moon - shot in the chest - DEAD (revived by Joshua) 5x17: 99 Problems - gash on left shoulder 5x18: Point of No Return  - thrown into metal room divider - hemorrage (healed by Zachariah) 5x19: Hammer of the Gods - strangled 5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight - affected by pestilence (stopped later on) - faints - strangled 5x22: Swan Song - shot in the back and chest (while possessed by Lucifer) - jumped into the hell / the cage (Lucifer still possessing, but Sam in control) - DEAD - rescued from the cage by Castiel, however without his soul. Not sure if this required Cas to rebuild his body like he did with Dean, so I guess this part can be entirely up to your interpretation 

Season 6

6x1: Exile on Main St. - horizontal cut on inner left forearm 6x2: Two and a Half Men - thrown around 6x6: You Can’t Handle The Truth - knocked unconscious - tied by his wrists - punched - strangled - three claw marks on right cheek 6x7: Family Matters - cut on left side of forehead - cut beside left eye - cut on left side of jaw - cut under right eye - bleeding out of right ear - broken nose - tied by wrists - Cas reaches into his... soul? idk what he reached into since he has no soul - (previouis injuries healed by Cas) - strangled 6x9: Clap Your Hands If You Believe - beat with a cane - cut on left side of hairline 6x10: Caged Heart - knocked unconscious - bites into his own right inner wrist 6x11: Appointment in Samarra  - knocked unconscious with a baton - cut on left side of hairline - vertical gash on right side of right let - punched unconscious - handcuffed 6x13: Unforgiven - possible gash on right shoulder (not sure if that was his blood or someone else’s) - handcuffed - thrown face first into wall - tied up with webs 6x15: The French Mistake - thrown through a window - punched - internal pain 6x16: ... And Then There Were None - tied around wrists - electrocuted on his wright forearm, leaves a horizontal burn mark 6x19: Mommy Dearest - handcuffed 6x20: The Man Who Would Be King - thrown into a table 6x21: Let It Bleed - knocked unconscious 6x22: The Man Who Knew Too Much - comatose (he wakes up)

Season 7

7x1: Meet the New Boss - cut on left palm 7x2: Hello, Cruel World - knocked unconscious with a pipe 7x3: The Girl Next Door - punched and knocked unconscious 7x5: Shut Up, Dr. Phil - internal pain - strangled 7x6: Slash Fiction - handcuffed 7x8: Season 7, Time for a Wedding! - poisoned with love potion - knocked unconscious with sandwich cooker - tied to chair by wrists and ankles - thrown into a table and knocked unconscious - strangled 7x11: Adventures In Babysitting - strangled - bit on left side of his neck x2 7x12: Time After Time - cut on left palm 7x14: Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magic Menagerie - punched - thrown into a windshield - kicked - hit with a wench - cut on left side of hairline 7x15: Repo Man  - hit the back of the head with a piece of wood - thrown around 7x16: Out With the Old - thrown into a desk 7x17: The Born-Again Identity - hit by a car - broken rib - cut on his right outer forearm - cut on his left hand - cuts around his left eye - bruised and cut knuckles - skid marks on right elbow - tied down by his wrists and ankles - electrocuted 7x18: Party On, Garth - knocked unconscious 7x19: Of Grave Importance - ghost hand digs into back 7x20: The Girl With the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo - somersaulted through glass 7x23: Survival of the Fittest - strangled

Season 8

8x1: We Need to Talk About Kevin - horizontal cut on inner right forearm 8x2: What’s Up, Tiger Mommy? - thrown into a table 8x3: Heartache - thrown into tables and chairs - strangled 8x4: Bitten - strangled 8x6: Southern Comfort - elbowed - headbutted - kicked into a table 8x10: Torn and Frayed - strangled - threw himself against a door multiple times 8x11: LARP and the Real Girl - strangled 8x12: As Time Goes By - handcuffed - knocked unconscious - tied around wrists 8x13: Everybody Hates Hitler - strangled for a second - dart in left side of neck and poisoned with spell - effects disappear once spellcaster dies 8x14: Trial and Error - arm glows and cramps with pain from completing the first trial 8x15: Man’s Best Friend With Benefits - thrown into a wall - knocked unconscious - thrown into a painting and tables 8x16: Remember the Titans - fell down stairs - flung back against ground - thrown against column 8x17: Goodbye Stranger - punched - tackled through glass door 8x18: Freaks and Geeks - knocked unconscious - tied to chair by wrists and ankles 8x19: Taxi Driver - punched - horizontal cut on left forearm x2 - thrown into a tree - hand glows and cramps with pain from completing another trial 8x20: Pac-Man Fever - punched - pushed into a fence - thrown around 8x21: The Great Escapist - really sick, passes out 8x23: Sacrifice - bit on left inner forearm - 2 cuts below right eye - cut on left palm

Season 9

9x2: Devil May Care - punched - thrown into a metal counter - head banged against wood 9x3: I’m No Angel - thrown through a glass door - punched - knocked unconscious 9x4: Slumber Party - hit in face with a piece of wood (while possessed by witch) 9x5: Dog Dean Afternoon - four claw marks on left side of neck (healed by Gadreel) - knocked unconscious 9x7: Bad Boys - thrown into a door - choked 9x8: Rock and a Hard Place - thrown through wood planks and knocked unconscious - burn on left lower side of torso, above liver 9x10: Road Trip - punched unconscious (while possessed by Gadreel) - tied to chair around wrists and ankles (possessed) - 2 needles in left temple (possessed) - needle in right temple (possessed) - needle in centre of foreheard (possessed) - (needle wounds healed by Cas) 9x11: First Born - needle in right side of neck 9x12: Sharp Teeth - knocked unconscious - tied around wrists 9x13: The Purge - cupboard dropped on top of him - punched - kicked through a wall - strangled - split lip 9x15: #THINMAN - tasered unconscious - handcuffed 9x16: Blade Runners - cut on right cheek - cut on right side of neck 9x17: Mother’s Little Helper - punched into a pile of boxes - kicked - choked 9x19: Alex Annie Alexis Ann - hit in the gut - blood drained from both forearms 9x23: Do You Believe in Miracles - punched unconscious

Season 10

10x1: Black - broken arm (I have no clue how it got there) - punched unconscious - tied to a chair by wrists and ankles 10x2: Reichenbach - chokes on smoke / gas - punched unconscious 10x4: Paper Moon - strangled x2 - punched in the gut 10x5: Fan Fiction - knocked unconscious 10x7: Girls, Girls, Girls - punched 10x8: Hibbing 911 - knocked unconscious - tied around wrists 10x11: There’s No Place Like Home - wrists and ankles tied - choked 10x12: About a Boy - elbowed in the face - thrown into a cabinet 10x15: The Things They Carried - thrown against a wall - strangled 10x18: Book of the Damned - strangled 10x19: The Werther Project - 2 horizontal cuts on right forearm 10x20: Angel Heart - knocked unconscious with pipe - handcuffed - headbutted - punched - thrown into a wall 10x22: The Prisoner - thrown through window and into tiled wall 10x23: Brother’s Keeper - punched - cut on left cheek - cut near left eyebrow, close to nose

Season 11

11x1: Out of the Darkness, Into the Fire - thrown into a shelf - infected by a rabid 11x2: Form and Void - burns the infection off (it’d be pretty sick if he actually had burn marks from this) 11x3: The Bad Seed - thrown into a pile of boxes 11x4: Baby - jagged cut on right cheek - 2 jagged cuts above right eye - (injuries hinted to be healed by Cas off screen) 11x5: Thin Lizzie - tied around wrists 11x6: Our Little World - headbutted - punched - strangled - throws shoulder against door multiple times - thrown against door and knocked unconscious 11x7: Plush - shoved against walls - strangled - thrown into cabinet - thrown against impala - knocked unconscious 11x10: The Devil in the Details - punched - cut beside left eye - headbutted - elbowed - cut on nose 11x12: Don’t You Forget About Me - hit in gut and face with sledgehammer - hit in back with piece of wood - falls off railing and hits titled floor - hit multiple times with piece of wood 11x13: Love Hurts - I assume he hit either a wall or a table, he was thrown but the impact wasn’t shown - choked 11x14: The Vessel - shoved against stone column - soul touched by Lucifer - cut on left palm 11x15: Beyond the Mat - thrown against a metal beam 11x16: Safe House - possibly cut one of his palms, I’m not sure if they purchased that blood or if it’s Sam’s - punched - thrown into counter - punched in the gut 11x17: Red Meat - thrown through table - shot in left lower torso - choked - body went into shock, heartbeat slowed down to almost nothing - cut on nose - falls down stairs 11x18: Hell’s Angel - either internal pain or choked 11x20: Don’t Call Me Shurley - infected by Amara’s fog, passes out - infection healed by God, probably 11x22: We Happy Few - Mark of Cain burned into his right forearm, process interrupted before completed 11x23: Alpha and Omega - strangled - shot in left thigh / knee

Season 12

12x1: Keep Calm and Carry On - tied to a chair by ankles and wrists (tightly handcuffed, looks like it could cut, maybe) - electrocuted - tortured with a cold shower - 2 burn streaks on right side of right foot - needle on right side of neck - drugged - punches a mirror - cut on left palm - kicked in the face 12x2: Mamma Mia - either stabbed in the mouth or a tooth taken out, they never show what actually happened - cut on left shoulder - cut on left cheek - cut on left side of forehead - elbowed in the face - (possibly healed by Cas, seeing as he’s completely fine in the next shot) 12x3: The Foundry - throws himself against a door multiple times - thrown into a shelf 12x4: American Nightmare - knocked unconscious - tied around wrists 12x5: The One You’ve Been Waiting For - elbowed in the face - punched 12x6: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox - thrown into a table 12x8: LOTUS - handcuffed around wrists and ankles 12x9: First Blood - DEAD (revived by Billie) - cut on left palm 12x10: Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets - punched 12x11: Regarding Dean - thrown into a bookshelf - ears profusely bleeding - tied to a chair by wrists 12x12: Stuck in the Middle (With You) - shoved into a wall - glass smashed over his head - fell through wood railing, over porch and impact on ground - punched - elbowed in the face - hit with pieces of flying wood - flung backwards - hit in gut, face and neck with base of spear 12x16: Ladies Drink Free - headbutted - falls back through wood room divider 12x17: The British Invasion - thrown into metal door 12x18: The Memory Remains - either hands or face hit with a hammer - face then clearly hit with hammer and he stumbles back into a pile of boxes 12x19: The Future - thrown through park bench 12x20: Twigs & Twine & Tasha Banes - shoved into a wall - punched - thrown through table - strangled

Season 13

13x1: Lost and Found - thrown into a wall and knocked unconscious - strangled - thrown into a wall again - kneed in the face - punched - kicked 13x2: The Rising Sun - choked 13x5: Advanced Thanatology - thrown across floor and hits chair and table 13x6: Tombstone - thrown back into floor 13x7: War of the Worlds - kicked into wall 13x8: The Scorpion and the Frog - punched - thrown across floor - hit with rock and knocked unconscious 13x9: The Bad Place - hit in the face with base of angel blade 13x10: Wayward Sisters - hit in side and face with base of spear and knocked unconscious - tied around wrists 13x11: Breakdown - knocked unconscious - tied down to a table by wrists and ankles 13x12: Various & Sundry Villains - tackled onto hood of impala - strangled x2 - hexed to stay in one spot - thrown into bookshelf - thrown through table 13x13: Devil’s Bargain - thrown into beside table - internal pain 13x14: Good Intentions - knocked unconscious 13x15: A Most Holy Man - handcuffed - knocked unconscious 13x17: The Thing - possibly poisoned, I’m not sure but he faints after eating food - tied around wrists 13x18: Bring em Back Alive - tackled into control panel - punched in side - thrown against wall - internal pain 13x19: Funeralia - passes out from spell - tortured by Rowena’s magic 13x20: Unfinished Business - thrown into wall - strangled 13x21: Beat the Devil - neck torn out on right side - DEAD (resurrected by Lucifer) 13x23: Let the Good Times Roll - windows exploded behind him and he was flung back into the impala from the force of the explosion - punched - hard impact on ground - kicked in the face - strangled

Season 14

14x1: Stranger in a Strange Land - thrown through table and chair - punched - kneed in groin 14x3: The Scar - hit in back of knee with spear - tackled through table - punched - strangled 14x4: Mint Condition - hit in face - flung back against counter - knocked unconscious 14x9: The Spear - hit in back of head with bat - thrown into truck x2 - knocked unconscious - internal pain 14x11: Damaged Goods - hard impact against floor 14x13: Lebanon - either jumped to the side and hit the bookshelf or he was thrown from the force of the fire - hit in the side and face with gun - choked - punched - thrown through table - head banged multiple times against table - cut on nose 14x14: Ouroboros - thrown into counter - thrown onto table (during this, his back impacts a glass dead on and when I was 10 I jumped off a couch and my foot hit a glass dead on and my foot was cut open so I expect cuts on his back) - not able to breathe - temporarily blind - internal pain 14x15: Peace of Mind - brainwashed by the town / the witch, forgets who he is and thinks he’s someone else - hard impact on ground - almost gets his head blown off, process interrupted before completed 14x16: Don’t Go in the Woods - strangled 14x17: Game Night - punched - hit in the face with rock - shoved against impala - cut on left temple - cut and bruised knuckles - (all healed by Jack) 14x20: Moriah - thrown into bookshelf - shot in left shoulder with the Equalizer 

Season 15

15x1: Back To The Future - cut on left side of torso, near waist (healed by Cas) - punched - kicked 15x5: Proverbs 17:3 - shoved against floor - thrown into wall - thrown back and knocked unconscious 15x6: Golden Time - internal pain x2 - hexed to spit up blood - wrists tied - voodo stabbed in chest - voodo arm twisted 15x7: Last Call - flung back into brick wall and knocked unconscious - partially healed by Sergei, bullet would still weirdly infected though 15x8: Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven - kicked - punched - strangled 15x9: The Trap - tied to chair by wrists - bullet wound dug around in with a scalpel 15x10: The Heroes’ Journey - punched - hard impact on ground 15x12: Galaxy Brain - hit in face and gut with sticks 15x13: Destiny’s Child - thrown 15x14: Last Holiday - fingernail taken off from 3 left fingers - thrown into wall 15x17: Unity - choked - punched - headbutted 15x19: Inherit the Earth - thrown into a bookshelf - thrown across beach - internal pain - punched - hit in the neck - kneed - kicked - kicked in the face - broken right arm - cut on left eyebrow - 2 cuts on left cheek - cut on right temple - (all healed by Jack) 15x20: Carry On - hard impact on ground - punched - knocked unsconscious - DEAD (old age, permanently) 

[bloomingwisteria]

𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙀𝙭𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚/𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙤: 𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝘾𝙪𝙩 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Each step felt like fire shooting through his legs, starting at the soles of his feet, racing up through his calves, only to settle in his thighs, as if that were its bed for the night. Even so, he dragged himself along, cold night air filling his burning lungs with each breath he drew. His side was white hot, as if a coal had been pressed into the skin and left there, sitting and burning away. It was such a good pain. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the sight of his barrack came into view. His room, his bed- where he could tend to his wounds without feeling shame for grimacing. Where he could see the full extent of the damage done. After all, sparring with your captain was either a great idea if you were in another division, or the absolute worst. Luckily for Ayasegawa Yumichika, it was the latter of the two. He had to prove himself, that’s what he’d been told. He’d come along with the other new recruits; Ikkaku had proven himself two days ago. Today? Today it had been his turn. Watching Ikkaku fight had been amazing, wonderful- it brought back memories of their time in the academy, sparring together and meeting one another blow for blow. The feeling of the blade reverberating within his grasp, the way his blood seemed to sing within his veins, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Yes, this was what he was made for. He was made to fight, to survive. Survival was key in the world he grew up in. A hand covered with dried blood reached up to grasp the edge of the Shōji, carefully sliding it open. Distantly, he could hear laughter; other members of the Eleventh celebrating. He, too, would celebrate- just not now. Now, he needed to change out of the torn and bloodied shihakusho he wore and make sure nothing was actually broken. Broken bones meant making a trip to the Fourth, and he’d rather avoid moving any further than necessary. Door closed soundly behind himself, Yumichika took a moment to simply stand and breathe. The fight had lasted longer than he’d expected, Zaraki-taichou pushing him further than he’d pushed the others earlier. But by the Soul King, it had been amazing. Perhaps this would solidify a numbered rank? He certainly hoped so. A numbered rank meant more respect, a better chance at advancing, and a better chance at surviving. He knew his own reiatsu was certainly stronger than some of the grunts that had ended up here; not larger than Ikkaku’s, though. Head tilting, he noted that the ache was beginning to spread throughout his entire body. It felt like he got his shit rocked- and not in the fun, rolling around in a bed sort of way. Then again, that is what happened- he got his shit rocked in front of fifty others. But he’d lasted well over two hours before he finally collapsed. And the smile hadn’t left his lips since then. Gaze drifting around his personal quarters, he paused as he took in the old flowery kimono he once wore. It had been beautiful, well taken care of, and his most prized possession aside from his zanpakutou. Now? Now, it paled in comparison to the shihakusho he donned. A sense of pride swelled within as he limped to the mirror in the corner of the room. A cushion sat before the large mirror, and beside that lay an ivory comb, a small bag containing little pieces of makeup he’d managed to get his hands on through the years, and a much larger bag of first aid supplies. Bloodied fingers grabbed the bag as he settled onto the cushion with a long-suffering sigh. “Shit.” Yumichika murmured, wine toned gaze widening in surprise at the utter mess he was presented with. Carefully, the shihakusho was shrugged off, a hiss escaping his lips as the fabric clung to wounds, the dried blood acting as glue. Head tilting this way then that, he studied the bruises that bloomed along his jawline and torso- and the utter mess that his hair had become. The deep navy locks were a tangled mess, matted and, in some places, uneven. Brow pinching, he turned his attention away from his hair to study the scratches and scrapes along his arms. “Double shit. He really did a damn number on me, didn’t he?” He asked the empty bedroom, staring down at the gash on his side. It wasn’t deep, so it wouldn’t require stitches or any sort of healing. Teeth gritting, he steeled himself for the inevitable sting that would come from rinsing it out. At least he’d had the foresight to ask for water to be delivered to his rooms. He wouldn’t be able to get to his bathroom even if he wanted to, not now. Sitting up on his knees, he grabbed hold of the towels he’d set aside just for instances like this. He needed to flush it first. Kenpachi’s blade didn’t look to be the cleanest, and it obviously wasn’t the most well-kept, given how jagged the gash appears to be. Then again, this wasn’t the worst scar he had. No, that one was on his left thigh, and even now when he looks at it for too long, his stomach twists with the memory. Shaking his head, he drew in a breath before beginning to flush the wound out with clean water. “Fuck, shit, damn it, maybe I should’ve gone to the Fourth,” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenching. “But that’s one long fucking walk that I really don’t want to take. Get it together, Yumi.” Next step, cleaning it with a rag and water. Tears pricked at the inner corners of his eyes from the sharp sting that came with agitating a fresh wound. It took a good few minutes before he was satisfied enough to set the rag aside and slouch, a tear sliding down a pale, unblemished cheek. Ouch. “Tomorrow. The Fourth.” Damn his pride. Angrily, he began to wrap his midsection up with gauze and a white cloth bandage, which only caused the wound to hurt even more, which caused more tears to fall from the pain. By the end of it, he looked a proper mess, bandaged up and crying. Even so, as he studied his reflection, he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly mad. Until he began to try to comb out his hair, and then, reality hit. A lump formed in his throat as he stared at the uneven length. When had Kenpachi even grabbed his hair? Or had he even? Yumichika couldn’t remember; all he knew now was that the waist length locks had been butchered. The hair he’d spent so long growing out, that he’d taken such careful care of- Half of it was cut to his collarbone. The other half was still long. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he reached out, taking hold of his zanpakutou’s hilt. He could hear the spirit whispering to him, wondering what he was doing, what he was planning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he settled the blade on his lap and took out a hair tie, reaching behind himself to gather the mangled, navy tresses into a ponytail that settled at the base of his neck. Wine toned gaze trained upon his reflection, wine toned hues were strong, steeled. Ruri’iro Kujaku hissed as he left his scabbard. The moonlight settled upon the floor beside him, causing the metal to glint in the darkness of the bedroom as he raised in behind his head, the edge settling between the ponytail and his neck. He pulled. Navy locks fell to the ground around him, the remainder swinging forward to settle just below his chin in an asymmetrical bob. Head tilting, he studied his reflection. So much lighter… He shook his head, and the tresses followed the movement. It made a little laugh bubble up. Cutting his hair- that had felt oddly freeing. A smile curled his lips as he reached up and touched the ends. It felt smoother, healthier. Lighter. “Beautiful,” he whispered, a hand cupping his own cheek as he studied his reflection. A tear slid down his cheek, the last bit of mourning leaving him with it. This was who he was. Yumichika Ayasegawa of the Eleventh Division. He will become a seated officer. He will earn the respect of his peers. He will survive this. He will survive.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 1

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something's rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won't rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic's top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Spoilers: Forged Alliances. SWTOR Lost Suns and Annihilation. Some things in the Vanilla storyline, including the Revan flashpoints. Author’s Notes: Out of necessity, parts of this story will contain scenes from the game itself. Whenever possible I’ve tried to rewrite them so that they hopefully remain fresh and interesting, while still retaining the essence of the scene itself (so hopefully it doesn’t feel like you’re reading a transcript). This one is also going to be a bit slow to start, but it’s going to be a long one.

Crossposted to AO3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

When the Supreme Commander of Republic Forces called — it was generally a good idea to answer. Even if he just so happened to be your father.

However, this was official business, so Theron Shan decided to ignore that fact as he strode into the large office located in one of the corners of the Senate towers. The receptionist had waved him through without any fuss this time around.

Perhaps she had gotten used to him at this point — she hadn’t even glared at him this time. He supposed that was progress. It was nothing he had done, of course, just a bit of guilt-by-association. She and Marcus Trant, the Director of Republic’s Strategic Information Services had gotten quite chummy a little while back, but alas, she was not to become the third women to hold the title of “Mrs. Trant”. Easy come, easy go as the saying went.

Come to think of it, maybe the lack of glares this time around had more to do with the fact that Trant hadn’t accompanied Theron. It was a mystery for another time, though, as his gaze fell on the figure seated behind the desk in the center of the room. 

Jace Malcom was an extraordinarily tall man, he towered over Theron by at least a foot or so, and between the height, his deep gravelly voice, and the gruesome scars crisscrossing his face, the man could come off a little imposing. Theron wasn’t easily intimidated though, and he had a… unique situation with Jace. — considering the fact that the man was his father. Biologically at least, or… whatever.

It was complicated.

Theron hadn’t even known who Jace was, outside of his military record that was, until they’d met during the mission to take out the Ascendant Spear. Their first real meeting as father and son hadn’t exactly gone well, it was awkward, Theron had just wanted to leave, and most of their interactions outside of a professional setting had just been a bit like that. On the job, they were good. Despite popular opinion, Theron could take orders (when they made sense),  and off the clock they… well, they were trying to settle into something resembling familiarity. The “father-son bonding sessions” were thankfully few and far between. Theron liked Jace well enough, and they certainly got along better than he and his mother, but it wasn’t exactly like they were going to go out and throw the gravball around any time soon.

However, this meeting request had come through official channels, so thankfully that probably meant things would be less awkward and weird. At least he hoped.

Theron cleared his throat, pulling the older man’s attention away from the datapad he was reviewing. Seeing his visitor, some of the deep lines on Jace’s face smoothed into a smile. “Ah, Theron, you’re early.”

“Traffic wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.” He folded his arms in an effort to look casual. “Trant had a Senate briefing, so you get me instead.”

“That’s all right, I was hoping you’d be here for this. We can loop the director in later.”

“Your message was a bit vague,” he said, “just that you had some intel you wanted to discuss?”

Jace nodded. “One of my men came to me with something he picked up in the field — regarding Korriban. And a way we might be able to strike back.”

Theron’s eyebrows shot up. “Hitting Korriban? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” The elder man looked at him grimly. “This all started on Korriban, it would be fitting for us to start the death knell for the Empire there.”

Korriban had been one of Jace’s first stations, and where he had met the future Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Satele Shan — who just so happened to be Theron’s mother. Theron shifted the weight of his feet, a habit he’d unfortunately picked up in these conversations when the subject of his mother came up, even indirectly as it was now. He hated having a tell, even something so minor and with someone like Jace who while sharp, probably hadn’t picked up on it.

A change of subject from ancient history back to the present was probably in order — and a lot more comfortable. So Theron addressed the deeper issue at hand. “SIS has been trying to get a mole on Korriban for years, and everyone we’ve tried to embed there winds up dead. That place is a death trap.”

“I’m not asking anyone to go undercover,” Jace assured him. “I’m thinking more smash and grab. But before that, I want you to look over this intel and let me know if you think it’s viable.”

“Me?”

“You were the one who cracked how to take out the Ascendant Spear — if anyone can do the same with Korriban, it’s you.”

It was a high compliment, and genuinely based on his skillset, rather than a form of nepotism. After their success against the Ascendent Spear, Theron had been tapped as a resource more and more for Malcom’s office. It had kept him out of the field more than he liked, but the tangible results of his work on the overall war was satisfying in its own way.

“That seems simple enough,” Theron said, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Any reason for all of the cloak and dagger?”

“Considering the target I don’t want to take any chances. I want someone I can trust taking point on this.”

Theron couldn’t quite decipher the look on Jace’s face, but nodded a thanks all the same. It was… odd having someone be so complimentary and open about that kind of thing. Trant’s usual way of expressing gratitude was a cutting sarcastic remark. Which he was fine with — it was familiar. Easy. But the mark of a good spy was adapting to the situation at hand.

Even if that meant a little bit of inadvertent father-son bonding.

Jace handed over a small data chip. The fact that he wasn’t trusting any of this on any network channel spoke volumes about the need for discretion.

“I’ll look this over and get you an answer as soon as possible.”

That seemed to satisfy Jace, but as Theron made his way out of the office and out into the streets, he was unsettled. The reason for that feeling wasn’t readily apparent, but hopefully once he had a chance to dig into the data he’d figure it out. He tended to trust his gut on these things, but a chance to strike as rich of a target as this was too good to pass up on a mere bad feeling alone.

The more he dug into the intel that Jace had given him, the more Theron had to admit that the Supreme Commander was right. A strike on Korriban not only seemed viable, but had the potential to yield invaluable information that could finally lead to an end to the war.

A Jedi named Jensyn had come away from an encounter with an apprentice to a member from the Dark Council, revealing that they had databanks in their main chambers with some of the inner-most secrets to the Empire. A literal goldmine of information that could turn every future battle and operation to the Republic’s favor. It was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up, and so Theron kept digging. Every intelligence report surrounding the encounter checked out, and just because he liked being paranoid, Theron looked into the Jedi too. The man had served aboard the Telos in its campaign in the Albarrio and Relgim sectors, and had an exemplary service record. The closest thing he found to a red flag was the copious amount tea Jensyn liked to consume.  

As far as Theron could tell, the intel seemed clean.

That just left the minor problem of storming Siths’ the inner-keep. Just getting on the ground would have been an issue, except that apparently a SpecOps commander named Rian Darok had found a gap in the patrols on Korriban. It wasn’t a large one, and they’d never be able to launch a full-scale assault… but a strike team could make it through and perform an extraction.

Theron filled a large mug to the brim with caf, settled into the most comfortable chair he could find at SIS Headquarters, and got to work mining everything they had on Korriban. He had to cobble the data together from a variety of sources to even get a close picture if it could be done. They had old schematics of the ground layout, but due to the age he had to cross-reference it with a report from an escaped acolyte to confirm the probable obstacles facing a strike team on their route from the landing zone into the Academy. This, coupled with bits and pieces of security information scraped from the almost-defunct Imperial intelligence, yielded an access point for someone on the ground that could allow a talented slicer to insert an exploit. It was technically doable, but the resistance the ground team would face stacked the deck against the op’s favor.

“Viable but a logistical nightmare” was how he summarized it to Jace and Marcus the next morning, gratefully accepting the giant mug of caf the Supreme Commander had ready for him the moment he walked in the door.

“Pay up,” Marcus said, and Jace grudgingly handed over a credit chip.

Theron narrowed his eyes at the both of them suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “And what was that for?”

“Just how quickly you’d go for caffeine,” Marcus said casually.

Theron fixed his boss with a glare before taking a very long drag of the zippy brew. Apparently being Supreme Commander came with some perks, because if the spy wasn’t mistaken, this was the more expensive Alsakan Mountain roast. The director just shook his head and turned to the datapad with all the findings, letting out a low whistle at the potential yield if the operation was successful. As both of the older men perused the data, Theron barely suppressed a yawn. The all-nighter had come at the tail end of an op, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was probably needing at least a few hours of sleep.

“You could have taken two days to look at all this,” Jace said lightly, “but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Intel can go stale quick.” Theron shrugged off the paternal concern easily.

“All the reason to act quickly,” Jace said, “if Trant can spare you for a little bit.”

“Please, take him. Much less of a headache for me.”

“I’m really feeling the love here,” the agent muttered.

“You’d feel more if you turned your expense reports on time.”

“You have to get a thrill somehow since you’re not out in the field anymore,” Theron shot back easily. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You see what I have to deal with?” Marcus pointed the question at Jace, who just shook his head.

“Well, I’m happy for the loan, Marcus,” he said, turning the subject back to the matter at hand. “I can see how logistics can get sticky, but I think I’ve got someone who can help with that. Colonel Darok has a knack for this kind of thing.”

Having spotted the hole in the patrol route, Theron had to admit the man had a keen eye. 

“You’d need a small army just to get through that many Sith. No way to get that many troops in,” Theron pointed out. “I don’t even see how even a master tactician is going to navigate that. ”

“What about a small strike team?” Marcus asked.

“Might work, but they’d need to have hides of durasteel.”

Jace looked thoughtful for a moment, before he headed over to his desk and pulled up a few dossiers on a datapad. He paged through a few, before handing it over to Theron. “Have you ever heard of the Coruscant Aegis?”

“Never met them personally,” Theron paused to take another sip from his mug before continuing, “but one of them provided cover fire on an extraction for me once.”

Marcus snorted, apparently remembering the incident in question. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

“I needed to make a hasty exit, and the lady was kind enough to clear a path. At least I think it was a lady—there was a lot of blaster fire. Pretty sure she called me insane.”

“That sounds about right.” Marcus heaved the heavy sigh of the wearied soul.

“I suppose I owe whoever it was some thanks,” Theron said. “Probably wouldn’t have made it out without the assist. Some nice flying and shooting.”

“They’re good at what they do,” Jace agreed, “the best actually.”

“Are any of them lightsaber-proof?” Theron asked sarcastically.

“They haven’t let one stop any of them so far.”

Theron juggled the mug and datapad, skimming through the personnel files as he continued to sip from the sweet caffeinated nectar. He tried to school his expression as he skimmed through the major highlights of each name, but the laundry list of heroic deeds associated with each individual was quite impressive. A notorious smuggler who had taken down the Voidwolf. The commander of Havoc Squad. Even a member of the Jedi High Council. It was the last one that made Theron stop and frown.

“Is this last one even real?” he asked.

Jace nodded solemnly. “She is.”

“It says she killed the Sith Emperor.”

That got Marcus’s attention, who leaned over Theron’s shoulder to read the dossier. Not liking the crowding, he handed the datapad over to his boss, and proceeded to prop his hip on Jace’s desk, still nursing the mug of caf.

“You asked for a small army,” Jace pointed out. “Any of them would be able to perform the extraction.”

“I’d say in that case we should get them all,” Theron said, “but they’re probably pretty scattered.”

Their window of opportunity to strike for this was going to close fast, though, so time was of the essence. It was probably also best to keep the number of those aware of the operation on the lower side too. Even if they were going to take on the entire Sith Academy, and maybe even the Dark Council.

Jace nodded. “You probably can get one in all likelihood.”

“Me, huh?”

“Colonel Darok will be in charge of the operation,” Jace clarified, “but I want the SIS involved on this. This is too big of a target to not bring in our best.”

Theron caught the backhanded compliment, but instead of responding verbally, he just nodded. “I can do some recruiting if you want. You have a preference?”

“Surprise me.”

 Jace flashed him a brief knowing grin, and Theron checked the urge to roll his eyes. He was fairly certain Marcus wasn’t aware of the familial connection, so showing disrespect to the man who was technically his boss’s boss probably wouldn’t help things in the long run. Knowing the way his luck tended to run, Theron would probably need to appeal to the director’s better nature in the next month for some reason or another. Theron didn’t intentionally cause diplomatic and inter-departmental incidents, they just tended to… happen. Sometimes. And by sometimes he meant like clockwork. 

“I’m going to need a little time to dig into the files if that’s the case,” he said instead of rising to the teasing.

“That’s fine.” If Jace was disappointed in Theron’s utter professionalism, it didn’t show, and the moment of levity slipped away. "It will take me some time to get Darok caught up and for us to put a battle plan together.”

Theron nodded and pocketed the datapad from Marcus. “Exactly how much time are we talking about?”

“Enough that you can sleep on it,” Jace tried to keep his tone light, but Theron still caught a hint of paternal concern threading underneath.

“Sleep?” Marcus snorted derisively. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I sleep when I’m bored,” Theron shot back.

“Good. Then you’ll be out before you even get through the first dossier.”

“Are you kidding? This is better than a holo-drama.” The spy tapped his pocket where he had stowed the datapad. 

Jace just shook his head, amused, and the discussion turned to other matters of intelligence. Theron let himself out once he finished his mug of caf, the weight of the datapad in his pocket a reminder of the upcoming mission. Despite the caffeine, he could feel fatigue pulling at him. Either the long hours were getting to him, or the unsettled feeling from the previous day was still eating at him. Maybe after he was able to study the personnel files some more, he could take a moment to review his notes and pinpoint what was bothering him. And then he could get some sleep.

Next Chapter

[guesswho-mp3]

[ Catch Me ]

AU: batman!jaehyun, tomcat!taeyong | Pairing: character x reader | Warnings: some language, shoddy characterization, minor dom/sub themes, references to smut | Rating: 17+ | Word Count: 2.2k

Based off of the dynamic Batman and Catwoman have both in Arkhamverse and the New 52, kinda botched and this took a direction that I wasn’t planning but whatevs.

“You could’ve used the door you know.”

The intruder bolted upright, his foot catching on the window ledge, tripping before catching himself.

“Sorry Cat, old habit.” He ruffled his hair, unable to meet the man’s eyes who was leaned up against the door frame, arms crossed over his Kiss the Chef apron.

He let him off with a shake of his head. “Oh no I’m flattered. It’s not every day someone gets to see Gotham’s Prince climbing through their window. You remind me of the bad boy parents warn their kids about,” he said. His smile faltered as his gaze fell behind Jaehyun to the alarm system, wires shot and lifeless, swaying from the window sill.

The billionaire at least had the decency to look ashamed when his eyes trailed to see what he was focused on. “I’ll buy you another one,” he promised. He let out a noise of affirmation as he pivoted, leading the guilty party into his dining room, where an assortment of dishes laid on a table set for two.

“You cooked.”

“Well, last time when we were at yours you nearly burned down the whole manor attempting to make carbonara. I decided to save you from Alfred’s wrath and take care of the cuisine this time. Plus I wanted to.” He paused while filling up their wine glasses, overcome with a fondness and sincerity that nearly suffocated him with its implications. ”You’re welcome.”

Their eyes met and suddenly it was still. The usual chatter of car horns and wailing sirens that blasted through all hours of the day quieted to soft whispers. Acid bubbled and ate away at their flesh to reveal their bare bones but they loved the burn of it as they were able to see each other’s hearts and underlying scars. Both extremely fucked up inside.

That brought them some semblance of peace. They were able to understand why the other had scars marring their skin; why the other would wake up in a cold sweat, hands twisting the sheets; why they both had to become something that made their innocence cower and tremble in fear, all in the name of survival. With each other they could breathe a little easier even with Gotham’s vices smothering them.

“Cat?”

“Yes, Bat?”

“I—.”

“I know. I love you too”

Batman grabbed the goon’s neck and slammed him to the ground, the move providing leeway for Tomcat to catapult off his back and scissor kick another.

With the last of the thugs down and Two Face knocked out and handcuffed they were able to finally catch their breath. The thief languidly stretched out his already sore muscles but the Bat remained tensed, primed for a fight.

“What’s got you brooding, B-man? Get your spandex in a twist?”

“What are you doing here, Taeyong?” he asked.

The man’s peach lips pouted, “You know Bat for such a big dark secretive vigilante you sure do drop the aliases quick. I thought you liked to keep things professional dur—”

“Why are you here?” The words were made more malicious by the voice scrambler, warped and demonic, he was using the same voice he did to intimidate criminals. The feline hissed.

“Easy now. So maybe I popped in for a quick steal. I didn’t know Two Face and his lackeys would show up, but I could’ve handled it on my own.“ The vigilante didn’t like that answer.

“I know you can handle yourself, but this is about you being here, causing trouble. All the thefts!The fights! Your idiotic risk taking!” The demonic barking escalated into a frightening crescendo but the cat kept coy.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before I actually have to do something about your proclivity for burglary and not just stand by like an idiot?”

“Honestly I thought the sex would buy me some leniency,” the feline fatale admitted. “But fine you win! Take my prize that I worked so hard to steal,” he pouted, pulling out the satchel of jewels.

“It’s not that simple, Cat. If I make exceptions for you where does it end? I’m supposed to fight injustice, not share a bed with it.”

Cat narrowed his eyes. “I’m not gonna quit if that’s what you’re implying. And I’ve known you long enough now that you’re not just gonna drop me either. You care about me too much to let me fall.”

A beat.

“That’s why this has to end.”

Oh. He was serious.

“No! You don’t get to do that! If you think I’m gonna let you—“

An explosion set off, Tomcat being blinded by shutters of light, a ringing in his sensitive ears.

He hacked, waving away the plumes of fog, vision hazy. “Fucking smoke bombs. That angsty bastard. He’ll be back.”

He wasn’t.

Even with Cat’s weekly break-ins having dwindled down to zero and after being off the G.C.P.D’s radar for some time now, his good behavior still didn’t earn him any gold stars. Pictures he had in his head of Batman crawling back to him in that delicious little black number were far from the reality.

If he wanted the Bat’s attention he had to quit playing and do something big. Grab his attention. Stealing the city’s single most prized diamonds seemed like the logical thing to do.

It was truly laughable just how easy it was to slip into Gotham Jewelers undetected. After multiple robberies from his truly over the years, Taeyong couldn’t help but wonder why they never bothered to up the security. His lithe body easily sailed through the wires, not even a single scratch on him; claws cutting a perfect circle into the glass case like ribbon and snatching the necklace before she was slinking away. Right before he grappled up the ceiling grate he made sure to trip the alarm. The Bat would be there in minutes.

Opening the panel that led to the rooftop, the cat burglar easily jumped out before he actually took some time to inspect his steal. Wrapped around his neck, neon lights bounced off the glimmering diamonds as he admired himself in a puddle that had formed earlier in the day’s gloomy showers. The choker, which consisted of hundreds of intricately beaded diamonds, cost a pretty penny, but he couldn’t have given less of a shit about the price tag when her person of interest would be arriving in 3….2…..

“Thieving again, Tomcat?”

Like clockwork.

He couldn’t help the scoff that fell from his lips at his professional persona bullshit. He turned around, seeing Jaehyun’s form for the first time in awhile, some part of him wanting to run and cling to him, the other wanting to rip him to shreds. He decided on the latter. Consider it payback. “Breakups tend to make people fall back into old habits. You should know why I’m doing this more than anyone, Jaehyun.”

“I’m not here to play around, Cat. Hand over the necklace before I turn you in.” All he got in response was a raise of the burglar’s eyebrows.

“Turn me in? Oh no, you can’t do that. If I’m locked up then who's gonna play our little game of chase,” he questioned.

Let’s see,” Taeyong listed on his fingers,” Joker is in Arkham, probably running himself up the walls, Riddler is doing…Well, whatever it is Doyoungie does with his puzzles. Your little “Super Friends” are off saving the day somewhere, so sad for you, you’re out of a playmate. But put me in a cage, if that’s what you truly want. My bet is you’re just trying to get me in handcuffs again...” he trailed off, twirling his whip like a tail.

Batman visibly stiffened at the insinuation, and Tomcat purred. He’d be lying if he said a small part of him wasn’t thoroughly enjoying making this little birdy squirm. Riled up Jaehyun was always better in bed.

“Aw what’s the matter, has the reminder of our previous moonlight trysts got you hot under the cowl. We could have fun just like we used to, all you have to do is say yes.” He was a breath away from him now, daringly scraping his claws up the proud insignia splayed across the Bat’s chest.

Before he could react, a gloved hand wrapped around Cat’s neck and his back met the brick wall with a dull thud.

“What I want is the diamonds. I’m not going to ask again, kitten.”

A gasp escaped from Tomcat’s throat, roses blooming on the his cheeks at their position. God, his stubbornness was pretty fucking annoying when it was being used against him.

Cattish eyes slanted at the challenge, a growl rumbling deep within him. His razored claws didn’t penetrate the titanium tri-weave breastplate, but they still provided enough grip for him to swat Jaehyun away and glide out from under his grip. This was taking too long.

“You’ve held out longer than I thought you would. Newsflash world’s greatest detective! You’re too hard headed to see what‘s going on. I know you Jaehyun.“ Knees bent, him body coiled.

I know there’s something you want more.”

The cat pounced, paws ripping off the dark knight’s cowl and capturing his midnight lover’s lips. Provoked, Jaehyun pulled him closer by the scruff of his neck, their passionate dance of swiping tongues and nipping teeth accompanied by a symphony of pleasured groans and breathy sighs.

Slowed down to a tender waltz, the tensed crime fighter’s form went lax at the change of pace, Cat pampering him with soft pecks and kitten licks. Each note that left his mouth struck another chord within Jaehyun’s heart.

“You make it so hard to resist you,” the billionaire acquiesced.

Biting Jaehyun’s bottom lip to cause a little more mischief, the reformed thief stepped back to readjust his knight’s mask. “That’s why you love me,” he purred, smoothing his claws over Jaehyun’s cheek bones before backtracking to the edge of the roof.

“Hey pretty boy—“ Cat turned, arms spread above his head, a performer taking center stage lit up by neon lights.

“Catch me!”

Then he swandived.

Tomcat’s life had slowed down a lot since he quit the burglar business. His old schedule of dropping into banks and vaults was now exclusive to plundering criminal elite’s hideouts, which was allowed as long as she donated most of it. It earned him a reputation for being a backstabber and a traitor to his kind in the underground but every half-brain thug knew thieves were loyal to no one.

Except maybe this one to the Knight.

After a long day teaching step combinations to a bunch of chaotic and rowdy kids in his newly opened dance studio (with money earned from a cash grab from Penguin’s vault) she just wanted to curl up on the couch and watch cartoons— but nothing in his life was ever that fucking simple.

Some stupid idiot decided to break in. How ironic.

He had yet to take off his fur coat when an object in his periphery caught his gaze, the hairs on the back of his neck called to attention, eyes forming into slits. Laid poised on his four poster bed was a satin box that looked extremely out of place.

The last “gift” that was left for Tomcat on his bed sprayed chloroform in his face and she woke up dangling over a vat of acid in Ace Chemicals as bait. Not his proudest moment, but he still got a good view of the Bat’s muscles flexing when he was knocking out the Joker’s goons. If curiosity killed the cat he was sure Jaehyun would find it amusing that it was his spandex covered ass on his mind before he went out.

With caution, he raised the box up to his ear, not hearing any ticking sounds he gave it a tiny whiff and a lick, noting the absence of any chemical substance. Just to be safe, he angled his face away from the lid as he slid it off to avoid any undesirable repeat occurrences.

Nestled in the crushed velvet interior was a very familiar diamond choker, under it a receipt of purchase which he gaped at the price before crumpling it and carelessly tossing somewhere. There was a small card attached, immediately recognizing the elegant penmanship the faintest kiss of his fingertips running over the writing.

Dinner, same time as last. I look forward to seeing you in this. -J

Clasping the adornment around his neck, Cat fell back onto the sheets with a bubbly laugh, holding the card to his thrumming heart. More champagne giggles tumbled from his lips at the acknowledgement that snagging Jaehyun was her grandest heist he’d ever pulled off, his pièce de résistance complete with dimples and a savior complex. Just then he noticed his curtains fluttering, swaying from the wind entering through the cracked open window. The high-tech alarm system that must’ve cost a mini fortune sitting deactivated. He huffed, a fond grin on her porcelain features.

“Rich bastard, he owes me another one.”

Looks like the cat got the cream and gets to eat it too.

[slytherin-puffskein]

Kisses and Puffskeins

Based on this headcanon about Lau !

Note: the / / / symbol followed by italicized text symbolize a flashback.

* * *

/ / /

Little Laurent, five years old, was crying, because he had gotten a cut across his right knee. How did it happen ? Simple: he was running, and running, and running... and then tripped and ultimately fell, his knee scraping against a rock that just had to be there. Immediately, the child’s scream filled the air, and Jeanne Clemence came to the rescue, as she was nearby and tending to her garden. She saw her little boy, sitting next to the rock and clutching his knee, tears threatening to spill down his face. Immediately, she took action, gently taking her child in her arms and smiling down at him in an attempt to comfort him.

“Come on, sweetie... let mommy take care of you, ok ?”

She brought him to the porch and made him sit down on the wooden stairs. The entire time, Lau has been silent, and zero tears had streamed down his face. How was that even possible, for a child as young and as sensitive as him ?

Be brave, be brave for mommy..., he kept telling himself.

But as his mother came back with her first aid kit, she smiled at her child, sitting down next to him.

“You know, Lau, you are allowed to cry. This looks like a nasty cut, sometimes crying can make you feel better...”

She gently held Lau’s chin, making him look at her and giving him a lovely smile.

“It hurts a lot, right ?”

Lau nodded, and a tear finally rolled down his cheek. Jeanne leaned down, and kissed it away.

“D-Dad says-” Lau started.

But Jeanne was quick to interrupt him, raising her index finger in a ‘hush’ motion.

“Tut, tut ! Dad says what dad says. Mom, however, says that crying is ok... and between you and I, I think I know best”

She giggled, and Lau smiled at last, which was the most wonderful sight for the young mother.

“I don’t feel like crying, mommy... you made me feel better”

“Well, I’m glad you hear that. See ? This is why I love taking care of people: you make them happy. Isn’t that wonderful ?”

Indeed, it was, and Lau found himself fascinated. He watched as his mother soaked some cotton with alcohol, and she turned to her son.

“Now, it’s gonna sting a little, but don’t worry ! It’ll be soon over”

And she was right. It stung, but before Lau could notice, he had a bandaid over his knee, and he smiled.

“Thank you, Mommy...”

Jeanne smiled, and grabbed her son’s hand to gently kiss it, something she would usually do after taking care of him.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, how about we bake some cookies together, hmm ?”

“Yes !!!”

/ / /

And that was why Lau had decided to offer his help to Madam Pomfrey, much to her delight. Each Wednesday and each Friday, he would watch over students admitted to the Hospital Wing and fix their minor injuries with equally minor spells, but the most important thing he did was that he talked to them. He gave them a distraction, something else to think about instead of their pain, and it was extremely beneficial. The students would smile at him, laugh at his jokes, and even start up a conversation, which Lau absolutely loved. He was delighted that he was able to help so many people at once... and he had every intention to keep doing this. Why would he ever stop making people happy ?

“Episkey !” he exclaimed.

A gross, crunchy noise occurred as Talbott Winger’s nose was put back into place, and the Ravenclaw grimaced.

“Urgh, I truly hate that spell”

“But see the silver lining: your nose is perfect, now !”

Indeed, it was much better than the mess it had been a few minutes ago. How did Talbott end up like that already ? Oh yeah, something about running into a wall or something. He gently patted Talbott’s shoulder, and the Ravenclaw dared to crack a smile.

“Thank you, Lau”

“No problem !”

And suddenly, he grabbed Talbott’s hand, and planted a kiss on the back.

( just like Ma used to do )

But then, he froze as he realized what he just did. He had

( this can’t be happening oh Merlin this CAN’T BE HAPPENING )

actually kissed Talbott Winger’s hand, and now the other guy was giving him a truly weird look. Immediately, Lau backed away, awkwardly rubbing his neck and giggling and stuttering.

“Ah-erm, sorry ! M-My maman used to do it... I mean, my mom. Yeah, my mom used to do it when I cried... I MEAN, when I was hurt ! So I sort of took the habit to do the same thi-”

“It’s alright” Talbott ended up saying.

It was as if he didn’t want Lau to stumble with his words for any longer, and frankly, the Slytherin was grateful for that. Winger politely nodded at him, and left the Hospital Wing. Letting out a heavy sigh, Laurent proceeded to take care of other students.

* * *

As he was about to finish his shift, Barnaby Lee suddenly walked inside of the Hospital Wing, with a bunch of nasty scars on his arm. Pomfrey, being already busy with a Quidditch player who had three broken ribs (why were badgers a thing !?) ordered Lau to take care of the Slytherin. Obviously, Lau accepted, and quickly made Barnaby sit on one of the beds.

“Merlin’s beard, Barnaby, what the hell happened !?” Lau exclaimed.

But Barnaby’s face turned crimson as soon as Lau finished asking his question, and he bit on his bottom lip.

“Do you... mind if I don’t tell... ?”

“Well, you sort of should. I need to know how you got this, maybe it will help me heal you properly...”

Tons of small scars were crisscrossing Barnaby’s arm, but thank Merlin, it wasn’t bleeding much. Grabbing a wet piece of cloth, Lau proceeded to clean Barnaby’s arm with impeccable professionalism. As his thin fingers brushed against Barnaby’s skin, the latter’s cheeks started heating up, and his heart skipped a beat.

“W-Well... I... got into the Magical Creatures Reserve...”

Lau immediately raised his head, his eyes widening in true shock.

“Without me !?”

Barnaby bit his lip, and awkwardly looked away in shame. Argh ! That was exactly what he was avoiding ! But... he had to tell everything now, right ? He finally let out a long sigh, and pouted before shyly looking back at Lau.

“I... wanted to borrow one of Kettleburn’s Puffskeins to show it to you... I know you love them a lot. But then, I saw Nifflers, and I thought ‘oh, they’re so cute ! I should try and feed them !’, but I haven’t realized they were still sort of wary of humans... so they scratched my arm”

“Ow, that must have hurt”

“Still ! I ran away, and I didn’t even get you your Puffskein. It was supposed to be a surprise !”

If it were humanly possible, Lau would have melted following Barnaby’s words. He wanted to get him a Puffskein that badly ? That was adorable... but also dangerous, if he considered Barnaby’s injured arm.

“It’s ok, Barnaby. We’ll go to the Magical Creatures Reserve once we’re free, alright ?”

Barnaby had a relieved smile, and happily nodded.

“Yes ! Of course !”

With that, Lau continued to take care of Barnaby’s multiple scars. Eventually, he was all done, and started wrapping his friend’s arm with a bandage. The Slytherin admired at him with a tender smile... and cleared his throat before speaking:

“Thank you, Lau... you-you’re truly good at this, you know ? I hear a lot of people that you healed talking about how good you are...”

Hearing Barnaby’s words, Lau started to blush, and giggled softly.

“Come on, I’m not that good. I use basic spells, as well as the usual healing techniques”

“Yeah but... you’re kind. You talk to them, you distract them. And it’s...”

He didn’t dare to look at Lau as he spoke the last words:

“It’s... pretty cute”

And at that moment, Lau’s cheeks turned as red as his hair, and he couldn’t find a decent answer. For a few seconds there was only silence between the two boys... at first, Barnaby thought he fucked up, but much to his relief Lau started to giggle.

“Thank you, Barny... there you go, you’re good to leave the Hospital Wing”

“Oh, sweet !” Barnaby exclaimed, looking at his bandaged arm. “I can barely feel any pain at all !”

Lau had a satisfied smile, and just as Barnaby was staring to get up, Lau unconsciously grabbed Barnaby’s hand, and kissed it gently.

“O-Oh ?” Barnaby squealed. “Y... You usually kiss it better ?”

( OH )

“W-What ?”

He looked at his hand. which was holding Barnaby’s... and what he just did suddenly rushed back into his mind.

( FUCK )

Immediately, Lau froze, and promptly let go of Barnaby’s hand. As he finally came back to his senses, a not so understandable string of explanations flowed out of his mouth.

“Kiss ! Mom ! Feel better ! It-It kiss ! To heal !”

( You. Fucking. Dumbass )

Barnaby raised an eyebrow, visibly not understand anything. To him, Laurent was just making weird faces and saying random word after random word... but eventually, his friend managed to blurt out something that made sense:

“Sorry... M-My mom used to kiss my hand whenever I got hurt. I sort of started doing it too...”

Barnaby could only nod, but his head was slamming against his ribcage, threatening to leap off his chest.

( he kissed my hand. He actually kissed my hand. Laurent Dorian King, the most beautiful guy of Hogwarts, kissed my HAND )

Well... the most beautiful guy of Hogwarts to Barnaby’s eyes, of course. The Slytherin finally gave Lau a reassuring smile, and Lau could feel himself relax. Phew, this won’t be as awkward as with Talbott...

“Well, it... felt nice” Barnaby admitted, his blush only gaining intensity.

He finally stood up, and Lau accompanied him to the Hospital Wing’s exit. However, before Barnaby could leave, he grabbed his sleeve.

“B-Barnaby ?”

“Yeah ?”

They looked at each other in silence, and Lau mustered up the courage to speak:

“I finish my shift soon... how about we visit the Puffskeins later ?”

A smile showed up on Barnaby’s lips, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“I’d love to, Lau”

[izzyovercoffee]

Prompt number: 19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.” Fandom: Destiny / Destiny 2 Rating: PG? Warnings/Tags: mention of violence but nothing explicit or major, sudden violent seizures Summary: Jaq-29, Exo Hunter, gets pulled out of their jovian excursion to do recon on Earth’s moon, and has a good-bad time. Notes: So this is based off something that happened while I was playing earlier. Lets just say I beat up a giant scary Vex, picked up an exotic quest, and at that exact moment my game crashed, and then all the servers went down, and they stayed down for like 10-20 minutes and I was very much weirded out by it. Vex, man...

##. I’m gonna ask Ikora for a raise

  It’d been a long time since Jaq-29 set foot on the moon.

The hurt scarred the landscape---cut deep in long, glowing wounds that continued to bleed ichor and fester under the gaze of the Earth. It was a lot like the scars the guardians all carried, the kind that never quite healed right, that never really mended back together in the way normal people might.

Granted, they all were “extraordinary.”

Set foot on the moon, kicking up gray dust under xheir boots, and Jaq didn’t feel extraordinary.

Tired, maybe.

Hard to tell, after the long shut down.

Still 29, though. Two-nine. Not three-oh.

Not yet.

Probably soon though. Was hard for Jaq to keep track. Siggy got it.

“I don’t like this,” Siggy spun about Jaq’s head in the expressive turn he often did when anxious. His mashed shell---pieced together in the parts they’d found while wandering the wilds across the system caught the faint light of old ruins and mother earth and took a sickly pale sheen to his sides.

Jaq needed to find him a better shell.

“What’s not to like?” Jaq replied, cheerful. Mouth lit up inside xheir helmet with blue, and white, and xhey twitched as a rush of static sparked down xheir spine. “The young wolves got it covered. We’re here for recon. That’s our favorite thing to do, no?”

“Well…” Siggy sounded about as enthusiastic as Jaq sounded dreadful---which was just about never. “...I guess.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” Jaq said, and walked along. “Updated maps downloaded yet?”

“Yes…” Siggy sighed, and found his way into xheir hood. “We’ve landed in the Lunar Battlegrounds.”

“We’re just poking around the old battlegrounds.” Jaq tried for soothing, but xheir vocal box took so many beatings sometimes xhey wondered if tone ever came across right. Hard to tell, with the static seizures. Fewer recently, further out and away from everyone.

Jaq liked it when xhey were alone. Just Jaq and Siggy, and the big open jovian skies.

Still, had to come back. Hard to stay away, when Ikora Rey commanded Hidden to intervene elsewhere. Put Jaq’s leave on hold, jet off Io and see the moon.

“Huh,” Jaq said, one hand reached out to the wall of a particularly harsh scar that rended the landscape in harsh, broken ground. The deep grays of the lunar soil opened up, solidified, and the rockface gave way with a gentle push to a narrow passage.

Could be nothing. Could be something.

The messy lines of activity that led to the passageway said could be something. And, judging from the way the soil was most disturbed on the surface, pushing and breaking apart evidence of old steps, Jaq guessed recent.

Hard to tell how recent. Much like Jaq’s sense of the passage of time, hard to tell what exactly was “recent” on the moon.

“Let’s go this way.”

Siggy said nothing, just waited in the crook of Jaq’s neck and shoulder, in the dip of the cloak that held tight to the collar of their chest armor.

And when the pale light of the earth and the distant sun faded, Siggy brought to life a beam to light Jaq’s way.

Time. Time was a thing others could track easily. Seconds, minutes, days. Jaq had taken so many blows. The body they inhabited broken in a fundamental way, during The Red War. Maybe even before, and the most recent war only triggered the rapid spiral.

Or it was psychosomatic. Hard to tell. Ana Bray had tried a hand, at the request of Ikora Rey, to see if one could find the source of Jaq’s repeated seizures. Scans said… scans said the exo-unit should have functioned perfectly fine.

And yet static still gathered in Jaq’s joints, and if not let out periodically in bursts of arc light, would wreak havoc on Jaq’s system. Dysfunctional, but still functioning.

Good enough for Jaq.

“I don’t like this…” Siggy whispered along their internal communique.

The narrow passage turned, sharp, to the left and then to the right, and a glow not from any of Jaq’s exposed parts, or Siggy’s lamp, illuminated the passage ground.

Siggy’s lamp shut off as they made the final turn, and the passage widened abruptly to an enormous open cavern lit aglow from within. Sharp, rectangular pillars jutted out in uneven patterns from the ground, and the light fell in harsh lines across the cavern floor.

The distant wall appeared… to hold a perfect arc of metal.

Just like the Vex gates they’d both seen on Mercury, and Nessus, and Io.

“That’s interesting,” Jaq said, and looked down. The passage dropped off at a fairly steep incline, and Jaq opted to simply leap to one of the pillars that stood nearby.

Empty. The cavern looked to be empty for some time, with the gate itself inactive---lacking the telltale glow Jaq had become so accustomed to seeing, across their traversing of the jovian moons.

“We should go,” Siggy said. “I have a bad feeling---”

And then something sparked, sharp, down Jaq’s arm. Jaq stuttered, and fell to one knee.

The portal vibrated, and something in the air crackled, then popped---sending out a blast that scattered loose lunar dust in thick clouds to clog the air and break sight.

“Jaq---move!”

Jaq dove to the right. The place where they knelt exploded in red fire. An electronic, broken crackle of a roar shattered the silence.

Fuck, Jaq thought, and brought to bear their handcannon. Shots fired met their target, but the wild curve of golden metal and glowing white fluid barely ceased its marching towards them.

And the faded image of a hundred Vex glitched, like a broken projector shifted on and began to play an old, poorly-remembered film… except it wasn’t a film. It wasn’t a recording.

The portal had come back to life---and Jaq’s handcannon was useless. Useless.

Jaq turned, and ran.

Another burst of energy exploded from the portal. Jaq’s spine lit up white hot in their pain receptors and they tumbled to the lunar soil. Siggy flew from their hood and tumbled across the dirt.

Screaming. Siggy screamed something.

Jaq threw their body to the right. An enormous metal limb slammed the ground beside them.

Run, Siggy said.

Hide, Jaq replied.

Siggy hid.

A heavy weight came over Jaq’s heart as they rolled onto their back and left to their feet. The Minotaur---strangely glowing, strangely gold, or maybe silver?---roared in the broken way the machines always did.

Jaq tossed the handcannon, and felt static gather in their arm again. Concentrated. Felt the pull of the light inside their chassis, and hurled the static at the monstrous thing.

It exploded in a bright burst of arc light.

A sea of Vex eyes all glitched, frozen… and then turned their glowing red eyes on them. The portal shuddered, gathering energy to burst again---and Jaq reached down into the cold, into the silence, and found light waiting. Arc energy burst under the seams of their chassis, consuming their limbs in white static that stretched to that all-too familiar staff between their hands.

The portal burst alive, and a monstrous construct the like of which Jaq had never seen stepped through. Horned---or were they antlers?---scraped the underbelly of the cavern’s ceiling. The many weapons of the sea of red opened fire.

Jaq danced.

That was always Jaq’s favorite part.

The way the universe responded in melody to Jaq’s body alight in arc energy muted the pain in every other part of their life. The agony, the misery, the frustration. Confusion and horror in equal tempo pulling Jaq’s thrice-broken heart-analogue in stuttered and angry skips---all righted by the arc energy that hummed within them.

And they danced across the sea. Pure arc energy dancing off their fingertips, off the baton that deflected the heat and the fire shot at them as they moved to meet the construct that roared as an amp screeched with its wires pulled.

Concentrated on a single force, Jaq found the screeching bursts of energy threatening to tear them apart now singing in answer, and fear left them.

Just as surely as Jaq tore apart the constructs center, and white spilled out in every direction. Jaq danced out of the way, felt the exhaustion pulling sharply in every direction, and tumbled face-forward into the lunar soil as the excess light left them.

All the Vex screamed, shuddered under the weight of something unseen---and dissipated into the air. The portal hissed, screeched, and powered off. Pieces of gold scattered all around Jaq, around the fallen body of the construct, and shone within arm’s reach.

Like a mind. Or piece. A part. It called to Jaq, and so Jaq reached for it.

And when their gloved palm reached the strange cubed relic, it’s like all their pain receptors lit up in sudden fury. Static burst in their joints, jolted up and down their limbs. Threatened to tear them apart, from the inside out.

Jaq screamed.

And screamed.

Until their voicebox shorted out. Until their arms popped, and one blown off at the wrist, the other at the elbow. Body shaking, seizing over the ground.

Siggy…

Sig-g-g-g-g-g-ggy… h….elp m///// e.

// POWERING DOWN . . .

   Okay, Siggy. Okay.

You were right. 

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Atrophy (5/7)

Chapter (5/7): Dig Him Up Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence) Summary: It’s not what you think.  Chapter Notes: I have three warnings for this chapter: 1) It is the longest of all the chapters so far (3.6k words), 2) There are certain things that are implied, that seem like it's leading to one thing, but it is most certainly not., 3) It will also seem like there is a character death, but I assure you, there is NOT. .......what have I done? also...girls just wanna have fun ;) @letswaitforme, @deltajackdalton, @impossiblepluto,@mutatedsilverunicorn,@12percentplan,@telltaleclerk…idk, who else wants to be tagged in updates of this fic?? lemme know ;) 

Previous Chapter | Read on ao3

Something beyond nausea was swirling in the pit of Nick’s stomach. As Veronica dragged Nick back through the hallway which seemed to extend for miles, doors opening and closing on both sides, showing terrible visions of torture chambers, he couldn’t help but wonder what Veronica had intended for Greg.

Maybe they didn’t know what had happened yet. Maybe Greg just hung up on Veronica, as soon as she started moaning. Maybe Marsh was still buried somewhere in the earth, before his time. Maybe nobody would realize he’s gone until the start of his next shift--what time was it, anyway?

“You know, it’s a shame you’ve gone all quiet,” Veronica mused as she brought him through a door. “I really liked the sound of your screams.”

Helpless, Nick stared up at her, his head rolled backwards as she dragged him by the arms. His more...injured shoulder was most certainly dislocated by now from the rough pulling, his back was probably covered in carpet burn. Whatever expression that was on his face seemed to only fuel her fire more, a devilish smile spread across the woman’s face.

She dragged him into a room which was also as barren as the living room. A bedroom, containing only a bed, a dresser, a closet. No windows in sight, the only source of light was a ceiling light.

Veronica hauled him onto the bed, Nick noticed she struggled a bit, as she did when getting him in an out of the trunk. If he could only move, he could have tried to overpower her.

But instead, he was on top of her bed, and she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. She tied one end to the bedpost, walked to her drawer and pulled out another pair for the other post.

“It’s not what you think,” she told him, as if she knew the horrific images that were conjured in his head, of what his “punishment” might entail, on a bed, with handcuffs involved.

It didn’t ease his anxiety regardless.

She walked away from the bed, towards the closet. Next to the closet was a long chain that seemed to come out of the wall.

“For your punishment...I was thinking,” she opened the closet doors, then turned her head towards him. “I’ll make you watch.”

Nick was dizzy, the room was spinning, his thoughts were bouncing all over the place. His train of thought had jumped from deadly premonitions of Greg Sanders, to one of painful memories, that he had tried so hard to repress.

Watch? Watch what?

She reached into the closet, Nick couldn’t quite see what was inside--but heard the jangle of metal, like a chain. He heard another sound, as if the chain was being pulled, and then retracted. Almost like a pulley system.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to get the best seat in the house, however. It is a punishment, and I remember how...uncomfortable the trunk made you.”

Oh no.

“Although, maybe it wasn’t just the dark, maybe it was...the tight space of the trunk? C’mon, you can tell me…”

She walked over to the bed, stood over him, relishing the silence before bursting into a fit of giggles. She playfully tapped his cheek, he would wince away if he could.

“Oh, that’s right, you can’t.”

As if he needed the reminder.

She grabbed his arms again, pulling him off of the bed. He was dragged once more, this time towards the open closet. She kept his arms raised above his head, he heard the connection of metal around his wrists. She stepped on top of him, just like she did at the crime scene, only this time, a little less carefully, stomping down on him with such pressure to his gut that he couldn’t feel.

She stepped out of the closet, began to pull the chain, and Nick was lifted upwards, his assumption was correct, there was a pulley system at play.

He was lifted up so that his feet were a few inches off of the ground. His head fell forward, his chin was touching his chest, and he had a close-up view of his bleeding scars. He briefly wondered if he would bleed out before any death due to the toxin’s effects.

He directed his eyes towards Veronica, who was smiling at him, holding a camera—oh, how he wanted to just punch that smile off of her face. The whole idea of this...ownership, this torture was bad enough, but the possibility that she had done this before, given how the house was laid out, how the chains were installed...brought Nick to a whole new level of questioning if he had truly fallen into hell, or if the reality was that demons were real, and he was face to face with one of them.

“Behave,” she ordered. “Or I will kill him.”

Click. Flash.

She closed the closet doors, leaving Nick in the dark, but it wasn’t completely dark. Beams of light shone through the slits of the louvered closet door.

The closet was not as bad as the trunk, all things considered. At least he had more room to breathe, he wouldn’t run out of air, he could still see the room, though his view was limited. The confinement was terrible, and he did feel a hint of his claustrophobia, but it could have been worse.

And then, it got worse.

Veronica turned off the room’s light, Nick heard the sound of a door closing. The final nail in the coffin. What he was once able to identify as a bedroom, became another dark tomb, that he couldn’t even scrape his nails against, in a futile effort to escape. He was trapped in a claustrophobic void, an existential stasis, wondering if it was minutes or hours that passed as all the voices in his head kept him company...voices of people he loved, of people he hated...of people he failed.

He failed his parents. Left his home, all because he wanted to escape from their shadow, escape from his childhood home--which never really felt like home, not after that night. He left to “prove himself,” but what has he proven now, a broken man chained to a wall, a plaything of a twisted woman’s whim?

He failed Grissom, disappointed him--even if Grissom had specifically told him, on a foggy, groggy night spent in a hospital bed, that he never did.

He failed Catherine. How could she still trust him to be her right hand man, when he can’t even process a crime scene without getting injured? When he can’t shoot an armed suspect without emptying his entire clip, because he’s scared--scared that if he doesn’t, the suspect will shoot him and he’ll fall to the ground again?

He failed his friends. Sara, Ray, Jim...Greg. What must they think of him, can’t even keep a promise to meet for breakfast, making false phone calls, unable to say a word of what he’s truly feeling? They don’t deserve him. They deserve someone greater…somebody who could be a good friend, to listen, someone smart enough to see the warning signs of danger before he walks face first into it.

Echoes of disappointments, failures, screamed at him through the void. Mistakes he’s made, people he couldn’t save, whose deaths he was directly responsible for--two men that he had even killed, himself, all because they would have killed him first. Final words of a serial killer, who deserved the swift hand of justice, though maybe Nick had swung a little too hard...

“Great men who are what I could never be…”

He was no hero. No John Wayne. The Duke would take one to the shoulder and walk it off, like it was a mosquito bite. Mercilessly shoot down the bad buy, live to fight another day. He was brave in the face of danger.

“The pain doesn’t go away, the rage doesn’t go away. So, come on, put your gun down, walk out of here, be a man.”

Nick, on the other hand was a coward. A man who now flinches every time he hears a gunshot. A man who can’t seem to pull the trigger when it really matters, when faced with the murderer of his partner, his best friend.

Maybe he deserved this punishment, after all.

His stomach churned, fearing that the worst was yet to come, as Veronica’s humming intruded upon his thoughts. He heard a dragging sound, a grunt, and then nothing. For seconds...or minutes...or hours?

With every blink, time seemed to get a little slower. He was finally nodding off, if he was lucky, perhaps he would fall asleep, better yet--maybe into a coma. Dreamless sleep.

“What’s taking him so long?” Veronica’s voice broke the silence, Nick was startled out of his doze. She turned the light on, her position in the room was not where Nick thought it would be, based on his perception of her voice in correlation to her body. She was in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, checking her face...she had seemed to be talking more to herself than to Nick.

Perhaps she had forgotten that he was in the closet? If it didn’t kill him, the drug would wear off soon...if he could just stay quiet, maybe he could slip out...

“Does Greg even care about you, Nick?”

Guess not.

“I saw him, not too long ago. At the house. Digging. Everyone, in fact, was digging so...purposefully, like they were uncovering something they had buried there themselves.”

She turned toward the closet, stood right behind the horizontal prison bars. He always hated prisons.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the closet door was open. He was suddenly near-sighted, everything past Veronica’s fuming frame was blurred, distorted. He needed his glasses, but didn’t need them to see the sharp nails as they slid across his cheek. His head lolled, falling back to his chest, his mouth gaped open.

“Hey! Wakey, wakey--this isn’t naptime!” Veronica snapped at him. She wiped off the drool that had landed on her hand onto his pants.

“Ssst………...op…” he groaned in a thin, raspy voice. A sharp breath, held in, released at the syllable of his broken words. His jaw clenched, his unsteady breathing thundered in his ears.

“You’re so cute when you think you still have a chance.”

He blinked, there was music playing, bubbly, poppy music. He never liked this song anyway, it never really applied to him, and the application of it to his situation made him grind his teeth. Veronica was dancing, lip syncing, occasionally looking to the closet, winking.

He blinked, and the door was closed again, Veronica was on the bed, blowing a bubble from her lips, kicking her legs on the edge of the bed as she swayed to the beat of the song.

He blinked, and he wondered if he had opened his eyes at all--he was in the void again. She was nowhere to be found, but heard her vile giggles--his eyes scanned the dark space of the closet anxiously, wondering if maybe she was in there with him.

He blinked, and she was in front of the closet, a deadly, hateful expression on her face. The sound of chains grinding, he began to fall. His body spasmed, an involuntary response to a threat he was helpless against. His feeble struggle made her giggle.

He blinked, and she was at the other end of the bedroom, behind the bed, the closet doors were wide open. She was smiling at Nick, widely, holding a finger to her lips. She started to crouch down, disappeared behind the bed. The music was beginning to fade.

He blinked, the door was closed, the light was on. The music was gone, there was an eerie silence...that was broken by the sound of a door creaking open.

A flicker of light, danced onto the bed, the ceiling, the walls.

Steady breathing, Nick told himself. The tension, built up within the last few minutes--was it really minutes, or was it hours? Or days? Or years?--was bound to reach a boiling point, a climax. The suspense was tearing him apart, whatever Veronica was about to do to him, he wished she would just do and get it over with.

The light crept onto the dresser, onto the mirror--it flashed onto the backboard of the bed frame, the silver of the handcuffs gleamed.

The light headed towards Nick, soon it was shining in his face, nearly blinding him.

Enough with the damn light!

More creaking, this time from the closet door, which was being opened...slowly…

Just get it over with you bitch…

The space in front of the closet was occupied by the shadow of a person, but it wasn’t Veronica--wasn't even a woman. A lean body figure, an outline of tousled hair. A flash of reflective white material on his chest. The light was lowered, something got caught in his throat, hitched his breathing, stopped his heart. The man standing right in front of him had a horrified expression on his face, his eyebrows curved in concern, his skin was a pale green.

It was Greg Sanders.

“Nick?” Greg asked in disbelief, lifting Nick’s head up with gentle fingers. Nick’s eyes remained locked on Greg, blinked, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

I’m just as shocked as you are, buddy.

Outwardly, Nick could only manage to sputter drool in response. But something seemed to transfer from Nick’s eyes to Greg, and understanding, of the true nature of the situation, and not the false one Veronica had tried to fool Greg into believing.

“We gotta get you out of here,” Greg gulped down, gently lowering Nick’s head down. He used one hand to dig into his pocket for his phone, stuck the flashlight into his vest with the other and began to fumble with one of the shackles on Nick’s wrist.

Nicks eyes wandered behind Greg, the woman who had crouched behind the bed was now rising, the same smile on her face, the finger still pressed to her lips. Veronica disappeared behind Greg’s body--but Nick could see a camera coming closer on the left, and a syringe on the right.

Nick fought against the confines of his body, his veins surging with fire, his eyes bulging just slightly out of their sockets. Greg had gotten one of the shackles open--Nick tried to aim his falling hand to fall onto Greg, to get his attention. Something rose within his throat, but wouldn’t leave the surface--Greg was unaware, holding the phone to his ear, was just about to spew out the details of the address--

GET OUT, GREG!

Greg groaned, dropped the phone, and fell towards Nick. His hand grabbed onto the top of Nick’s pants, released his grip as he fell to the floor.

Click. Flash.

Nick’s eyes dropped to the floor, staring at the unconscious CSI at his feet--his head was resting on Nick’s shoe. He wanted to kick at him, make him wake up. If there were any time for a seizure, it would be now. Tears were raining down onto Greg’s head, but that didn’t wake him up, either.

“You didn’t tell me your friend was such a stud...Although, given how quickly he fell to the floor, should I say, a dud?”

Shrill laughter pierced through Nick’s ears, his body vibrated with anger at the fact that he couldn’t do anything to help his friend. All he could do was watch.

Veronica dragged Greg away, towards the bed--she stopped as she reached the foot of the bed, looked up at him, to relish the look on Nick’s face. He thought she was about to pull him onto the bed when she kept going, behind the bed. Giggles, cooing, rustling sounds...what the hell was she doing?

Then, a hand flopped onto the bed. And the other. A head popped up--a blur of brown hair, followed by a torso, dressed in a black vest, a reflective strip of white. The torso fell onto the bed, and then a hand raised up, waving.

Veronica rose up behind the body, crawled onto the bed. She handcuffed the unconscious body to the bed, spread his body out. She straddled Greg’s lap, pulling out a marker and wrote on his face.

She fell backwards, somersaulted off of the bed. She pulled something out of her dresser, and spun around eagerly.

She lifted up a black blur, held it in front of herself--Nick hyper focused on the object, it was a gun.

“You know, I was never actually that good at playing darts,” she mused, pulling the trigger. No gunshot, but a swift vhoom.

A dart gun.

Thank god.

“Aw,” she moaned. “I missed. I only got four darts left, better make them count...maybe I’ll get lucky, though.”

She described her misfire for him, because she knew he couldn’t quite see the dart hidden behind the man’s head. She lowered her arms, reloaded her weapon in between each shot.

She raised her arms again, seemed to aim with careful precision.

“When I caught you earlier, that was just sheer luck.”

Another miss, Nick saw it land above the man’s blurry head.

“Or...was it destiny?”

She dropped one arm, but it didn’t help her aim. The dart landed next to the man’s hand.

“I have to say, out of all the toys I’ve collected throughout the years…”

Another dart, between Greg’s chest and armpit. A pulse spread through Nick’s body--spiked at his heart. His limbs twitched, pins and needles pricking at the surface of his skin.

Veronica reloaded her gun, raised it up again, and then spun around to face Nick.

“You’re my favorite.”

She squeezed the trigger, but not before moving the gun back towards Greg--though her body was still facing Nick, her blurry face was still directed towards him.

Despite his distorted vision, the result of her last dart was crystal clear, but she decided to announce it anyway.

“Bulls-eye.”

A tremor shook the room, as the gun clattered to the floor. A violent laugh boomed through his ears. His already blurred vision stretched out, his face became a burning waterfall. Two separate blurs combined, dropped, one stood tall and he knew without knowing, what was going on. The sound of cloth dragged across carpet.

“Another broken toy, ready to be buried,” Veronica sighed glumly. “I was really hoping he would last longer…”

Lava rose up his throat, spilled out of his mouth. More lava poured out of a hole somewhere in his chest.

“Oh, what’s this? I think he’s still alive.”

His body jerked, hiccuped, a sound that was not human escaped his mouth.

“Hopefully he won’t fight as hard as Marsh did.”

Click. Flash.

He blinked, and he was left in the dark again.

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

One minute, he was at the scene of a terrible crime, and the next, he was in a world of darkness. He lifted his head up, immediately came into contact with something cold, hard.

He tried to sit up again, and couldn’t. He placed his hands in front of him, felt something inches above his head. He fumbled around for his flashlight, his vest was gone.

Luckily for Greg Sanders, he had put his flashlight in his pants pocket.

He turned the flashlight on, stared up at bed springs. He rolled himself out from underneath the bed, his head heavy. His hands clutched the comforter, he grunted, but didn’t quite hear himself, as the only thing he could hear was hyperventilating mixed with sobs.

“Please, please, please, please…” Over, and over, and over, and over.

“Nick?”

Greg waved his flashlight around the room, the hairs on the back of his head spiked upward, tingling. He saw a few darts on the bed, and a mess of flesh raised up beyond the bed’s surface.

He stood up, it was difficult--the room was tilted, hazy. He concentrated on the beam of his flashlight, focused on the hand that was still shackled to the wall, and another hand that was clawing at the metal binding it.

Nick was frantically trying to free himself, but he was too weak, his hand kept slipping, his nails scratched the metal so hard that they were bleeding. Gurgles and sobs filled the space between them, as Greg drew closer.

“Nick, hey--”

“He’s gone. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone...gone...Rehhhhhhhh….k-k-k-k-k…….killed.”

Nick’s speech had faded to a low whisper, but  it didn’t take an investigator to figure out what Nick was so distraught about. Greg’s heart twinged, he was talking about Warrick.

“Gruh…….Reg.”

Or not.

“Nick, it’s okay, I’m right here,” Greg whispered, gingerly removing Nick’s bleeding fingers from clawing at the shackle.

“NO!” Nick screamed, an earthquake spread through his body, startled Greg backwards. “No, please! I’ll behave! I’ll behave…”

“Nick, y-you’re scaring me--” Greg gulped, and Nick started sobbing again.

“I-I’m sorry...I’ll behave just please…”

Greg wasted no time in undoing the shackle, avoiding as much contact with Nick as possible, until he was freed and fell to the ground, curled himself up in pain.

An arm reached up, grabbed Greg’s shirt, pulled him with such force that Greg nearly fell on top of Nick. He froze, unsure of how to react--he had only heard such noises when they had rescued him five years ago, but this time, he had a front row view. Nick’s eyes were shut tight, lost in his own mind.

“DIG HIM UP!” Nick screamed. “Please, dig him up...”

“Nick...look at me,” Greg told him, touching a hand to his cheek. His eyes began to flutter, his lips quivered. His nose sniffled, his breath caught itself. A trembling hand pressed Greg’s harder against his cheek. A spark in his eyes, a connection.

“I’m right here.”

Greg stared right into Nick’s eyes, a sound that almost resembled a laugh rose out of Nick’s body, before the crying stopped all together, and his eyes closed again.

[krycss]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words | Ch 4 | Jacob Seed x f!Deputy

              AO3 Link

              Previous Chapter  -  Next Chapter

          By the time they reached the dining room the smell was enough to cause Rook’s head to spin. She had grown used to musty factories, dirt floors, and whatever smell was coming off of her. She made a mental note to take a shower the minute she could. On the table was a spread of vegetables, roasted chicken, and a bowl of salad. There was also a bowl of what appeared to be broth which Rook assumed was for her and some bread rolls. Jacob helped her to her seat before going to sit in his own across from her.

           Joseph said a prayer of thanks for the food, the family, and for Rook’s return. A chorus of “amen’s” were said as everyone began digging in. Rook picked up the soup spoon next to the bowl. It shook in her grasp. The broth was chicken based and still rather hot. Taking a cautionary sip, Rook almost let out an obscene noise from the flavor alone. It wasn’t much, but it was better than whatever rations the Johnson’s had been forcing her to eat. Rook was blocking out much of the conversation going on around her, instead focusing on not spilling anything. After a few spoonfulls she tore off a piece of bread and soaked it in the broth. She wasn’t sure how her body would handle solids yet so soggy bread would have to do. Every now and then she’d catch the eye of one of the siblings. They give her a smile, she’d give a small one in return. It was too….comfortable.

           Rook couldn’t help but feel the room start to shrink in on itself. The sibling’s laughter seemed to grow louder until the noises in the room became too much. A scrape of a fork on the ceramic plate here. The setting down of a glass there. The mumbles of voices that Rook couldn’t pick out. There was a high-pitched ringing that grew louder and louder.

           It was too much.

           Too much.

          She felt a hand reach out and touch her own and Rook shot up out of her chair. It scraped loudly against the wooden floors, clattering behind her with the force. Her breathing was erratic and all she wanted was for the noise to stop. She ran, as much as her legs would allow her to, towards the nearest door. She stepped outside onto the patio overlooking the forest behind the ranch. Rook took in a large, shaky gulp of air through her mouth and let it out as slow as she could. Her hands gripped tightly onto the railing. The small ledge between her and the ground was only about two feet but to her it seemed like an abyss. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt a drop land on the back of her hand, loosening the grip. Her knees buckled beneath her as she fell to the floor with a heart wrenching sob.

           Weak.

           Rook was broken out of her thoughts by the sound of wood creaking behind her. She knew who it was. The man was a giant but he had a way of sneaking up on people that she never understood.

           “Cat?” It was quiet, making sure she knew he was there.

           Rook hummed in response.

           “Can I join you, or would you rather be alone right now?”

           Rook smiled at his consideration. She felt small, like a child, as she nodded and reached out her hand to him. He grabbed it as he maneuvered his way down to the floor, his knees popping in the process. Normally Rook didn’t crave attention or touch, but at this moment all she wanted was to be grounded. Jacob’s hand squeezed hers gently as she moved to sit closer, resting her head on his shoulder. There was a companionable silence between the two of them. The only noise being the raspy breath of Jacob and the occasional sniffle from Rook.

           Rook felt her eyes starting to drift shut when Jacob moved around, causing her to sit up again. From behind him he pulled out the notebook and pen, offering it to her. A small part of her was appreciative that he thought to grab it in case she walked to talk.

           “You don’t have to, but, just in case you want to get something off your chest.” He placed it on the floor in front of her.

           Rook stared at it. Her crutch. The only other physical sign of her weakness aside from her scars. She hated that she needed it. She could talk. She knew she could. So why wouldn’t the words just come out, she berated herself. Her breathing was picking up again. Was she hyperventilating? She had never done it before herself but she knew the signs from her police training. She felt a grip on her shoulder, softly shaking her.

           “Cat? Cat, look at me.” Jacob urged her softly.

           Her grip on his hand tightened, clinging to him like an anchor. She took a deep breath, calming herself some degree. She nodded her head as she glanced up at him. His face was emotionless, but she could see the worry in his eyes. She was his soldier. She wasn’t supposed to break down.

           “You gotta at least give me something to work with.” Jacob brushed some stray hairs from her face. “I know you’re hurting, and I’m not expecting you to be better any time soon. But I want to help, so I gotta know what I’m dealing with, alright?”

           Rook closed her eyes, nodding slowly. She reached for the notebook but changed her mind at the last second. She could get this out. She had to try at the least. Jacob moved his hand so that their fingers interlocked. Rook focused on the dog tags hanging from his neck. She needed something to focus on that wasn’t his face.

‘He isn’t Johnson. He won’t hurt you for talking.’ She reminded herself.

           Rook was thankful that Jacob was a patient man, allowing her all the time she needed to try to push through this roadblock. Her mouth opened and closed multiple times. A whimper left her throat at one point and Rook chastised herself for the noise. She decided not to try for anything lengthy. He could figure out what she was battling with one word. Steeling herself, Rook squeezed her eyes shut.

           “W-weak.”

           Her voice was small. Scratchy. She didn’t recognize it.

           When she didn’t hear anything from Jacob she began to worry. After a moment of silence that felt like eternity, Rook felt Jacob’s fingers grasp her chin lightly so that she’d look up at him. She wasn’t sure what she expected. Anger? Understanding? Confirmation? But what she didn’t expect was the confusion, and the sadness that seemed to be there.

           “You think you’re weak?” He asked.

           Rook nodded, her eyes never leaving his despite how much she wanted them to.

           “Oh, kitty Cat.”

           Jacob’s hand moved from her chin to her neck, pulling her into his lap and her head into his chest. She moved her hands to rest on his chest, fidgeting with his tags. She felt drained, but his nickname for her blossomed a warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a long time. He hadn’t called her that since-

           “You aren’t weak.” Jacob’s voice broke her out of her memories. “Not many people could have gone through what you did for as long and come out of it alive and strong.”

           Rook scoffed.

           “You know how I know you’re still strong? Even after being starved, beaten, and tortured and who knows what else, what did you do immediately after being freed?” Jacob’s hand squeezed the back of her neck. “You used whatever strength you had left in you to kill the bastards that did this to you. That right there? That’s strength. That’s you culling the herd, just like I taught you. And I was so, so damn proud of you that moment. You got that?”

           Rook’s hands snaked their way around Jacob’s torso, holding onto him for dear life.

           “You’re not weak. Each of us had our trials. I’d like to think that this was yours. And you came out on top. You made it through. Now all that’s left to do is see what happens next. And when you feel like it, we can pick back up your training and-”

           Rook cut him off, shaking her head. She wasn’t ready to think about that kind of stuff yet. She didn’t want to think of the future, she just needed to focus on getting through this day-by-day.

           The two sat outside for the time being. Listening to the sounds of their breathing and the chirping of crickets. Jacob was running his hand through Rook’s hair, getting the knots out as much as he could. After a while, Jacob spoke up again.

           “Think you’re ready to head back inside? You need to get some more food in ya to build up your strength.”

           Rook took a deep breath, giving Jacob one last crushing hug before sitting up to face him. She was going to nod her head but then her stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet peace between the two. They both started laughing. The rumbling of Jacob’s body caused Rook to fall out of his lap and onto the patio, earning even more laughter. Rook couldn’t remember the last time she had actually laughed and she felt as though a dam inside of her had been opened.

           “Come on, let’s go feed that beast.” Jacob chuckled, earning a swat to the shoulder by Rook.

           Rook helped Jacob back up to his feet, though he protested that he didn’t need the help. When they walked back into the dining room the other siblings were currently cleaning up the table. They all turned to face them.

           “Are you okay?” Faith asked gently. “Sorry if this was all too much too quickly.”

           Rook shook her head. John walked over to her, a sad look in his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to her much since she arrived and she didn’t know what was going on in his head. Before she could react he had his arms around her neck, pulling her in tight. It shocked her for a moment, but she eased into it.

           “I’m glad you’re okay.” He mumbled into her shoulder.

           She could hear Jacob huff behind her at the display. She looked up and saw Joseph and Faith smiling at the interaction. She didn’t know what the future would bring her. But right now she knew she at least had this odd family to help her along the way.

[celoica]

in the morning light

characters → billy hargrove/steve harrington

rating → mature

tags → underage (steve is early 30s, billy is 17), possessive behaviour, mentions of past child abuse

notes → inspired by how to get away with murder. sequel to fetish. for the cheerleader of this entire series, @granpappy-winchester.

other links → ao3. full series on tumblr can be found here.

summary → there’s a fine line between right and wrong, and steve obliterates it with yet another really bad life choice.

Early morning light glittered through the frostbitten window, sparkling like a thousand diamonds splattered across the glass. Steve clamped his eyes shut, turning away from the light. His nose brushed against Billy’s temple, mouth caught in the tangle of his hair.

Billy made a noise in his sleep, unhappy and deep, and shuffled closer, lips pressing tight against the line of Steve’s jaw. He settled after a moment, falling back into undisturbed rest.

He was naked, pressed tight to Steve’s body, legs tangled together, Steve’s knee fitted between his thighs. If he wanted to—and he did, the urge there, hot and rushing to the surface of his sleep-thick mind—he could rut against Billy’s cock, press skin to skin and get him hard. It probably wouldn’t take much. Morning and teenage hormones made for a dangerous combination.

He should get up. Leave Billy to his bed and go downstairs, drink an entire pot of coffee to himself and sort out the fuck up he’d made. It was a violation of trust, a breach of whatever precarious relationship he’d built with Billy in the past few months. He was his lawyer, his technical guardian, the person who made sure he did his homework and didn’t violate his bail terms.

He was fucked. Extraordinarily fucked. The kind of fucked that got him fired and ruined the careful reputation he’d built for himself. The kind of fucked that could land him in prison.

Swallowing, he cracked his eyes open, squinting until they adjusted to the brightness. Billy breathed against his jaw, warm puffs of air that felt comforting in a way it shouldn’t. Warm and solid, tucked against the curve of Steve’s body. Bringing Billy home had felt good. Having him safe in his bed felt better.

Gently, he extracted himself from Billy’s grip, pausing on the edge of the bed when Billy murmured something unintelligible and rolled onto his front, face buried in Steve’s pillow. The sheets had rucked down in their sleep, blue fabric caught under the swell of Billy’s ass.

Steve studied him, following the curve of his spine, the slope and flare where it met his hips, the strength in the shape of his thighs. Dark blond hair dusted his thighs. Scars, small and innocuous, splattered across his sun-kissed skin, white lines and dots marring smooth skin. He could connect them like stars on a map, use the tip of his tongue, lick off the taste of them and swallow them whole.

He tiptoed across the room, closing the door gently behind him. Downstairs, he pulled a sweater from the laundry room and started a fire, watching flames flicker across old newspaper. It crackled to life and warmed Steve’s skin from where he crouched. It felt like a chill compared to Billy’s skin.

By the time Steve was halfway through his third cup of coffee and debating between an omelet and toast, Billy trudged down the stairs.

Naked.

Steve blinked. “You own clothes.”

“I do,” Billy said around a yawn. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, stretching his arms above his head, spine arching. Steve watched, enthralled.

“You could put them on.”

“Why?”

“Normal people wear clothes when it’s this cold out.”

Billy grinned, soft around the edges, sleep still in his eyes.  “Lose the pants and we can go back to bed.”

Steve wanted to reach out and draw him close, breathe in his scent and work a mark onto his throat for the world to see. Instead, he turned away and topped up his coffee. “I have work.”

When Billy didn’t respond, Steve hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Naked still, arms crossed over his chest, a scowl fixed firmly on his mouth, Billy looked less soft, more sharp and angry.

Jerking his eyes back to his coffee, he said, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You can’t take it back,” Billy said, as sharp as the look on his face. Hard, ground out. Steve hadn’t forgotten what Billy could be like when he was mad.

Maybe he should have hidden the chairs before Billy woke.

“I’m not taking anything back.” He set the spoon down against the edge of the sink and left his cup on the counter. He turned to face Billy. “We need to talk about last night.”

“You’re trying to take it back.”

“No, I’m not,” Steve said, soft and careful.

Billy sneered, hackles raised like a wayward street dog cornered. “Don’t lie to me. You know I fucking hate that.”

“I said we need to talk.”

“Yeah, so you can take it back.”

Steve leaned his hip against the counter and sighed. “I can’t take it back any more than you can. You got a time machine I don’t know about?”

His scowl deepened, hands dropping to his sides and he took a predatory step forward. “You know what I mean. You’re gonna say it can’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t. I’m your lawyer and your guard—”

“So?” Billy interrupted. “It’s not like you’re my father.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!” Steve snapped, and then sighed, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “You’re a kid. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t pull that shit on me. I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

Steve laughed, listless. “You say that now, but in a year? Five? You’ll know differently.”

Anger radiated off Billy like a flame. It was what he was—a spark, full of heat and energy, friction that set everything around him on fire. His father, his grades, Steve’s entire life. He’d set every inch of Steve Harrington on fire from the moment they’d locked eyes.

The worst part was he probably didn’t even know it.

Billy took angry steps forward, hands balled into fists at his sides. Steve eyed them warily, leaning back against the counter.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Billy demanded, stopping an inch from Steve. “You wanna wait until I’m eighteen? I’ll be in prison before that. Or, better yet,” he said, a grin that bordered on hysterical spreading across his face, “why don’t I go find someone else to fuck me? I bet there’s someone in this backwoods fucking town who’d wanna. Would that be better? If it’s not you—”

Fisting a hand in Billy’s hair, Steve yanked his head back, exposing his throat, spine arching with the shock. Steve slanted his lips across his, hard and rough, teeth clacking together with the force. Fingers cradling the base of his skull, he kissed Billy until he was breathless, until the tension wringing through his body had loosened a notch and he fell against Steve’s chest, hands settled on his hips.

He kissed him after, too, slow and easy, sucking on his bottom lip, teeth scraping over the flesh.  When Steve drew back, spit slicked Billy’s lip. He licked it off, dropping a kiss as soft as butterfly wings where his tongue had been.

Hand still cradling his skull, Steve slipped his thumb down to rub slow, tight circles underneath Billy’s ear. “Don’t do that,” he said, as soft as the kiss he’d laid on Billy’s lips. “Don’t fuck with my head like that. You touch someone else—you let someone else touch you—and I won’t ever touch you again. I won’t let you near me. Got it?”

Billy swallowed, eyes glassy, a haze of calm. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, husky. “I got it.”

Steve smiled and kissed him again, cupping Billy’s jaw with his free hand, the pad of his thumb sliding across the cut of his cheekbone. Billy leaned into him, fingers playing with the hem of his sweater, dipping beneath to touch across Steve’s belly, trails of liquid heat across his skin. He caught the trail of hair leading down between his fingers and tugged.

Steve laughed against his mouth. “Go put some pants on.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

Nose wrinkling, Billy leaned back, pressing his palm flat to Steve’s stomach, thumb dipping into his navel. “Why?”

“It’s not bad,” Steve assured him, setting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, hand sliding free from his hair. He cupped the back of Billy’s neck and squeezed. “We gotta talk about last night. About what we did.”

“Why?” Billy asked again, hand making a slow crawl up Steve’s chest. Steve pinned his hand, leaving it immobile.

“Because I want to do more of that to you, but we gotta talk about it,” he said, and then added, “And you’re very distracting when you’re not wearing clothes.”

Billy grinned. “We could go back to bed instead.”

“We can do that later. Clothes,” Steve said, and pulled Billy’s hand free from his shirt. “I’ll let you sit on my lap if it makes you feel better.”

Billy laughed, head tipping back, white teeth gleaming under the kitchen lights. He kissed Steve, hard and quick, hand tight on his hip. Pulling back, mouth still full of joy, he walked off to the stairs, taking two at a time.

Steve put on a fresh pot of coffee, a hint of a smile on his face.

[mystical-flute]

WIP Week Day 7: Newest WIP

You know those fandoms that just feel like home when you watch/read/listen to it again? Well, this is that fandom.

Title: “Come Sail Away”: When Agent Reika Mutou is called back to Domino after her grandfather falls into a coma, she thinks she's just come home to keep watch over someone that won't wake. But little does she know just how much danger the Duel Monsters world had..

Fandoms: Yu-gi-oh! // One Piece

Words: 5,537 (2 Chapters) Read here or here.

Ships: Seto Kaiba x OC

 BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Reika frowned against her pillow as she heard the buzzing, before sitting straight up, the hospital sheet falling into her lap as she reached in the darkness for the source, a sinking feeling beginning to stir. She knew that the thing that was buzzing should not have been. Finally, her fingers grasped the vibrating phone from the bottom of her bag. Violet eyes darted nervously around the room for any signs of consciousness from the others resting there. No one stirred, as she put the phone to her ear.

"Yes?" she breathed into the receiver as she slowly got off her bed and inched toward the door.

"Reika… I'm sorry to bother you but I'm afraid I have to tell you that you're being taken off assignment," Kenji's brisk voice said on the other end.

She frowned, slipping out of the room with her bag. "What? You can't pull me out of here now! We've only just saved the Alabasta Kingdom. And what about my parents?" she hissed, violet eyes keeping a wary look at her surroundings as she made her way into a hallway far enough away from the medical area.

Even in the darkness, she didn't know who could be listening in. This was an area that had only just been recaptured from a hostile enemy after all.

"I know, and I apologize for having to do it, but we found out that your grandfather has fallen into a coma," Kenji replied. She could practically hear the frown through the phone.

The words hit her like a train, and her stomach dropped. "What?" she managed to whisper. "What happened?"

"We're not sure. We're still trying to get information from your aunt and cousin but it looks like he just… fell into it," Kenji said, though Reika could hear something hidden in the words, and she exhaled slowly before speaking again.

"You don't think it was a normal reason, do you?"

"Like I said, we're still trying to get more information. I'll fill you in completely when you get back. But… my suspicions are that it wasn't a physical problem with him, no."

Rubbing at her forehead,   Reika sighed and leaned against the wall, staring out the window at the horizon, the light only just beginning to try to break through the inky blackness. "When exactly is that going to be? I can't set up a portal now. It's too dark, and I can't just abandon them in the middle of the night. Plus the Marines are looking for us." She wouldn't be surprised if the Marines were already well on their way here, actually.

Kenji's slight laughter rumbled through the other end of the line. "Akio is on her way on one of our ships. She'll be posing as a friend of yours to take you home. Just stay put. She's got your coordinates and left hours ago."

She forced herself not to groan. She hoped this worked. "Okay," she said softly. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Of course. We'll see you in a few hours."

"Over and out," she sighed in reply, ending the call and sliding to her knees, her mind still reeling with a mix of exhaustion, anger and sadness.

She hated the thought of having to leave this land – after all, she still had no answers as to what happened to cause her parents to disappear – only a bit of speculation here and there from what she'd managed to swipe and scrape by from the various battles with the Marines they got into.

On the other hand… her grandfather had taken her in after her parents had gone missing in this dimension, and the fact that he was in a come – one that Kenji didn't think was naturally occurring – made her very, very nervous for Yugi, the cousin she lived with. He was two years younger than she was and not exactly someone built to fight.

And yet… she was absolutely friends with these pirates – something she hadn't anticipated happening. She hated that she had to leave them. But she knew her duty to the agency and to her family, and so with a heavy heart, she began sneaking her way through the castle and down to where their ship was.

She managed to make it onto the Merry with a heavy breath, fighting back the fatigue and lingering pain from the battle with Baroque Works and slipped into the room she shared with Nami. Kenji had told her when she'd started this assignment the year before to keep a bag packed at all times in case an emergency ever happened.

"It's exceedingly rare, but it has happened before and any good agent needs to be ready, Reika," he'd told her in Domino City at T.A.I.D.R. headquarters. "It's just to make sure we can get in and out quickly."

  She wondered how rare this actually was, as she paused on a photograph of she and her parents from when she was ten. One of the last photographs they'd taken as a family before their disappearance somewhere beyond the Grand Line. They'd been here on assignment and headquarters had lost contact with them.

When she'd been sixteen and they offered her a position in the agency, how could she turn it down? Then at seventeen, they'd offered her the chance to come to the Pirate Dimension, and the rest was history as soon as she'd gotten Monkey D. Luffy and his crew to accept her as a member in Lougetown.

And now here she was. Having to give all of that up because of an emergency at home.

But regardless, she couldn't just vanish without them knowing she was leaving – even if it wasn't exactly protocol for the agency.

Reika grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and sat down to scribble a quick note.

 Dear Crew,

   I'm so sorry for having to leave you out of nowhere like this, but I'm afraid I've received word of an emergency in my home town and I had to leave at once. But on my honor, I'll come back and sail with you again when the emergency has passed – I'm sure I'll be able to find you. I just want you all to know that I've had the time of my life on the crew, and I've learned so much about myself because of you.

   I'll see you all again,

   Reika

She set the letter down on the desk and placed one of her arrows down with it (it wasn't like she was going to need them in Domino). Letting out a heavy sigh, she swung the bag over her shoulder and took a last look around the room. "Time to go then."

Wincing as she made her way back outside, she frowned when she noticed Aiko standing below her on the dock. Next to him, she could see a small boat.

"I was told you had a ship, Aiko," she greeted, making her way back down the gangplank and over to her.

"This is faster," the man replied with a shrug and a grin.

"Mmhm," came the hum as she tossed her bags down into the boat. "Shall we?"

Aiko nodded. "After you."

She gave the palace a last glance as she stepped on board, going slightly pale when she noticed lights popping on. "Let's go. Now. They know I'm gone."

"Hold on tight," Aiko said, slipping behind the wheel and moving them away from the castle as fast as the boat could go. "Any trouble with the Marines?"

"Nothing that wasn't handled. Only two of the crew I was with have bounties at the moment," she groaned, leaning against the wall. "We got into a fight with some criminals yesterday though. Gained a pretty cool looking scar on my back for my troubles."

Aiko laughed, tossing her the portal maker. "Well, at least you have a souvenir from your mission."

She snorted, typing in the right combination for a portal in a boat this size, closing her eyes as the bright light enveloped them, bringing them back to Domino.

"Welcome home, Agent Mutou," Kenji said as he peered over at them as the light faded, the boat sitting in the small pool in the underground of the base. The clock over his shoulder read five o'clock in the afternoon. Well, at least she had an excuse to sleep when she got home.

Reika sighed, slowly managing to climb the staircase to the main area. "Do you have any more information on what happened with my grandfather?"

Instead of answering, Kenji frowned as he looked at her. "You're injured."

"Well you didn't exactly send me to the Kuriboh and Cotton Candy Dimension," she retorted. "I'm fine, I'm just a bit sore."

"I still want you checked out before you head home. I'll explain while the doctors are checking you out," Kenji said.

Rolling her eyes, she relented. It wasn't like she'd have any other choice in the matter if she wanted to get home. Following Kenji into their hospital ward, she lifted her shirt up when one of the doctors moved to look at her back.

"Talk," she told Kenji. She knew she shouldn't speak to a superior officer in such a way, but she was anxious and frustrated.

"We detected a high amount of dark energy hovering around the game shop leading up to your grandfather's coma. We can't say for sure but… we think that the Millennium Items may have had something to do with it," Kenji explained with a small frown. "But we have no way of knowing for sure without you."

She hissed in pain as something was applied to the scar on her back. "So that's why you brought me back from the Pirate Dimension. You want me to figure out if it was a shadow game… which only brings up more questions."

"Indeed. That's all I have for you so far, so if you're cleared…" he looked over at the doctor, who nodded that she was. "Then you can head home."

Home. What an odd concept to her now.

But hours later as Reika stood in her old bedroom, her bow and arrows safely tucked away in the very back of her closet, she could feel a strange sense of belonging. A sense of peace. Without really thinking, she slowly made her way over to her jewelry box. She'd realized on her way home that she was going to need something to cover the tattoo she'd gotten with Nami – she didn't feel like answering so many questions at once.

Pulling out a gold bracelet her grandfather had gotten her while he was in Egypt, she held it up to the tattoo, and smiled in relief upon the realization that this would cover the mark on her wrist.

"Thank God," she whispered, slipping on the golden bracelet, before feeling the ground begin to spin for a moment. Her hands scrambled to grip the table as she looked at herself in the mirror. Letting out a slight groan, she shook her head. Why had she suddenly seen herself dressed in older-looking clothing? She must have been losing her mind.

Then again, she had only gotten three hours of sleep right after being seriously injured, so that explained it.

"Hello? Mom?" her cousin Yugi suddenly called, the faint sound of a door slamming following him. Shaking her head again to clear the odd feeling, Reika made her way downstairs.

"Yugi," she said with a small smile as she spotted her cousin in the main area of the shop. "It's been a long time."

"Reika!" Yugi cried, running over and hugging her tight. She returned it, glad to feel familiar arms around her again. "When did you get home?"

"Ah… only about an hour ago," she told him, fighting back a yawn. "I was just going to grab something to eat. Are you guys hungry? I can make enough for five." Her violet eyes darted over to the three friends Yugi had brought with him.

The blonde one grinned as they moved into the kitchen. "Well, I'll never turn down a meal but uh – who are you?"

"You're Yugi's cousin. I remember you from your graduation last year," the brunette girl said.

She nodded. "My name is Reika. And you're Téa, aren't you?"

"Yeah. That's me. And this is Joey and Tristan," Téa said with a smile.

"Ah… it's nice to meet you both. Are you duelists like my cousin?"

"I am. And I'm gonna win Duelist Kingdom for my sister!" Joey said with a wide smile.

She frowned as she tossed some garlic in a pan. "Duelist Kingdom? What's that?"

"It's a tournament sponsored by Maximilian Pegasus," Yugi said, giving Joey a strange look that Reika had seen before. A look that said 'don't say too much'. "I got invited to it because I beat Kaiba in a duel a couple months ago."

The mention of Seto Kaiba was an interesting one, but Reika knew that wasn't the important thing at the moment. "Really? And so the founder of duel monsters invited you to compete in a tournament?" she asked. "Did grandpa know about it? You know… before the coma?"

There was a glance passed between her cousin and his friends as she tossed noodles into the pan to cook. "Yugi… tell me the truth. He's my grandpa too."

Yugi nodded slowly. "Okay. Pegasus sent me a videotape and when I put it on… he challenged me to something called a Shadow Game. And I lost. And he said he took Grandpa's soul because I lost the game. So I have to go to Duelist Kingdom and win so I can get his soul back."

She paled a little when she noticed the Millennium Puzzle hanging around his neck. "So they're back. Shadow Games are back."

"Back? You know about them?" Tristan asked.

"I'm studying archaeology at school… and it was something that was mentioned in a few of my lessons. I didn't think… I didn't think it was real. Not like the items…" she trailed off, gesturing to the bracelet on her wrist. "I was only just starting to dig into them when I was called home."

It wasn't a lie, technically. She did know about the Millennium Items because of the studies… she had just been studying them in her free time on a pirate ship in a different dimension.

"So Pegasus has the ability to call Shadow Games. When do you leave for Duelist Kingdom?"

"We leave tomorrow night…"

Hm. Tomorrow didn't give her much time to get more information out of him, but she smiled and nodded in understanding as she got plates out. "I hope you're all hungry. My friend Sanji taught me how to make this."

"It smells delicious!" Tristan said with a grin as he and Joey snatched plates out of her hands and helped themselves to the pasta dish she'd made.

She shook her head in amusement as she watched her cousin and his friends as they ate together.  In the year she'd been gone it appeared that more had changed with her cousin than she ever expected. Now he was thrown into this shadow games madness with the creator of duel monsters.

Well, she thought, at least he has his friends with him. I couldn't be the only one protecting him after all.

  "I'll leave you guys to talk," she told them a couple hours later. "I had a long flight back here and it took a lot out of me. Goodnight."

"Night!" the group on the couch echoed as she went back up to her room.

"Goodnight, Reika," an unfamiliar voice whispered as she drifted to sleep.

[icechipsx]

The Golden Dagger | Prologue

Read at FF.net.

Summary: When the princess in the tower flees and a mysterious object is causing great havoc among the Mysthallery community, it’s up to the whole puzzle family to sort this out, except they have an exconvict with them and a troubling figure looming over them. Who could be behind all of this? [Post-UF]

Rating: T, for mild swearing and mention of violence in later chapters.

Author’s note: I’m so excited to be finally giving a little bit of shape to this story I’ve had going on in my head for a while, be a little patient though, it may take a while to complete. Just have a little prologue, with some Flora plotting. It’s a prologue, a short one, so don’t expect great argument chunks being revealed already xD. By the way 

Flora liked to consider herself a good woman. Despite her faults as a human being, those faults no one could ever change no matter how much somebody tried to. To her, somebody could only change a certain percent of themselves, and that was it. Sometimes, it was enough – sometimes, it just plain wasn’t.

The young heiress knew very well the thin line between being stupid and being forgiving. Sometimes, the limits were blurred in tears, confusion, or utter disappointment. She had faced these very situations where she was either terribly concerned about other people, others, scarcely often, beyond pissed. However, Flora usually found herself being pitifully disappointed.

People, usually. Like, it was usually people who disappointed her, made her build fake illusions and impressions. Growing up with those backstabbing deceits and insecurities made her very aware of her surroundings, of the people who were around her, and that some people could – betraying what she thought before – hold ill intentions. Being brought up in a tall tower had its inconveniences. Yes, it had good views on a lush landscape, and was incredibly good to avoid pestering tourism concerning a heiress.

No matter the good intentions of her father, she had been so alone. She had grown in a place so close to thunderstorms, and so isolated, yet supposed to believe she had company and that she couldn’t meet the outside world. She was terrified: terrified of the outside world, terrified of meeting new people when all she had had was Bruno and howling winds during breezy nights.

Being held in the top of a tower was deceiving, and not ideal if you asked her. But ask her: she possibly wouldn’t have had it any other way. Had she been a commoner, the Professor wouldn’t be there with her-

Ah, well, he currently isn’t with her. He wasn’t with her very often, neither was he now for that matter. Flora, age 22 and a blooming flower sometimes felt like, despite having moved miles away from her home, felt like her ache and solace hadn’t moved an inch from the bleak home of her tower. Almost ten years had passed ever since she had been driven away from the robotic village, yet her dainty stance in life hadn’t changed. She was still weak as she was right then, still passive and hidden in a massive crowd.

So there she was, reading that goddamn letter again with a single candle as her companion, long past sunset. She looked at the sentences pointedly, as if trying to decipher a hidden message, any puzzle to comprehend the meaning or reason behind the letter. Flora grasped the sheet tight, frowning. Had it all come to this?

The girl ran a hand through her face and sighed in frustration. Things would never change if she didn’t- if she just didn’t-

“Flora?”

The mentioned hummed absent-mindedly, still staring at the paper in her hand as if it held her whole life. Her expression turned grim when she saw the undesired face of an offender staring at her through the window in front of her. Well, he was not an offender, but he clearly was the closest thing to one. His antics were clearly not sane and someone, just someone had to explain that barging into her bedroom through the window was not the way to go on life.

She got up from her chair, which scraped the ground, titled and fell. She sure wasn’t having none of his antics today, not with serious matters going through her head. The door flew open and there he stood, trench coat on and that scar on his forehead barely visible.

“Clive, what the actual-“

“Language, Flora.” He breezed through the doorstep and rearranged his shirt. It was slightly wrinkled. “I reckon the Professor taught you better words to greet a guest.”

She was sure he referred to Hershel as Professor either out of respect or just to mock her. And yes, it wasn’t in her to swear, but yes, she wasn’t having the best of days. Unneeded thoughts were rattling her head endlessly and Clive was not going to help. He never helped unless it was with terrorism and general havoc. Flora would never think otherwise. She still held her kind nature towards him, since being snarky and moody to him wouldn’t help the situation.

However, he clearly didn’t give a damn about her so she wasn’t really to blame if Clive came across as a narcissistic ex-convict who had redeemed, sure, but still had a long way to go. Specially with her.

“First of, you’re not a guest, there was no previous warning of you coming by.” Which was fancy talk for: ‘I don’t want you here, but I’ll put up with it’. Flora put the letter back on its envelop. “And secondly, whatever business you have with the Professor shall wait, he’s out in one of his business he never tells me about.”

Clive rose an eyebrow. “I see.”

If he was trying to play obvious or was being as emotionally dumb as usual, she didn’t know. What was clear to her was that him being there or even existing in the same place as her drained her energy, so she cut to the chase.

“Clive, what is it that you need?”

He tugged at his collar. Flora welcomed the gesture, she was uncomfortable as well. “I was hoping to take you for a walk.”

Flora gave no meaningful reaction and minded her own business taking imaginary dust from nearby books, acting as meek as usual when the unexpected happened. “Take me for a walk?” she sounded genuinely surprised for the first time.

“Well, yes.”

Both looked out the window simultaneously and reached the same conclusion.

“It’s dark, and it’s raining cats and dogs outside, though.”

“I’m aware.”

There was something behind his eyes that made her hold her breath and remember that he wasn’t kind, honest, trustworthy – despite what Hershel said in the end, or mildly friendly. She had kind of forced herself to believe that after he had kidnapped her, had become another one of her kidnappers who took her to spit on the Professor, as if she was an object or a damsel on distress. She was oh, so tired of that.

And Clive had dared to tie bonds with her even when he sure had planned taking her away on the first place. He would always remain as a douche despite him forcing himself to spend time with her, like he intended to do now.

She just withdrew the fight. They weren’t on good terms, but that didn’t give her the right to be a pain to him. She wanted to change things, but had no hope on him wanting to. She would never be worth apologizing to, it seems. Nobody ever did, anyway. Not the Professor most of the times, nor Luke, Paolo, and sure not Clive, either.

It was so sad.

“We should go before the weather worsens.” stated she in a rather stale manner, but it was a good sign. “Let’s stay close the neighborhood anyway, just in case the rain gets heavier.”

Clive courtly nodded, dazed by the fact that she had stopped being so stubborn on rejecting him and was starting to give the charade up, even if it was for an hour or so. He opened the door for her, grabbed one of her jackets quickly and went on ahead, handing the piece of clothing to her.

The climate wasn’t exactly cold, and she was wearing that smooth cream turtleneck which was a bit too warm for that temperature. However, Clive had noted, she was a bit sensitive to cold, so she always wore warm clothing despite it being not so cold. She was always stuffed in jerseys and coats.

However, as they walked along the Thames in the middle of a night drizzle, he noticed how her complexion was slightly hunched over and she gripped her hands a bit tighter than usual. He was a bit too prone to looking into those little details that gave people away. Watching her dwelling on her inner turmoil, focused on a faraway trail of thought that he couldn’t comprehend right now; it set on all his alarms: something was off with her.

And yes, she wasn’t usually that expressive, keeping herself to herself and appearing naïve and passive. In the past, her feelings had taken refuge on her mind, never spoken out loud or physically expressed for that matter. Her torment must be pretty damn huge if she’s being so silent but loud about it.

Flora suddenly stopped in her tracks. Clive walked a few steps forward before stopping and glancing behind him. Confusion was evident in his eyes.

“Clive.” she spoke his name, no venom but utmost care and fragility were evident in her voice. “Do you think I’m a burden?”

He turned and approached her, something akin to concern almost visible in his dark irises. She didn’t even spare a glance up, focusing on the wet pavement under her feet. She did look up shortly after though, just after she had found courage to look at him without wavering. “Do you think I’m left behind… because I’m useless?”

The way she whispered that sentence spoke volumes to him. That thought must have been in her head for a while if she was so unsure about it, so distraught and seemingly peachy. This was a weak spot for her, and the fact that she was asking him moved him. He could go and shatter her heart, make a run for it and forget about her existence based on what she thought about him— but she actually asked him despite the emotional risk. Her concerns must be above all those judgements, then.

Clive cleared his throat and tried to muster all the care he could in his eyes to cheer her up. He was increasingly uncomfortable with her silence and grey aura. “I think the Professor does not really considerate whether you are useful to him or his investigations, but looks after you by hiding you from his investigations.”

“Yes, I-I know.” her eyes were cast down again, shadowing her irises. “But why did he always bring Luke along then? Why would he actually do so when he’s younger and…?”

Dead silent. She just trailed off after that. The age argument was solid enough for her, and for Clive as well. He was still damn sure that the Professor would never think so low of Flora, somebody he thinks of as a daughter and holds deep care for, to leave her behind just because she isn’t useful to him. Of course Hershel Layton wouldn’t do such a thing to Flora. It would be much more to be expected from Clive– actually, he kinda did that years ago to her in his fortress, but it was a different situation, different reasons and something he regretted doing.

But why was Flora being so insecure about it? Wasn’t it logical to think that your prosthetic father was just caring for you in a fatherly way? What kind of petty insecurity had gotten into her to make her worked up about it? Clive had so many questions to ask her, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

It wasn’t his business to dig into it when she was still rejecting all his advances, and mostly when he didn’t know her well enough to know if this was just a little fish nibbling her heart or there was something bigger than that behind it. However, it struck him as weird to see her giving it so much thought when it didn’t seem to bother her that much anymore lately.

Something had clicked on her. And he didn’t like it one bit.

Flora mustered up a smile, quivering. “It’s alright.” It didn’t seem to be. “I was just… wondering, that’s all.”

How dare she smile when she seemed so torn a few moments ago? How could she build her walls around her so quickly so he wouldn’t peek and see what was going on? It was unnerving to see her rejecting his intents to make up whenever they had the opportunity and he just wished she’d stop being so scornful and realize he wants to be friends, or at least be at ease with each other. Why can’t she forgive him like everyone else had instead of being so closed off?

He stopped toying with the subject so he wouldn’t carry a headache home along with his disappointment. This wasn’t how the walk was supposed to unfold. And yet again, there was something nagging at him, whispering that something bigger than that was bothering her. He couldn’t help but be earnestly worried about it.

“Clive?”

She stopped walking when he didn’t follow her. The boy snapped out of his troubling reverie and caught up with her. “Are you sure you are fine?”

Her nod was enthusiastic and apparently honest. “Yes! Don’t give it much thought, please. It was just a little thought I was rolling today, but I’m fine now!”

Somehow, despite seeing her so shiny and easy, her sudden glee seemed hollow and mildly faked at best. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with her. Clive was keen on overthinking stuff and being paranoid about basically every detail in his life – like that time he found out an ant in his apartment and thought it was a plague. That being said, he was usually right on his statements, but this time, he let it pass. If Flora wasn’t going to spill the beans, he wouldn’t bother to even try.

He had done enough to show he was there for her, whatever she decided to do with that was her problem, not his. And clearly today wasn’t the ideal day for bonding, so he just called it a day and took her home. He wished her a good night and left quickly, hearing the door shut and click not long after.

Flora took off her coat and sighed. They had been out for not even half  an hour and her mind felt as if she had been through hell and back. Her torment was still there, even after basically weeping in front of Clive. She still felt lonely, weak, and most importantly, clueless as to what to do.

She glanced at the envelope and frowned. If the world wasn’t going to move for her, if the tower wouldn’t come crashing down on her, then she’d have to do something about it. With a swift movement, she took the envelope, letter inside, and the flame that dimly illuminated the room faded away.

[the-cerwyn]

Golden Roads, Chapter IX:

The point of these writings is to show how the happenings of Cley whilst the Season 2 AU, as well Season 6 of the show, occurred. References to other OCs and characters are included as listed: belonging to Meghan and Demelza @meghanxbrownbarrow, as well as Namond and  Torrhen belonging to @badgershite.

Warning: Acts of violence are described in this chapter and the last one.

60% of readers chose for Donnel to commence the attack.

Cley gestured to Ronnel, allowing him by standard, to begin the battle his own way. A knowing  grin was planted upon his bigger cousin’s face, as he unholstered a throwing axe. In a swift and brutally effective motion, he threw the axe into one of the nearer bandits. The head of the axe embedded itself into the man’s skull, killing him instantly. The Defense of Goldgrass had begun.

This gave the Cerwyn enough time to divulge in his former state of mind, how his thought process could cope with what he’s about to do. Apply logic and reason to the situation, forgo his usual means of compassion and empathy towards others. These men-- no, in this moment, he couldn’t think of them as human. He had to demonize them, make them appear not humane; the Cerwyn’s logic during battle demanded of this. If he didn’t see them as his fellow men, calculations could be formed without hesitation; his more social self couldn’t stop his mind and body from what was needed to be done. This was how he survives, how he subsists through these sort of battles. Of what few he’s had thus far.

He wasn’t Rodrik, Namond, or Torrhen. He didn’t have the brute force they could muster, he wasn’t a physically strong lord. But by the Gods did he have the medical knowledge to kill a man. And against these lightly armor, fur wearing marauders; he only needed to be what he had. Quick, lethally light strikes against them. He was one of many here, he could move quickly, unnoticed by most. These thoughts quickly ran through his mind as the first bandit hit the floor, and all the seven hells broke loose. He blended in with the charging men, sword unholstered, ready to establish the justice Lord Stout had bargained for.

Stalking up to his first target from behind, the Cerwyn places his left hand on their shoulder. From there, he uses his blade to impale his victim, piercing his weapon fully through their heart and verifies their death by twisting the blade, making them twitch a final time. Afterward, the Cerwyn lord pulls out his sword and lets his target's dead body slump forward to the floor. Cause of death: Impalement through the heart. This was the first death of many to come this night.

As he moved to the next one, he was able to spot Arwyn partaking in the fight as well. Stealthily approaching his target from behind with his sword drawn, the squire swiftly slashes it diagonally across their back. As they react, he spins the blade skillfully in his hand and cleanly stabs them up through the back, impaling his victim's heart from behind and causing them to collapse to the floor, where they die of blood loss as he moves away with his sword. Cause of death: Same as the Cerwyn’s. His rational demanded that he marked every kill as a maester would, what he could of been still haunted him.

Carefully approaching his next surprised target from the front, Cley, before his victim can react, brutally smashes his sword's hilt against their face. Caught off-balance, they can only cry out in surprise when the longsword is driven into their stomach, killing them. The Cerwyn then roughly shoves them off the blade, watching his dead victim fall to the ground as he moves on. Cause of death: Internal bleeding.

Not too far from the Cerwyn, The Condon knight runs over to his own target and withdraws his sword, before he chops down rapidly into their shoulder. With the momentum, it forces them to kneel, so he takes the opportunity to free his blade by brutally kneeing his victim in the face, sending them falling backwards to die as he rushes over to a new one. Arian, the loyal Flint bannerman, was also close. Casually walking up to a brigand, the soldier pulls out his sword and strikes them in the forehead with its hilt. He then takes advantage of their defenselessness by piercing his victim's stomach with his blade and withdrawing it quickly, watching them crumple to the floor, dead. He wasn’t paying attention to them, couldn’t mark down mentally how they perished.

Forgoing a stealthy approach now; the Cerwyn runs up behind his target and wielding his sword one-handedly, he skilfully swings it into his victim's leg, slashing a deep wound that unbalances them slightly and causes them to turn in agony as the lord fluidly spins beside them to build up momentum. Once he fully rotates himself, he savagely chops his weapon into their face, sending them hurtling sideways to their death as he moves onto the next one. Cause of death: Severe head trauma.

The battle was no doubt in their favor, their enemies were outnumbered, they had all the advantages. They had very prominent people among them fighting against this threat. Title or none, the wolves of the group were being established. Arian rushed up to another criminal, the bannerman roughly pushes their head, and, while they stumble back, readies his blade. Swinging it above his head, he suddenly slashes his sword to the left, severing his victim's jugular vein and causing them to collapse to the floor while he moves on. Racing at his new target from behind, Kyle shows off his foretold efficiency, before cruelly slashing the man across their upper back. As his victim reacts to this unexpected attack, the ser hacks his sword into the right of their chest, slashing through their lung from behind and wedging his weapon into their torso. To free his cutlass, the man kicks his victim's legs from behind, forcing them onto their back. He wasn’t called “the Killer” for nothing. His brutal and effective fighting style only proved his mettle.

They were thinning down the parasites of the North, of Westeros. These renegades could have found another way to live, they could of sworn themselves to House Stout, could have given themselves to the Wall. But no, they decided to pillage their own people. What they've done is wrong; They feast and drink, while all around them people starve. Lords make sure everyone within their land and perhaps farther out have enough for themselves and their families. Bandits… Bandits just made their jobs a lot harder than it needed to be. They are degenerate pieces of filth, and they deserve to die. That’s, what his fighting rational told him.

Next bandit was all his, he could feel the battle was almost over, had a hunch. Rushing towards the man, the young lord has his instrument of conflict slash him across the stomach in one fluid motion, which causes them to kneel forward from the sudden pain. Using this to his advantage, he embeds his sword downwards into his victim's throat and rips it back out, causing them to fall forward and choke on their own blood. Cause of death: Suffocation. His calculating side noted it was a fitting end.

However, he didn’t notice that a bandit had aimed down upon him. The man’s crossbow was loaded, as was determined to make a lasting shot; even as he was being attacked by another. Donnel’s intervention prevented the bolt to be more lethal, but it still had an effect. The shot flew past his face, scraping part of his left cheek; no doubt that’d leave a scar. It took several moments to register the pain he was feeling, but it was noteworthy. His… his ear, some of the bottom part was warm, wet. Did the… Did the bolt take some of his left ear off? The Cerwyn didn’t have to worry about another shot, as Donnel had approached the crossbowman from the front, before taking out his axe and swinging it into the side of their neck. The force from the blow severs their spinal cord and jugular, instantly killing his unlucky victim. His cousin saved him from a worse fate, the young lord most likely now owed him a drink.

He didn’t have much time to think of such as he was tackled to the ground by another, this man looked more… better equipped than the other ones. Maybe he was the leader, maybe he was and he was pissed that this young lord ruined any hope of plundering from him. The bandit was choking him now, logic and reason were out the window, now it was just survival instincts kicking. He at least knew he had ten to twenty second to loosen his grip before he was fully cut out from air. He also knew he was not strong enough to pry the man’s fingers away, perhaps a bit to loosen them for some some air. One hand was preoccupied with such, as the other… He looked side to side for something, anything, to get this man off of him. He spotted… Donnel’s throwing axe! He made a good choice with that, and right in arm’s length. The young lord reached for it, now in his possession, the Cerwyn rapidly swings his axe into the right of the bandit’s waist and removes it. The criminal howled in pain, letting go of the lad, as fell a bit off of him. Now freed from the man’s grasp, Cley quickly took in what breath he could, adrenaline fueling his next actions. While the prominent brigand began to react from the pain, he fluidly finishes them off with another attack to the base of the neck, cutting down into his victim's windpipe and causing them to fully collapse to the floor from suffocation and blood loss. The young lord huffed and puffed as he attempted to yank out the axe from the man’s neck, only being interrupted by a hand grasping his. It was Donnel.

“No need for that, Cley, battle’s over. He was the last one fighting, we won… sides’, that’s my axe”. He seemed impressed by the display, as the Cerwyn’s hand left the axe, the Flint ripped it out effortlessly. As the Cerwyn got up, the cold state of mind of battle wore off as he witnessed what they done. So many of these outlaws… dead, bleeding on the ground. He didn’t know if any of their own men fell, but he was scared to find out. He already felt so bad enough about these men being dead, he only could hope that none of his own joined the bloodied soil. There had been enough death this day. He found his way to Ser Kyle, idly chatting with his squire. They both took notice of him, as the lord asked: “Can I have… what did I miss?”

Ser Kyle went to answer his question, as Arwyn fumbled around and then handed Cley a clean rag. No doubt for his wound, the Cerwyn gave him a silent gesture of thanks as he used the cloth to apply pressure to his bleeding ear. “Most of the bandits have been killed, everyone who isn’t dead, either surrendered or ran away. And whoever ran, is currently being hounded after by the Stouts and Condons. We have four prisoners from this battle”.

Cley gave a nod, his eyes lacking brightness such as a dull blade. Only four survivors? More should of… should of surrendered. He felt unease, but responded: “Well, Lord Stout made it blatantly clear that whoever surrendered, would join our former prisoner in cells, to be sent to the Wall. The Night’s Watch will be having five new recruits… something good came out of this”.

The knight nodded, commenting: “Least’ Gared won’t be so lonely that far North”. The Cerwyn knew of the ser’s interaction with the former squire of Lord Forrester, must of seen this as looking out for the ranger. Each to their own. Arien approached the Cerwyn, waiting for his next order. Cley soon realized all eyes were on him. He recalled… yes, he was technically leading this force. After a moment of thought, the young lord gave his order: “Good work, all of you. We’ll take our prisoners back to Lord Stout, as the Stouts and Condons wrap up here. We’ve accomplished a great deal here this night, let us celebrate as such!”

They combined forces of the Flints then proceeded to make their way back to Goldgrass, with blood on their swords, and good news to tell the lord of the steadfast. His… His wound… Oh gods, he felt that he knew someone would get pissed that he got involved in a battle, and got wounded. Like… Meghan and Demelza, they worried too much. Cley secretly hoped that they wouldn’t catch wind of this quite yet. A man can only hope… as words are wind, such as the winter.