#sand smirking whilst he does it is a power move

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends Episode 5 | Ray's Hangover Cure 😳

So far, I haven't really had any bones to pick with production - but WHERE IS OUR TATTOO CARESS?? Did they really NOT include it?

[cobaltusami]

Tropical Vacation pt. 2

Hey hi hello! This Is the last part for the day, I felt bad since the first one was so short and uneventful.

This one was funny to write, I liked writing Monokuma and Monomi's 'fight' scene xD

Characters In this part: Lee!Gundham, Lee!Kazuichi, Lee!Nagito, Ler!Nekomaru, Ler!Chiaki, Hajime, Fuyuhiko, Mahiru, Sonia, Hiyoko, Akane, Mikan, Peko

Words: 3,083

PT 1: [Click here], PT 2: [You are here.]

“KAZUICHI, I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” Gundham yelled after his friend, chasing him down the beach in a full on sprint. The chase didn’t last very long though before Nekomaru quickly got In the middle of the two and held the breeder back.

“Easy Tanaka!” He barked. “What the hell Is going on?!”

“Yeah, Why are you so worked up? You guys sparrin’?” Akane asked..

“He’s trying to kill me!” Soda accused, pointing his finger at the angry boy in front of him.

“This fiend used some kind of powerful unseen force to send me flying into the water!” Gundham responded angrily. “You are lucky my Devas were not with me!”

Now that he mentioned It, Nekomaru did notice that Gundham was soaking wet.

“Easy dude! I was just playing around, I saw Sonia had your scarf and your zhu zhu pets!” Kazuichi retorted.

“THEY ARE NOT ZHU ZHU PETS!”

Nekomaru sighed in exasperation, why can’t It ever be something… normal with these two? “Y’know what, fine.” The larger student pushed both of them to the ground and proceeded to pin them both and tickle them. “If you’re gonna fight with each other… Then you’re gonna laugh with each other!”

Kazuichi shrieked as he felt his ribs being attacked, he cursed himself for not changing out of his swim attire back into his jumpsuit before launching Gundham into the water.

“NEHEHEHEKO NOHOHOHOHO!”

Gundham wasn’t much better off, Nekomaru was mercilessly tickling his exposed neck and collarbone. “FUAHAHAHAHAHA! F-FIEHEHEHEHEND STAHAHAHAP IHIHIT AT OHOHONCE!” He tried bringing his shoulders up to protect his neck but as soon as he would, Nekomaru would then attack his belly and hip, making his arms instinctively shoot back down to protect his body.

“Not until you two agree to stop fighting.”

“NOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAY! HEHEHE’S THE ONE WHO TRIHIHIHIED TO KILL ME!” Kazuichi cackled, flailing uselessly.

The Ultimate Team manager narrowed his eyes at the pinkette, he leaned down and blew a raspberry against his belly whilst vibrating his fingers into his ribcage.

Kazuichi exploded with screaming high pitched laughter, throwing his head back in the sand as he frantically shoved at Neko’s head and kicked at the sand.

He pulled back grinning then turned to Gundham, whose belly he was still tickling with his other hand. “Don’t think I forgot about you!” He teased, leaning down and blowing a raspberry against his neck.

Gundham burst into loud laughter, rivaling Kazuichi in volume. He tried to push Nekomaru away but this only seemed to encourage him, his other hand left Kazuichi giving him a chance to breathe and instead began poking at Gundham’s ribs and underarm teasingly.

He delivered another deadly raspberry to his sensitive neck, this time drawing a loud squeal followed by booming belly laughs. “GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Do you agree to stop fighting with Kazuichi?” Nekomaru asked, after a moment of no response he gifted him yet another raspberry.

“EEEAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUAHAHAHAHAHA!” Tears were in the Supreme Overlord’s eyes from laughing so hard already.

“I’ll ask again, Are you gonna stop fighting?” He repeated, speeding up his tickles.

This time he was met with frantic nods. Nekomaru stopped tickling Gundham and turned back to Kazuichi. “Now, Will you stop fighting with Gundham?”

“As long as he doesn’t fight with me…” Kazuichi said nervously, sitting up.

“I don’t think that’ll be an issue, If he does, He knows what will happen to him!” Nekomaru laughed in amusement.

Gundham shakily sat up. “D-Do you also… vow… not to… push me Into anymore… water?” He panted.

“I dunno man, That’s kind of a hard one. The look on your face was hilarious!” Kazuichi grinned.

Nekomaru glanced at Gundham, upon seeing the somewhat downcast expression on his face he grabbed Kazuichi and held him down.

“ACK! Hey hey hey! What are you doing?!” He panicked.

“Promise you won’t throw him In anymore water.” He ordered.

“Okayokay! Jeez! I promise I won’t throw him In the water again!”

“And apologize to him.”

“What?!”

“You hurt his feelings, apologize for pushing him in the water.”

“No way! He didn’t apologize to me for chasing me!” Kazuichi fired back.

Nekomaru sighed. These damn kids never learn do they? “Gundham, C’mere.”

Gundham shuffled closer, looking questioningly at the larger student. “Yes?”

“There’s something I want you to do.” Nekomaru replied.

“What Is It, Fiend?”

“Hey, I don’t like where this is going…” Kazuichi squinted at Nekomaru, suspicious.

“Tickle him without mercy until he says he’s sorry.” The muscular student grinned at the horrified shriek that came from Kazuichi.

The Mechanic began frantically squirming, though he wasn’t able to move very much thanks to Nekomaru being freakishly strong. “Nononononono!” He didn’t much care for the dark look in Gundham’s eyes, nor the evil smile that followed.

Meanwhile further down the beach, the rest of the students were just chilling and enjoying the day. Or trying their best to.

“Are you sure we should not go check on Kazuichi and Gundham?” Sonia asked.

“Nah, I’m sure they’re fine.” Chiaki replied, building a sandcastle version of Princess Peach’s castle.

“Or one of them has finally killed the other and we’re going to have our first trial.” Hiyoko smirked. “I’m betting on Kazuichi being the dead person.”

Sonia looked horrified.

“Hiyoko!” Chiaki and Hajime chastised.

Mahiru approached the mischievous girl. “Okay, That’s a timeout.”

“What? But I--”

“Go sit on the steps!” she pointed to the steps leading to the beach, Hiyoko pouted and complied silently, crossing her arms as she sat down.

“Listen, I’m sure those two dumbasses are fine, Hiyoko’s just a bitch.” Hiko tried to reassure the blonde, Hajime tried not to laugh at that, but a chuckle slipped out. Mahiru wasn’t as amused.

“Hiko!”

“Where’s the lie?” Hajime whispered under his breath.

“Both of you get a timeout too.” Chiaki said as she stood up, she pointed to a second set of stairs. “Go sit until you can be nice.”

“Why? It’s--”

“I’m not going in fucking timeou--”

Chiaki squeezed Hajime’s side and poked at Fuyuhiko’s ribs, making them both immediately shut up. “Steps.”

They both complied, muttering under their breath as they sat down on the steps next to each other.

“You guys worried about Kazuichi and Gundham?” Akane asked, coming from the direction of said two students. “‘Cause they’re fine, Coach Nekomaru Is helpin’ them.”

Sonia let out a sigh of relief, her hand resting over her heart. “That Is good to hear, Gundham was quite mad when--”

She was cut off by a blood curdling scream that sounded vaguely like Kazuichi coming from the other side of the beach, followed by laughter. Sonia giggled. “I think I will go check on them anyway.” She said as she stood and walked off.

“Nekomaru Is wrecking them, Isn’t he?” Nagito asked amusedly.

“Oh totally.” Akane grinned. “I kinda forgot how vicious of a tickler he is, kind of makes me wanna challenge him to a tickle fight.”

“I think you’d lose.” Mahiru smiled in exasperation.

“For some reason, I get the impression that’s what she wants.” Hajime chuckled.

“Goodness! Whatever was that horrible scream?” Usami asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.

“Oh hey Usami.” Chiaki greeted the pink and white rabbit with a small smile. “It was the sound of Kazuichi getting tickled.”

Usami let out a small sigh of relief, then giggled. “Oh, That’s a relief. I am glad It was the sound of friendship, I thought for a moment that Monokuma had reappeared.”

“You rang?” Monokuma asked, suddenly next to her.

“Uwaaah! Where did you come from!?” Usami cried out in surprise.

“We could ask you the same thing…” Hajime said quietly.

“Wha? Has no one ever explained the bears and the bees to you?” Monokuma asked, tilting his head. “Alright I guess. Well, when two bears love each other very much--”

“Nooo! That is too mature for this audience!” Usami protested, putting her little hands on Monokuma to stop him.

“She does realize we’re not kids… Right?” Nagito whispered to Chiaki.

“For some reason, I don’t think she’s talking about us…” She whispered back.

Monokuma growled, his red eye flashing briefly before he shifted and threw all of his weight into his shoulder, promptly sending Usami flying from the force. “Keep your dirty pure hands to yourself, Monomi!”

“Uwaahh! It really hurts when you shoulder tackle me!” she cried, hitting the ground next to Chiaki.

“Anyways! I have an announcement for you Goody goody losers!” Monokuma said loudly as Nekomaru, Gundham, Kazuichi and Sonia all rejoined the group.

“Oh great, I get back just In time to listen to the homicidal tanuki.” Kazuichi frowned.

“For the last time, I am not a tanuki!” Monokuma snapped, raising his hand to threateningly show off his claws.

“He Is right, Children! Monokuma Is a bear, and--” Usami was cut off by Monokuma stomping over to kick her In the head.

“I don’t need your help!”

“Oogh! It hurts when you punt me too!” she sobbed, curling up in the sand. Chiaki got down on the ground next to her to comfort her.

Monokuma cleared his throat. “Now that Monomi Is done interrupting me, I have an announcement. As you know, I am the headmaster of Hope’s peak. That school, just like this island, Is currently full of students!”

“What?! There’s more than just us trapped by you?!” Kazuichi asked, shocked.

“Why are you telling us this?” Peko asked, crossing her arms.

“I’m glad you asked!” Monokuma bellowed. “Because, I think my students are starting to get depressed… So I think they might benefit from a change In scenery!”

“You don’t mean…” Hajime trailed off, nervous as to where this was going.

“Are you going to let those students out of the school??” Usami asked, surprised.

“Yup! Only for a while though, I wouldn’t want you all conspiring against me once you get acquainted with each other! I just hope those cold blooded killers can behave themselves for a few minutes...” Monokuma replied. “Puhuhu, Oops, did I say that out loud?”

“Acquainted with each other…?” Mahiru repeated. “You mean you’re…”

“You’re going to let them loose, Here!?” Kazuichi finished for her.

“You guessed It! Sharkboy Is today’s winner! Tell him what he’s won, Monomi!”

“W-What? What are you talking about n--”

Monokuma jumped into the air and elbow dropped the rabbit. “Nevermind! My joke Is ruined now, you’re so useless!”

“Uwah! It hurts when you elbow drop me!”

Hajime sighed at the scene before him. Is anything ever normal with these two?

After that, Monokuma left saying he had other business to attend to, After Usami had calmed down from getting a third strike from Monokuma she stood up and dusted herself off.

“What was he talking about? There aren’t really other students… Are there?” Mahiru asked apprehensively.

“No way, He’s clearly lying to us!” Kazuichi answered.

“There’s one way to find out…” Chiaki mumbled, looking at Usami. “Usami?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Was he telling the truth? Are there really more like us?” The pink haired girl asked softly.

Usami nervously looked away, stammering as she spoke. “W-Well, I don’t… i’m not…”

Chiaki frowned. “So It’s true. Is what he said about them true too?”

“N-No! I don’t… Think so…” Usami sighed softly, sitting on a beach towel. “Yes there Is more like you. I didn’t want to leave them, Please believe me! But I didn’t have time to grab any more of you before Monokuma showed up again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?!” Hajime snapped.

“Uwah!” Usami jumped In surprise, her ears drooping sadly. “I-I couldn’t! I felt too guilty and horrible for having to leave them behind! I can only imagine the horrors they’ve had to endure because of Monokuma.”

Chiaki gently petted the rabbit’s head. “It’s okay, It’s not your fault. It’s Monokuma’s fault.”

Usami sniffled, her ears perking back up. “Th-Thank you.” she cried. “But, I am at fault too. I should have fought him at that point, But I was scared and worried about what would happen to you all if I were to lose… I guess In the end It didn’t matter anyway.”

“So just to confirm, there’s a whole other group of students about to be released onto the island and we have no idea if they’re participating in the killing game or not...?” Mahiru asked quietly, fear prominent in her eyes.

Hiyoko got up and went over to her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around her to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mahiru! I won’t let them hurt you!”

Mahiru blushed. “I-I wasn’t scared!”

“I am afraid so.” Usami confirmed grimly, though the next moment… “However! This could be a very good thing too, Perhaps they are like you and refuse to play his game!” She suggested brightly.

Hajime felt a pit In his stomach, It took him a while to warm up to and trust the students trapped with him... he was definitely nervous and untrusting of this.

“Usami Is right!” Nagito spoke up. “We have to stay *Hopeful!”

Oh here we go…

“They are Hope’s peak academy students, after all! I’m sure they’re as reserved and strong willed as all of you Ultimate’s!” Nagito smiled, getting that look In his eyes again.

“Nagito…” Hajime said warningly, not wanting to listen to his speech again. “Remember what happened last time you droned on about Hope and Ultimates?”

“Oh, Right! Sorry, I guess even trash can be forgetful too, I’ll try to stop.” He smiled sympathetically at the Tsundere student.

“Stop calling yourself trash.” Chiaki frowned.

“But…” He stopped himself as Hajime and Chiaki both folded their arms and glared at him warningly. “O-Okay… Even though I am…--”

“Say It, and you’ll be sorry.” Chiaki puffed her cheeks in annoyance.

Nagito blinked, weighing his options. “Why are you so upset about me calling myself trash? I am trash. Do you get mad at everyone for speaking the truth?”

Unfortunately as he usually does, He chose incorrectly. Chiaki threw herself at the taller student, knocking him over into the sand. She then began squeezing his sides in rapid succession, avoiding his attempts to dislodge her hands quite easily.

“W-Wahahahahait! Chihihiaki!” Nagito squealed, trying to protect his sensitive sides from her merciless wrath.

“I warned you.” She deadpanned.

“Usami, Do you think we should be worried about these students?” Nekomaru asked over Nagito’s laughter.

“I don’t think so, I think we should welcome them with open arms! Who knows what horrors they’ve seen? We should treat them with kindness and love!” She answered.

“Then that’s good enough for me!” Neko grinned.

“Yes, I think It will be nice to make some new friends!” Sonia beamed, her eyes glittering happily.

“And who knows? Maybe there’ll be some cute girls In the class…” Teruteru said slyly.

“If you make any unsavory advancements towards the new mortals, I will put a curse so vile on you that even your future spawn will be cursed!” Gundham threatened, making Teruteru immediately shut up and shrink back with fear.

“I guess It doesn’t hurt to have some new friends…” Kazuichi reluctantly agreed with Sonia, no one was surprised.

“Ibuki thinks It’s a great idea! Maybe Ibuki will meet a musician to rock out with!” Ibuki’s eyes became starry at the prospect.

“Hey guys…?” Hajime spoke up hesitantly.

“Maybe there’ll be a gamer I can play with…” Chiaki smiled, still mercilessly tickling Nagito. “Or y’know… A therapist for Nagito…”

“Whyhyhy would a-ahahaha therapist wahahahaste their tihihime on sohohomeone lihihike mehehe?” Nagito laughed.

Chiaki narrowed her eyes at the Lucky student, attacking his belly with clawed hands. “You’re just asking for It, Aren’t you? Do you enjoy being tickled, Nagi?”

“NOHOHOHO!” he squealed, trying to curl In on himself.

“M-Maybe I-It won’t be s-so bad.” Mikan said hopefully. “I’m sure they a-are nice!”

Mahiru glared at Hiyoko, sensing she was about to say something unpleasant, The blonde girl immediately shut her mouth and snuggled more into Mahiru.

“Perhaps there will be someone who is knowledgeable with swords…” Wow, even Peko seemed enthusiastic about this-- well, as enthusiastic as Peko can be.

“Ooh! Maybe there’s someone strong I can fight with!” Akane’s face lit up excitedly.

“Guys? Aren’t you the least bit worried? What If they’re just like Monokuma said…?” Hajime asked.

“What’s to be worried about? If they step outta line, We can just beat ‘em up.” Akane grinned.

“We are NOT going to beat them up!” Nekomaru argued. “There are other ways of dealing with violent students than fighting!”

Akane put her hands on her hips and looked questioningly at Neko. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Nekomaru glanced at Kazuichi and Gundham, who both seemed to blush at his gaze. “Things…” was his vague answer.

“I’m with Hajime on this one.” Fuyuhiko spoke up, standing up. “The thought of people we can’t trust coming on to the island makes me… kind of nervous.” he admitted.

Mahiru nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I agree too.”

“I’m kind of indifferent.” Hiyoko shrugged. “Maybe they won’t be as lame as you guys… but on the other hand, I don’t want Mahiru to be afraid.”

“I-I told you I’m not afraid!” The tsundere girl stuttered.

“It’ll be okay, guys.” Chiaki said softly, her tone contradicting her ruthless tickling. “As long as we stick together, We’ll be fine.”

“YEHEHEHEAH! WHAHAT SHE SAHAHAHAID!” Nagito cackled as she squeezed his hips. “YOUHUHU GUYS ARE ULTIMAHAHATES, THERE’S NOHOHOHOTHING YOU CAHAHAN’T HANDLE!”

“You’re an Ultimate too.” Chiaki reminded, pausing her ticklish attack. “And you’re valuable. Not trash.”

Nagito giggled tiredly as he caught his breath. “But compared to you guys… I’m not all that special…”

“Neko, He still hasn’t learned.” Chiaki called over her shoulder. Nekomaru sat down next to them and cracked his knuckles.

“I got this!” He chuckled, The next moment the air was filled with Nagito’s shrieking laughter as Chiaki and Neko proceeded to destroy the man with low self esteem.

Hajime was silent as he thought about the possibilities, It just wasn’t sitting right with him. But If Chiaki could look on the bright side… Maybe he was overreacting…?

He felt a hand rest on his back, looking to his left he saw Fuyu offer a brief reassuring smile, showing that he was just as nervous as Hajime but more worried about comforting him. Hajime faintly smiled back and put his arm around Fuyu’s shoulders, pulling the Yakuza into his side.

Mahiru gently punched Hajime’s shoulder affectionately. “It’ll be okay… We just gotta stick together like Chiaki said…”

Hajime sincerely hoped she was right about this…

[neon-junkie]

Another Night Like This

Summary: This was just meant to be another drunken fuck, a heated session between two men that have spent the last few years sticking by each other's side. Maybe that's why it turned into making love?

Pairing: Javier Escuella x Bill Williamson

Word Count: 2130

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Accidental making love, Making out, Praise kink, Dirty talk, Drunken sex.

Notes: Had a few requests for more Willscuella hehe. This is set just before RDR1 :0)

The air in New Austin is crisp, blazing down onto everybodys skin, turning their mouthes dry, and burning the back of their throat. If you're short of water or whiskey, then you're fucked; but in this case, it's the dead of night, cool enough to keep the sweat away, but still dry and almost uncomfortably humid. Luckily, for a pair of unexpected lovers, dehydration isn't the case here, as tongues are sliding against each other as Javier pushes Bill down, grabbing his wrists as he falls back and pinning them on either side of his head. Their lips only leave each other for a brief moment, but when they reconnect, they're as hungry as ever. Javier adjusts his legs, swinging them over Bills lap as he straddles him, pinning his crotch against the much larger man. It's easy for Javier to over-power Bill, usually because Bill will submit to the other man with a click of his fingers, but how could anyone not submit to a well-dressed, golden-toned man, who's dark hair is currently falling a little too close to their mouths and getting caught up in their kiss.

Javier lets out a sigh as he breaks the kiss, sitting upright and pushing his hair from his face. Bill makes his usual comment, "you're gonna get fed up with it one day 'n' just cut it all off," he tells Javier, looking up at him with blown-pupils. "Maybe..." Javier replies, his eyes looking back down into Bills. He smirks softly, an expression that he pulls whenever he sees Bill like this; patiently waiting for Javier's orders, hands now resting on his stomach, visually struggling to restrain himself from pulling Javier back down onto him. The pair had been running together ever since the gang broke up a good few years ago; The wounds will never heal, but at least they have each other to keep themselves sane, or as sane as they can be whilst roaming around the dry sands of the desert. They've been camping at this same spot for a while now, just above the shore of the San Luis River. It's the perfect campsite, far enough from the main road that they don't get bothered, yet not too far from the closest town. There's also the flawless view of Mexico, its shores seeming so close yet still so far, and Javier spends every morning watching the sunrise over his homeland before prodding Bill awake, so they can get on with their day. In a few hours from now, Javier would be waking up early, ready for his daily routine. But Bill had dragged him to the saloon last night, and the pair could barely ride back, stumbling into camp and onto each other, spending another night with each other's company, as if they haven't been doing that for the last few years. They'd not bothered with hiding in their tent like they would at previous campsites, instead, finding each other beside their campfire, hands trailing across each other before Javier made his usual bold move of straddling Bills hips. "You gonna get these off for me?" Javier questions, his hand tugging at the light pants Bill recently brought. "Sure," Bill replies. Javier de-mounts him so Bill can begin to undress. He unbuttons his vest, letting out a sigh as begins to unbutton his shirt; it was Javier's idea that Bill tried adding a vest to his outfit, and as much as the outfit suits Bill, he's far too lazy to do up so many buttons every single day. However, he's even lazier to go and buy another outfit. At least Javier was smart enough to stop bothering with wearing vests, picking out the same white shirt that Bill now wears, along with a jacket that he barely buttons up. Bill had commented that Javier was getting as lazy as he was with his appearance, to which Javier sighed and said "guess I've spent too much time around you, huh?" Javier's hands are back on Bill before Bill can barely finish peeling off his shirt, discarding his shirt into their shared tent. Javier goes straight to fondling Bill's balls, biting his tongue to try and hide his smile as Bill lets out a whimper. "Why you always gotta do that?" Bill comments, and pouts when Javier chuckles. "No reason," Javier replies, biting his tongue in an attempt to hide his grin. As always, Javier's hand begins to trail south, prodding at Bill's entrance after slipping two fingers into his mouth. Bill relaxes against him, leaning back on his elbows and lets his legs fall apart; he's not a stranger to having Javier see him like this, and vice versa. One of his hands trails over Bills stomach, thinner than he used to be, but still coated in thick, dark hair. "Shit," Bill murmurs as Javier slips a finger into it. He doesn't bother going slow, pushing all the way up to his knuckle, knowing Bill can take it. "Still loose from last night, eh?" Javier comments as he slips another finger in, rotating it slight as he begins to fuck Bill with his fingers. "Shuddup," Bill grumbles, his eyes flicking away momentarily. The pouting of his bottom lip disappears as Javier finds that spot inside him, brushing over it with his fingers, making Bills cock twitch. "Shit, Javi-" Bill whines as he falls off his elbows, laying back in the dirt. "Good boy," Javier purrs. He catches Bills eyes as the larger man looks up at him with flushed cheeks, chewing at his bottom lip; Javier knows damn-well what praise does to him, and he's happily to send hoards of it Bills way, considering that this man has gone his entire life without any. A third finger is slipped in, and this time, Bill moans, rolling his head back in the dirt. Javier adjusts his position, lying down on his side beside his lover, propped up on his elbow. He continues thrusting his fingers in and out of Bill, all the whilst dipping his head down to catch Bills lips with his own. The kiss is messy, sloppy, seasoned with whimpers and soft words of affection. "You're doing so well for me, Bill," Javier sighs against his lips, and Bills cock twitches yet again. "You're hard for me, aren't you, Bill?" Javier asks as he moves his lips away, his dark eyes staring directly into Bills hazy ones. Bill manages to let out a soft "uh-huh," nodding his head at the same time. "Good, touch yourself," Javier commands, and chuckles as Bill darts his hand down to begin pumping his length. "Eager," he says with a smirk, and yet again, Bill tells him to shut up. "You think you're ready for me, big guy?" Javier asks. "Y-yeah," Bill sheepishly replies with a nod. Javier softly laughs at his timidity, shifting his weight to lie on his side comfortably, still propped up by his elbow. "We've fucked how many times? and you're still so shy around me?" "Oh, come on, you know what I'm like!" Bill defends. "Yeah, I do, Bill," he laughs, placing a soft kiss to his lips. "But you know I wouldn't want you any other way." The words slip from Javier's mouth, and it takes him a moment to process what he's just said. His eyes meet Bills, wide as always, and Bill stutters out "you wouldn't?" "I wouldn't," Javier confirms, and slips his fingers from Bills entrance. He wipes himself off on his pants before placing the same hand on Bills hip, caressing him, kneading his skin. This time, Bill reaches up to tug at Javier's hair, pulling him down to his height, and kissing him deeply. Javier has to bite back a laugh, knowing how much his words of approval mean to the larger man. Without breaking the kiss, he shuffles onto his knees, settling between Bills thighs, and begins to unbutton his pants, tossing his gun belt in the direction of their tent. Javier feels something tug at his chest, soon realizing that Bill's helping him undress, unbuttoning his shirt. Large hands trail up to help slip the fabric over his shoulders, before entwining with his hair. The kiss is soon broken, and as Javier sits upright, he pulls Bill by his hips, wrapping his legs around his waist, and positions his cock at the larger man's entrance. They sigh in unison as Javier pushes in, rolling his hips in short and quick movements, before settling on a long and slow pace. "Good, Bill," Javier sighs, watching his length disappear and reappear. He leans forward and picks up where the two left off, with open mouthed kisses, and soft moans shared between them. Bill's hands don't seem to settle, kneading at the smaller man's waist, gripping his biceps, trailing over his back; Javier doesn't mind, he's perfectly used to this, and takes pleasure in Bills neediness. He moves his lips from Bills, brushing over his turning-grey beard with light kisses, and settles on his neck, leaving his mark as the last one has finally faded away. Once Bill's neck is covered, satisfying Javier's standards, Javier sits mostly upright, turning his focus onto rolling his hips perfectly. The sight of Bill beneath him, a total whimpering mess, isn't foreign to Javier, but it's a sight that he takes in every time. "That's it, that's my Bill," Javier praises, smiling softly when Bill lets out his flustered whine as a reply. Bill's still tugging at his cock, but Javier politely swats his hand away, replacing it with his own. One hand rests on the dirt, propping his body over the larger man's, whilst the other pumps his cock in time with his thrusts, leaving Bill to grip onto whichever part of Javier's body that he can. "F-Faster... please," Bill mumbles. "What was that?" Javier asks with a smirk, stopping his thrusts completely. He pushes his cock as deep as it can go, hitting Bills prostate and making the larger man squirm beneath him. "I said faster, dammit! ....please," Bill corrects his barking, his pout being wiped away as Javier does exactly what he's asked, picking up the pace. The sound of skin against skin echoes through the thick air, possibly trailing over to the main road, but it's nobody's business but their own. As always, Bills moans are deep and gruff, with the occasional soft whimper, whereas Javier's are light and soft, mixed with words of praise. "Javi- you've gotta..." Bill attempts to call out. "Gotta what?" Javier replies. "S-Slow down," he whimpers, making Javier raise his brow. "A second ago you were asking me to go faster. Which is it, Bill?" he questions, biting back a laugh. "S-slo... Fa-sl... Aughh," Bill grumbles, indecisive as always. "Faster? again? alright, Bill. If that's what you want," Javier chuckles, picking up the pace once more. It's hard to pump Bills cock at the same speed, but Javier does what he can, taking in the sight of the larger man mewling beneath him. "I'm gonna.... if you keep-" Bill attempts to call out yet again, and Javier doesn't slow down his pace so Bill can talk. "Cum then, Bill. Go on," he urges, his own orgasm sitting on the fence, awaiting Bills arrival. Bill half opens his eyes, nodding in agreement, before letting them fall shut again, moaning away as Javier continues to fuck him. He spills his load on his stomach, coating his dark hair, his hair turning even whiter as Javier pulls out and let his load entwine with Bills. Javier mutters "mierda," whilst Bill mutters "shit." Javier falls limp across Bills chest, paying no mind to the sticky mess between their bodies. They spend a few moments coming down from their highs, panting, groaning, licking their dry lips, until Javier shuffles his head up to kiss Bill once more. There's tenderness in the kiss, not that there isn't always; his hand cups the back of Bills head, and eventually trails down his body, settling on his thigh and eagerly squeezing him. Bill's trying his best to grip at Javiers waist, but his hands are falling weak, exhausted and still slightly drunk. The kiss eventually breaks, and the pair squint their eyes as they turn, noticing the sun slowly rising in the distance. Another night spent together, not that it's been any different for the last few years, but tonight definitely felt different. "Come on, come to bed with me," Javier says as he turns back to Bill, giving his thigh another squeeze as he nuzzles the larger man. "Alright, old man," Bill chuckles, his hand reaching up to tuck one Javier's many greying hairs behind his ear. "Says you," Javier laughs, prodding at the grey patch on his beard. "Yeah, says me," Bill smiles.

[damn-stark]

Space Crazy

Soulmate Au- Poe Dameron x Fem!First Order reader

Summary- when you’re close to meeting your soulmate you begin to see flashes of shared actions. No matter where in the galaxy either of you are. The closer you are physically, it all gets stronger, you get their same injuries and at times hear what they hear. The only questions are who they are and how does it stop?

A/N- my first soulmate Au and yes this idea is based of tik tok, don’t judge okay? Let me know what you thought and if you want a part two?!

Warning- talk of death, angst, fluff?? Soulmate au

———-

It happens out of a sudden and can happen anywhere when you’re doing shared actions. It’s a glimpse, a flash of a second. One second you’re doing something, seeing your own surroundings and then, BAM, you see a different place, different faces and feel the presence of your “soulmate”.

It’s BS. Everyone’s just space crazy. They’ve just breathed in too much artificial air. It’s not real.

How can someone see what someone else is doing? Or have the same wounds as they do? Or hear songs one another hears? It can’t be real…

“Hey, L/N good morning.” A fellow pilot named Xam greeted.

You groaned as a response and plopped yourself around the table, taking a long drink of your water and quirking your eyebrow questioningly as Xam’s eyes studied your face. Once you swallowed your water, you set your cup down and questioned his staring. “Yes?”

“What happened?” He asks.

You blink, “what do you mean?”

Xam points to his cheekbone and the side of his temple, gesturing to what was supposedly on your face without actually touching you.

Your eyebrows knot in confusion and you lift your hand to touch what Xam had pointed out, wincing as soon as the tip of your fingers touched your sudden wounds. “What the hell?” You snatch the clean spoon from your plate and bring it up close to your face, trying to see what hurt, but all you saw was a distorted reflection of yourself. Ultimately seeing nothing, causing you to stand from your seat and quickly throw your excuse in the air before you rushed to the refresher. Rushing to come before the mirror, your eyes widening and a gasp escaping your lips as you saw a new, red bruise on your cheekbone, followed by a throbbing small cut. “What the? How?” You turn your head slightly and see a bigger wound on the side of your temple, “how?” Your gaze narrows and you take a step back with your lips parted and your mind wandering faster than Lightspeed on the possibilities of what could’ve happened.

Maybe you hurt yourself while sleeping?

But your face? Sure you’ve bruised your legs sometimes without knowing, but never your face. Plus you’re a pilot, it’s rare to get your face hurt. So, what the heck?

You walk out of the refresher rubbing your cheek with your mind deep in thought, hardly paying attention to those around you or where exactly you were going. Not until you found yourself back in the same table as before, barely catching what the group of pilots gathered around were talking about. “Did you guys see the resistance pilot that Ren brought in?”

“No.”

“Well I did. Not a threat at all. All space talk.” Xam remarks cockily before his attention went on you, “you doing okay, L/N?”

You shrug and take a long drink of your water before swallowing and answering, “I don’t know. I might be dying, who knows?”

Your co-pilot Doja scoffs and leans in with a smirk, “or you know what they say, your soulmate could be close. The closer they are, the stronger everything gets.”

You huff, “it’s not true.”

Doja shrugs and moves to her previous spot, “Sure it is, my previous commander began hearing stuff and getting injuries out of nowhere. Turned out it was because her soulmate was on the same fleet and found her the next day.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head as you bring the fruit to your lips and open your mouth to take only one bite before your comms went off calling you to rush to your TIE’s—“great. No days off.” You whine whilst you and the rest of your friends quickly push yourself off your seat and hurry to your hanger. Doja throws you your helmet to catch it, both your attentions stolen by the voice of your commander.

“The resistance scum escaped in a TIE with the help of a traitor, we have orders to take it down. No taking prisoners.” Your commander explained with a detectable smug smirk on his lips. “We got this team.”

Doja hits your arm and offers you an encouraging thumbs up before she puts her helmet over head and hides her shaved purple hair and runs off to hop onto guns while you hop onto the pilot's seat.

“Soulmate talk for later.” Doja teased as she closed the cockpit and you started the engines to quickly fly off the hanger, entering the dark void of space that was lit by the red bright colors of blasts shot from the ships and accompanied by the big beige planet called Jakku in the distance.

You ignored her comment and didn’t plan on talking about it for later, using this distraction as a form to “forget” about the subject. Albeit it wasn’t forgotten like you would’ve liked as suddenly it hit you once again while you were flying. A sudden flash that made you stall, peeling your eyes and taking in shallow shocked breaths, noticing as the vision passed what appeared to be the inside of a TIE; the inside was dark, the same red blasts that flashed outside your ship, flashed there, whoever you were seeing. You also saw a pair of hands, gloveless, unlike yours or your squadron….unless you didn’t notice, you weren’t exactly paying attention who was or who wasn’t wearing their gloves, so it could be one of them….right? But...it was fake.

All of it. It was just you going space crazy—

“Y/N! Hey! Focus, we got the stray TIE dead ahead, just fly us close and I can shoot it down!” Doja shouts, breaking your train of thought and completely losing that weird flash of the vision you just had.

You blink and nod hesitantly, “yeah, got it.” Boosting the engines the ship races forward faster, making it come only inches away from the stolen TIE, making you swiftly maneuver past it, almost scraping against the ship as it suddenly turns to try and fly away when the pilot notices you. Doja is shouting something in her seat, celebrating the success of her hit and trying to include you until it happens again. Only this time more vividly and longer. This time you see whoever it was looking back to see only a white armored shoulder, there were no faces, or sound, just vivid flashes of their surroundings, of the controls and of the Planet before you.

The suddenness of it made you freeze, but still mindlessly fly the ship, gasping as it kept going for a moment longer. Getting a warm and familiar feeling, a closeness, like something was trying to connect. All until a blast hit your wing and it all went away, red flashes blared in the ship.

“Oh shoot! Oh shit.” You began to panic as the ship was out of your control and you felt it free falling into Jakku. “Shit!”

“It’s okay!” Doja assured you in the same panic, “it’s okay I got a good hit too! Shot one of their wings, they’re done for!”

“Just like us!” You stressed as you tried to control the wheel, feeling it shake widely and seeing your life flash in your eyes, a different feeling than what you saw flash in your before. This one was terrifying and colder in a sense. Your panic heightened just like the beating of your heart, you knew what to do of course, eject; but that still didn’t mean anything, you could die all the same—“okay, Doja, eject! In 1. 2. 3!” Pressing the eject button, the cockpit door flew up and your seat ejected from the burning ship, throwing you out onto the planet to now slowly parachute down onto the blazing sands of Jakku.

Feeling a relief as you felt the warmth of the sun hit your face as you ripped the helmet off your head. You exhaled deeply and let it fall somewhere, looking back to see that you were floating down by yourself, Doja wasn’t with you, nor above or below. No. Quickly as you see you’re only a couple feet away from the ground you unbuckle yourself and let your boots touch the sand, running towards your crash landing, but suddenly stopping as it blew up and the power of the explosion sent you flying back.

Making you wish that you would’ve gone unconscious to have to realize later that your longtime friend and co-pilot was gone; to feel the pain of her loss that was much greater than any wound later. But it couldn’t be done, the pain hit as the blazing sun burned your skin. The only form of distraction as you pushed yourself up to your feet was seeing someone in the distance, seeming to be wanting to walk towards you but suddenly falling. Quickly without a second thought you ran towards the person, feeling new sudden pain all over your body that you knew you didn’t get from your landing. It was weird, but you shoved it away as best you could while you reached the person you saw was an unconscious man.

For a brief moment though, before helping him you studied him, slowly examined his face as he felt familiar, noticing the wounds on his face matched yours. Only he had fresh cuts in the same place you had bruises…..what a weird coincidence. Hmm—brushing the thought away you crouched down and reached to feel a pulse. Only feeling the tips of your fingers brush his skin before you ripped your hand away as some form of static shock shot through you at the slightest touch of his skin. “What the hell?!” Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes bounced from the spot on his neck you had touched and his face to check if he had somehow done that. Only he was still half dead, so it wasn’t him….weird…

Choosing to pass it as nothing, you again reached for his neck and finally managed to feel a light pulse under his tan and warm skin, finding it actually reliving that he was alive. “Okay, good.” You breathed as you stood up and looked to see how you could help him and bring him with you without having to drag him on the sand. Not seconds later, spotting a piece of debris from your ship's wing inches away; in a hasty pace you walked towards the debris and pulled it towards the man, having to grab one of his arms and drag him onto the long debris, the effort coming out as more of a struggle than you initially thought.

“Shit man are you made out of pure muscle or something, you’re fucking heavy.” You groaned as you somehow managed to get him on the piece of debris, using a dead strand of cord from your parachute to drag the man and the debris behind you. Not thinking of why you hadn’t just let him die under the sun. It was no choice to you like it would’ve been to the others, no matter if he seemed to be familiar or not, nor how much more you were sweating with your jumpsuit on under the scorching sun with no direction whatsoever as you dragged him with you. All that crossed your mind beside the unfortunate death of your friend and the subject of the supposed “soulmate” ordeal, was that hopefully they’d come look for you. Your squad or some part of The First Order.

Hopefully. Soon. Before the sun burned your skin completely, before you got lost the more you walked further into the depths of the Jakku desert. Before you also got lost with this handsome mystery person you now figured as you kept walking in silence was the prisoner who was helped by the stormtrooper. It was getting late, so hopefully they’d come soon.

Regardless of the hope, you kept walking until your arms and legs grew too tired and you stopped to take a small break, wanting a drink of water but having nothing but your imagination come up with the water you desired. Your saliva wasn’t even a help as there was no saliva to swallow, your throat was dry as this sand beneath your feet—“pfft…” you breathed out whilst you dropped to the floor and sat to take a break that didn’t last a second as the man finally shot up as he woke up, scaring the living shit out of you.

“Wh-what the hell?” He panted as his eyes found you.

You exhale deeply and grab onto your chest, “fuck man you scared me!” You drop your head in your hands and try and calm your breathing to what it once was, having to look up to black curly haired man as he asks another question.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

You blink and move your arms to unzip your jacket down to your waist before pulling your arms out and tying it around your waist, being left only in your tank top, which felt a hundred times cooler now. Thank the force.

Focusing on the man you finally answer him, “you’re in Jakku and I’m y/n. Who are you?”

His thick dark eyebrows furrow and he looks around as he stands up, wobbling a bit before he gains his balance. “How did I get here?”

“Uh,” standing up yourself, you narrow your gaze on him almost waiting to hear that his question was a joke. “You crashed here….are you okay? Maybe you should sit back down.”

“No.” He quickly interjected his eyes focusing on you and the jumpsuit you had on, his eyebrows only knotting deeper. “What...why did you help me?”

You shrug, “because I wanted to...cause I didn’t want to leave you to die. Being from The First Order doesn’t mean that we’re all heartless y’know?”

He breathed out deeply and nodded slowly, “sure.” before he kept studying you slowly, his eyes scanning your body until his deep brown eyes locked with yours, causing another sense of familiarity that made the both of you keep looking at one another to try and figure out what it was about the both of you that seemed so familiar and...peaceful? Looking at him, being close to him felt like it did when you were on the ship before you crashed; like something connected, like a piece of puzzle finally neatly fit in and finished the piece of art. His presence, the depths of his big brown eyes felt reassuring and peaceful...could it be?

No it’s fake. All fake….

Before much could happen you both looked away and looked at the sea of sand surrounding you, beginning to feel now, overwhelmed with all this sand.

“I was with…” he paused for a second before he continued, “I was with someone..a—”

“The stormtrooper? Yeah I’m sorry I didn’t see him. Seems you ejected and landed away from the ship you were on.” You look at him again, “are you sure you’re okay? You might have suffered through some memory loss and or a concussion. You should sit—”

“No,” he dismissed you quickly, his voice softer, not in a kind way, but in an upset manner, “we should get going before it gets dark.”

“We?” You questioned, your eyes wide, “you still want “someone like me” following you?”

He shrugs, “you helped me for some reason. Plus I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you didn’t.” You hesitated as he began to move forward, noticing him stop and look back at you to insist you to follow.

“Oh, okay.” Before you fell by his side you grabbed the piece of debris and brought it along with you, motioning him to grab the other end and hold it above you.

He smiled as he looked at you, “smart.” He complimented, making your smile grow like his as you shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’m not a pilot just because of my amazing skills.”

He scoffed in a lighthearted manner, “okay, sure whatever you say.”

Shooting him a side eye you seethed, “hey, we shot you down—”

“After WE shot you first!” He cut you off.

You scoff and turn to face, “okay, hot shot, what’s your best flying record? I’m sure you trained at some sort of academy. What’s your best score?”

He hummed as he thought, “uh, well my fastest is six minutes. Best score in the whole squad.”

You smirk and look ahead at the miles of sand, “five minutes and thirty seconds. I win. Beat that.”

From the corner of your eyes you caught him grinning before he finally revealed his name. “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron. You know you’re not so bad.”

You chuckle, “I’ve told you already, we’re not all bad.”

He nods and follows your line of sight, stopping as soon as he spotted something you did as well. A person in the distance on a broken down speeder—you brought your hand up as Poe did to block the sunlight from your eyes and as you did so, it happened again. The sudden vivid flash of the person in the distance.

At first you thought it was just you going crazier without some water and all this heat, but it wasn’t, what you were seeing was from someone else's point of view. Someone close that was easy to know. There was no one else around beside you and...Poe.

Slowly as he also realized the same thing the both of you turned to face each other, eyes wide and eyebrows knotted in utter disbelief. At first words stuck to your throat, only silent breathing coming out before the only word you both managed to say was.

“It’s you.”

[malfoysdarkprincess]

Power of the Darkness ⇝ i.

Summary: Before the galactic domination of the First Order, we follow a young Y/N and Ben Solo through their creation as the new found Lord and Lady of the Galactic Empire under the reign of Supreme Leader Snoke. Both are Jedi’s gone dark, making you both extremely powerful and feared by every civilization in the galaxy. Will the first order come out on top or will the new found hero Rey and the resistance destroy and last remainder of the dark side? Pairing: Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader Word Count: 1.6k A/n: Hey guys! I’ve been working on this for a week now and i finally decided today that i would share it with you all and drop some peeks at the new fic. I’m also gonna make Y/N, Kylo, Rey, Finn etc. close in age, it will still all flow and make sense :) Anyway, enjoy and if you lie it Like and Re post so I know that this series is worth continuing <3

I don’t remember much of my parents. I was always told they sold me to Maz Kanata to help out in Takodana but I knew it was something more than that. Either way, I always resented them for leaving me there. As I got older, it became clear I was a force-sensitive and was increasingly getting stronger. Maz had sent me away to train with Master Luke Skywalker and several other children as well. That’s where I met him, Ben Solo.

“Benjamin, I swear to the stars, if you don’t get up right now to train- I will suffocate you with your own pillow,” Y/N had threatened the young boy with Raven Hair. She received a grunt in response from him which caused to frown. She picked up the pillow that was on the floor and nearly hit him in the head with it but, he caught her wrist and pinned her on the bed.

“You are easily, the most annoying person I know,” his groggy voice filled her ears. She sent a big, toothy grin his way. He dipped his head, their lips catching on one another’s. Y/N started to giggle, and Ben looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Morning Breath,” Y/N stuck her tongue out, eyes scrunched close. Ben grabbed the pillow that Y/N let go of and thumped her right in the face.

*

They were too in sync. They knew each other’s moves, even before they were to do them. Luke Skywalker had been watching them, he knew they were connected in ways more than one. He knew of their secret relationship; he knew the force connected them as one. It was a power that frightened him because he sensed the bubbling darkness in both his pupils.

“If I say anything, I might cause bigger problems than what we already have R2,” Luke quietly explained to the droid. R2D2 began to whir back and shake slightly. Luke sighed and continued to stare at his pupils, “You’re right, I need to talk to Leia.”

The two pupils continued to fight, oblivious to their master’s gaze. They stopped sparring and practiced moves together. Y/N could not get the sand twister which resulting in Ben nicking her arms every time. The pain was searing, but she knew the pain was a reminder that she was failing. Ben apologized every time he got her, and Y/N would just shake her head.

She finally got it after being burnt at least twenty times, her arm already began to swelter with blisters. “Maybe if you were better you wouldn’t have been burnt that many times,” Ben joked, stuffing his saber into this holder.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole you could’ve missed my arm instead of getting it” Y/N retorted, kicking the dirt as she spoke. “I’m going to go to the infirmary, my arm kinda-”

“I’ll come with you Y/-”

“-It’s okay Ben, you go clean up, I’ll meet you at your hut after, I promise,” Y/N had smiled at him and whiskfully spun on her heel and headed toward the infirmary. She felt Ben stare at her up until the doors shut behind her in one of the temples. Her head suddenly began to hurt, as if something was prying her mind apart. That’s when she heard the voice.

Hello Child.

She froze, no one was in sight and it was a voice unfamiliar to her. Her confusion was amusing to the mysterious voice.

Oh child, I am no where in sight for you. I sense your strong power. Power that shouldn’t abide to such harsh laws that the Jedi Order enforces.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she whispered, her voice shaking as she spoke. The voice didn’t respond straight away but when it did, it sent shivers down her spine.

You will know soon enough. You’ll make the right decision.

She froze. Her breathing picked up the pace. Who the hell was that?

*

Ben laid in his hut shirtless as he cleaned his saber of dirt and grime. He was in a conflict, Supreme Leader Snoke of the first order has been enticing him of large promises within the first order. He promised great power to Ben, but he knew that would not suffice to lure him to the dark side. Snoke wanted Y/N too but he wouldn’t tell Ben why, all he would say is they both hold great power. Of course, Snoke seduced him with that thought that Ben and Y/N would be fine to openly love another if they joined the first order. Ben didn’t know what to do.

Thump. Ben jumped at the noise and heard a groan of pain. He went over to his hut door and opened it to reveal Y/N holding her head and her right arm covered in bandages. “Sorry love, my door was locked” he informed.

“Really? Didn’t realise,” Y/N grunted and pushed past him. Something was up with her and he could tell. She sat down on his bed and took in the site of the shirtless boy. He caught her staring and she only just winked back; heat creeped its way up to his cheeks. “My cuts are fine by the way. Nurse Meera just said I need to clean them, and they’ll heal fine. You only got me 12 times though,” She smiled. Ben notice her fingers fidgeting.

“What’s wrong? You’re fidgeting...” Ben trailed off, his eyes watching her every move. She went to open her mouth to say something, but they heard Master Luke announce outside the huts than supper was served. Y/N hopped off the bed and opened that door.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine Ben,” and she walked out heading toward the hall. Ben stood still then chose to catch up with her. “I really am fine. I think I’m just tired and hungry.” Ben hummed in acknowledgment. He knew something was up but he wouldn’t push it out of her. Dinner went by in a blur, Y/N and Ben kept to themselves and didn’t like most of the kids there as majority of them came form wealthy upbringings. Once dinner was done, nightly training would commence. Luke would pair the training jedi’s up to see their improvements and how the adapt to a different fighter each time.

Y/N was picked to fight against Yasmina and as they battled, the voice reappeared.

Yes. You possess a great technique which renders you merely impossible to beat. Yet, you fight like a Jedi. Fight how your blood wants to fight

Y/N shook her head and was almost sliced on the leg. Yasmina smirked and spun and went to slice, but Y/N smacked her saber that hard it flew out of Yasmina’s hand and into her own. Y/N than began to attack Yasmina has she was defenseless.

Yes, my child, destroy her. Complete the Blazing Supernova.

Y/N’s mind didn’t understand what the voice meant but her body did. She felt her body twist and the sabers began to swirl. She almost sliced Yasmina up, but Master Luke had jumped in and had turned off the sabers whilst using the force and pulled them out of her hands and straight into his own. Y/N blinked a few times, slowly realizing what she just did.

You have done well my child.

“What the hell were you thinking. That wasn’t how a Jedi fights you almost killed a fellow pupil doing that. What was that Y/N,” Master Luke had bellowed at her, but in his eyes wasn’t anger… it was fear? Y/N stood still and tried to speak but she couldn’t find the words. “You have lost you supper privileges for two days. You are restricted to your hut, now go!” he continued to bellow. All eyes were on her, all were stifling laughs at her embarrassment from Master Luke, but Ben stared at her in sorrow.

*

“Who are you… please just tell me who you are” Y/N whimpered her head was being split into two.

I am Supreme Leader Snoke of the First Order. You have proven yourself worthy girl.

Her eyebrows furrowed. The first order? What could they want from a nobody like me?

You aren’t a nobody. Close your eyes and I’ll let your Master Luke Skywalker show you.

*

Luke was there, talking to Leia through a holographic communication device. They were both worried and fearful. Y/N was confused she was right next to Luke, but no one noticed her.

Focus and Listen.

And that’s what Y/N did.

“Luke, I think you’re overthinking this. She might not have been thinking. She always trains with Ben and we both know they’re the best you’re training. Maybe she thought-”

“No Leia, we both know Snoke has seduced them. They both are losing sight of the light within the force and are spiralling towards the dark side.”

“Luke, they’re only teenagers. We can’t make assumptions on what they’ve done and who they are”

Y/N’s ears perked. Who they are? Her heart hammered in her chest as Luke began to speak.

“Leia, he has Skywalker blood. The same blood that flowed through you, me and our father. He is powerful and he knows it. So does Snoke.”

Y/N realised that the reason why Ben had begun to lock his door was the same reason as she nearly killed Yasmina. Snoke had been talking to him too.

Yes, my girl, Ben has already made up his mind. I will promise you both great power and the freedom to love one another. No time to be restricted to the Jedi Code.

Leia sighed, yet Luke continued, “And its clear as to why Snoke would now want Y/N”.

Y/N was confused. Then Luke said it and her blood ran cold.

“He would only want her because she’s a Palpatine.”

[xxrainbow-princessxx]

Under the Surface - Leo x Isabella (N*FW, 🍋)

Synopsis: Follow on to ‘Unfortunate Accident’ Isabella is on the war path and Leo is in the firing line

This fic is for Day 11 of the CFWC Kinktober Challenge

Day 11: Creampie | Hate-Fucking | Leather

The words used in bold are included in this fanfic. Please only read if you are comfortable with the subject matter and also you are 18+. PSA completed.

TW: In this fic there is some violent behaviour between characters. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read

Tagging: @drakewalkerfantasy @itslaniquelove @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie @lorirwritesfanfic @lorircreates @hopefulmoonobject @rafasgirl23415 @texaskitten30 @rainbowsinthestorm @desireepow-1986 @speedyoperarascalparty @liam-rhys @choicesficwriterscreations

The drive back to the Cordonian Palace was an icy affair and the tension could be cut with a knife. Their relationship had hit a rough patch recently with the Royal couple getting on each other’s nerves and accusations of Leo being quite attentive to the young, blonde attending he met in Boston: Isabella was not in the mood to play happy families. Slamming the car door behind her, the Laurentian Queen sucked in her cheeks as she followed her husband towards the drawing room that Natalia was in. “Natalia!” Isabella pushed passed Leo, making a beeline towards her daughter urgently checking her for any other bumps or bruises, “Mi querida...” Isabella sighed heavily as she tried to smile, hugging the small Princess and covering her with small pecks but Natalia wanted to go back to playing, “Mama...” she protested, “No more kisses!!” wiping her face with her arm as Jackson giggled. Isabella ignored the three men behind her as she checked the time on her Rolex, “Natalia...” she spoke firmly, “It’s already past your bedtime... mama can ready you a bedtime story...” Natalia’s hazel eyes looked across to Jackson before pouting sadly and Jackson reached out pulling on Isabella’s chiffon sleeve, “Can I hear a story too?” Isabella smiled, gently stroking his cherub cheek, “Of course mi amor...come...” Isabella stood tall in her Louboutin heels as she took the children’s hands glaring at the three men with complete distain as she led the children to bed.

“If looks could kill...” Drake mumbled downing his whiskey, “What happened when you picked her up?” Leo glared at him over his whiskey glass, his grip tightening around the crystal tumbler, “I’ll not even burden you with that... it was pretty rough...” Leo scowled as he stood up, walking towards the intricately decorated decanter, “... but whatever you hear tonight, it doesn’t leave these four walls Liam...” Leo barked as he poured more of the caramel coloured liquid into the glass before swirling it around. “I need a cigarette...” Leo sighed, “Drake?” Drake reached into his jeans pocket, removing a tobacco tin that contained some pre-rolled cigarettes. Liam raised his brow rather unimpressed but was only met with a chuckle from Drake, “Emergencies?” before he threw the tin across to Leo. The newly Crowned King of Laurentia took one out, tapping the filter end against the engraved metal. “Strike two...” Liam began to shake his head in desperation as Leo patted his blazer jacket whilst placing his cigarette into his mouth to find his zippo. With a mischievous grin, Leo winked at his brother and Drake, “Go hard or go home brothers... may as well make the screaming match worth it...” heading out onto the balcony into the cool Cordonian night air, with a flick of his wrist, Leo lit his cigarette and took a long drag allowing it to calm him as he exhaled slowly.

Isabella returned, her cheeks sucked in rolling her eyes to the left where Liam and Drake knew best to not speak. Without skipping a beat, Isabella barked, “Can you two get out?” folding her arms angrily as he brow raised. Liam’s brow began to furrow, “How dare...” Drake reached out holding his best friends shoulder to stop him in his tracks but Isabella was incensed pointing towards the door, “Unless you also want me to rip you both a new fucking asshole too, don’t have me repeat myself...” Leo flicked his cigarette into the ashtray beside him as he rolled his eyes mumbling, “Here we fucking go...” Isabella began to tap her foot as Liam and Drake hastily made their exit, “Are you going to hide out there all night?” The Laurentian Queen hissed towards her husband, “Its always like you to put your head in the fucking sand!” Leo took a deep breath, trying his hardest not to succumb to Isabella’s taunting. The former Crown Prince of Cordonia turned, walking quietly as his sea green eyes tried to stare down his petite wife, “Still not off of that fucking pedestal huh?” Leo growled towards the Laurentian beauty who began to slowly smirk much to Leo’s annoyance. “Pedestal?” Isabella began to laugh, “I’m not the one that those kids look up to and I’m also not the one who sidelines them... so excuse me if I am pissed off that the first time in months you’ve spent quality time with one of your daughters and this happens!”

“Get over yourself Isabella... it was an accident that could have happened anywhere!” Leo spat, “If you weren’t so preoccupied with everything, maybe, just maybe, you might have found time in your fucking schedule to come too and actually enjoy yourself!” sighing heavily he continued, “Ever since the Coronation, you have became a bigger pain in the ass than before...” Leo extended his hand out, almost pleasing with her, “it’s like every single piece of you is trying to find fault with everything!” Isabella rolled her eyes to the point that it began to hurt, “Don’t give me that shit Leo... if you actually came home every once in a while, I wouldn’t have to be!” “How many fucking times?!” Leo sighed heavily, “I told you I need to be here for Liam... I’m all he’s got!” Isabella slowly stepped towards Leo leaving barely an inch or two between them, her cheeks were sucked in, eyes narrowing with distain. Leo had hit a nerve and Isabella was not standing for it. Clenching her jaw, Isabella raised her hand and smacked her husband across the face, “How dare you!” Isabella screamed, “My father is barely three months in his grave and that’s what you say to me?” Isabella turned on her Louboutin heel walking away until she began to see red that removed any partial filter she had left.l as Leo shouted at her, “Don’t bring Felipe into this to try to make me feel fucking guilty... we were having problems way before he passed away!”

Immediately, the petite brunette turned back to face Leo to go in for the kill as he rubbed the sting from his cheek, “You know what?!” Isabella began to evilly laugh into Leo’s face, “You know what? Fuck you... and... fuck Liam too!” Leo clenched his jaw tightly as he commanded, “Isabella... that’s enough!” but defiantly, the petite brunette continued with her taunting. She was more than hurt, she was angry. As Isabella’s doe like dark chocolate brown eyes narrowed, glaring up at her husband, Isabella spat, “I really fucking hate you right now!” Leo leaned down towards her, his nostrils flaring as he held himself back seething, “The feeling’s mutual!” Isabella took a deep breath, pursing her lips, “Good!” She retorted as her eyes darkened locking onto Leo’s, their internal power struggle just kept bubbling to the surface as the tension in the room rose stemming from months of frustration. Leo growled as he removed his blazer jacket, throwing it onto the high winged back chair. His tensed muscles strained under his already tight crisp white shirt as his breathing became faster and heavier, “Bella... don’t fucking push me!”

There was a moment of silence between them as they glared into one another’s eyes until Isabella put her arms around Leo’s neck and jumped up into his arms. Their lips urgently crashed into one another, leaving the couple breathless, “This doesn’t change anything...” Leo grunted as his hands firmly caressed the petite brunette’s ass before he roughly pinned her to the adjacent wall. Isabella through her head back as her King peppered her neck hungrily with kisses, running her fingers through his sandy blonde hair until she grasped it in her hand pulling Leo’s head back to look at her before kissing him again passionately. Their tongues intertwined with one another as Leo pressed his body weight against the Laurentian beauty, holding her in place as he ripped open her chiffon blouse exposing her bare breasts. “Hey!” Isabella began to protest, “I liked this blouse!” but Leo began to kiss her again whispering, “Shut up...” against her lips before kissing her again. Isabella reached out and hurriedly unbuttoned Leo’s shirt, keeping his tie around his neck. Leo moved his hand as Isabella slapped it away barking at her husband, “Leave it!”

Stumbling his way across to the couch, Leo walked into the table holding the Crystal with Isabella’s heel knocking over the decanter and a handful of glasses, both of them so preoccupied to notice the noise as they smashed against the floor. Leo threw the petite brunette onto the couch and pulled off her shoes, firing them over his shoulder before running his hands up her thighs, feeling the buttery texture of the leather. Taking both her pants and thong off in one single rough pull, a growl left the Laurentian Kings throat as Isabella reached up, swiftly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers. Isabella beckoned Leo to sit before manoeuvring herself to sit on his lap to straddle him. Leo clenched his jaw as he groaned, feeling her wet core running against his already hard throbbing member. Isabella sat up, grabbing Leo’s thick shaft in her soft hand and lowered herself down until he was fully sheathed.

Isabella bit down on her lip as she whimpered, the feeling of fullness made her eyes roll back before she began to slowly bounce up and down on her husband’s length but Leo couldn’t help himself; he began to buck his hips in rhythm with the Laurentian beauty, roughly fucking her as his fingers gripped tightly onto her hips. Isabella wrapped Leo’s tie tightly around her hand as she pulled on it hard, bringing him forward towards her. Her dark chocolate brown eyes burned with a desire he’d never seen before, trying so hard not to moan out in ecstasy. Isabella gasped as Leo smacked her ass hard with a furrowed brow “That’s pay back for slapping me!” Isabella clenched down on her teeth as she seethed, “I still fucking hate you right now....” tightening the tie around Leo’s thick muscular neck even more as her core’s walls began to tighten around his member. Leo began to pick up the pace, mercilessly thrusting into the petite brunette as she dug her long, crimson red manicured nails into his muscular shoulders, scratching into his tanned skin.

Leo grunted as he felt the sharpness of her nails dragging against him, groaning loudly as both he and Isabella began to come. Isabella began to scrunch up her nose, immediately getting up from Leo’s lap, picking up her clothes and getting changed. “What... no cuddles?” Leo sarcastically quipped as he ran his fingers through his hair, watching as Isabella had to tie her blouse in a knot to close it over. The room fell quiet once more as Isabella tucked a piece of her long, chestnut brown hair behind her ear before looking over her shoulder towards the newly crowned King, “No...” she spoke bluntly, “... Natalia and I will be leaving tomorrow with or without you...” Leo began to shake his head as Isabella walked towards the door, “And don’t even fucking think of coming to bed... you can sleep here because I really don’t want to look at you any longer...” The Laurentian Queen slammed the drawing room door behind her, leaving Leo in an awkward position, but the question was, did he want to work on his marriage or not?

[welcometoels]

Session Eight - Erano

Last session, after cutting a swathe through the castle guards, Gyder came unexpectedly face to face with Erano - the man who killed her husband.

Needless to say, this proves to be an emotional event for Gyder.  She demands answers, but he responds only with an infuriating smirk and some cryptic insinuations about the many other faces he’s worn.

She responds with her best conversational motivator - a couple of sturdy blows with her greataxe.  While it hits true both time, Erano seems to shrug off most of the damage.

As this plays out, a few other minor skirmishes take place elsewhere in the castle.  Freginald finally knocks out the priest blocking his passage from the Arena, and follows up with a powerful blow to the cell guard, knocking him down too.

The way now clear, X and Julius rush through to the Arena to assist Kadis and Talion.  X springs up to the balcony using her magical boots, while Julius deploys his uncanny shapeshifting ability to become a giant spider, crawling up the stone walls.

Kadis deploys his staff. knocking down the king’s guard that had been assailing him, before being brought back to full health by X’s Sune-graced touch.  Talion skewers the other remaining king’s guard through the shoulder, before splitting into a multitude of confusing mirror images.  Whilst the guard is distracted, Kadis whacks him firmly across the back of the head, putting him down.

Outside the Arena area, Oddsock conjures up another one of his plans.  Having heard Gyder’s conversation from upstairs, he dashes to her side and presents his Ball of Compulsive Throwing to Erano, before rushing back to the furniture golem.

Erano, unable to resist the allure of the Ball, undergoes another transformation.  His body shifts again, becoming more lithe; his hair recedes and is replaces by a pair of huge, curling horns; his skin deepens into a rich, blood red; and finally, a pair of leathery wings sprout from his back to bear him away.

Gyder takes a swing at this new creature, again hitting squarely but doing little damage.  As the creature descends the stairs, it is set upon by the golem, and is pinned down by a hefty dining chair on its shoulders, and a footstool on its legs.

The beast struggles and curses, so Oddsock plants himself firmly on its face while he waits for Gyder to come and ask her questions.  She descends the stairs and confronts the creature, though its responses are somewhat muffled.

Oddsock shuffles back onto the dining chair and fixes his huge, soft brown eyes upon the creature.  Between his charm and Gyder’s threats, the thing that was formerly the Advisor, and latterly Erano, agrees to provide answers.

It is a concubus - similar to an Incubus or a Succubus, but at neither end of the gender binary.  Back when Gyder was still a soldier, her troop passed through its hunting grounds, and it seduced and replaced one of them.  That one was not the target.

It had set its sights on Gyder’s husband, Vali, but he had rejected its advances and deflected its attempts at charm.  Infuriated, it killed him.  When Gyder happened upon them, it presented her with a new face and a name to haunt her, by way of a petty revenge for denying it of its quarry.

It fled into the darkness, only its yellow cloak visible as it did so.  Gyder hunted for Erano ever since, unaware that it was merely a mask worn by something entirely else.

Gyder is distraught at this news - that her husband was killed in a moment of jealousy - and lashes out with her axe, cutting deep into the creature’s flesh.  It just laughs at her, however, and with its remaining strength, casts off the weight of the furniture golem.

Spreading its wings, it moves to flee again, but X appears at the top of the stairs.  Once again channelling the power of Sune through the red braid in the middle of her forehead, X released a silvery bolt from the fingers.  It strikes the concubus hard in its back, and, with a final shriek, it disappears, leaving nothing but a yellow cloak.

Gyder slumps to her knees and begins to sob.  X rests a hand upon her shoulder, which Gyder covers with her own.  They rest for a moment, silently.

As Talion, Kadis and a friendly spider descend the stairs, the group is joined by Freginald and a familiar guard - Dandy Bianco.  Dandy reflects on the carnage before him with a sanguine attitude, accepting that the team had no other option under the circumstances.  He mere asks - and is granted - passage to leave with his horse Melonballs.

As he goes, he expresses his intent to buy Kadis a drink one day, having been somewhat charmed by him before being rendered unconscious.  Kadis begins to speak, then thinks better of it.

Talion spots the decapitated body of King Lord upon the floor, and takes this opportunity to relieve it of its finery.  He places the crown upon his head at a jaunty angle before sitting down and playing a Song of Rest to the group, to help ease their troubled minds.

After he has finished, Kadis presents the lantern from the balcony to the group.  It is still thrumming after its contact with the stone floor, and is clearly magical in nature, its gem-like body glowing softly.

Oddsock pushes his nose against it, but succeeds only in making it slightly moist.  When Talion touches it, though, he

Smells the sharp fragrance of sea spray

Feels thick, gritty sand beneath his feet

Hears nearby thunder, and a song he never thought he’d near again

Reflecting for a moment, he takes the lantern and stuffs it into his pack.

Continuing his run of kleptomania, he makes a grab for the concubus’ cloak, but is frozen by a dire look from Gyder.  She picks up the cloak and cuts a strip from it.  The material is thick and unyielding, but she removes a long piece, which she ties around her axe before throwing the rest to Talion.

Julius drops back into his natural form and scouts through the rest of the building.  He discovers a few well-worn weapons and pieces of sexy armour, a heavily bloodied deck of cards, and a small cache of dried meat and fish.  He takes only the food, and then checks upstairs.

Oddly, he finds a door on the far side of the balcony that leads into empty space - just a 40 foot drop to the forest below.  Freginald explains that this is only part of the whole castle, which is why there was no exterior gate.  He is, it transpires, a prince, though he never felt a connection to royal life.

A few weeks prior, part of the castle was transplanted from its usual location, along with Freginald, the Advisor, a few guards and a scruffy individual he’d never seen before.  The concubus used its allure to bring the guards into a revolt, imprisoning Freginald and installing the new King - though the Advisor was the true power.

Now both are gone, Freginald is keen to move away and start a simpler life.  He’s also interested in getting to know Talion better, outside of the Arena, which Talion does not seem against.

Leaving the castle, the group finds Zeriah and Em outside waiting.  Em is one again in a different form - this time with pale skin and long, flowing red hair.  She is the very image of the goddess Sune, which does not go unnoticed by X, who stares at her as her cheeks become a deeper green.

Zeriah offers to help the team return to town, since he would like to see the place that his new friends have been calling home.  Before he can even finish speaking, Oddsock has splayed out across Em’s couch and dozed off.

Gyder mounts the cycle end of the wagon again, and X and Kadis sit behind her.  The team find a couple of the guards’ horses and ride them, with Julius behind Freginald and Talion riding splendidly on his own, his new cloak dancing upon the breeze.

As they ride away, the mimic golem collapses back into its constituent parts and scurries off through the forest back to the former Mortesque mansion.  Zeriah spots Talion’s cloak, and informs him that it is made of mimic hide, and can change colour upon the wearer’s will.  Talion, afraid of upsetting Em, goes to remove it, but Zeriah persuades him not to, as it would be better to honour the creature’s skin by continuing to wear it, rather than to dispose of it.  Em nods her agreement, and the group rides on.

It is deep into nighttime when the riders return to Dogwood, and the town is near pitch black.  The group are naturally concerned that the town will not react well to a half-couch woman arriving suddenly, but Em has a remedy for that.

The couch falls into two - after Julius has lifted a sleeping Oddsock from it - and part of it forms into a woman’s legs.  A dress descents from her shoulders, and with a swipe of her hands she creates a scarf across her mouthless face.  The rear of the couch becomes a suitcase, and the illusion is complete.

Gyder and X go to bed down in their usual spot, while the rest of the group enters the Jaunty Skinner, and Freginald drops a fistful of mixed coins upon the bar to cover a round of ales for everyone.  Tiatha gladly complies, and relates to the group the odd encounter she had with a pile of raccoons who wanted to run the Chamber of Commerce.  Oddsock, suddenly awake, wants to know more, but she just smiles enigmatically and tell him he can find out for himself in the morning.

Inspired by the vision from the lantern, Talion brings out his lyre and serenades the drinkers with his signature song - The Ballad of Araniel, a stirring composition about the last of the song dragons.  Unlike his more recent performances, this one flows from him with ease, bringing the inn to an awed silence, followed by rapturous applause.

Barty rustles up some hearty food for everyone, with the meat and fish that Julius acquired, before everyone retires to bed.  Julius snuggles up by the main hearth with Oddsock and Rupert the fey weasel, while Zeriah sleeps on the couch (provided by Em) in Kadis’ room.  Talion bunks with Freginald, though a veil is drawn over whatever takes place in there.

Sleep comes easy to the party, though Kadis has his usual nightmare.  At first, he sees the face of Zeriah in the murk, but then all is tentacles.  The compass face has changed again, and the only lights are in the east, and a larger one in the centre.

Upon waking, Talion again hears the voice - “just one more”.  Freginald turns over quizzically from where he was being spooned, and the veil drops once more.

Julius is first to leave the inn, and leads Zeriah and humanoid Em to the shop.  In the dawn light, it is clear what Tiatha was alluding to last night.

Two shops now stand, both with signs over their entrances.  The newer of the two reads ‘Jackie & Clutchstraw: Potions & Artifices’, whilst the older building is “Dogwood Trading Post”.  Beneath the latter sign is a familiar sturdy stick, once side planed flat, and written upon it is ‘Presented By Oddsock’.

Inside the trading post, instead of the Dwarf Grum Swabspud, they are enthusiastically greeted by Jackie Face.  As he explains, Tiatha decided that the town did not need a Chamber of Commerce just yet, but someone with chutzpah and dedication could help get them ready for the wider world. And so, this Jackie has taken over from the traumatised Grum, who relished the opportunity to flee south to an easier life on the farm.

Julius makes the necessary introductions and disappears into the shelves to search for books.  He finds a couple of slim volumes - one on medicinal herbs, and one on sea shanties.

Whilst shopping, Julius reflects on his new knowledge, his experiences as both a wolf and a spider, and the strain this puts on his magic.  He feels a newfound understanding of the druidic craft, and a need to know more.  He fetches up the herb book for himself, and the shanties for his friend the bard.

He agrees a very reasonable price with Jackie face, who has also made an agreement with Zeriah to supply the town with eggs.

As they leave the shop, they are confronted by X, who is holding a bunch of wildflowers.  She goes to say something, and stops, then to say something else, and stops again.  She then thrusts the flowers into Em’s hands and runs away.

Oddsock emerges from the inn next, but is halted by a squeaking from his pack before he can venture forth.  Finding a sunbeam to rest in, he brings out Tim the stuffed dragon and settles in for a gnaw.

The world drops away from view and Oddsock’s patron emerges from the darkness.  Once again, he is very pleased with the hound’s progress, and with a gentle boop, he gifts his charge with additional power.

With business concluded, the patron asks how the new beer was received.  Oddsock confirms that Elvish people proved very keen on its golden fruitiness, as expected.  They decide to market it as Elvish Juice.

The patron then presents Oddsock with another four pack of ale.  This one is stronger and hoppier, and designed to quench the thirsts of hard workers.  Oddsock agrees to conduct more market research.

The world swims back into view, and Oddsock goes to see the Jackies in their new potion shop.  He is greeted at the front by Aberron, behind a wooden counter.  Half of the shop is filled with odd and sods of bits of metal and wood, and half finished projects.

Over on the other side, a still has been constructed, and four industrious raccoons busy themselves around it.  They greet Oddsock with a harmonised “wotcha!”, and the rotund Jackie Bottom fills him in on the situation.

After Jackie Face agreed to take over the trading post, he made sure his brothers were set up to pursue their alchemy.  Aberron, having just awoken from a nap following a marathon session of working, agreed to build them a still, and has since been amazed by their ability to work it.

Oddsock congratulates them on their newly acquired premises, and offers them one of his new beers.  They sample it and, though they appreciate the craftmanship, it does not appeal to them.  They save a little for Face to try, and bid a synchronised farewell to their pal.

Talion leaves the inn next, intending to apologise to the priest Eno Graysect for the punch to the face he provided the previous day.  He passes the two horses they rode into town on, and a third horse with enormous testicles.

On the way, Talion also begins to feel a greater welling of power.  The song he performed, and the one he heard in his vision, fill his mind, unlocking the door to more potent bardic arts.

Eno is not especially keen to speak to Talion, and ensures that he remains several feet away.  This is fine, until a certain dog implants a message into his mind, encouraging the bard to suck his finger and put it in the priest’s ear.  Eno responds badly to his attempt and shoos the Half-Elf away, before locking himself into the chapel and returning to his cake.

Kadis remains at the inn and meditates.  He too is feeling more powerful, having tested his fighting skills thoroughly and creatively in the Arena.  Woe betide the next fool who finds themselves in the way of his apples.

After all that had happened to them recently, they deserved a nice rest.  It’d be a shame to spoil that.

See you next session.

[bearly-writing]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, implied Roman Sionis/Jason Todd - Relationship, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Black Mask Additional Tags: Child Abuse, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Slade Wilson, Protective Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Parent-Child Relationship, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Except Jason isn't a baby, Good Parent Slade Wilson, Good Parent Dick Grayson, Minor Character Death, Blood and Injury Series: Part 3 of SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Summary:

"Most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten."

In a world where Robin doesn't exist, Deathstroke and Renegade are asked to train Black Mask's latest recruit.

A super late entry for the @sladerobinweek Weekend prompt Accidental Co-Parenting.

It isn’t the first time Deathstroke and Renegade have been asked to train one of Black Mask’s new lackeys. As good as Sionis is at what he does, he isn’t a fighter, and he certainly isn’t anywhere near the level of the two highly-trained mercenaries. The man can handle a gun decently and even Deathstroke can’t deny that he has a talent for inflicting pain, but actual fighting skills? Well, he wouldn’t last long against anyone that Deathstroke has trained - even those without any natural aptitude.

But one of Sionis’ better skills is knowing when to delegate and Deathstroke, no matter what, is a mercenary at heart. Black Mask pays good money for them to turn whichever new passion project he deems worthy into something worth keeping around. Not that Black Mask tends to actually keep them for long. It’s a dangerous job, being one of Black Mask’s soldiers and even being trained by the best can’t keep them safe from Sionis’ boredom.

So there’s usually a new one every other year or so. Both Deathstroke and Renegade are used to it by now, and the money is good, even if it usually means having to take a few weeks - or months, depending upon how much instruction is necessary - out of the rest of their work. Dick kind of looks forward to it. Sometimes it’s nice to spend time with new people. Even Slade can get boring after a while.

Still, most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten.

“Little small for a fighter, isn’t he?” Slade asks, mirroring Dick’s thoughts exactly. There’s none of the judgement Dick feels in his tone though. Deathstroke’s own moral line in the sand can be a little blurry at times but it doesn’t pay to be judgemental in this line of work.

Despite that, Dick can feel his own disapproval rising in the back of his throat. With Black Mask looming behind him, one hand clasped on a thin shoulder, the kid looks tiny. Even the expensive suit Roman has wrangled him into can’t disguise the fact that the boy is way too skinny. When he lifts his head to glare at Deathstroke - brave, Slade will like that - Dick can see a dark, wine-stain bruise purpling his eye, the yellow edge of another peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

“I can fight,” the kid snarls, all bravado, even though his hands are trembling where they’re fisted against his thighs.

“Yeah?” Slade steps close enough to reach out and catch the kid’s chin between long fingers. The kid flinches and Roman’s hand moves possessively to the back of his neck, but Deathstroke has never been afraid of Black Mask, Dick knows. If Slade wants to touch, Roman won’t stop him. “That how you get that bruise?”

The kid jerks his head again but Slade’s doesn’t let him go. There’s a flash of fear in the boy’s eyes that makes Dick’s stomach turn uncomfortably. Renegade is used to fear, but not like this. Not from a child.

“Little Jay fell down the stairs,” Roman says, before the kid - Jay - can answer. His tone is full and indulgent. When he looks up from Jay’s scowling face, his smirk is an invitation, an offer to share in his little inside joke. It sparks something sour across Dick’s tongue. He’s never liked Roman.

“Didn’t you, pumpkin?”

“Yeah,” Jay mumbles. Dick thinks he would drop his gaze if Slade wasn’t still holding onto him. Instead he settles for glaring at the mercenary with impressive heat. “I’m clumsy like that.”

Slade just hums. He tilts Jay’s head from side to side like someone examining a horse. Dick half expects him to lift Jay’s lip up and look at his teeth.

“We don’t train kids,” Dick says, eventually, because it doesn’t look as though Slade is about to put a stop to this. And there’s a lot of things Dick will do for Slade but not this. Training a kid to become a killer - a killer for Black Mask - isn’t something even Renegade is comfortable with.

If Black Mask’s expression changes, it’s hard to tell. But Dick thinks he stiffens a little. Thinks his fingers might tighten where they’re pressed over the back of the kid’s neck. The kid grunts, caught between Deathstroke and Black Mask, but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can’t tell if it’s because he’s too afraid or if it’s because he isn’t afraid enough.

“You train who I pay you to train,” Roman says, pleasantly enough, but with an edge of warning.

That finally makes Slade drop the boy’s chin. The kid immediately drops his gaze, then seems to think better of it, lifting his eyes to watch Slade warily. It’s obvious that he considers Dick a lesser threat.

“You haven’t paid us yet, Mask,” Slade says in equal warning. “How old is he?”

“Old enough.”

“We’ll decide what’s old enough,” Dick snaps. “How old is he?”

It’s probably not a good idea to lose his temper with the man who pays a substantial amount of their paycheck, but Dick is tired of Black Mask thinking he owns them. Thinking he can snap his fingers and they’ll come to heel. He’s tired of working with Black Mask’s men - of having to deal with all of the useless, arrogant assholes that a man like Roman Sionis employs. Or worse, having to watch the ones he actually likes be utterly destroyed by the man in front of him, for greed or power or sometimes just for fun.

Dick doesn’t want to help him destroy this child.

“I’m twelve,” the kid says, before Roman can answer.

Dick almost does a double take. With the kid’s size, he had expected younger than that. But then, this wouldn’t be the first child stunted by a lifetime in Gotham.

There’s a considering silence then. Dick wants to refuse again but he knows he’s already spoken out of turn and Deathstroke might not be Roman Sionis, but he doesn’t appreciate being shown up by his subordinates any more than Black Mask does. Still, Dick wishes there was a way they could speak in private, so Dick can let him know exactly how much he hates this idea.

“It’ll be double the usual amount,” is what Slade finally says and Dick feels his heart sink in his chest. That means the man’s mind is made up - if Black Mask pays up, they’ll have to train the kid no matter Dick’s objections.

“Double?” Mask scoffs. His grip on the kid hasn’t loosened. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Take it or leave it. You know no one else will train him the way we will. But if the price is too steep feel free to take him elsewhere.”

“He’d better be the best Goddamn fighter in the business,” Mask growls.

Slade only smirks, even as Dick’s stomach twists itself into a painful little knot. That’s settled then - Dick never really had a chance if Slade had made up his mind, but Dick honestly hadn’t expected him to agree to it. It’s not as though Slade has ever shown any real interest in kids before - even his own. It’s not as though they need the money.

“Be a good boy then, sweetheart,” Roman says, finally relinquishing his grip on Jay’s neck.

He strokes a hand through the boy’s curls in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers tighten hard enough to have the kid whimpering, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. There are more bruises there. Dick can see black stripes that look like finger-marks, purple and green smudges that could be anything but that make his stomach roll.

“When we’re reunited, you’re gonna be something special, baby. So don’t fuck this up. You don’t want to disappoint daddy, do you?”

“No sir,” the kid grits out, voice small and strained.

Roman hums, then he leans down and presses a mocking kiss - or as much of a kiss as he can give without any real lips - to the kid’s forehead. Jay goes rigid but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can see him shaking.

Finally, Black Mask lets go of him. For a moment, the kid just stands there, clearly unsure what’s expected of him. Then Sionis gives him a harsh shove that has the kid stumbling.

“Go on sweetheart,” he says. The kid doesn’t look back at him, but Dick can see the tension in his shoulders. “Be good.”

⁂

Slade gives the kid the same speech he gives everyone they take in to train. No special treatment here. The whole time, the kid is quiet and sullen, but he’s clearly listening attentively to Slade’s little speech. Dick follows behind them whilst Slade leads Jay on a brief tour of the compound. There’s not much to show: a communal kitchen, a shower block, and a bare guest bedroom. The only area of any importance is the dojo and training room. It’s where Jay will be spending most of his time with them.

“We start training at 8am,” Slade explains. He sounds bored, apathetic. But Dick knows he’s watching the kid carefully. “Breakfast is from six. Evenings are your own free time. Do with it what you will.”

“Anything?” The kid asks.

“Within reason,” Slade clarifies, obviously catching the look in his eyes. “And you can’t leave the compound.”

It’s not a rule they’ve ever had before. Dick is a little surprised by the concession to the kid’s age, even if it is as minimal as not letting him run off on his own, Slade hadn’t seemed like he cared.

The kid scowls, obviously unhappy with the ruling. Is he just annoyed at having Slade exert his control? Or had this been a chance for the kid to slip Sionis’ leash? Something cold tightens Dick’s stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of holding the kid here against his will. Likes the idea of keeping him prisoner for Roman Sionis even less.

“So I can’t do anything then?” The kid grumbles.

Slade’s eyes narrow. It’s a look that Dick’s had directed at him countless times but the kid seems to quail under it in a way Dick never has. Not that that’s a surprise exactly, very few people can stand up to even a mild look from Slade.

“You can train. Let’s start now. Take off your shirt and jacket, Renegade will show you the ropes.”

Dick shoots Slade his own narrow look. None of this is unusual - they almost always do the introductory spar with Dick as a way to test their current abilities. And Dick usually enjoys it. He likes to show off, likes to get a feel for the people he’s going to be training with for the next few weeks. Likes the excuse to beat on the arrogant assholes that Sionis usually employs. But he doesn’t like the idea of fighting a twelve year old - especially not one as small and scrawny-looking as the kid. Slade must know that.

Still, with Slade it’s best not to voice your displeasure too openly. The man can be surprisingly petty. So Dick doesn’t put up any more of a complaint.

The kid shucks his suit jacket immediately, following the command as if he hasn’t even thought about it. But he hesitates when he gets to the buttons of his shirt. Undoes the button at his throat, then does it back up again, biting his lip and throwing Slade a nervous look. His fingers are trembling.

“You can leave the shirt on if you prefer,” Slade says, eventually, when it’s obvious that the boy is just going to stand there. It’s another uncharacteristic move on Slade’s part - usually, if he gives an order, he expects you to follow it. Somehow, Dick hadn’t expected him to be soft. Slade doesn’t hurt kids, but he had agreed to this - Dick has so rarely seen him make concessions before.

The kid lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief, some of the tension softening out of his shoulders, before he turns his focus on Dick.

“This is just to get a feel for how you move,” Dick tells him. He circles the kid as he says it, taking in his form, his size, the way he’s holding himself, trying to figure out how best to start. “We don’t expect you to know how to fight right now, but it’s good to get an idea of how you move. What your instincts are.”

Jay follows Dick with his eyes, twisting to keep him in vision, but otherwise doesn’t move. He’s so stiff that he’s trembling. Dick doesn’t have to be an expert in body language to read the anxiety in it.

He strikes.

All in all, Jay isn’t a bad fighter. There’s no strategy to it, no real thought, and definitely no expertise, but his instincts are good. It’s painfully obvious that the kid has no training, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way around a fight. He can take a hit. Can deal them out too, when Dick leaves himself purposefully exposed. And he isn’t afraid to fight dirty.

It makes sense with what Dick knows about the kid - even more sense with what he can guess. Most likely, Jay had to look out for himself on the streets before Black Mask took him in; he fights like a street rat, all dirty tricks and mindless desperation. Dick’s seen it before.

It’s something they can work with.

By the time the fight ends, Jay is drenched with sweat. The expensive shirt he’s still wearing is so damp that it’s sticking to him, moulded against too-skinny ribs. The wet strands of his curls are practically dripping. His movements, already wild and unpredictable, turn frantic. It allows Dick to catch the kid’s arm when he makes a poorly-timed attack that leaves him open, gripping his wrist and using the leverage to force Jay to the floor.

For the first time in the fight, Jay flinches. A sharp, wounded sound bursts out of him even before his knees hit the floor. If it weren’t for his own training, that might have had Dick letting go. Instead, he tightens his grip, losing himself to instinct and muscle memory as he follows Jay to the ground, twisting his arm behind him in a loose pin and pressing a knee into the small of his back to keep him there. Jay goes stiff beneath him. The only movement is the heave of his ribs as the kid pants for air, otherwise surrendering himself to Dick’s hold.

Then, tight and panicked: “Get off me.”

Dick lets the hold drop immediately, sitting back on his heels and lifting his hands in surrender. He’s won the fight. There’s no need to lord it over the kid. Jay had done well, even, all things considering. And Dick remembers that sharp little noise of pain the kid had made when Dick had grabbed him. The way Jay had flinched at the grip of Dick’s fingers when he’d taken all the previous blows with barely a twitch. It makes Dick’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, as the kid pushes himself upright.

Jay scowls. “No,” he snaps. But Dick can see the way he’s cradling his wrist in one hand, his face tense with pain.

“Let me see.”

Dick reaches out but the kid draws away from him. There’s such naked fear on his face that it takes Dick’s breath away. It’s gone almost as soon as it comes but Dick pulls away anyway.

“Don’t lie.” Slade is suddenly looming over them. He snatches the kid’s wrist in one huge fist, pulling him half off the floor, ignoring Jay’s pained squeak. “Hiding injuries gets you killed out in the field.”

Jay struggles, but if he’d lost the fight to Renegade, there’s no chance he’ll overpower Deathstroke. Slade just drags the kid’s sleeve down his skinny arm, ignoring the weak protests. The skin revealed is pale and smattered with bruises. A dark ring of them circles the kid’s wrist, some of them an angry purple, others faded to sickly yellows and greens. Dick’s stomach clenches. There’s no way his hold caused an injury like that - this is something the kid has had for a while. Something inflicted on him again and again if the variation in colour is anything to go by. Some of those bruises are at least a week old. Some of them are clearly fresh.

Slade doesn’t let go of Jay’s wrist, but there’s a sudden tension to his face as he eyes the marks on the kid’s skin. It’s difficult to tell with Slade, but Dick can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same hollow disgust in his gut as Dick is. Someone has clearly hurt the kid and not in the controlled way Dick was just moments ago. Those marks aren’t from any training Dick has ever been a part of.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Dick knows exactly what Black Mask is like. Knows exactly the sort of thing that man is willing to do. It’s hardly a shock that Roman is a child abuser, along with every other terrible thing the man has done. He’d asked them to turn Jay into a killer, after all. And they had agreed to it.

“Any other injuries?” Slade asks, and his voice is softer than before, although Dick thinks he can only tell because of the years they’ve known each other.

“No,” the kids lies. He tugs against Slade’s grip, his face twisting when there’s no give. “Are we done here?”

For a moment, Dick thinks Slade might call him on it. There’s little doubt in Dick’s mind that there are more bruises under the sweat-drenched cotton of Jay’s shirt. He remembers the kid’s hesitance to remove it - thinks now that it was probably more than just self-consciousness. Slade doesn’t like to be lied to. Likes being disobeyed even less.

But, for whatever reason, Slade doesn’t. He releases his grip on the kid with a grunt, letting him slide back to the floor. Jay stays there, a crumpled little heap, watching Slade from under furrowed brows.

“Go clean up,” Slade growls. “You’re done for tonight.”

Jay scrambles to his feet with the air of someone who’s been pushed out the path of a speeding truck and disappears before Slade can change his mind.

⁂

“Why did you agree to it?” Dick asks, later, once they’ve turned in for the night.

Slade hums as he pulls his shirt over his head. From his position on the bed, Dick gets to watch the muscles of his back slide and flex as he does so, scarred skin bared to the dim light of their room. Normally, the sight would have heat fluttering low in Dick’s belly. Tonight, he’s too angry to really appreciate it.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Slade throws back, as he slides into his side of the bed. The mattress dips heavily with his weight. Cool air brushes against Dick’s skin as Slade disturbs the blanket, settling it over his own legs. “The money’s good. You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“They’ve never been twelve before,” Dick snaps, icily. In the privacy of their own bedroom, Dick isn’t afraid to let his opinion known. Slade might not like to be shown up in public, but he’s never begrudged Dick an argument when they’re alone. Sometimes, Dick thinks his temper is one of the reasons they work so well together. Slade wouldn’t want to lose that.

“It’s no different from any of the others we’ve trained.”

“Yes it is, Slade, and you know it.” Dick crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling like a child himself, angry and petulant under Slade’s heavy gaze. “He’s a little kid and now we’re training him to be a killer. It’s not right.”

Slade is silent for a moment, as if he’s actually considering that. Then, “You were a kid when you started.”

Dick’s shoulders tighten. “Yeah, and look how I turned out.”

Slade hums again. Then he shifts, leaning across the space between them to press warm lips against Dick’s jaw. Despite everything, Dick still melts at the touch, eyelashes fluttering, some of the tension sliding out of his muscles.

“You turned out perfect,” Slade murmurs. Those hot lips ghost across Dick’s skin, leaving little tingles of desire in their wake, until they’re moulded over his mouth. Dick sighs into the kiss. Lifts a hand to Slade’s throat and rests his fingers there, feeling his pulse beating against Dick’s palm. Then he uses his grip to gently push Slade away.

“Says you.” But he can’t help the little smile he can feel tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, it’s different. You gave me a home, a life. Black Mask is going to destroy that kid and we’re helping him do it.”

Slade is still close enough that Dick can feel the huff of his breath against his cheek. His single eye gleams in the dim light as it flickers over Dick’s face, taking in whatever it is the man sees when he looks at Dick. Then he sighs, a hot gust across Dick’s skin, and pulls back a little further, breaking Dick’s grip. Immediately, Dick misses the heat of him so close.

“What do you think would happen if we didn’t agree to train him?” Slade asks. “What do you think Black Mask would do to a kid who he doesn’t see as worth keeping around? Do you genuinely think we would help the kid by refusing?”

Dick grinds his teeth hard enough that his jaw aches, because Slade is right - he knows Slade is right - but it doesn’t make the situation any easier. Knowing that this is the best of a bad bunch doesn’t exactly ease Dick’s conscience.

Strong fingers stroke over Dick’s jaw, loosening some of the tension there. Then they slide around to cup the back of his neck, massaging at the muscle before gently tugging Dick forward, against Slade’s chest. Dick lets himself relax, tilting his head up to nuzzle against the older man’s throat.

“I hate this.”

“I know,” Slade murmurs.

Dick can feel the vibration of it through Slade’s broad chest and it stirs something in his gut. When Slade presses a kiss against Dick’s temple, Dick turns his face into it, slipping his tongue out almost immediately to run it over the seam of Slade’s mouth. The older man opens himself up to Dick with a groan. Warm hands slide up Dick’s side as he twists to straddle Slade’s lap, tunneling his own hands through Slade’s white hair. The solid weight of Slade between his thighs always does something to him. It’s why they almost always end up fucking after sparring.

“Dickie,” Slade breathes, dropping a wet kiss to the curve of Dick’s collarbone.

Dick shivers, tilting his head back to allow Slade’s mouth access to the span of his throat. Lets out a soft little moan as Slade nips at the skin beneath his jaw and-

The door opens.

It’s quiet, but neither Slade nor Dick got where they are without developing an obsessive awareness of their surroundings. The soft sound of the door gliding across the thick cream carpet might as well be a shout. Beneath Dick, Slade stiffens. Dick is already sliding off of his lap, twisting to face the intruder. He isn’t concerned, particularly, because he knows who’s going to be standing in the doorway before he even turns around. If they were dangerous, they wouldn’t have just waltzed through the door.

Still, he is a little annoyed at being interrupted. Jay hadn’t even knocked. If he’d walked in just a little bit later, he might have got an eyeful.

“What do you want?” Slade grunts, low and dangerous.

It’s difficult to see the kid’s face in just the dim light of the bedside lamp, but Dick sees him stiffen. Can see that he’s trembling even though half of him is still hidden behind the door. It’s obvious that the kid is frightened. Dick frowns. Did he have a nightmare? It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was unsettled, but Dick finds it hard to believe that the kid would come to Deathstroke and Renegade - practical strangers beyond the knowledge that they're going to train him to fight - with this sort of vulnerability. Is twelve too old to be crawling into someone else’s bed? Dick stopped being able to seek comfort like that when his parents died - long before that age - and he hadn’t been able to again until Slade had first taken him to bed, well after he’d reached adulthood.

Jay doesn’t answer but he does step into the room, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He hesitates for a moment, shuffling his feet, his hands twisting in the material of his shirt, until Slade growls and he startles, covering the rest of the distance to the bed in a few quick steps.

“Jay,” Dick tries, bemused. “What are you doing?”

Because the kid is pulling his pyjama top up over his head, discarding it carelessly on the floor as he clambers up onto the bed. Dick gets a brief look at the determined set of the kid’s jaw before he’s crawling into Dick’s lap. One hand settles on Dick’s blanket-covered thigh. The other clutches at his shoulder as Jay leans up to press his lips against Dick’s throat.

Dick pushes the kid away automatically, instinctively. One moment, Jay is a warm, uncomfortable weight in Dick’s lap, the next he’s lying on his back at the foot of the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. Shock tingles like electricity through Dick’s veins. For a long moment, all he can do is sit there in stunned silence.

Jay doesn’t move either. Not until Slade shifts, looming up over the bed, dragging the kid upright by the arm and shaking him lightly.

“What the hell was that?”

The expression on Jay’s face as Slade pulls him to his knees is pure fear. Slade looks huge in the darkness, kneeling on the bed in only his boxers, Jay tiny in his grip. Despite knowing that Slade wouldn’t hurt him, Dick can’t stop the clutch of fear in his own chest. The kid looks so small. So easily hurt.

“What?” Jay gasps, cringing away from Slade, although he doesn’t try to pull free from his grip. “I thought…”

Slade growls. “You thought what?”

“Slade,” Dick interrupts. He can’t sit here and look at the terror on the kid’s little face any longer. Whatever Jay had been trying to accomplish - and Dick’s mind keeps stalling over that because the idea makes Dick feel sick to his stomach - manhandling him like this is not the way to respond to it. “Let him go.”

There’s another perilous moment where Slade’s grip doesn’t loosen. Where the kid stares up at him with huge, wet eyes and Dick’s heart throbs on his throat. Then Slade drops the skinny arm in his fist and the kid sinks back against the bedsheets with a scowl.

“You said you wanted double,” Jay says and his voice is tight. There’s a hint of a whine to the words, as if Dick and Slade are being unfair. “You said...I thought…”

He crosses those skinny arms over his chest. The movement draws Dick’s eyes to all the pale skin on show - the hint of ribs visible even in the semi-darkness, the jut of his collarbones, the dark bloom of bruises. If it hadn’t already been clear that the kid was lying earlier, this is all the proof they need to know he is injured.

Because the bruises are everywhere. Littered up and down his arms - and Dick swallows thickly at the knowledge that Slade has probably contributed his own there - splashed across his ribs, dotted over his throat. There are more braceleting the kid’s wrist - a matching cuff to the ones they had found earlier. Still more staining the crest of his hips, sneaking under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Dick feels suddenly, violently ill. Has to tighten his throat against the horror surging through his chest. The sheer volume of bruises is bad enough but it’s everything else they imply that has Dick’s stomach clenching painfully.

Jesus, Dick had known Roman was bad but this...this is something else.

“You thought we wanted you as payment,” he manages, squeezing the words through the tightness of his throat. They sound....odd, even to his own ears, strangely distorted.

Jay shrugs, a sharp, jerky movement, scowling so hard that moisture leaks out of the corner of his eyes - not proper tears, but on the edge of them.

Slade leans away from him and the kid flinches at the movement before going still, stiff and trembling like a rabbit under the jaws of a fox. Dick can’t even blame him - the fury on Slade’s face is frightening.

“I don’t rape children,” Slade growls. “Or anyone.”

Jay’s head jerks, his expression transforming with surprise. “It’s not -” And even in the darkness, Dick can see the kid’s face flush, red blooming across his cheeks and chest. “It’s not - “

“What isn’t it?” Dick asks, gently. Nausea claws at the base of his throat, but he manages to flatten most of it out of his voice. This is not a conversation he ever wanted to have. This is not a situation he wants to be in.

Jay’s face scrunches up again. “It’s not rape!” he shouts. Then he starts to cry.

Dick’s heart breaks. He wants to reach out so badly. Wants to pull this poor little kid into his arms and soothe away his distress, his pain. But he knows that his touch won’t be welcome. Not right now. Not considering the kid had, just moments ago, believed that Dick and Slade were going to hurt him.

Slade sits back fully on the bed, making himself smaller and less intimidating in a way that Dick remembers from his early years with the man, putting more space between them. “Why not?” he asks and it’s as gentle as Dick has ever heard him.

At first, the kid is crying too hard to answer. It hurts to listen to - huge, gasping sobs that sound as if they’re being wrenched from his chest, little whimpering cries that he muffles with his fist. Tears stream over his red cheeks, streaking all the way down his neck, over all those terrible bruises.

Then, in a small, hiccupy voice: “I owe you, for - for the -” a wet swallow “- the training. I owe you.”

“Oh Jay,” Dick whispers, at the same time as Slade growls, “You don’t owe us anything.”

The kid sniffles, scrubbing a boney, bruised wrist against his eyes. The tears don’t stop, still leaking steadily down his face.

“Is that what Roman told you?” Dick asks, swallowing against his revulsion. “That you owe him for taking you in? That it makes it OK for him to touch you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me.” Jay’s voice is still small and wet, but there’s an edge to it too. Dick cant tell who he’s angry at - Dick, Roman, himself, the world. “Nobody does shit for free and I ain’t got anything else to give him. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go with him. I’d be - I’d be doing worse on the street.”

Somehow that doesn’t make Dick feel much better. Somehow, knowing that a twelve-year-old had been forced to make the decision between Roman Sionis and starving to death on the street, only makes Dick feel sicker.

“Get that shit out of your head,” Slade says, gruffly. Dick can tell he’s as disturbed as he is, despite all the shit Deathstroke has seen as part of the job. “You don’t owe anyone anything, OK kid. Not us and especially not Roman. Your pedo boss owes me a lot of money and I owe him a bullet in the head.”

Jay flinches at that but he falls silent, barely even sniffling. He scrubs at his face again. Stares at the blanket with wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dick tells him. Then, taking a risk, he brushes the back of his hand across the kid’s wet cheek. Jay doesn’t pull away - in fact, he leans into the contact, his eyelashes fluttering, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Go back to bed kid,” Slade says. “Forget this happened.”

Jay bites his lip, looks between the two of them quickly, like he’s looking for something, before sliding off the bed. He hesitates at the door. “It’s Jason,” he says, softly. “My name’s Jason.”

Dick’s heart hurts.

⁂

Jason stays with them for longer than anyone has before. It’s not that the kid is a slow learner or a bad fighter or anything like that. Jason is actually good at the training. He’s smart and eager to please, young enough to absorb correction but with a solid enough foundation that they aren’t starting entirely from scratch. Usually he would have been out of there in a few weeks - a month at most - but Jason has been with Deathstroke for over two months now and it’s getting harder to justify why.

The thing is, Dick doesn’t want to give him back. Not to Roman. Not to the life he knows is waiting for the poor kid. Dick couldn’t justify allowing that to happen to any child, but Jason - he’s grown on Dick in the time he’s been with them. Dick likes him. Yeah, he can be a brat, annoying and mouthy and rude. Yeah, he can throw tantrums, kick and scream and yell (although only with Dick, never with Slade, he notices). But the kid can also be painfully sweet. In his spare time, he likes to read. So ferociously that he’s gotten through a good portion of Slade’s library. He likes to cook too. Likes, most of all, to follow Dick around like a little puppy or an imprinted duckling. Slade too, sometimes, when he’s feeling brave enough.

It’s clear that the kid still doesn’t trust them. Not fully. He never initiates contact with them unless it’s required for training. He still flinches at sudden movements, cringes and cowers if he thinks they’re angry at him or he’s done something wrong. Dick can’t imagine him ever asking for a hug or wanting to hold their hands. But he’s still a kid. A sweet, sad, traumatised little kid. And Dick can’t stop the slow, creeping knowledge that he’s starting to think of Jason as his.

“Will you read to me?” Jason asks, one night, crawling up onto the sofa Dick had been lounging across. When Dick sits up a little, the kid slots himself against Dick’s side, offering up the book for him to take and Dick is frozen for a moment by the shock of the contact.

“Sure,” he says, taking the book with one arm, letting the other one rest across the back of the sofa, not confident enough to actually put it around Jason’s shoulders like he really wants.

Jason falls asleep like that, curled against Dick’s side, Dick’s voice slow and steady as he reads.

After that, Jason seems noticeably less frightened. As if it was some sort of test that Dick managed to pass. It’s not as though he’s suddenly touchy-feely with them, but there’s a tangible easing of tension, a shifting in the atmosphere between them. Dick thinks, sometimes, that he could get away with a hug, if he caught Jason in just the right mood for one.

Only, it’s Slade who actually gets to hug him, in the end.

They’re working through pins and how to escape them - something that they’ve already gone over with Jason plenty of times - when it happens. During training, Jason never begrudges them the physical contact they need. He never flinches from the blows they throw at him either, even though sometimes he can be startled just by a sharp movement of Dick’s hand when they’re outside of the dojo. It’s the control, Dick thinks, even as it makes his chest throb a little, that makes the difference. If Jason knows it’s coming, he can prepare for it.

But this time when Slade pins him down, Jason goes stiff and silent. Slade sustains the hold for a minute, waiting for Jason to make his move, to pull himself out of whatever panic he’s suddenly sunk into, but the kid doesn’t surface. Even from across the dojo, Dick can hear his rough, panting breaths. The edge of fear in them.

“You alright, kid?” Slade asks, pulling away from Jason with careful movements. Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. With Slade no longer on top of him, DIck can see the kid’s face, the slackness of his expression, the way he’s staring blankly up at the ceiling without really seeing it. Dick’s stomach drops.

“Kid?” Slade reaches forward, as if he wants to grab Jason - to shake him maybe. Jason twitches at the movement, blinking rapidly as he seems to come back to himself. Dick watches his eyes flicker. Then his whole face crumples out of that scary blankness into something agonised. He looks terribly, awfully young,

“I don’t want to go back,” Jason whispers. The words hitch, like he’s trying not to cry, breathed out on a shaky exhale.

Dick watches Slade’s face soften. Feels his own crumple to match Jason’s as devastation blooms, hot, behind his ribs. Then Slade is reaching out with one muscular arm, pulling Jason up against his chest. Surprisingly, Jason lets him, limp and pliant in Slade’s grip.

“I know, kid,” Slade growls. He lifts one hand to tuck Jason’s face against his neck, settling himself cross-legged on the floor and shifting Jason around until he’s held more firmly in his lap. Jason sniffles, one little hand reaching up to fist in the material of Slade’s shirt. It’s a surprisingly paternal gesture from Slade. Dick isn’t sure if he can remember the last time Slade was so soft with someone beyond the confines of their bedroom. Isn’t sure if he can even remember Slade hugging him back when he was a kid and the man had been everything to Dick. He must have done, at some point. Dick has always been clingy.

Either way, it touches something deep in Dick’s chest to see the man he loves embracing the kid so gently. Slade’s soft side is something rarely seen, but treasured. And seeing Jason accept comfort like this is a rarity too. One that Dick wants more of.

“Do you think we’re going to let you?” Slade asks, rubbing his bristly chin over the top of Jason’s head. “Knowing what that bastard’s done? Do you think we’ll let you go back to him?”

Jason shrugs jerkily, sharp little shoulders shifting in Slade’s grip. He’s started to fill out in the time he’s been here - building up muscle where before there was just skin and bones - but the kid is still too skinny.

“Where else would I go?” he asks, voice small and wet. “I- I’m Roman’s.”

Slade growls. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself kid.”

“And you’ve got us,” Dick adds, moving across the room to crouch beside them, not content to be left out of the moment any longer. Jason twists to blink up at him with wet eyes, peering out from where he’s pressed against Slade’s neck. “You can stay here as long as you need to, Jason.”

Dick lifts his chin to meet Slade’s gaze as he says that, daring him to disagree. It’s not that Dick expects him to hand the kid off to Roman, but offering him a permanent place here is something they haven’t discussed. Dick is stepping wildly out of bounds with that declaration. But Slade doesn’t seem annoyed. The skin around his eye crinkles with something that might be affection as he steadily meets Dick’s gaze, as if Dick has done something particularly cute.

“I can’t,” Jason whispers, dropping his eyes down to where Slade’s thick arm is curled around him. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Dick says, just as softly. “I won’t let Black Mask take you back, Jason.”

It will be the end of this lucrative little agreement between them, but they’ve never really needed the money. And Dick has never liked Roman. This is no loss to him. If the alternative is sending Jason back to the man who raped and abused him, well….

Dick isn’t going to let that happen.

⁂

“You can’t be serious?”

Slade shifts, looming menacingly over Roman, despite being several feet away from him. In his full armour, Slade always looks enormous. In his fancy little suit, Roman looks a little like a child playing dress-up beside him.

“Deadly.”

“What?” Roman sneers, clearly wrong-footed but trying to claw back control, “You train him up and now you want your own little assassin?” His eyes slide to Dick, cold and cruel. “The old model isn’t good enough for you, anymore?”

“My motivations are none of your concern, Roman,” Slade growls. “I’ll waive payment.”

It’s hard to read Roman’s expressions behind that eponymous mask, but Dick can see the tension in his body. The way his muscles bunch, as if he’s considering actually attacking Slade - as if the mobster could go against Deathstroke and Renegade on their own turf and actually have a chance of winning. Roman has his body guard, of course, and probably a good number of guns on his person, but he’s never going to beat Slade. Especially not with Dick as backup. Not that Slade would need it.

“That kid is mine,” Roman snarls. “I dragged the little slut off the street and gave him everything. If you want your own little whore because the old one got too big for you, fine. But you’re not getting this one.”

Slade moves almost before Roman has finished speaking, drawing his katana in one fluid movement to press it threateningly against Roman’s unprotected throat. The mobster’s arms jerk, as if he means to grab for his gun, or maybe push Slade away from him, but Deathstroke is a solid mass on top of him, immovable.

“Don’t try my patience Mask. I should take your head off for what you did to that kid. Whatever our dealings in the past, I don’t take kindly to rapists.” The blade of his sword presses a little harder into Roman’s throat. Hard enough to draw a little trickle of blood when Roman swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under the threat. “Even less kindly to pedophiles.”

Roman sneers again - or maybe that’s just the only expression he can pull, with a face like that. “That’s rich coming from you. Everyone knows you’ve been fucking that one since you took him in.”

Slade snarls like an angry dog. The muscles of his arm tense and Dick sees exactly what’s about to happen a moment before it does.

Roman’s head hits the ground with a dull thud before anyone can react - not Dick or the useless body guard. Blood sprays up into the air in a thick wet swathe. It soaks Slade, his hair, his beard, drenching the front of the armour. The bodyguard takes one look at him and turns tail. Slade doesn’t bother chasing him. Neither does Dick.

“Did you have to?” Dick asks. But he can’t find it in himself to be too disapproving. Just thinking about the bruises Jason had quells almost all of his ire. It’ll be a pain to clean this up - both the physical mess and the political one that’s going to follow this move. Still, Dick can’t find it in himself to care.

Slade shrugs, an effortless movement of his muscled shoulders. “Now he’ll never touch another kid again. Don’t tell me you’re not happy about that.”

Dick shrugs too. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that he can’t stop. The knowledge that Roman will never touch another kid - never touch Jason - again makes him so happy he’s almost dizzy with it.

“You’d best clean up before we tell Jason what happened.”

“Why?” And Dick kind of wants to kiss the smirk right off Slade’s face. “He’s going to have to get used to a bit of blood. He’s part of the family now.”

Family. Dick can’t stop grinning. He likes the sound of that.

[theblackwarden]

The winds had settled.

The tides had stopped.

The birds had stopped coming.

The quiet had covered the Bastille for some time.

Had countless kingdoms risen and fallen? Or has it only been a lifetime or two since these stone walls had welcomed their grand resident? There was no way of knowing.

In the tower, in his quarters, leaning back in his chair, was the Black Warden, unchanged in his appearance since...well. He had long been unable to remember a beginning. But there he was regardless, once an infinite void in the shape of a man, total and undeniable in its absence of all things desirable. 

Once.

A tattered scarf brushes against the heavy blue robes draped across a man’s large body. Sometimes in the man’s work, the scarf gets wrapped up in the wrong places and he must adjust it whilst no one peers. His gloves had always been so slightly painful to put on, enough to perturb but not to replacde. The interior of his robes is thick, soft fur, which provides a warmth and texture the man has always silently appreciated.

His eyes - deep blue like the bottomless watery grave below or like the infinitely open sky above - look at the ceiling with a lack of focus that they have rarely ever known.

With a creak of his chair, the man gets up and walks down the stairs.

The guards have stopped serving. The experiments have stopped moving. The prisoners have stopped wailing. Outside the tower’s windows, not a single soul stirs. The man notices it not. All he sees now are his thoughts dancing about him like half-remembered dreams.

As he walks across the bridge, long empty and abandoned of even the hollowest creatures, what thoughts fill his mind? Justice? That word so ingrained into his soul? Did he now listen to a vile orchestra of his own making, one of pitiful screams, proud judgements, and rattling chains?

No.

It is a background hum. He sees it as a shadow in the corner of his eye. He would so often feel it as he occasionally does the robes against his sin.

Surely this was blasphemy? An abandonment of his ideals, a disrespect of his being, a terrible sin that must be punished with all the unforgiving wrath of the roaring sea!

The sea was quiet.

If not his most inner purpose, then what thoughts took his attention now, what memories swirled in his mind, what, what, what?!

Nervous smiles. Hungry grins. Long avian beaks and teasing smirks in the face of danger. Mage outfits dirtied by journeys too fantastical to name, scanty sorceress pieces that promised comfort but smelled of the harsh sands, nondescript rags that betrayed the immensity of their owners’ souls, metal masks with blue eyes, and ancient robes topped with a golden crown atop a beautiful porcelain face, and all the garbs in between.

As he walks past the cells he knew so well, the man half-hears proud laughter and amused scolding from an ancient teacher, the melodious voice of a stranger with a hidden face and a long branch of a staff, the endless preaching and cackling of one very stubborn priest, promises of vengeance, promises of fun, and the questions, oh, so many countless questions from the ether, all so interested in what lay behind the veil of one man’s simple black cloth mask. With so much vitriol had he always responded, yet he had kept those memories close, like with a lover in a silent tenderness, and it is indeed silent now.

As the man pushes open doors of unfeeling steel, in the theater of his recollection, he feels the warmth of a forgotten princess, the cold of sharp blades, the churning of agonizing poison, the churning of that delightful poison named alcohol, his fists against flesh and their fists against his.

He had long been unable to remember a beginning. But at some point, in between the visits of these intruders, when he was alone in his hallowed halls, he...he had begun to look at the port. The gates. The windows, for the more dextrous. He had found himself waiting.

When did it happen, dear old warden? When did you begin looking forward more to the negligence of your duties? When did you stop sneering at the sound of footsteps not your own? When did their visits stop filling you with a deep dread? When did you stop squeezing your whip as a child does with their toy?

The whip. He had lost it. Not the first time. But with every occasion, it had taken him longer and longer to find it, requiring the painful task to sift through the immensity of this prison. His stride had turned into a walk, and his clenched fists into open palms. He had said he would do it, but at some point, he supposed he had simply stopped looking.

His boots crunch against the grass now, or what is left of it. He walks up, up, and up, to the top of a cliff. The wind is gone. The tides are gone. The clouds are gone. The birds are gone.

He wonders when they had stopped visiting. When had he begun that last waiting period that would stretch out into eternity? When was the last time had he heard footsteps and voices echoing in the halls? In the absence of the faces he knew, when had he stopped trying to capture every intruder that came in, when had he simply observed from a distance, when had he offered the useful items and keys and aid he had hoarded over the years simply to hear these strangers’ voices? To see the gratitude in their face? To simply hear their greetings and thanks? But eventually, even that eternally masked and immensely powerful prisoner down below did fade, and so too did the strangers’ visits. So too did their voices.

Atop that high cliff over the all-swallowing sea, he wondered when he had last heard any voice at all.

The sea is quiet.

And for the first time in a long time, the Black Warden realizes that he is quiet. That his own voice has not touched these halls for what may have been days, years, eons. But what is there to say? He had always been a man of action, not words. And indeed, there was one last deed he must do.

It terrified him to his core.

A part of him begged not to.

And yet.

 He walks down the stairs on the side of the cliff. His long scarf grows heavy on his shoulders, and he undoes it for the last time. As he walks through the moonlight, he realizes that his head-covering had always itched against his face. How had he never noticed it before? He vaguely remembers treating it as an adversity to endure for strength; what foolishness. He lets down his hood and a strip of black cloth falls from his face and onto the ground over which he steps.

He breathes in the full sharp air of the Lost Bastille he had known for so long.

And then he stops.

There it is, before him.

A single door. Simple, fragile, and unlocked. A door so unremarkable it was forgotten by all who had ever used it. All except one.

He stands there for some time. His body shakes but there is no chill wind. His breaths are heavy, but not a single sword is raised against him. He bites his lip, but there are no enticing promises around.

He takes a step back, he must admit. And another. Another.

And he wonders when he had begun looking at the port and waiting to see a familiar face come by.

His hand presses against the steel door. And with a trembling body and a shocked gasp, he pushes it open.

When he steps through, it is with the utmost caution and bated breath. His eyes dart all around, and yes, for some moments, he wishes he had kept his whip with him. And then he takes another step. And another. And another. And another. One at a time. Terrified with each one. But a step regardless.

And after the most grueling minute of walking in his life, he finds himself standing on the wood of a port. A single boat floats in the water before him, left behind by one of the last souls to cross through.

And the Black Warden looks behind him.

A grand fortress of stone stands tall in a vain attempt to block out the rays of the moon. Implacable stone hides the brittle wood within. Cells exist to trap visitors inside, as if to confess that its contents were so hideous that none would dare desire to stay. And after all these years, these lifetimes, these aeons and the times beyond, it had kept one prisoner.

Yes. 

 This was his prison, wasn’t it? 

The most captured man is he who has trapped himself and declared freedom.

This had always been his prison. And to think he had so proudly declared that statement so many times before. He wondered if a small part of him had known what truth had been deeply buried in such a small, simple phrase.

A nameless man sits in a small boat. The tides have long gone, and yet the boat moves, as the man somehow knew it would. These are strange lands, after all.

A nameless man clutches his robes tightly, appreciating their warmth and wondering if he would ever feel the warmth of another again. All things considered, he does not see why not.

A nameless man watches as one island, the same as any other, shrinks into the distance, its stone towers being watched for the last time.

A nameless man smells the salt of the ocean and listens to the subtle parting of the waves.

A nameless man, same as any other, no stronger and no weaker, no grander, no more important, lays down in his nameless boat in a nameless sea.

A nameless man stares at an eternal night sky that seems to never go away, a total blackness in all directions.

A nameless man wonders if he’ll ever see those faces again.

A nameless man goes through the sea for what may be weeks or eternities.

And eventually.

 A nameless man feels the sun’s rays upon him.

[fireandseaweed]

Sea What I Did There? || Caspian, Percy and Wally

Caspian, Percy and Wally find somewhere safe for the Greeks to train.

Percy scanned the water as he willed the small dingy that they’d acquired . They’d snuck out of the city hours ago and set up a small campsite to wait for nightfall. He didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing and as they zoomed towards the middle of the lake he kept his voice low. After his tussle with Fergus the Romans were running regular patrols through the lake and under the cover of darkness he hoped they wouldn’t get noticed. “I’m going through the plan one last time,” he said in a voice that’s barely a whisper, “we get out of the boat, Caspian and I will take us to the bottom of the lake, Wally you’re responsible for getting rid of the boat, just sink it, we won’t need it to get home.” He looked at Wally. “I’ve got you, I’ll make sure you’ve got enough air so don’t worry.” He’d learned how to create bubbles of air with Annabeth, but the size of the bubble wasn’t something he was necessarily confident about.

Caspian sat in the boat, hand dragging through the water as they moved along the surface of the lake. He’d much preferred to have been in the lake, swimming alongside them, but they needed the time in the boat to go over the plan one last time. Caspian had heard about the beast that appeared in the lake, in fact, the Naiads had stopped him from investigating, and after reading the paper that day, he had been meaning to ask Percy about it. He wondered if any dangers still lurked beneath the crystal surface. He sure as hell hoped not. He nodded as Percy explained to Wally and added in Greek, “I can always help with that as well.” He knew that Wally would probably trust Percy, but he just wanted to give some reassurance. “And to get things straight, you and I are going to move the water away whilst Wally does his magic?” Caspian knew that it would be no easy feat, but with Percy there, he was sure that the two of them would handle it. It was for a great cause anyway.

Wally eyes scanned the lake, looking around for any potential threats, be it the Romans or supposed sea monster that lurked within the depths. He hadn’t seen the video that the paper discussed, but wasn’t sure what to think of it. He wanted to ask Percy about it, but hadn’t gotten the chance. Right now, he was giving the boat some cover in the form of a heavy fog. Thankfully, creating the fog wasn’t something that much energy. Wally had his hands laid out towards the water, purple light glowing around his palms. He looked to Percy, nodding softly with a smile. “Done and done. Sinking the boat shouldn’t be a problem. And yeah, Caspian, if you can manage it, I’ll take more air.” He looked back out to the lake. “Correct. It’ll take me a bit of time to do everything, but as long as you guys can work your fish magic, I can do the rest.”

Percy gave them both a reassuring smile. “I’m glad that we’re all in understanding,” he replied with a bright smile and a vigorous nod, “we’ve got a lot of work cut out for us, but there is no one else in this city that I would’ve trusted to do this with me.” As they arrived at the point he’d worked out was the middle of the lake, he double checked that they were in the right place before stepping out onto the lake. Walking on water was his favourite place to stand, he felt just like Jesus. Holding the water still around him with his mind, he forced a depression in it and watched as he began to sink into the water. By the time the depression was waist deep, he paused before nodding for Caspian and Wally to get in. “Okay, we’ll do this together Cas,” he said with a smile before forcing their bubble of air deeper into the water.

Caspian watched as Percy stepped out onto the water. He smirked and thought that Percy was sort of a show off when it came to these things. He jumped off the boat and joined Percy, huddling close so that they didn’t have to make a bigger bubble. He helped Percy, forming the water around the original shape. His eyes closed as he imagined the water doing as he willed. When he opened his eyes again, they had reached the bottom of the lake. It was weird for Caspian, he’d been here before, but not dry, not breathing air like they were now. He wanted to reach out and step into the water, it called for him. But he had a duty to help his friend and Uncle and it required all his concentration. “Can we start making the area larger by pushing the water away? How much space do you need Wally?” He looked up at the blonde magician, remembering the shell that never truly worked properly. “If I had my trident this expertise would have been a slice of cake.”

Wally looked over at Percy started to walk on the water. “Percy of Nazareth, everyone. Our lord and salty savior.” He remembered the story where the man had fallen into the water when he didn’t put his faith into Jesus, in that Jesus would save him. Wally had no reservations as he stepped out onto the water. He looked back at the boat. The fog had begun to clear, now that he wasn’t focusing on conjuring it. Wally cupped his hands, eyes beginning to glow. Sparks of green light shot off in his cupped hands. “Obliterate,” he said in Greek, releasing the green lightning at the boat. In seconds the entire wooden raft was turned to dust. All that remained of it were bits of smoke from the blast. After that, down under the lake, Wally looked around. “I gotta say you guys, this is really creepy. Can you guys like . . . make it brighter or anything?” He took a few steps around and then raised an eyebrow at Caspian. “If we’re gonna be training everyone we can, I’m gonna need a lot of room. At least the size of . . . two regular sized classrooms? I’ll get started. Just keep expanding the size of the perimeter.” From the bag Wally had brought along with him, he pulled out a single scroll. Wally let the scroll unravel, floating in mid air. As it lay out, items appeared, laid out along the parchment. A wand, stones, some crystals and his book of spells.

Shrugging gently, Percy couldn’t help but smirk. “What can I say? He was a demigod, I’m a demigod too. We’ve obviously got a lot in common.” It was just like Wally to make him laugh at such a serious time was one of the reasons that they had gotten along so well. Percy had honestly expected Wally to put a hole in the boat. It seemed a tad extra to do it his way, but Percy had to admit that it was effective. As he and Caspian worked to get them to the bottom of the lake, he pulled water past them and dragged their air bubble down with them. With Wally’s comment on the darkness, he pulled out a load of flares and dropped them on the ground. “We’ll get a better source of light setup once we get all the enchantments in place that will stop this place from flooding.” He smiled gently and looked around himself before reaching out with his mind and beginning to push the barriers outwards, the water swelled gently before beginning to flow away. Reaching out with his mind, he continued to force the water out, slowly taking a step away from Wally as he did so. He could’ve done this on his own, but that would be unnecessarily tiring when he could get his nephew’s help.

Caspian had lived under the ocean his whole life, thus, he was able to perfectly fine in this lighting. Sure, it wasn’t as bright as it could be due to nightfall, but he could still see pretty well. He has no idea if this because if his father's powers in him, or if his eyesight had just adapted. So when asked about the lighting, he found it sort of unnecessary, but before he could say anything, Percy had whipped out a flare and lit it up. Caspian squinted as the flood of light hit his eyes that had adapted to the darkness. “Sure. That shouldn’t be a problem.” He replies to Wally before working with Percy to expand the boundaries. He reached out with his mind and willed the water to move away from where they were standing. As the wall of water receded, he took a few steps forward, but the wall of water seemed to push back, letting his feet sink deeper into the sand below them. Of course it would do that, the amount of pressure would increase the more they displaced the water. Despite the water pushing back against him, Caspian still had this and was determined to play his part, pushing the boundaries further and further than their starting point.

Wally sat on the sand, placing the unrolled scroll onto a large rock embedded into the earth. Wally raised his hand and used his powers to let the stones rise up and float. The moved out, following the water as it extended. “May Mercury bless this sanctuary and let us not to be seen,” he said calmly. “Athena, embolden us to use our wit and not be dumbfounded. Vulcan, for as strong as your weapons, make this fort just as such.” His eyes began to glow and violet mist poured from his hands, drifting among the sandy surface. All around him, the ground started to vibrate as he imagined what he wanted to happen. “Poseidon, God of the Seas and Earthshaker, help us now. Watch your son and grandson work their powers. Watch over us in your guided space. Let these waters offer protection, security.” The stones that were following the edge of the water suddenly slammed down into the earth. Wally pressed an open palm to the sand and more energy poured from his body, traveling deep beneath the sand. He began to speak in Greek, his voice having changed. There was an echo behind his voice, making it sound like two people were speaking from him. Where the stones had dug into, cracks in the earth formed, leaving the sand to sink into it. Wally looked to Percy, his body shaking a little. Before he could finish the spell, his mind's imagination helped to finish the rest. For each stone there was, a pillar began to rise from the sand. The pillar wasn’t just a slab of earth. Each had four corners, perfectly square shaped with designs running down itself. The pillars together, in greater viewing made it look like there was an empty rectangular space on the lake-floor. After the pillars, the sand continued to sink, but now it was everywhere around him. In replace of the sand, what was left was a smooth, flattened out marble floor. It was clear by just looking at Wally that he was giving too much energy away. That’s where the crystals came in handy. One by one they rose to float around his body, acting as batteries for him. They glowed on and off, giving him an extra surge of power. He was almost done. The foundation and formation had been created. Now he just needed to seal it and add the protection charms.

Determined to create a space where he could teach his friends and family, his fellow Greeks, how and why they needed to protect himself. Percy wondered if there had ever been a more important cause before. It of course occurred to him that he would always think that his current cause was the most important one he’d ever had, but that was hardly important right now and he was sure that Annabeth would have something to say about it. It was obviously better addressed later. As Wally grew magical pillars, Percy felt them take some of the weight and put his foot on the proverbial pedal. As he too seemed to sink backwards into the sand, he shuddered as he used every ounce of will to force the walls of water backwards. He knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until Wally finished the spell, and to make sure that it was safe before he brought people out there he would need to be extra careful. Speaking Greek, he shouted to the other two, sweat trickling down the side of his face and soaking his back. “Good job, we’re nearly there guys.” Encouragement was important to leadership. At least, he’d always thought so.

Caspian didn’t dare look back at what was happening behind him but he was curious as to why the ground was shaking. It had disturbed his footing and he struggled to maintain his force against the water. It was if Caspian had started making his own bubble, water almost washing over his head and into the cleared spacing. He had been focusing on too much of a small area instead of the bigger wall of water. He shifted his will power to extend out more, and instantly felt the strain. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and soon enough he’d collapse from exhaustion. The one thing that kept him going was the fact that this area was for a good cause, something that Caspian actively wanted to take part in. That and the fact that Percy was counting on him and there was no way he could let his only family down. The stain evident on his face, he called out, “I hope so, I don’t —“ He was interrupted by the need to take a deep breath and push harder, “ I don’t know how much longer I can hold this Percy. I’m third generation Poseidon, so I’m not as strong as you.”

Wally looked over at his friend and newcomer. He wasn’t sweating like them, not exerting the physical type of energy they were, but he probably wouldn’t make it back to his apartment without passing out. Wally hadn’t told Percy this, but this was the biggest thing he’d ever done with magic. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be capable, but knowing that the Greeks had no one else to help them out, Wally forced himself into believing that he was strong enough. As the pillars finished rising, a veil of soft light formed between all of the pillars, looking like curtains being moved by the wind. The pillars would keep the water from rushing back in, while the veil of magic would act as an illusion and distract any outsiders. Wally took his hand off of the ground and lifted his wand. As he traced symbols in the air, the strength of the veil grew stronger; and as it did, Wally lost everything he had left in him. “It’s . . . It’s done,” he said, blinking hard and fast. “You guys can let off.” And with that, Wally fell back, the crystals hanging in mid air around him following too.

Percy had to admit that he was glad that Wally had finished the enchantment when he had, otherwise he would’ve likely had to step in to help Caspian. Pulling a rucksack out of his bag he pulled out a canteen of nectar and threw it to Caspian. “Have a few sips of that and then give it to Wally,” he said pulling out some ambrosia and breaking it into three chunks. Handing them to Wally and Caspian, he bit into his own ambrosia. It tasted wonderful and energy seeped through him, empowering him and soothing some of the sores. “You guys were great,” he replied with a smile, “I couldn’t be more proud of two greeks then I am right now. That was really impressive, we literally moved a lake.”

Caspian became lightheaded and was about to pass out when Wally gave the word they could let go. He stopped using his powers and stumbled forward as the force of water stopped pushing back against him. He watched as the water washed in and sloshed against the new boundaries that Wally set up. He almost dropped the nectar that Percy threw at him and smiled sheepishly. Finally, something he knew from back home. He took a few sips and ate the ambrosia whilst handing it to Wally. While still chewing he walked over to the boundaries, wondering if they just help water out or stopped anything from passing through it. “Thanks Percy.” His voice hoarse and you could definitely see on his face that he had just exerted himself.

Wally had to drag himself to sit up and even that was difficult for him. He took the nectar and thanked Caspian. Tilting his head back, the first few sips tasted like sweet, fresh lemonade. A rush from the nectar passed over him, and the aches in his head started to get smaller. Then after a couple squares of ambrosia, Wally was able to stand without wobbling. “We uh . . . . well, we did it.” Wally looked around. For the first time in a long time, he was amazed by what he was able to do with his powers. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t believe I actually did it.” He looked to Percy and then Caspian. “We did a great job, you guys.”

Wrapping his arm around Caspian, Percy gave him a bright smile. “You did incredibly,” he replied gently, “you’re more than welcome and I am exceptionally proud of what you were able to do.” He took the canteen of nectar from Caspian and swallowed something that tasted exactly like the blue cola that they filled the magic goblets with back at Camp Half Blood. Or was it a beer? It changed every second in his mouth, tasting somehow better every time. Moving over the grate in the center of their bubble of water, Percy hauled the metal off of it and looked down at the water still in it. “Well, Caspian looks fucked so I guess I’ll do this, take a second and if you’re feeling up to it you can help in a second.” He smiled gently and took hold of the water in front of him before sending it rushing outwards and stepping into the tunnel. “Time to find out where this goes.”

As soon as Percy let go, Caspian walked straight through the barrier and into the soothing embrace of the water that surrounded them. He floated for a couple of seconds, eyes closed, before swimming back through the barrier, clothes soaked. He walked over to the tunnel and          followed Percy, joining in with his new revived energy. “I’ve heard the Naiads say that it’s dangerous and that’s all they know. They’re scared to come down here. But on the other hand, they all seem so negative and sad here anyway. It’s probably just rumours.”

After picking up his crystals and putting them back onto the scroll, he rolled it up with his wand and stuffed the scroll back into his bag. Wally threw the bag over his shoulder and started to follow the boys. “Lemme get some more nectar, please.” After they’d passed him some, Wally took another swig and looked around at the water. “Percy, what kinda fish are in here? Anything dangerous, like that uh, sea monster?”

Smirking gently, Percy laughed. “Don’t worry, if I could handle the sea monster the first time around then I’m really not worried about handling it the second time round with the two of you to help.” He slugged back some nectar too before stowing it in his bag and continuing down the dimly lit tunnel, every ten meters or so they’d have to force water further along the tunnel, but the passageway seemed to be winding its way under the lake and as Percy reached a grated entry point he pressed his shoulder against the rusted hinges until the door swung open. Stepping out into a clearing that was soaked with all the water they’d forced out the tunnel. “Now we just need to work out exactly where this is.”

Caspian worked along with Percy. The tunnels weren’t too wide so pushing the water out was an easy task for the two of them. They were lucky that the tunnel didn’t lead to other ones, if they had, perhaps they would have got lost. He sure hoped that these tunnels were like the labyrinth tunnels he had heard about at Atlantis, otherwise they’d never find their way back to the training grounds. As they reached the end, they emerged out into a clearing and looked around. “Don’t ask me, I can barely find my way from the Lake to Kol’s place or the cafe.” He started working on evaporating the water. If a guard walked passed and noticed the soaked ground around them, they might find the practice area.

Wally did as little as he could. That may sound like he wasn’t participating, but he’d just exhausted all his resources. The pride of what he just did however kept a small light of fire in him. He could go on and tell Lina, Elara and his coworkers what - oh, no, he couldn’t. Wally wouldn’t be able to tell any of them that he’d done something so amazing. He frowned at the realization that it would have to be a secret from his Roman blood. His ears picked up a familiar name when they entered the open area. “Kol? Like Kolby, son of Hephaestus? You know him?” Wally looked up and around. “I could try a small charm that would lead us up to the surface? I’m not sure how well it will work if we’re too far away. Here, lemme . . . “ Wally muttered the rest of his sentence and put a hand to the ground. “Spirits of old, be no longer cold. Those of earth and ground, keep us from being found. Lead us to our home, lead us to New Rome.” Wally felt a force pass over him and he had to take a knee for a moment. “Gods.” He had to keep from eating any more of the godly food, less he burst into a bright explosion. Appearing before them on the nearest wall was a soft light. It moved along the wall as a fine pace. Wally looked over. “There. Follow that.”

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Sand In Your Shoe (pt. 16) NSFW

Mickey wakes with a start. He is freezing cold and shivering. In the confusion between sleep and waking, his ears strain for the sound of Terry’s laboured breathing nearby and Mickey’s breath catches in his throat. A snore beside him brings him fully awake and Mickey exhales in a soft ‘whoosh’, swallowing heavily.

He rolls over and raises a bleary half-smile at the human caterpillar beside him, completely cocooned in the quilt. He tries to tug the edges of it over to his side of the bed to no avail. He attempts to roll Ian and finds that the hundred sixty-pound man he went to bed with seems to have doubled in weight and is now immovable.

His phone tells him it is nearly six. He has managed to get maybe three hours sleep but that’s fine. In fact, everything is fine in Mickey’s world just now, despite being cold and tired, because he has just discovered that Ian is horrible at sharing a bed with someone and that almost certainly means he is out of the habit of doing so.

Finally, he gets out of bed and tugs on sweatpants, a zip-up hoodie, and a pair of socks and sits on the edge of the mattress, his head cocked and a sleepy smile on his face as he watches Ian’s chest rise and fall.

Mickey hovers uncertainly for a moment. He wishes that gentle affection came as naturally to him as it does to Ian because he desperately wants to tuck himself around the younger man and feel the weight of him against his body. Mickey can initiate bruising kisses and tightly gripped fingers, he can do bitten shoulders and thrusting hips, but the sort of cuddling Ian likes so much?

He bites his lip and rolls it between his teeth thinking. It has been a long time but he could do this with Ian once, had found ways to be softer, gentler, to give Ian exactly what he wanted and needed and enjoyed doing so.

Mickey pulls in a steadying breath and then settles himself on his side, curling as close to Ian as he can get and lays a hand on his hair, running his thumb over the short auburn lengths, admiring the perfect slope of Ian’s nose and picturing the smattering of light freckles that Mickey can’t see in the dark but knows are there as surely as he knows the tattoos on his fingers.

“I love you.”

He whispers. It feels so good to say it in the quiet darkness of pre-dawn, not trying to be heard or understood but just for the pleasure of speaking the words aloud. It takes a little while but eventually Mickey manages to fall asleep again.

*

Ian floats to the edge of sleep, dips below again and then breaks the surface with a groan. His alarm is ringing from the floor and his body reacts without much urging, leaving his mind free to struggle through the labours of waking. There is a heavy hand resting on his face and he lifts it away as softly as he can. Ian presses the centre button on his phone with his big toe. At last, his brain catches up. He becomes aware that he is naked but has the quilt around his shoulders like a cape and guilt joins the fray of his morning emotions as he glances at Mickey, bundled up on the bed fully clothed. Ian picks up his bag and rifles through looking for his medication. He knows he dumped them back in after taking them last night but the little zip-lock bag alludes his fingers and he up-ends the thing onto the floor in frustration.

The pill bag flops out and Ian hastily takes the dosage and holds them on his tongue whilst he looks round for something to wash them down. There is nothing except a half-finished bottle of beer and Ian grimaces as he knocks it back.

It is the most disjointed start to the day Ian has had in quite a long time but behind him there is a soft snore and the irritable confusion and bitter taste of flat-beer recede to nothing.  

Ian smiles warmly and creeps back to the bed. Mickey is on his side, facing the space Ian has just vacated. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his lips are slightly open, revealing a tiny glimpse of perfect white teeth. He looks so much younger with his face completely relaxed in sleep and Ian wants nothing more than to hold him and have Mickey wake up with Ian’s arms around him.

He hesitates, lingering at the foot of the bed. There will be so many days for them to wake up entwined together but maybe this morning, on their first morning after so long, Ian could do something a little special, a little more of the sort of thing Mickey likes.

Ian can be rough and he knows it drives Mickey wild but it seems a little to presumptuous to wake him like that.  It has been a long time but he could do this with Mickey once, knew him well enough to take liberties that no one else would ever think to take and thrill his boyfriend in the process.

After a moment’s further hesitation, Ian takes careful grip on one sock, eases it gently over Mickey’s ankle, and tugs it until it slides over the arch of his foot and off. He does the same with the other one and bites his lip at the next challenge.

Ian begins working the cuffs of Mickey’s sweat pants over his feet and once they are free, he edges the waistband experimentally over Mickey’s hips.

“Wha ...”

Mickey wakes with a grunt and lifts his head, blinking like a startled owl.

“Don’t move.”

Ian says softly and tucks his fingers more securely into Mickey’s pants.

“Should I ...”

“Shhh.”

Ian impatiently hushes him as the elastic slips over the curve of Mickey’s ass, exposing smooth, pale cheeks and the beginnings of a very powerful erection. Ian yanks the sweatpants off pulling, no longer bothering to be gentle. Mickey begins to sit up and Ian pushes him roughly back down.

“Put your hands against the wall.”

Ian begins to kiss up Mickey’s leg but as a hand settles in his hair, he stops and slaps Mickey’s wrist sharply.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

Mickey rubs at the finger outlines on the back of his hand and tries to glare at Ian accusingly but his pupils are huge, leaving only a slender ring of sapphire around the edge and he is smiling almost shyly.

“I told you to put your hands against the wall.”

Ian’s voice is calm and firm and Mickey’s tongue twists against the corner of his mouth in anticipation but his hands still hover over his chest not quite willing to surrender.

“Seriously? Where is this Fifty Shades crap comin’ from, Gallagher?”  

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Ian shrugs and resumes his kissing. The air above his head stirs as lettered fingers flutter toward his hair and Ian lunges up the bed. He takes Mickey’s wrists and presses them against the wall, hard before sliding down until they are practically nose to nose.

“Keep your fucking hands where I told you to keep them or I will get up and go and make us some coffee and you can jerk yourself off alone.”

Mickey lifts his eyebrows in pleasant surprise but does not move his hands from where Ian has put them.

“Fuckin’ tough guy this mornin’, huh?”

“Damn right.”

Green eyes narrow to slits as Ian grins at Mickey, kissing him with a fierce passion that leaves them both gasping.

“Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning.”

Mickey gives him a wonky smile radiating happiness that reaches all the way to his eyes.

Ian kisses his nose and shimmies back down the bed before making his way slowly back up again, occasionally nipping at the flesh of Mickey’s calves and thighs, biting a little harder the higher he gets. Every now and then, his eyes flick upwards to ensure that Mickey’s knuckles are still pressed to the plaster and each time they seem to have moved, Ian stops until Mickey repositions himself. The look on his lover’s face ignites a fire in Ian’s belly but he forces himself to take his time.

Ian begins to lap gently at the slit of Mickey’s cock, swirling his tongue in a way that has the older man arching his hips and grimacing in exquisite agony.

“Can I touch you yet?”

The question is cautious and a little breathless. It is not aggressive, cocky, or flippant but a genuine query. Ian finds himself even more aroused by that, and his own erection quivers against the bed frame. Ian shakes his head and smirks at the small whimper the refusal elicits from Mickey.

“No. In a minute.”

Ian reaches for the lube on the nightstand beside Mickey and is gratified to see the way Mickey’s gaze follows his movement, utterly rapt. Ian applies a generous amount to his fingers and Mickey lifts his hips without being told.

Ian works his way in, feeling the strong muscles contract and quiver around his fingers as he warms him.

Mickey’s his teeth are set so deeply into his bottom lip the skin has paled around them it contrasts beautifully with the flush that has risen in his cheeks.

Ian decides to reward him for playing along so well and finally takes him into his mouth fully, deep-throating him as far as he can and making up the shortfall with quick pumps of his free hand. Mickey’s breathing begins to quicken and Ian stops, lifting Mickey’s left leg onto his shoulder and applying more lube to his cock before positioning himself and easing the very tip of himself into Mickey.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Ian, I can’t …”

Mickey pants, he looks almost panicked and Ian strokes his balls reverently, teasing out the moment just a fraction longer.

“Go ahead. Touch me.”

There is a blur of pale skin and dark hair as Mickey surges up, thrusting himself onto Ian, reaching to twist his fingers into his hair and pull him forward, tongue gelling with Ian’s own in a kiss that leaves Ian seeing stars. When Mickey pulls back his lower lip is bleeding ever so slightly and Ian can taste iron on his tongue. His voice is deeper than usual, almost ragged in its urgency

“Fuck me! Give it to me hard Gallagher!”

Mickey is beside himself, all semblance of control gone and Ian follows his instructions gladly, his own composure finally slipping as he pounds into Mickey over and over again. He knows what Mickey wants and licks his lip before pulling Mickey’s head back, forcing him to hold Ian’s gaze

“You like that? That what you want, bitch? You like my dick in your ass?”

“I fucking love it!”

Mickey’s eyes are wild and Ian knows he is close, his hand drops back down to Mickey’s cock and works him hard and fast. They last for a few heartbeats more, then tumble over the brink of ecstasy together.

*

“Holy fuck.”

Mickey laughs breathlessly, smoothing the sweaty hair at Ian’s temple.

“Was that okay?”

Ian looks up from his place on Mickey’s chest and grins as Mickey rolls his eyes

“Did I give any indication that is wasn’t fucking okay?”

“No.”

“Well then don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

Ian chuckles and kisses Mickey’s nipple, settling comfortably. He loves how easily Mickey slips back into himself after something like that. No discussion needed, no awkward power shift, it is just easy.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah, but in a bit.”

“Sure.”

Mickey kisses Ian’s forehead and wraps his arms a little bit tighter around him.

“Love ya.”

It is said casually but seems somehow more poignant for it and Ian finds the words just as effortlessly

“Love you too.”

It is the perfect start to the rest of their lives, a moment that will blur into others over the years but for that morning; with the sound of gulls and fishermen drifting in on the breeze, it is complete and it is everything that either man had ever dared hope and more.

*

Later, as they are getting dressed Ian picks up one of his boots and laughs

“Man, I got half the beach in here.”

“Yeah that happens, after a while you don’t notice.”

Mickey nods sagely as he towels himself dry from the shower.

“Really?”

“Yeah and you’ll never get it all out. It’s a pain in the ass but that shit’s there for life now.”

Mickey grins and shrugs at Ian’s frown, walking over and wrapping his arms around him.

“I always thought it was kind of like you. You’re the sand in my shoe, Gallagher.”

Ian rolls his eyes and grins, ducking to kiss Mickey’s smiling mouth.

“I can live with that.”

*

Mickey goes to make coffee and Ian takes his time getting ready before following him downstairs.

The sun is shining, it is a beautiful day and Mickey is at the bottom of the beach steps, crouched in front of a little girl, who can be no more than eight years old. She carrying a basket of bread almost the same size as her and beaming at Mickey with obvious adoration.

“How about that one?”

“Seventy Pesos. I told you!”

“C’mon! I’m a regular customer! You can’t do sixty?”

“No!”

The girl giggles and shakes her head fiercely, dark curls bouncing around her ears.

“What about if I take a bite out of it?”

Mickey pretends to grab at the loaf he wants and she snatches the basket back, clearly familiar with this routine.

“Seventy! Seventy! Seventy!”

She chants in a sing-song voice and Mickey holds up his hands in mock-defeat before fishing in his pocket for the cash.

“Jeez! Okay! You never hear of bartering?”

“No. Hustle or die!”

“That’s right, kiddo! But if your Ma asks, I never taught you that.”

“Mama says you are naughty!”

“Mama is right. Say hi to your Pa for me, ok?”

“K.”

The girl hands over the loaf, and briefly bumps fists with Mickey, before turning on her heel and marching back down the beach. Ian cocks his head to the side and watches Mickey follow her progress with a vaguely protective eye. It is both heart-warming and heart-breaking to see Mickey being so great with a kid who is basically Yevgeny’s age. Ian does not think there is much coincidence surrounding Mickey’s obvious fondness.

“Hey!”

Ian calls and Mickey scrabbles to his feet, grinning at Ian almost guiltily

“Cute kid! Who is she?”

“Yeah, she’s the Churro guy’s little girl.”

Mickey runs a hand self-consciously through his hair as he climbs the steps, pulling a small chunk of the loaf off and holding it out to Ian.

“Want some? Still warm.”

“Do I get something else first?”

Ian raises both eyebrows and then rolls his eyes at Mickey’s slightly confused expression, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a deep kiss, his   tongue thrusting impatiently against Mickeys.

“Mmm. Damn! You ready to go again, Gallagher?”

Mickey runs his free hand lightly down Ian’s chest, his nostrils flaring in appreciation. Ian smirks but lets go of Mickey and steps back. The morning’s events have chased away the last tiny traces of awkwardness between them and they are finding their rhythm again.

“So you buy bread from local kids rather than stealing it from shops now?”

Ian teases and Mickey laughs, scratching his chin awkwardly as if caught in some mischief rather than the opposite of it.

“Yeah. I like it, good stuff and helps them out, you know?”

“I think it’s nice. Sort of old fashioned … like having a milk man! It’s quaint!”

Ian looks far too taken with that whimsical notion and Mickey pulls a face.

“It’s not Little House on the fuckin’ Prair...”

Ian kisses him again, partly to shut him up and partly because it just feels so damn good to do it. Ian reluctantly lets go of Mickey and then grins as the previously offered piece of bread disappears into Mickey’s mouth.

“Mmm!”

If anything, the noise of appreciation is slightly louder than the one Ian’s kiss received and Ian makes a mental note to reclaim the championship of Mickey’s happy noises as soon as they’ve had breakfast.

“Sure you don’t want some? This shit ain’t anything like that Wonder White store bought crap. This is, like, real bread!”

“No.”

Ian says, managing to sound only slightly peevish, still cross with the loaf for stealing Mickey’s affections.

“Yeah you do, you just don’t like me moaning about anything except your c … Christina!”

The flash of pink t-shirt that caught Mickey’s eye spares the girl the rest of that sentence and Ian the indignity of admitting that Mickey was completely right. Mickey hands Ian the loaf and tongues his cheek in a way that lets Ian know that an admission would be unnecessary, before turning to the girl, smiling.

“You come back to hustle me some more?”

“Papa says can you come by today please?”

“Sure nino,”

Ian raises a surprised eyebrow at the affectionate tone of address and sees Mickey’s eyes flick toward him but his attention is quickly back with Christina.

“Everything OK?”

“No.”

She doesn’t offer any more information and Mickey doesn’t ask for any he just nods and says

“I’ll be there in a bit. Oh, hey, this is Ian by the way. He’s my boyfriend.”

Ian chokes on the piece of bread he has been grudgingly enjoying, and sprays half-eaten crumbs across the porch decking earning him both joint blue and brown-eyed frowns.

“Hey.”

Christina nods and then turns back to Mickey

“Bye Mickey!”

“Later doll-face.”

Another pet name and Ian is seriously wondering if he is in some sort of strange dream-scape.

“Did you just call me your boyfriend?”

Ian manages to choke out and Mickey nods.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Mickey gives him a look that suggests he would like to ascertain exactly what caused the choking fit but Ian waves it off pre-emptively.

“It took a long time for you to admit it to people before, that’s all.”

“Changed man, Firecrotch. Now come on, I gotta eat and get over to Reuben’s place.”

Ian can only presume that Reuben is ‘Churro Guy’ and nods

“Sure. You want me to come? Sounded serious.”

Mickey sucks in his upper lip, thinking for a second and then nods curtly. Ian realises with a jolt that the decision Mickey has just made is to trust Ian implicitly. He has claimed Ian officially as his boyfriend in front of a witness and now Mickey is going all in.

“Yeah you can come. I’ll catch you up over breakfast.”

Ian nods again and plucks another piece off of the loaf. He knows that tone, knows the slight arrogance that has come into Mickey’s stance. Whatever is going down is clearly on the down-low.

This is what Fiona was worried about, Mickey’s lifestyle and Ian being caught up in it. It makes his heartbeat quicken but Ian would be lying if he said it was all alarm. The truth is that he is actually excited by the prospect of being by Mickey’s side when shit hits the fan.

And more than that, Mickey has claimed him. Ian is his boyfriend and this time he is not going to let Mickey go it alone.

Ian makes up his mind that whatever it is, he has Mickey’s back. He is all in too.

[terselylove]

33 Psychological Tricks To Help You Win Arguments And Make Others Uncomfortable

1. Stare an their forehead just between and slightly above the eye-line while talking to someone. It throws them off their game and they have a harder time lying to you or trying to influence you.

2. When they want to fight remain calm and agree with them. It frustrates them that they can’t rile you up and ends up showcasing how much of an asshole they really are, and essentially exposes them for being an aggressor/manipulator.

3. I have a nervous habit of acting like everything is normal when it’s not. I don’t do it to fuck with people intentionally but it does have that effect. I had a boss who was yelling at me (he was that way, I hadn’t really done anything wrong), and I kept talking slow sips of my coffee throughout and that really triggered him. I crack up when I think back on him getting all fired up, turning red, then purple, then screaming that I needed to stop drinking coffee.

4. When I know someone dislikes me or is indifferent or cold I’ll ask them to do simple favors for me, things like passing me a drink from a table, or doing a small easy menial task and then thank them and tell them they really helped me out. People in general are self-observing and want to make sense of their own actions. By helping you, subconsciously they will slowly change their opinion of you from negative to positive.

It’s an easy way to build relationships, and although it doesn’t fuck with someone in a conscious way sometimes people just end up your friend and have no idea how or why…

5. Confusing people is always the best strategy. If someone is yelling? Ask them if they want sand. Are they in an uncomfortable situation? Ask if they want sand. Are they crying? Comfort them, then say in a calm voice, “Do you want some sand?” Works every time.

6. When asking someone something, nod your head a little bit, and they’ll probably agree to do it and can’t figure out why.

7. Whenever someone is insulting me, I just agree with them:

“Hey you’re really ugly.”

“Yep. I know.”

They never know what to do.

8. Reverse psychology… my sister takes my stuff away, I don’t complain or pretend not to notice. She returns it to me in less than a minute. Works every time.

9. Pretend you’re terrible at lying so when you really need to lie people believe your telling the truth.

10. When in a position of power, offer the person under you a choice of responsibility. This gives them a greater sense of importance because you, a superior, offered it to them before others. I worked as a camp counselor and this method worked wonders.

11. Give someone a sincere compliment during an argument. If they are decent people, It’ll throw them off guard. They will then feel inclined to be more pliable.

12. If your on public transport and you don’t want anyone sitting next to you, when your victim (potential transport neighbor) looks like they are about to sit next to you. Smile at them and pat the seat next to you.

13. If you know you’re right but someone is doing their best to argue with you just for the sake of arguing say something like “yeah whatever. I know you are smart enough to understand that it is X.” It’s hard to explain exactly why this works but I use this tactic and it usually shuts people down. I guess because they feel like if they keep trying to argue Y they will look stupid.

14. Silence. Whenever someone says something stupid, or makes an unreasonable request, I just sit there in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. Makes people second guess everything, start confessing the stupid things they did that led us to this moment or, ideally, gets them to go and figure out a way to take care of the problem they created on their own. Incredibly effective on the phone.

15. Does someone at work treat you as if you’re beneath them? Nothing better than walking by the person never making eye contact, ignoring any hellos from said person. This does not mean stare at the floor or wall, just stare directly ahead as you pass them. Then later, when you pass them in the hallway, you initiate the hello. Later in some setting they’re liking to crack a joke at your expense and ignoring them at which you say “Oh, I didn’t notice you were there, I was deep in thought. You should have said hello.” Completely knocks said person down a peg or two.

16. Say: “You’ve got something on your cheek” while I scratch my nose

They’ll put their hand to their nose.

17. I use the “door-in-the-face” trick a lot with my wife. Basically, if you ask for something crazy big at first and then what you want, you are more likely to get the person to agree to it than if you were just to ask for the original terms by itself. Could you make me a 5-course dinner tonight? No. How about some homemade mac and cheese? Thanks!

18. I work at a drive through and I get a lot of mumblers. Asking to speak up doesn’t work but if you repeat their order back incorrectly everyone’s diction and volume improves.

19. While arguing with someone smirk and shake your head, or chuckle. Drives people absolutely bonkers.

20. If someone is staring at you, look at their shoes. I don’t know why, but this worked for me, for some reason they look away.

21. One of my favorite things to do is just ask someone why they feel the need to always get the last word in. Whenever they try and say something back, just give them that “you’re proving my point” look. Then they stop talking and pout for a while.

22. “Everything people say about you is true.”

23. If you’re in an argument with someone, don’t yell. Instead, speak quietly and softly. This will often calm them down.

24. My fiance, his brothers and his dad all do this thing that we all refer to as “the thing”. They’ll just pretend to give you increeeedibly false information or pretend they have no clue what you’re talking about randomly with the most obvious shit. It’ll be stuff like, we’ll drive past some palm trees and my fiance will say “hey you know they got their name because the guy who discovered them thought they looked like hands!” or one of them will pretend to have never heard of the movie Back to the Future before or something. They always give it up and start laughing but oh my god.

Thankfully, I’ve been with him long enough that I can see it coming from a mile away and I catch him with “you’re doing the thing.”, but for everyone else it’s an absolute trip because they’re SO believable with it.

25. When talking to someone face-to-face, randomly look over their shoulder with a growing look of horror. Once they have checked to see what you were looking at and have turned back around to face you, continue speaking normally. Ignore any expressions of puzzlement.

26. If you’re annoyed that someone is staring at you stare back. Hold eye contact and don’t let go. If they’re still staring even after this shoot them a kiss, usually gets them to look away.

27. Stop talking. They will babble on, far more than they want to.

28. Laughing at a bully who is obviously all bark and no bite.

Had a female friend in high school getting bullied by a boy who was significantly smaller than she was. He only ever gave her issues when he was with his friends, so it was clear that the goal was to impress them. She wanted to kick his ass since she knew she could stomp him, but didn’t want to get suspended so I told her that next time he puts on his show, laugh. Laugh harder than you’ve ever laughed before. Make yourself cry laughing if you can, and watch what happens.

By golly she took my advice and laughed in his face the next time he verbally attacked her. She was with another friend, and the friend joined in on the laughter. He kept going, calling her different names until his face went red, and still kept going even though he ran out of new insults – causing him to repeat himself.

His friends were originally laughing with him, but after only about a minute of this they stopped him. “Dude, they’re laughing at you. This is getting awkward. Just stop and leave it alone…”

He never tried bullying her again, and I just pulled that idea out of my ass on a whim.

29. Ask someone if they know ALL the words to “I’m a little teapot” (emphasis on the word ALL). Vast majority of the time, grown ass adults will start singing “I’m a little teapot.”

30. One of my bosses feels the need to contradict anything I say, no matter how benign. She gets in “moods”, should probably see a therapist.

When she does this I just start agreeing with whatever she says but I phrase it a little differently, and make my tone slightly argumentative, but I’m basically a parrot. Sure enough she’ll contradict what I say. So I do it again, agreeing with her new statement. We can go on like this for a long time. She argues with herself. It doesn’t help anything but I find it amusing. Its the conversational equivalent of my brother grabbing my hand and smacking me in the face with it whilst saying “why are you hitting yourself ? Stop hitting yourself.”

31. I use this trick all the time when someone is yelling at me over the phone.

Stay completely silent.

Don’t ignore them and speak when spoken to but when they are talking, nothing. No “uh-huh”s, no “mmm”s, no “I see”. Nothing. Deprive them of all subconscious feedback.

You really have to work at it because humans naturally try to feed off one another verbally in conversation. The other person will quickly sense that something is wrong in the conversation and it usually throws them off track enough that they stop ranting or yelling and tell you what they actually want.

Best way to shut someone up without being rude. Semiotics professor taught it to me.

It works just as well in person but, face-to-face, you have to also avoid nodding, moving your hands and you have to look them directly in the eyes.

32. Not really a psychological trick but when I was teaching in the inner city, I had a seventh grader yell at me, in front of the whole class, to go fuck myself when I said they needed to stop talking and pay attention. I didn’t yell at them or scold them, just said we don’t speak like that to each other. Then made it an absolute priority to greet them at the door and ask how their day was going. A couple weeks of this and I asked if they wanted to help run my PowerPoint presentations (transition slides when I needed, etc). Before you knew it, they had the positive influence they needed and I had a wonderful ally in helping my class run smoothly. Sometimes when a person acts out against you, it’s because they are hurt. Show them you care and you may change their entire outlook.

33. Telling people “nice socks” even when they’re not visible.

[artfulmiss-blog]

trigger warnings: death & fire

It was like he was watching a muggle movie without sound, he was mute as his son raised his wand towards him

The party is at full swing at the Burrow when Albus notices he forgot Artemis’s present at home. The thing is, he distinctly remembers putting the gift with everyone else’s, because he wanted to make sure it went off without a hitch. This is the beginning of the next step in his life and it should be perfect. But here he is, looking at the christmas tree and the carefully wrapped ring box is missing. Another item gets added to his ‘my family doesn’t care about me’ list. How could they have remembered to get everyone’s presents but forgotten his? It has to be an intentional thing.

“Everything okay babe?” His girlfriend asks wrapping her arms around his middle, her large brown eyes shining with warmth. This is the image he wants to carry for the rest of his life, his girlfriend gazing at him with love, ignoring the rest of the room in favor of spending time with him. She is his light in the dark, and he can’t wait to promise her forever. He bought the ring three weeks ago in a cute little muggle shop, it will take him months to pay the ring but its worth it. He wants to give Artemis the best.

“I forgot something at home.” that’s not news to Artemis, because she is the one who took the gift out of the pile and put it back in his room. “I am going to go find my dad and tell him I need to go back and get it.” he says looking around the room.

Artemis smirks.

“I’ll come with!” when he looks at her again, the smirk gone from her face, in it’s place a soft loving expression. “I need to brush my teeth.” she says with an adorable little frown.

Grabbing her hand, Albus leads her to his father.

The only sounds in the room were their breathing. Excitement. Fear. Confusion.

Harry had been nursing a drink in the corner of the room, though his expression was merry like everyone else’s, his eyes were troubled. One might think it’s because of the troubles in the wizarding world, that he is feeling like he is seventeen again and that the whole world is counting on him. But those who know him better, Ginny and the rest of the Golden Trio, know there is something else troubling him. Harry, as most of the wizarding world knows, is a powerful spirit elemental and can feel when something terrible is going to happen. His power isn’t refined, so he can’t determine a date or the event, but it has never steered him wrong.

Seeing his son approach, his expression softens. Albus has always been a quieter kid, who had trouble connecting with people, but somehow he found someone who made him happy. Artemis has always been a puzzle for Harry, something about her never added up in his mind, but the sight of his son’s smile was enough for him to push those worries back.

“Dad. I am going to go home and grab something. That okay?” That was okay in Harry’s mind, but… two kids barely out of their teens going to an empty house? Molly would have his head if Albus missed the batch of cookies she is cooking up. Plus, most importantly, he has to disarm the wards he activated around the house before he left.  “Sure. Just wait a second, i’ll come with so I can disarm the wards in the house.”

Albus frowns, and begins protesting. "Dad, just tell me how to disarm the wards. Tell me the spell and I will do it.” He is in his twenties already, and his dad keeps treating him like he is an incompetent child. He is sure Lily and James know how to disarm it. He is not a weakling, if his dad just tells him the spell he will do it. He knows he can do it. Why can't everyone else see it?

Adjusting his glasses nervously, Harry smiles at Albus kindly. "No. No. I will go with you guys, I don't mind.” what were supposed to be nice words to soothe his son, make his son angrier, because all he hears is that he is too useless to do magic, that his father doesn't think he can disarm the wards on his own. Before Albus has the chance to open his mouth and argue, Artemis grabs his sand, rubbing circles in the palm of his hand, a touch she trained him to associate with calmness.

Once upon a time she would have to hint at the fact Harry doesn't trust him enough to tell him the curse, but her work is so well done that the smallest action performed by Harry can send him into a frenzy of self doubt. Artemis can see the situation more clearly, she and Albus are teenagers who are sneaking off in the middle of the afternoon to an empty house? Of course Harry is against them going alone, but her dearest boyfriend only sees his father thinking he can't do something. Again.

“All right Mr Potter. We will meet you at the floo.” The girl tugs Albus away, murmuring something in his ear that Harry cannot hear, but he observes that iby the end of their short walk, his son's shoulders are no longer tense. Once again, he is grateful she is in his son`s life, Albus needs someone in his corner.

Artemis heart beats so loudly she thinks Harry can hear it.

Shaking his head, Harry heads to the kitchen, puts the cup on the counter (on a coaster of course) and kisses Ginny’s cheek as he passes by her. His gaze flickers around the room one last time, making sure everything is alright, a habit he picked up from being an auror. Through the windows he can see some of the kids playing quidditch. James is asleep in one of the couches, having played a very long game before the day before, with a flick of his hand he moves a blanket over from the corner of the room so it’s covering him. Hugo and Ron are playing a very competitive game of chess. Arthur is tinkering with something. And Lily is reading about defense spells, ignoring the rest of the room, just like she did when she was a kid, but this time she doesn’t grumble when someone interrupts her, whilst she does look mildly annoyed, she sets the book down and begins animatedly chatting with Teddy.

It’s going to be a good christmas.

After all that has happened during the past few years, it’s time the Weasley-Potter family gets a good gift from Santa Claus.

The wand falters

Blood rushes through her veins as Albus falters. There is a glimmer in his eyes that hadn’t been there moments ago, one she had very carefully drained out of him by isolating him from his friends and family. But it’s there as he gazes at his father, lowering his wand. Harry hadn’t said any words, hadn’t tried convincing his son not to kill him, he had only gazed at Albus, his green eyes shining with tears as he realized what was going on.

It was that pain that made Albus stop, because until then he had thought his father didn’t care about him anymore, but in that moment he realized that the pain he saw in his father's eyes was not there because Harry was afraid to die, it was caused by who was behind the wand.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, takes a stop forward and envelopes his son in a hug, tears running through his face as he consoled the sobbing boy, immediately forgetting the harsh words that had been spoken a few moments. And Artemis, the girl who had urged Albus on during the argument, was forgotten for a minute, in this father and son moment she was nothing but a shadow darkening their house. But being forgotten had it’s benefits, because the second they remembered she is there, they will also remember of what had happened and her role in it. If she was arrested, the whole Mayte operation would be at risk, and that scared the hell out of her. Using this sudden invisibleness, Artemis uses a body bind on both of them, so nervous about what is going to happen she doesn’t notice it’s not completely successful. There is two things that matter in her life: Albus and the Mayte mission, and right now she just lost Albus… the thought of her destroying Lawrence’s life work…

Her life work really. Her life. Her whole life has been about helping Lawrence achieve her dream, which eventually became her dream.

She won’t let Albus’s weakness get in the way of what she had planned, sure now it will be harder to pretend that Albus killed Harry and attempted to kill her, but she is Artemis Kent, she will figure out something, she has to. Because she doesn’t want to activate Plan B.

Plan B.

Activate an anti apparition spell (already activated by Harry when he entered the house)

Set fire to the whole house.

Die with Albus and Harry.

Become a Martyr in Lawrence’s eyes.

Become a poor victim in everyone else’s.

Plan B is of course something she doesn’t want to do. But looking at the situation in front of her she is beginning to think it’s the only thing she can do, because every single other plan she has thought of during the last minute will not only fail, but it will lead to her capture.

“Artemis.” Harry’s voice cuts her musings. Looking up, she no longer sees Albus and Harry as two separate beings, instead they turned into one -- the Potter, a vengeful god ready to strike her for what she has done. And how many things she did!

Albus had been free spirited when she showed up, close with his family and interested in the world he was already quiet, already had his doubts about his family, but nothing close compared to the hatred and disgust he has for them now. Over the years she made him a recluse, until all he cared about was a few certain subjects at school and her. Her in the middle as his life’s obsession. Honestly, Lawrence never truly appreciated that, sure, Albus was useless in the end, but he had become the perfectly trained dog for her. Charlie’s words echo in her mind, he had said once this about her, he had been wrong though. Artemis had certain free wills, she chose to stay with Albus after Lawrence told her he wouldn't be useful in their mission, that she should move onto other things.

But Artemis was wrong too.

Because Albus was not perfectly trained, when it was time for him to act he hesitated.

“Harry.” she replies coldly, in that moment she is not the eighteen year old girlfriend who makes his son smile, he finally sees what he had been missing. Her eyes are older, her voice had always been just one tad too sweet, and there is a certain evilness in her smile.

She takes a step back.

He struggles to take a step forwards, the body bind though weak is still keeping his arms locked around Albus, making it impossible for him to catch his wand.

Albus is frozen in his father’s arms, looking at the scene completely detached. Because unlike his father, he is still struggling to put the pieces together, Artemis’s brainwashing is too ingrained in his mind and seeing her acting completely different has made his brain stop. Too many feelings and informations coming out of everywhere, he can’t make sense of them. He can barely breathe.

Taking a deep breath she begins Plan B. It had always been in the back of her mind so she is standing in front of the kitchen, quickly she sends a burst of fire through the room, it spreads around like a vine, covering the walls and floor, the carpet and curtains become a tornado of fire, its flames are soon licking their skins.

The Potter’s green eyes filled with fear are the last things she sees, for the fire finally reaches the pipe of gas that runs through the kitchen, the explosion destroys everything in a itss radius, effectively killing Artemis in an instant.

Harry had activated a shield spell to protect himself and Albus for the fire. But it’s not strong enough to protect them from the explosion.

They survive, Harry tries apparating them out of there, momentarily forgetting about the ward, his energy is drained by the attempt and he faints before he can disarm it. By the time help comes they have both passed away due to injuries they sustained.

summary of the opera: artemis, harry and albus are all dead. they die around three o’clock, its the 25th of december. for now there are no clues linking artemis to the explosion, preliminary reports point towards a fire started by a flame left unattended in the kitchen, that spread through the house and caused the pipes to explode.

[jentrevellan]

SUMMARY: Cullen’s POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lyla Lavellan (Mage)! One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come! Reblogs, likes and replies are loved. ^^

**Updated every 2 weeks!**

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-> Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @anafigreen​

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Abyss

The march across the desert is hard and subdued. Gone is the light-hearted banter and chatter that left Skyhold. Now it's quiet with only the sound of boots padding on the sandy ground, pants as the sun glares down on us, everyone warm and sweating in their armour. We pass many old Grey Warden checkpoints on the way, all of them derelict and crumbling in the desert after hundreds of years of neglect. It's a sobering sight and one which makes some pause whilst others march on with renewed determination.

As the sun sets, the temperature cools but once over a large sand dune, the tallest towers of the massive fortress come in to view. It is an impressive sight to see this old Tevinter stronghold still standing amidst the desolation of the desert. But even from this distance, I can already see the weak points where attacking would be the most advantageous. The maps and drawings I've studied over the last few weeks do little justice to the sight and might of the fortress. Once we're less than two miles away from Adamant, I call a halt to marching column of troops behind me.

I gallop up and down the line, viewing each regiment, my eyes blinded as the setting sun reflects brightly off gleaming armour. The Inquisition forces stand to attention when they see me coming, and the standard bearers come forward. I speak with a few of them, gauge their nerves, but mostly, now that we've reached our destination, it's nervous excitement that pulses through the body of soldiers. They are anxious, keen to get started, but wary to fight unknown hoards of demons. For all we know, an army of demons could be waiting for us inside the fort.

As the final regiment appear over the dunes, I see Lyla and her Inner Circle gallop through the ranks, where the Inquisition forces cheer and applaud when they see her ride hard. Usually, she would wave politely, pause and speak with some, but not today. She leans forward in her saddle, her hair flying behind her back as she rides with determination. The inner circle branch off behind her, going to their respected positions, until it's just four figures riding towards me at the front.

"Woah," Lyla speaks to her white mare, patting its mane as they stop before me. I incline my head, knowing that we must both keep up appearances for the sake of the army behind us and ahead.

"Inquisitor," I say. "With the light failing, the archers on the ramparts won't have a clear line of sight. It's the perfect time to strike."

Lyla nods, looking at the gate. "I need to get through that gate," she says, almost to herself.

"The army will move forward with the siege equipment and-"

Alistair interrupts. "The gate is opening!" he exclaims, leaning forward in his saddle.

We all turn to watch as two small figures emerge, both on horseback. One holds a banner following the other. I look at Lyla.

"They wish to speak with us first, it would seem."

"Good. Perhaps we can avoid more bloodshed," she replies, digging her spurs into her horse and galloping forwards.

I signal to one of my banner-men on horseback to follow me as I go after her with Alistair. The four of us cross the flat distance in no time at all. As we get closer, I can make out the Grey Warden banner in the hands of a Warden mage, whilst astride a large black stallion is a Tevinter mage with slicked back hair as dark as the void and narrowed little eyes.

"Inquisitor Lavellan!" he says with a smirk. "So glad you could make it."

I peer up and analyse the fortifications, now we're up close. Lyla sits straighter in her saddle and replies cooly. "Magister Erimond: you are hereby ordered to open these gates so the Inquisition can discuss this peacefully and end this madness."

"Madness?" he repeats with a bark of laughter. "Inquisitor, the only madness here is you attacking Grey Wardens - the very same Grey Wardens who stopped the fifth Blight ten years ago!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Alistair retorts from behind me. "I happened to be there when the Archdemon was slain. I saw Denerim almost destroyed because of the Blight-"

"Then you know that the Wardens must do everything they can to prevent future Blights!" Erimond snaps, jutting his chin forward.

"Not like this!" Alistair shouts.

"Enough," Lyla says, not looking away from Erimond. His sly grin spreads, making my gut burn with hatred. She continues, her face a mask I cannot read. "We have no quarrel with the Wardens - simply let them go and then nobody has to die."

Erimond sighs dramatically. "Be that I could, Inquisitor, but I don't have the authority to. Warden Commander Clarel on the other hand does, but is not willing to."

"You cannot do this!" Lyla shouts, her cheeks red with anger. "How many innocent Wardens will die because of your deceit?"

But the magister turns his horse around and canters back through the gates, the Warden mage following. I take one last look at the fortifications, noting the archers lining the battlements, the low parapets, the rotting gates. I dig my heels into my stallion and gallop back to the vanguard, Lyla leading the way, glancing back once as she casts a protective barrier around us.

"I had hoped some would see reason," Alistair says bitterly as we slow upon reaching the troops.

"There is still hope for those inside," Lyla says, but seems to doubt her own words. "The warriors are not under the influence like the mages, as far as I can tell. They, at least, might see reason." Alistair doesn't reply, his face like stone. "I must get to Clarel, to stop this summoning," Lyla states, meeting my gaze. I nod in reply and unsheathe my sword, using my horse up and down the front lines.

"Inquisition!" I call, my voice ringing. "Adamant fortress is weak, and ripe for the taking! Stick with your units, your regiments and this battle can be swift and clean. The mage Wardens will be relentless, but the warriors may see reason - under the Inquisitor's orders, if any lives can be spared, then spare them.

"There may be friends and family among the Wardens, and this will be difficult. But breaching the gate is our top priority! Remain strong and fight for freedom, fight Corypheus, fight for your lives!" I point my sword forward and urge the attack to commence.

The trebuchets are the first to cause damage, as they fling giant rocks to the walls of adamant. As planned, they create a distraction as the siege equipment is marched through the ranks. The Inquisition's archers loose their first round of arrows, hitting targets peering over the parapets. They continue, providing effective covering fire as the siege equipment gets closer to the gates. I stay on my horse, the blood and adrenaline bounding in my ears as the soldiers march closer, chanting and stamping their feet. The air is electric with anticipation, and the call of blood and death, as terrible as it may be, beckons each of us forward. It's hypnotic as we reach the outer walls, knowing that our plan of attack is working. With renewed motivation, the Inquisition's forces forget that they've marched for days over a hot desert, instead focused entirely on the battle, and of winning. I grip my sword in my hand as I dismount, shouting orders to regiments and units to put more pressure on the Wardens.

"The Wardens do not know. Conflicted. Following orders. Is Clarel mad? Doubt. Is this how we stop a Blight?" Cole says in his quiet voice from behind me. Lyla stands ready beside him, her hands spread before her, as fire licks her fingertips.

Rocks fall from the battlements, as the Wardens realise our goal to break down the gates. They fling stones down upon the troops who are almost at the gates. I see a few soldiers fall, as their helmets do little to protect them from the weight of the stones. But, as their training shows, they must move on, and they do - stepping over the bodies of their comrades to continue on, to ensure the gate is open for the Inquisitor.

I raise my arm, pointing my finger to the sky, and signal the ladders. The troops who had marched quietly though the ranks had carried long ladders between them, hidden from view from the Wardens. With just a few feet away from the walls, soldiers mount the ladders and being to scale the stone walls. Our attack is so strong that the Wardens are already faltering. But none of that matters until the gate is open.

With three mighty thuds, the siege equipment does just that. Lyla, now on foot, runs with Cole, Solas and Blackwall in tow, weaving in-between the Inquisition soldiers who provide them cover. I watch as she peers out from the cover of a scouts shield, to throw a controlled fireball to the battlements, which sends Wardens screaming in panic as they are set alight. My gut clenches with a twinge of fear - that old fear of magic, but I stop myself, knowing that this is Lyla, and what she just did is no different than Varric or Sera plucking them off with their arrows and bolts. Her magic helps another ladder get its foothold and she continues under the cover of scouts, throwing one more fireball at the burning gates which does the trick of destroying them.

The soldiers cheer and once again their energy is renewed, I raise my sword, pointing it forward and order a hard charge. I deflect arrows and fireballs alike with my shield like second nature. It's been sometime, but I hate to admit that I relish it, once I'm here in the heat of battle. Nothing can quite match it, and my fingers tingle. But something is missing. I glance around me as I sprint to the gates, noting that the ex-templars are running harder, not breaking a sweat. With a pang of envy, I know that their lyrium is keeping them strong, to become the powerful warriors they are meant to be. I know I shouldn't, but at this moment I desperately miss that surge of energy, that surge of power, only lyrium can give me.

But then, as I approach the gates, past the siege equipment, I witness Lyla fighting Wardens and demons alike. Since the first time I saw her fight at the conclave, things have changed. She is swifter and faster in her movements and so much stronger. With one hand she twirls her staff, the magic igniting the end and crackling around her; with the other, the long magical sword cuts through the air, slashing easily through demons until the entrance courtyard is empty of enemies, the bodies littered on the ground and fire crackling around them.

"Pull back! They're through!" a panicked Warden cries from above as I run up to Lyla.

"Alright Inquisitor, you have your way in," I say formally, knowing that all eyes are upon us. "We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can."

Lyla shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe."

My hands shake, so I grip my sword tighter. "We'll do what we have to Inquisitor." I look to Alistair who's face is white as he looks at the dead Wardens before him. "Warden Alistair will guard your back and Hawke is with your soldiers on the battlements - she's assisting them until you arrive," I explain our plan once more. It's the plan we'd come up with together, but reiterating it, and saying it to her helps stop my hands shaking, helps stop the nerves and I hope it helps Lyla remain focused as she nods in reply.

I'm about to say more but I'm interrupted by a cry from the battlements. In unison we all look up and see an Inquisition soldier fall from the battlements, landing with a heavy thud on the ground, their eyes wide open in terror, their face white as the life slips out of them. I feel cold all over, despite the heat of the flames around me when I see a demon screech down at us. I remember Kinloch Hold with demons and abominations running rampant, and that demonic scream is so familiar, that a knot of terror grips my stomach. I swallow and look to Lyla.

"There's too much resistance on the walls," I admit, not anticipating this many demons already summoned. "Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold… if you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance."

Lyla looks to Alistair who nods in reply. "Very well, Commander," Lyla says formally, twirling her staff in her hand. She turns to her companions. "Let us hurry."

I run back to the vanguard, barking orders as Lyla's small unit disappear inside the fortress. Ladders are raised and footholds are gained and just moments later I see warriors stand down as Lyla approaches. I'm too far away to hear what she says, but my chest swells with pride as some of the Wardens listen to sense. Despite the death and destruction around us, lives are still being saved, due to her compassion. I shout as much to the troops around me, who are spurred on to hoist more ladders against the walls. I witness Hawke throwing her daggers, Lyla and Solas casting spells back to back. I watch them scale the battlements as the small group cut down demons one by one.

"They're through!" the cry echoes through the ranks and I assume Lyla has made it to the centre and to Clarel. I gather my men in my unit and we follow in Lyla's steps, helping any injured Wardens, getting them out of the way to safety whilst cutting down any stray demons. As I step over corpses my gut churns at the destruction: Lyla and her inner circle are just as ruthless, doing the work of a small army, rather than that of a few individuals. Not for the first time, her power and her magic tugs at my concern, my still-present fear of magic that's been hammered into me since I was a teenager. I shake my head and continue through the fortress, ordering healers to assist the wounded.

And then I hear it. A deafening screech in the sky that sends my blood to ice. With dismay I look up, silence falling as the beast cries again. No, not here, not now, not again. The Archdemon perches above on the upper lever and my veins burn inside me as I realise the terrible beast is breathing not fire, but red lyrium.

"Protect the Herald!" I cry, running forwards, everything a blur. "Protect the Inquisitor!"

They rally around me and we cut through a new wave of summons demons behind the walls of the fortress. The trebuchets out on the field fire their burning rocks to attack the creature, but the dragon is clever and doges easily, breathing down onto the inner courtyard. It takes flight, circling low, screeching it's terrible cry. A few of the troops falter and watch it attack some stragglers. I push them onwards, cutting down demon after demon, my steps light and practiced, only thinking of getting to Lyla and stopping Clarel.

The Warden Commander appears on the battlements above, sprinting after the magister and a leap of hope spreads through me. Has Clarel seen sense? I spot Lyla sprinting after her with her small group hot on her heels, dodging the red lyrium of the dragon and sidestepping demons as she catches up to the top level of the fortress.

I'm sweating under my armour, feeling exhausted, wanting nothing more than the cool blue lyrium to give me the strength I need. The ex-Templars in my unit don't even break a sweat as they charge forwards, now fighting side-by-side with Wardens who are well enough to help combat the demons.

"Don't let them flank you!" I call, and an Inquisition mage sets ice-runes on the ground, trapping demons in place as warriors cut them down easily. Finally, we reach the upper battlements, where the fortress is at its weakest - the age of the stonework straining under the pressure of the trebuchets. The walls are crumbling, the flagstones are shaky under our feet.

What I see at the top makes us all come to a halt.

Clarel, bleeding and dying on the ground casts an incredibly powerful shocking spell, flinging the dragon backwards, the floor beneath us wobbling. The Archdemon goes flying, bringing down the fortress on the far end with the sheer force of the magic. It feels as if all the air in my lungs has been pushed as the flagstones fall away; Lyla and her small group desperately sprinting, but lose their footing. An electric bolt from the dragon strikes Lyla down, as she scrambles to get to her feet, but the heavy stonework pulls her down, and soon the others follow. I cry out with horror as I watch them fall.

An empty silence. She's gone. Maker's breath, no, she can't be. Not again.

I gather my wits as quick as possible, lingering by the doorway. The once top-part of the fortress has fallen away, but the rest of Adamant appears sturdy enough. I turn to those around me. "Search for survivors, now!" I order, chest heaving. I curse everything, everyone under my breath and storm back through the fortress, cutting down the odd demon there as if in a dream. I step over fallen comrades and Wardens, not even glancing at their open eyes, their pained expressions. For the first time in my life, I wish I were one of them.

Lyla can't be gone… just can't be. I have a twinge of hope that she survived the fall, along with Alistair, Hawke and the others. But I'm deflated, that hope being diminished by every moment. It's as I pass my troops that Cassandra runs up to me but her words are empty. I know she's speaking quickly, demanding a report but I just look at her without really seeing. I think of Lyla and I can't get that pained expression of when she was hit before she fell out of my mind. I saw panic in her eyes, I saw her fingers scramble desperately at the falling flagstones.

Cassandra slaps me.

"Commander! Pull yourself together!" she shouts. I blink at her.

"Lyla…The Inquisitor fell." My voice sounds hollow, it doesn't sound like me.

"Wh-what?" Cassandra stammers, her eyes widening.

I regain composure. "The Inquisitor fell on the other side of the fortress. I've got scouts searching for survivors."

I walk briskly, Cassandra at my side as we make our way around the outside of the fort. There are already scouts present when we arrive, their faces pale, none of them willing to meet my eyes. I approach a lieutenant who salutes.

"Commander - we've, ah, got a strange situation here," she says.

"Are there survivors," I cut across.

"Yes ser - the Tevinter Erimond has been captured. He's barely conscious but is restrained by some of the mages."

I push past the lieutenant and stride towards a small gathering of mages. They part to let me pass and I look down at the small, smarmy man who's only got a small cut on his temple. I draw my sword and point it at his neck, my arm shaking. I burn with embarrassment at my quivering hand, but do not pull back.

"What happened." I command, my voice low.

Erimond chuckles, blood spitting out his mouth. "She fell. My master will have a fine reward for me indeed."

I press the tip of my sword into his throat, a small trickle of blood escapes. Erimond whimpers, tears in the corners of his pathetic eyes.

"Commander," a scout says. "There are no bodies or other survivors at the bottom of the chasm."

I glance at the scout who salutes. "Then where are they?" I demand of Erimond.

He laughs again, but it's a snivelling little snort that repulses me. "She fell into the Fade, to be lost forever. The Elder One will triumph with her demise! All will worship our new god!"

"Gag him," I say to the mages who oblige. I sheath my sword, Cassandra watching me with concern I cannot bear. How is he spared when Lyla and the others are gone?

"What do you think he meant?" Cassandra asks, arms folded. "How could the Inquisitor fall into the Fade?"

Feeling helpless, I turn to the scout. "Are there any other witness-?"

"Curly!" Varric shouts from behind us. His crossbow is in his hands, splattered with blood and Sera runs with him, tears streaming down her face.

"She fell! No, no no she can't do that! Fuck!" Sera is saying.

"Did you see what happened?" I demand when they halt before me.

Varric nods. "We saw the whole thing from our position. The dragon fell first, and the path crumbled. The Inquisitor and Hawke fell after but I think Lyla opened a breach with the anchor - she fell through that."

"She's fallen into the Fade," Dorian says, running up behind Varric and Sera. "Lyla saw a tear in the veil and opened it with the mark - I'm pretty sure they are all now, physically, in the Fade."

"Then they are lost," Cassandra says, deflated, hands on her hips, looking at her boots in the sand.

My mind tries to wrap around the situation, my narrow-minded view of magic unable to comprehend what's happened. all at once, I want to be away from here, as far away as possible but I remember that once again, even if Lyla has gone it cannot be in vein.

"There are still demons in Adamant," I remind them all quietly. "The battle is not yet over."

"But-" Dorian begins.

I hold my hand up to silence him. "We must continue. It's what she would want. Do not tell the rest of the troops about… about what's happened here, not yet. We need to continue the momentum to control and win the battle."

They all nod in agreement and separate into units. "And the prisoner?" one of the mages asks.

"Ensure he is bound and gagged. We'll take him back to Skyhold for questioning."

They move out, all marching back to the bulk of the army and the crumbling fortress. I think I'm alone and let out a shaking sigh, clenching my fists so tight they become numb.

"She wouldn't want this," Sera sniffs suddenly beside me, tears streaming. She glares up at me through her bangs. "How can you continue fighting knowing that she's lost! I thought you loved her!"

"Sera," I say quietly, my voice breaking. She pauses in her huffing and tilts her head to the side.

"Oh," she gulps. "It's all a mask, innit? This Commander stuff."

I nod and look to the chasm. "Lyla came out of the Fade once before - perhaps she will do so again."

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