#the rank insignia should not be that hard to figure out

[justreckin]

Just briefly harping on a thing that drives me nuts but:

In Q & A the very first time we meet Una her rank is listed as Lt. Commander and her arm bands look like this:

So you wanna explain to me why years later when her arm bands look like this:

We're still calling her Lt. Commander???????

[cybermoonmoon]

This from August 3rd, 2020. In my biased context. First year of Covid the country deeply divided and the prospect of an unstable election coming. Then George Floyd. Yet another unarmed Black man killed by police for a minor offense. Tho' this time it ignited large protests not only all over this country but the world. Protests exploited by both parties and violently put down by authorities.

Once upon a time.

Coming home in the afternoon I saw my first Federal Marshals. This in my Brooklyn 'hood in front of our library. Unlike the sort out on the coast. These folks had federal insignia. I saw these were legit. Not the phony movie prop "...Police" patches worn in Portland.

I chatted with a few.

Spoke about the heat thanked them for their service said they should be careful. They were reserved, but polite. I asked if there was trouble in the library. They said no, but didn't elaborate.

In my centuries of experience with cops. When they're not roughing me up. I've found that acknowledging their humanity, and that they're in an impossible situation can get through the barriers...not always, but sometimes.

I was standing with fellow humans and was concerned for them. These were not the figures in the frightful news videos. These were real souls I was speaking to. They're human beings. I also noticed the culture of arms they lived. By their every movement they were protecting each other.

How hard it must be to be a warrior.

Worse to be in a war declared or not. From their Esprit de corps I could feel that they would do whatever they had to if ordered. Such for our whole history is the soldier's lot.

I came away from this meeting with a world of mixed feelings. Nothing is simple especially in conflict.

They were professional reserved, and though polite. They gave no information, and didn't break ranks. The warriors life the ancient culture of arms. I will never understand what they understand.

We must pray for them as we do for all.

[heliads]

Changing Perspectives

At first, Steve Rogers thinks that the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent darkening the hallways of Avengers Tower is nothing more than a thorn in his side. Then again, there might be more to her than what meets the eye.

masterlist

Steve hurries through the halls of Avengers Towers, ducking and dodging around startled agents if he decides they’re not moving quickly enough. Steve has a debriefing in a few minutes; he had started out with good intentions and a promise to himself to be on time for once but he got sidetracked somewhere just before leaving his front door and his head start has quickly evaporated. So much for trying to be punctual.

Steve skids around one final corner, slowing his pace to pretend he hadn’t been rushing and heads purposefully into the debriefing room. He slides into a seat in the back, next to Natasha. “You might want to be careful, Rogers,” She says, turning to face him with a grin that borders on gleeful, “I don’t think it would do good things for your All American Boy reputation if you were caught arriving less than five minutes before a debriefing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling out the case file on whatever mission he’s about to hear about from where it’s been wedged underneath his arm. Truth be told, he was supposed to have read it in advance, but he didn’t bother to make the time to do so, preferring to keep it propped insistently against the corner of his desk as if its proximity to him would encourage Steve to read it in any way.

Steve has just started to flip through the case file in the hopes of finding a quick summary when the lights dim and the speakers arrive. There are two or three of them, each dressed in the familiar dark and practical clothing designating them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, primarily researchers. 

Steve finishes his quick scan of the case file while the researchers drone on, but even after his reading is completed he can’t quite bring himself to pay attention. Maybe it’s the dark of the room, or the monotonous voices of the agents, but Steve’s focus drifts away from the debriefing on hand and out the window next to him. The view of the New York skyline is breathtaking, as always. Sometimes it’s strange to be able to see the city like this, new technology practically bursting out of every street corner. Steve may have spent a lot of time in the twenty-first century by now, but some nagging part of him still doesn’t think it’s right to see such a modern city as commonplace.

Steve is rudely awakened from his thoughts by the sound of his name coming from the lips of one of the agents. Steve jolts back to reality, turning to face the agents as if he’d been paying attention all along. “..and that’s what we had planned so far. Are we in agreement, Rogers?” Steve glances from the projected display overhead to Natasha’s position in her case file, which is conveniently flopped open to the proper section.

“Well, I don’t see any problems there. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new policies, especially, the Paper Cards Protocol, should cover the previous breaches in security. I think the question is more how quickly you’ll be able to implement them.” Steve leans back in his chair, feeling satisfied with his answer. It’s pretty easy to fake attention- just yammer on about security and throw in a couple of keywords that he had just seen in the case files. Normally, this is enough to deter any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers, as they always seem too overwhelmed by the idea of contradicting a national hero to question him any further.

The agent in front of him, however, does not appear to be cut from the same cloth. She folds her arms across her chest. “Excellent answer, Rogers. Just curious- is there anything more specific you’d like to say, or are you happy to stick with the same general statement you just read out of Agent Romanoff’s booklet?”

Steve stares at her for a moment, surprised and the agent continues on without giving him a chance to speak. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Not to keep bashing on Rogers, but most everyone here is content with ignoring protocols and policies brought up by lesser agents in favor of sticking to what they’ve always done. Why do we need new security, and why new protocols? It’s because no one’s actually paying attention to what we already have and it makes us have to think four steps ahead instead of the regular two.”

Steve frowns up at the agent as she continues talking, unable to feel the sting of her criticism through his confusion. Steve realizes that he actually doesn’t recognize this particular agent- never seen her before, not even in passing through the halls. Yet according to the neat rows of colored insignias designating her position in the S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks, she’s actually a pretty important agent. Maybe only a few ranks below Natasha.

The agent notices his gaze. “Yes, I’m new to this area. Just returned from an international mission. Name’s Y/N L/N, but you would have known that had you been paying more attention to the debriefing at hand instead of whatever might be going on out there.” She says, waving a hand in the general direction of the window. In front of him, Natasha smirks. “Already cutting to the bone on your first day back, L/N?” Y/N’s previously cool demeanor cracks as she flashes Natasha a grin. “Maybe so.”

The two agents (and friends, apparently) share a laugh before Y/N continues on with her debriefing. Steve is left to stew in his corner of the room, biting his cheek and wishing that of all the days to not pay attention, he hadn’t chosen this one. Steve’s usually the one to be in control of the room like this, usually the one to center the conversation and prove to everyone why he’s got the reputation everyone’s so familiar with. Y/N remains aloof and in control, completely and utterly aware of the effect she’s having on him and obviously proud of it.

Steve decides that he loathes her.

Tony’s throwing some sort of party again. Honestly, Steve cannot figure out what delights the man so with wasting large sums of his money just to impress the general public, who would have followed Tony anywhere if he so much as looked at him. Yet here Steve is, uniform disregarded for some nice clothes he had to dig out of the corner of his closet designated ‘Not bloodstained, could be worn to media events.’

As he arrives at the Avengers Tower, which has been newly redecorated to reflect the festive mood, Steve begins to remember why Tony’s having this particular gala. Some new invention launched into the public, some big deal that’ll have his face splashed across the front pages for weeks. As Steve straightens his shirt collar and heads inside, he’s enveloped by the roar of noise typical of Tony’s parties.

A few hours in, the bottles are already popped and Steve wants nothing more than to leave. If you’re like him and can’t get drunk, it gets pretty hard to pass the time. Just as he’s heading to the door, though, Nat notices his escape attempt and blocks his path. She laughs at his disappointed look as she pulls him back into the fray. 

“You can’t leave, not yet. Tony’s about to set off some fireworks, and if I have to stick through his entire thing, so do you.” Steve groans, but allows Natasha to walk with him to the doors leading outside. It’s a brisk night, with a cool wind cutting the heat of the tower. There’s the sound of a countdown rolling across the dark of the night, and then the answering boom and flash of the fireworks.

Steve has to admit that they’re impressive. If there’s one thing Tony can do well, it’s another display of opulence. Steve still isn’t used to the bright colors and shapes that are typical of modern fireworks, and he finds himself standing there in awe for longer than he expected.

Then, his attention is caught by a brief flash of movement in the middle of the cheering partygoers. Everyone here is happy, celebrating, having fun, but this one figure looks panicked, and is slipping as fast as they can towards the doors to get away. Steve blinks his eyes a few times to clear them, staring at the person rushing inside. With a slight twist to his stomach, Steve realizes it’s Y/N, and she looks more upset than he’s ever seen before. It’s strange to see her usually indifferent face twisted with something that looks almost like terror.

Steve is leaving the party before he realizes, desperate to get to her. What if something is terribly wrong? He has a feeling that it’s not HYDRA or some other enemy attack, because Natasha and Tony don’t seem worried, but Y/N, Y/N is not doing very well at all.

Steve is just rounding a corner when he sees her. She’s flung herself down on the ground in a dead end of a hallway, hands clamped down over her ears and back hunched as if to protect herself. Steve hesitates where he is, just out of her sight, when he sees the tears starting to wash down her cheeks. As Steve stands there, he realizes that she’s saying something over and over again. There’s a pang in Steve’s chest as he realizes she’s repeating the same simple sentence again and again, as if by hearing it one more time she’ll snap out of whatever haze she’s trapped in.

You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore.

Steve recognizes the name of that city- it’s some distant town in Russia, the place where she recently completed a mission. It was supposed to be some tiny corner of the country, but it instead housed dozens of HYDRA facilities. Steve had heard rumors that the mission hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but Y/N had seemed fine and so everyone had just forgotten it. Looking at Y/N now, though, Steve realizes none of that was true. He doesn’t know what happened in Kolograd, but it was enough to scar Y/N even now, to the point where she would have to put up a front everyday and pretend she was fine.

Steve decides that he may have misjudged her.

The night is late, the curtains drawn. Most of the Avengers have finally dragged themselves away to bed, leaving behind rumpled couch cushions where they had previously sat, where the room had filled with the last dregs of conversation finally run out. Some government official had sent over a few bottles of wine and other spirits, clearly in the hopes that a few expensive gifts would spare them from checking into his history with shady business dealings. There would be no such luck for him.

However, these now empty bottles meant that the night was not as quiet as it usually was. Steve, wanting to clear his head of the drunken haze that permeated everything in the room except for himself, slipped out of the room and opened the doors to a balcony. He steps out and leans against the railing, savoring the rush of focus that the cool air brings. He barely notices the door open again behind him, and then another figure comes to stand next to him.

Steve smiles when he realizes it’s Y/N. She, of course, is just another regular agent who lacks Steve’s cursed ability to not get drunk, and Steve notes the scent of alcohol on her tongue and the slight sway in her steps that usually isn’t found among her normal balance and care. 

Y/N breathes in the cool night air, letting her shoulders sink, then turns to face Steve. “I feel like I should be envious of you and your super-fast metabolism, but to be honest it’s kind of nice to not have any worries right now.” Steve chuckles quietly at that. “I do miss it, to be honest. Every now and then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be able to let go of everything.”

Y/N considers this for a while, her eyes still on Steve. In this moment, he realizes that the balcony is small, and the two of them are barely a few inches apart. She’s right there, just in reach, and he supposes he isn’t exactly surprised when she leans forward and kisses him.

Her lips are warm and soft against the biting chill of the wind, and Steve’s a little disappointed when she breaks away. Steve doesn’t say anything, and maybe that’s why Y/N gets this panicked look in her eyes like she’s terrified she’s ruined everything. She forces a light giggle. “It looks like I’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m going to head in.”

Steve realizes how this looks and wraps his arm around her waist to stop her from turning away. “It’s not a mistake, and you don’t have to pretend that you’re that drunk just to get away from it.” Y/N frowns at that, pausing where she stands. “What?” Steve glances down at her. “You’re afraid to really say how you feel, so you’re blaming it on the closest thing in sight. You don’t have to hide anymore, Y/N.”

She stares at him for a second, then her confused frown turns into a laugh. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the deciphering agent who could see through anyone, but you’ve read me far too well.” Steve smiles back at her. “Maybe I’m making it up because I want an excuse.” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him. “An excuse for what?” “This.” Steve leans forward and kisses her again. This time, she doesn’t lean away. This time, Steve’s fairly sure he’s found the one girl he can finally rely on, to have his back and to keep him around forever.

Steve decides that he loves her.

[johnnyclash87]

Ok I finished this way quicker than I expected! I’m actually really happy with it

@sammi-doll483 @kris-styx I believe y’all wanted to be tagged in this?

3636 had been in over a dozen battles, numerous engagements, and countless near death experiences. But knocking on a Jedi generals door was still the most terrifying thing he experienced. Whenever his previous General, Pong Krell called him to his quarters at best it was orders for another mission that would get hundreds of people killed. Or at worst a lengthy berating over a small failure in the last mission that got hundreds of men killed. Did they move from position? Failure. Did they retreat? Failure? Did they engage the enemy without orders? Failure. It didn’t matter that their position was under heavy artillery fire, or that they were overwhelmed by a force ten times their size, or that the enemy was about to engage them.

But here he was again at the door of a Jedi. Although this wasn’t Krell, it was their new general, Plo Koon. Kel Dor. Jedi Master. Even though the commander and the rest of the battalion were still extremely uneasy around him, he couldn’t help pick up on some significant differences. Like how when passing the troops he would say “good morning”. Or how he actually congratulated a trooper on their marksmanship on the range. Something Krell would have seemed a mere expectation for a Clone.

Whatever this was about, certainly making General Koon wait would not help. 3636 took a deep breath, said a silent prayer to whatever or whoever cared enough to listen, and pressed the ring button. The door slid open, and sitting on a circular mat that hardly looked comfortable was Plo Koon.

“Good afternoon Commander, please come in” hearing his actual rank was still an adjustment. With Krell it was always “3636” or “CC 3636” or he would just bark orders to nobody in particular and expect them to figure out who it was for.

“CC 3636, reporting as ordered Sir”

“Please have a seat,” 3636 stood still and firm at attention.

“Uhm.. at ease.” The commander relaxed his body slightly and slid his right leg out a small distance.

“I’m not sure you’ll take the offer but it would make this conversation easier if you would sit down” Plos voice even through the rebreather felt oddly calm and assuring. He wasn’t sure sitting would make him more relaxed but if it eased the generals mind.., He wasn’t sure if he should sit cross legged like General Koon and elected to keep his feet on the floor. That would make any need for sudden movement easier. As he sat he noticed a scent stick burning on a nearby table. Noticing it, he noticed a sweet warm smell in the air that oddly seemed to lower his heart beat.

“I hope I’m not being hasty but I think I should get to the point of this meeting. I’ve noticed the men are, well they seem very uncomfortable since the transfer” Plo barely moved except his hands in small slow gestures.

“I accept responsibility for the troops performance, I’ll..” with a slow raise of his hand, Plo gently cut 3636 off.

“No, Commander,I’m not blaming you, or anyone. What I would like to know, is why this is, and how I can help”

The commander was nearly always ready with a response or answer to a superiors question, even if the answer was “no excuse”. But he wasn’t sure how to tell one Jedi that the reason his siblings were so terrified was that another Jedi practically beat that fear in them.

“I know it may be hard to believe but I do genuinely care about you and the Troops. It concerns me greatly that you all seem to be in so much emotional pain. You may be bred for war, but you still deserve to be happy”. 3636 had to look away, unless the general see his eyes moisten.

“It’s ok Commander, I’m listening”

“Well General, honestly it’s just how we’re trained. We’re so used to punishment we’ve come to expect it. Some of us have even become numb to it”

“Punishment from your previous General? Master Pong Krell?”

“Yes sir” For a moment Plos muscles visibly tensed as if reacting in shock and anger. Of course Jedi aren’t allowed to get angry.

“Thank you Commander. I know that was hard but you have done your men and possibly more a great service. I will be sure to speak of this to the Council.” If the Commander wasn’t so well disciplined he might have hugged him.

“Before I go on, Commander, there’s a small but frankly important matter. I know it may not fit into military protocol but I can’t keep calling you commander and CC number is well out of the question. Even droids get names”

“It would be nice to have a name but I’m not sure what I would be called.” 3636 was relaxing more and more. This new general was most different.

“I may have a suggestion. I see how protective you are of the Troops, like a

wolf. What if I called you Wolffe ?” The Clone considered the name for a moment.

“‘No need to decide now. What I’d really like to discuss is how we might ease the men’s hearts and minds. I know many of the Troops in other units frequent the bars on Coruscant to relieve stress. Perhaps a trip outside the base might help?”

“Maybe in time sir, but I’m not sure they’re ready for crowds and loud noise.” Never did 3636 think he would not only counter a generals words but actually be encouraged to do so.

“Hmm you may be very right. Perhaps something less, intensive?” Plo stroked his chin or rather his mask thoughtfully.

“I may have an idea, General”

“Please. You know them better than I do”

“During our training, some of the instructors taught us how to paint our armor to make it more distinctive and to help build a sense of community. For many of us it was the most enjoyable and relaxing trainings we received. Maybe we could have the men paint their armor as a way to ease their anxiety and feel more like individuals. We could even have them make a logo and tell them it’s for tactical reasons. That way they feel less suspicious about the idea” This was probably the most 3636 had spoken to well anyone in while.

“I think that’s a great idea. Is there anyone who might be able to take charge of such a project?” General Plo sounded just as ecstatic as the Clone was.

“Actually I think I know the perfect person. 2827. The instructors were very impressed with his painting skills and he even helped some of the other Troopers.”

“Then he sounds like the man for the job. Call him in, if you would, please” Plo was already standing up as the Commander contacted the Trooper. They didn’t wait long before the bell rang. Plo activated the door and invited the waiting Clone in.

If 3636 was on edge when he first came in, 2827 was practically hanging on it by his fingernails

“Commander, General. You asked for me?”

“Yes Trooper. At ease.” 3636 decided it might be better if he started the conversation.

“The general and I have a very important task for you.” This clearly peaked his interest. At this Plo took over

“Your commander and I were just discussing ways to make the unit more efficient. Not that you and your comrades aren’t performing exemplarily. I’m constantly impressed. But if I’m honest distinguishing the 104th from other battalions is a bit of a challenge. So I’d like you to make an insignia for the battalion.”

“And it can’t just be numbers,” 3636 must be feeling more comfortable if he would dare interject when a general was speaking, “it’s gotta let the Seppies know who they’re dealing with”

“Well said Commander. And I’m sure the Trooper is more than up to the task”

“Absolutely, I don’t think there’s a better man for the job” The commander did something he rarely did, he smiled.

“Well Trooper, you have your orders. Can you do it?” Plo didn’t think he would say no, but wanted him to at least feel it was his choice.

“Yes general. I won’t let you down”

“I know you won’t, brother. Dismissed” 3636 gave him one of the most genuinely respectful salutes he ever rendered

“Yes commander” 2827 was heading to the door, a slight spring in his step

“Oh and Trooper”

“Yes commander?”

“Call me Wolffe. Feel free to tell the others too”

Three days later and 2827 was running down the corridor toward Wolffe.

“Commander Wolffe! Is General Plo around? Have you seen him?”

“Take a breath Trooper. He’s actually heading this way” Wolffe hadn’t seen any of his Troops this excited since they completed training.

“Good. It’s done. I finished designing the insignia for the battalion!”

“That is good. Here’s the General now.” Both Troopers came to attention and greeted Plo with a salut which he returned. Something Krell never did..

“Good morning gentlemen. Commander Wolffe, you have the recommendations for promotion? “

“I do General. But actually, Trooper 2827 has the design ready for us.”

“By all means, let’s see it!” Plo showed about as much excitement as a Jedi could. 2827 opened up a folder he had been holding and revealed the image it had contained; a gray wolfs head.

“I thought that if the Commander was a Wolffe, we would be his Wollfe Pack. If that’s appropriate, sir” The Trooper beamed with cautious pride

“It’s very appropriate Trooper. I’m very proud of you and you should be too” Wolffes normally gruff voice cracked a little. Luckily Plo stepped in so he could wipe the dust from his eyes

“This is very excellent work Trooper. You have great skill with a paint brush. Hmm how would you like that to be your name; Brush?”

“I-I like that very much” 2827, or Brush, rather would probably have been just as thrilled if his name was Toast

“Very good then. Well it looks like we have some painting to do then. Requisition some art supplies and tell the Troopers to meet in the training hall. Commander, I think these promotions can wait, don’t you?”

“Definitely general.”

“And Brush, I hope you’ll be kind enough to assist me with my own art.”

“I’d be honored” Brush and Wolffe shared a silent look that let eachother know thinsgs were going to be much better from now on.

[one-boring-person]

I loved writing this idea, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Thanks for requesting @jawline-of-steel !💛💛

You Wanted To Talk To Me?

Edgar Frog x reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

A/N: this is heavily referenced to my other series, Only Traitors Consort With The Damned, which you can find on the masterlist.

Masterlist

"Man, just talk to her." Alan rolls his eyes as they stumble through the training course together, wet mud slicking their trousers and shirt fronts, hair and clothes soaked through from the pelting rain, bodies trembling from how hard they've been working.

"Talk to who?" Edgar responds, playing dumb as they throw themselves at a climbing wall, chests smashing painfully into the solid surface.

Neither if them speak for a minute as they haul themselves upwards, cresting the wall with some difficulty as their leaden arms struggle to hold their weight, their muscles screaming in protest, though they both manage it. From the top, the rest of the course is visible, a few other cadets just ahead of them, each of the pairs released from the starting point in "waves" so that they can be timed. Both of the boys sigh out audibly as they take in the view, not taking too much time as they swiftly climb to their feet and leap from the top, reaching for the heavy ropes hanging from a structure across from them, the rough material grazing their hands painfully as they slip down it a little. Ignoring the discomfort, they swing their legs in time with the momentum of the rope and kick off it, landing on a far platform, rolling as they land, ending up face first in yet more dirt, signifying the beginning of a net crawl.

"You know who I mean, Edgar. (Y/n)! You should talk to her." Alan manages to explain, voice strained from the exertion required to pull his body through thick mud.

"Why should I talk to her?" Edgar grits out, hands scrabbling frantically in the filth as he struggles to pull himself through this particular obstacle, glad to see the end if it not far out of sight.

"Because it's very obvious that you like her."

"I don't like her." The response is almost automatic, a reflex designed to protect his real feelings about their fellow trainee.

In truth, Edgar had had a crush on the girl for a good few months, having been interested in her as soon as he first laid eyes on her, nearly six months ago, when he and his brother signed up for the SRS. Neither of them had ever really thought about taking their vampire hunting that seriously, but this all changed when the dark-clad Soldiers converged on Santa Carla, their hometown, a couple of years ago, hunting down one of their own, who was seen as a traitor. The hooded men had come into the comic shop searching for some help, only to be confused by the Frog's zealous attitude and rough introduction to the supernatural side of the town, swiftly recognising potential in them. When their Hunt was over, the result of which they never found out, the men returned to the shop, offering to enlist them in the training program as soon as they turned the correct age, stating that the minimum age for joining the SRS is sixteen. Now at that age, the Frog brothers were quick to travel to New Orleans, where they found the headquarters and signed up, completing the theory section with flying colours before they moved onto the physically demanding practical side: hunting.

When they first started this stage, the two of them were easily overshadowed by some of the others in the group, despite already having four kills under their belts (so to speak), their smaller stature allowing some of the larger, physically stronger cadets to overtake them in the rankings, though it was much to their surprise when they found out one of the best was a girl named (Y/n). With a pretty much unknown backstory, the sixteen year old girl had shown up many of the other cadets, holding her own in many of the harder exercises, showing off her aptitude for shooting and fighting, flooring some of the most muscular rookies training with them with ease. It was no wonder Edgar developed a crush on her.

"Frog! I do hope you intend on moving soon, or you'll be stuck on clearing duty for a week!" A senior officer snaps at him from somewhere to his left, drawing him from his brief lapse into his head.

"Yes, ma'am!" He shouts back, knowing how they hate to be ignored.

"Get a move on!"

Gritting his teeth, Edgar follows his brother out onto the next stage - a variety of elevated logs providing bridges across a swampy areas of ground. In the pouring rain the logs have already become waterlogged, making them slippery and dangerous.

Approaching one, he leaps up and grabs the end of it, quickly heaving himself onto the narrow stretch of wood, catching his balance before he steadily steps along it, going with the incline as much as possible, biting his lip as his feet slip a little on the wood. Nearing the end of the log, he locates the closest one to it and jumps to it, landing shakily on the lifted end, repeating the process until he has safely crossed it, catching up to his brother as they run the last few kilometres across the marshy land, breathing heavily in the pouring rain. The finish line comes into view, the posts signifying its presence only just visible through the rain, the flags topping them slapping wetly against the poles they are attached to, concealing the familiar insignia of the SRS from view.

With one last push, Edgar and Alan throw themselves over the finish line, trying not to collapse in exhaustion as they quickly stretch out their stiffening muscles, neither of them saying a word until they've caught their breath back, going to stand with the other cadets who have already finished it.

"One hour, fourteen minutes and forty-three seconds. Not bad, Frogs, not bad." The drillmaster informs them as they get close, the two of them brightening up slightly at the sound of that; it's a new personal best.

"Nice one, you two." A familiar voice congratulates them, the two of them turning to find (Y/n) standing there, a genuine smile on her features, mud striping her cheeks like war paint, most likely the result of her team mate getting a little over-zealous on one of the obstacles.

"Thanks." Alan smiles back, looking to Edgar as he struggles to reply.

"Err, yeah, thanks, you did really well, too." He finally manages, blushing as he looks away, suddenly feeling very hot.

"Thank you." She acknowledges, making eye contact briefly before turning away, going back to her team mate.

"You're smitten." Alan rolls his eyes, looking over at his brother in exasperation.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Stop trying to hide it, Edgar, I'm your brother, I see all these things."

*

The drillmaster's words ring clearly in Edgar's head as he steps through the darkened corridors, making his way in and around broken furniture and piles of ceiling debris, his helmet limiting his vision greatly.

"Don't get caught off guard, or they'll have your ass for breakfast."

Of course, you'd hope that he was being metaphorical, but the cadets are all aware of one fact: he isn't. Not when they've all been tasked with clearing an abandoned hospital of the supernatural beings squatting there, particularly the wraithes and their carnivorous tendencies, most of which are to blame for the hospital's fall in the first place.

A piece of glass shattering behind him snaps him from his thoughts, the sound instilling a sense of fear into him as he slowly turns, freezing in place when he sees a shape in the hallway behind him. From where he is, he can't tell what it is, but he knows it won't hesitate to kill him, so he lifts the gun in his hands to shoulder level, cocking it gingerly, body shaking in fear. Aiming steadily, he let's the flashlight roam across the shape, only to let out a breath when he sees what, or rather who, it is.

"(Y/n)?!" He hisses out to her, surprised that she is in this part of the building.

"Edgar? Is that you?" Her voice floats back over to him, the cadet holding up a hand to shield her eyes from the bright light.

"Yeah, it's me. You found anything yet?" He responds, secretly pleased that she actually remembers his name.

"No. Have you?" She clarifies, coming over to him, her gun held comfortably over her abdomen as she stays prepared, ready to shoot anything dangerous.

"Not yet."

"That's good." She looks him in the eye, "I kinda wanted to talk to you, though this probably isn't the best time."

Edgar gazes at her, surprised at what she is saying, an eyebrow lifting under the visor of his protective helmet.

"You wanted to talk to me?" He asks, incredulous.

"Yeah, I do." She nods, looking away again, her fingers tapping nervously on the stock of the gun.

"What about?"

She is silent for a minute, before she takes a deep breath and responds, relaxing her shoulders as she tries to stay calm.

"I just wanted to tell you about how I feel about you. Edgar, I know this is weird because we don't really know each other, and you probably don't feel the same way, but I, well, I like you. A lot."

There is an awkward moment of quiet between us as he tries to figure out how to respond correctly.

"You...you like me?" He finally manages to ask, not quite believing what he heard before.

"Yeah, I do. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I just thought you should know." (Y/n) explains, going to move past him, before he stops her with a hand on her arm.

"(Y/n), I've had a crush on you for the longest time, I just didn't know how to tell you." He informs her, waiting for a reaction.

"...really?"

"Yeah. Just ask my brother, he figured it out pretty quickly."

She smiles beneath her visor, clearly much happier now that the initial worry is over.

"I'm glad. Maybe when we get some free time, we could go on a date?" She suggests, adjusting her grip on the weapon.

Edgar smiles back at her.

"I'd like that."

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Reflecting Light

Chapter Three:

Roman had never really left the base before.  Sure, he’d gone on missions before, but he hadn’t ever been in an actual town, and the one with all the night missions was Remus.  All of this meant that Roman wasn’t really sure how to act around these people.

He’d decided after the third staring person to just stick close to Shane, no matter how irritated it made him.  He therefore spent most of the morning watching from behind as Shane talked to shoppers and shop owners about whether or not they had seen Roman.

It was after Shane left the sixth shop with no information looking more than a little irritated that Roman finally made some progress himself.

“No one’s gonna tell you.”

Roman turned and found himself face to face with a girl who looked about eight.  “What?”

“No one knows.  And no one’s gonna tell you even if they did.  They don’t like you guys.”

“Rosey!” a woman called desperately, running for the girl from a little ways away by a garden and pulling her back.  “What have I told you about talking to the guards?”  The woman looked up at him.  “I am so sorry… sir.”

Roman raised an eyebrow.  This woman looked like she was ten years older than him at least, she didn’t have to call him sir.  He considered a second before waving the matter off, and the woman pulled Rosey back over to the garden and crouched down, clearly giving her daughter a talking to.

Roman looked at them for another moment before he walked away, considering what she said.  He looked for where Shane had gone and couldn’t find it anywhere.

Roman bit his lip and thought for another second.  He looked down at his uniform and frowned.  After a second, he pulled Patton’s cat hoodie out of his backpack and pulled it on, making sure to cover the insignia that declared him as part of The Light.

He walked a couple steps to a nearby alleyway and headed down to a different street that looked like a marketplace.  He headed up to the first booth he saw.  “Hi.”

The man inside looked up and smiled at him.  Woah, that was the first time anyone had done that so far.  “Well, hello there.  Would you like some bread today?”

“Oh, I’m not here to shop, I’m just looking for my brother,” Roman said.  “He seems to have vanished overnight.  He looks like me, like exactly?  We’re identical twins.  You wouldn’t happen to have seen him, would you?”

The man gave him a sympathetic smile.  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I haven’t.  If you want better luck, I would try the help booth down at the other end of the marketplace.  It’s specifically for tourists, if someone saw your brother, they’d know.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, deciding to ignore the insane fact that people actually came to this town as tourists.  He headed over to the booth the man pointed out and waited as a group in front of him finished their conversation.  As they walked off, Roman stepped forward and was met with an old woman smiling at him.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find my brother,” Roman said.  “He disappeared last night, and the last time someone saw him was in this town.”

“Do you not live here?” the woman asked in confusion.

“We live in the next town over,” Roman lied.  “I’m just worried something happened to him.”

“Oh, poor dear, I’ll see what we have.  What does your brother look like?”

“We’re identical twins.”

The woman nodded a little and pulled out a notebook that she flipped to the end of.  “Oh!  Your brother’s in the rebellion?” she asked in surprise, looking up a second later.

Roman took a step back.  “Excuse me?”

“Well, I have one account of someone saying they saw someone who matches your description on a rebellion pirate ship.  He must have been a new member of the crew or they wouldn’t have thought it worth noting.”  The woman looked up at him.  “It’s Janus and Virgil Picani, which is of course why we know them.”

“Of course,” Roman said with a nod like that made any sense.  “You said someone saw Remus on that ship?”

“Yes.  I don’t know when they’ll be back, but I would imagine it would be rather hard to catch up with a flying pirate ship.  They’ll be back here eventually if you’d want to wait here for your brother.”

“I don’t have time,” Roman said, brushing right past the flying pirate ship what the hell?  “I have to find him soon or—” he stopped.

“Or?”

“Nothing.  It’s personal,” Roman muttered.  “Do you have any idea which way the ship went?”

“Of course.  They headed south.  They’re making their rounds?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!  Right, duh!” Roman said, smacking his forehead as if he should know that.  “Sorry, just… worried.”

The woman’s gaze softened.  “That’s understandable,” she said.  “Let me know if I can help you with anything else.”

“Will do,” Roman called, waving as he turned to head back for the street he came from.

Remus was on a flying pirate ship?  He had to be hundreds of miles away by now!  What was he going to do?

“Roman, where have you been?”

Roman spun around to find Shane marching towards him with his arms crossed.

“And what are you wearing?” Shane asked when he stopped right over him.

Roman looked down at Patton’s hoodie and pulled it off.  “No one was giving us information because we’re Light soldiers,” Roman said.  “So I disguised myself, and uh, I figured out where Remus went?”

Shane hummed thoughtfully.  “Impressive.”

Roman smiled despite himself.  “Thanks.  But the news isn’t good.  I think Remus was kidnapped.”

“Oh?  What makes you say that?”

“The woman I talked to said he was on a rebellion ship owned by Janus and Virgil Picani, and—”

Shane suddenly laughed, and Roman stopped talking.

“You think two of the highest ranking members of the rebellion kidnapped your brother specifically?”

Roman blinked in surprise.  Highest ranking members?  Remus, what the hell did you get yourself into?

“It’s… not impossible,” Roman said weakly.  “Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Hmm.  He is good at that,” Shane mused.

“Yeah, exactly!” Roman called.  “But uh…”  He bit his lip.  “The real problem is they have a flying pirate ship.  And the woman I talked to said she wouldn’t be sure when he’d be back.”

Shane nodded.  “We’ll have to go back for a ship of our own then.”

Roman blinked.  “We have a flying pirate ship?  And we’re going to use it to get Remus?”

“Roman,” Shane said, looking back at him.  “I said I would help you look for two months.  I’m not going back on my word.  And I have… very strong emotions regarding your brother.”

Roman’s eyes widened.  He hadn’t realized Shane cared that much.  Well, he’d been around for most of Remus and his childhood, so he supposed that could easily result in caring about someone.  “…so do I,” Roman replied lamely.

Shane gave him an amused look.  “Yes, I know.  He’s your brother.  Come on, we have a ship to go get.”

…

Roman had been kind of hoping for a chance to see Patton and Logan when they got back, but Shane headed them both straight for an area that Roman had never seen before.  Which honestly was a little surprising.  There weren’t too many places in their base that Roman hadn’t seen.  He had grown up here, after all.

It made more sense when he saw where specifically they were going.  He was barred from the area that belonged to people who had a leadership position.  And Shane led them straight through there, past rooms and the nice cafeteria, and into a massive room that was filled wall to wall with various kinds of vehicles for travel.  Most of the ships were kept at the docks nearby, but there were plenty of carriages and carts in here, and one ship that Shane led them both to near the back.

“This isn’t on the docks?” Roman asked in confusion.

“Why would you keep a flying ship on the docks?” Shane asked.  “We can just as easily open the roof.”

Roman looked upwards to try and process that statement.  The roof did appear to have some kind of large split down the middle.  Was Shane saying that opened?

“Roman, run to the cafeteria and tell them we need supplies for two months.  They’ll give us a week’s worth of food that we’ll stock up at a town and two months of supplies for everything else.”

Roman nodded and headed back towards the cafeteria he’d seen before.

The guard standing in front of the door stopped him as he approached.  “Hey, you’re not allowed back here.”

“We need supplies for a two month trip,” Roman said.  “Shane and I.”

The guard must have been familiar with what they were doing, because he nodded and opened the doors.  Roman was about to start heading in when he was stopped again.  The guard said something aside to the person who was immediately inside, and that person jogged off.

“You wait here,” the guard said, turning back to Roman.  “We’ll get your things for you and help you carry them back to your ship.”

“Oh.  Thank you,” Roman said, moving to stand back against the other wall.

It was quiet for a couple seconds when the guard huffed a laugh and shook his head.

Roman looked back over at him.  “What?”

“You’re wasting your time,” the guard said.  “Your brother clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

Roman grit his teeth and squeezed his hands into fists.  “And how the hell would you know?”

“Because he’s running.  People can’t be kidnapped from this facility, idiot.  Many have tried, all have failed.  He’s clearly trying to run from something.”

Roman narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t pretend like you understand my brother.”

The guard snorted.  “Please.  Does anyone understand your brother?  Do you even understand your brother?”

“Of course I do!” Roman snapped, ignoring the way that the statement felt much less true than it would have yesterday.  “How the hell do you know where I’m going anyway?”

The guard smirked.  “You and Remus are all anyone’s talking about.  The scared soldier who got down on his knees and begged for his traitorous brother’s life to be spared?  You’re pathetic.”

Roman was getting very close to storming across the room and smacking the guard.  Which would be a terrible idea.  Roman was far from helpless, and very in shape from the fact that he worked out all the time, but that guard was massive.  He could easily crush Roman like a bug.

Luckily, before either of them even had a chance to say anything else, the doors opened behind the guard and another three emerged, each carrying a crate of supplies.  They looked at Roman like they were expecting him to lead the way, so he headed back towards the other room, trying to ignore the anger still rising in his chest towards the other guard, who stayed behind to keep watching the door.

Shane had finished setting up a small ship that looked like it could easily be run by the two of them.  He also had in fact opened the roof by the time they walked back inside.  Roman looked up at the open roof for a couple seconds as the guards carried the supplies over to the ship.

After a second Shane called his name and Roman jerked back to attention and jogged over to the ship.  He climbed on just as the guards finished setting the crates in what looked like a small cargo hold.  Shane was adjusting something by the navigation tools and the wheel that would steer, and waved all the guards off as he started adjusting mechanisms.

Roman walked over to where Shane was standing as all of the other guards were moving to stand back from the ship.

“Have you ever flown before?”

Roman shook his head.

Shane chuckled.  “Then hold on tight.”

The next second the ship shook lightly and started to rise into the air.  Roman cried out a little in surprise and held onto the side of the small vessel.  They rose straight up until they had moved past anything else they could hit, and then Shane moved the wheel and they started turning.  It took only a couple seconds after that for them to rise above the base, and… woah.

Now that was a view.

“Alright, get ready to move fast,” Shane said, and a second after that they flew off into the distance.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Roman called over the wind.

“I’ve had suspicions about Janus Picani’s regular travel paths for a while now.  No one has ever thought I have strong enough proof for it to be worth looking.  Guess it’s time to test my theory.”

“It’s a place to start,” Roman muttered, moving towards the side of the ship to watch the land pass underneath them.

“Okay, Remus,” Roman muttered.  He looked off into the distance and sighed.  “You better not be a fucking traitor.”

Chapter Four

[intergalactic-padawan]

For emergencies - Ezra Bridger

Requested: no, but i've had this idea for a while and decided to give it a go.

Warnings: none

A/N: I created this O/C, Astra, and she's probably going to be in more ezra fics in the future, who knows. I have no idea who she is yet, but i'll wait for her to come to life as i go!

Pronouns of O/C: she/her

*ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! I make mistakes just like everybody else 😉*

AU where Ezra never went away and they have a cerimony in Lothal like at the end of a new hope. Astra is a rebel who has never met Ezra before, but has heard of him.

At the cerimony, Ezra couldn't focus on anything else other than his crew, the other spectres.

They had been by his side through thick and thin, and even when loosing one of the most important members of their family, they stood together to help liberate his home world Lothal and bring an end to the Empire's control over its citizens.

Now, they proudly looked at him while he walked down the Lothal Senate building's main corridor, ready to recieve a medal of honor and bravery for being, as the governor said, "an outstanding citizen and a beacon of hope for better days". Other rebels and sympathizers also got their medals while he stood on the side, misty-eyed as Hera tried her best not to burst out tears of joy; a dynamic that lasted for the rest of the afternoon.

At the party that came after, on the other hand, he quickly got separated form the group. Many higher ranking officers offering congratulations, a few friends from Chopper Base comparing the size of their medals and the invites for dancing to the sound of the cultural music of his homewolrd were exciting, but beginning to get very draining.

That's when he notices her. A familiar tug of the force indicating the way guided him to the drinks table on the corner of the big atrium where he was dancing just moments ago; and that's where she stood, drink in hand, watching the celebrations while he approached curiously. He was still coming up with the courage to say something when she notices him:

-"oh, hello there" - she smiles kindly, not turning from her privileged position but nodding at him in acklowledgement.

-"hey" - he squeaks out of surprise, clrearing his throat and trying again - "I mean, huhh- Hey. Hey. I-I'm Ezra" - he smiled, a little embarassed.

-"Nice to meet you Ezra. That's one shiny medal you've got there"

-"uh, thanks, it's...' he took it in his hand to examine the details - "it's kinda heavy, actually"

-"still, a nice medal" - she chuckled

Ezra took that moment to look at her a little closer. She appeared to be fully human, hopefully about his age. Her hair was tied up in a braid that crossed her head like a tiara, a look that fit her very well, he thought. Under her worn leather jacket, marked with the insignia of the rebellion, she wore a simple and elegant black jumpsuit: an uncommon look on Lothal, that made her stand out as someone whod never been there before.

She looked beautiful. So beautiful, in fact that Ezra got distracted and didn't get to brace for the impact of Zeb slapping his big hand on his back to congratulate him once more:

-"hey kid, there you are! Hera's been looking for you all over!"

Ezra smiled awkwardly; obviously Zeb didn't see the situation playing out, or worse: he did, and wanted to embarass Ezra in front of her.

-"yeah, hmm" he coughed and indicated the girl with a tilk of his head "I was... kind of in the middle of something here, Zeb"

She looked down, not able to hold back a smile as Zeb raised his eyebrow.

-"Well, If I know General Syndulla, it's best not to keep her waiting" - the girl offered him a smile and a warm cup of the same beverage she was been drinking earlier.

-"I believe this is what you came over here for, Lieutenant Bridger" - she raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful smirk when Zeb turned the other way to talk to Kallus for a moment.

-"Yes, this too" - he accepted the drink "thank you, miss...-"

-"captain, actually" - she moved her jacket to the side to reveal a shiny rank badge with two blue spots - "recently promoted, right before you entered the room to get your heavy medal".

-"oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see" - he panicked. Was he supposed to salute her now? Was it too late for that?

He took a quick sip of the drink to buy some time while he figured out what to do.

-"hey kid, we really need to go now, hera's waiting"

-"On my way zeb" - he midlessly acknowledged the Lasaat and looked at her once again, searching for words to correct himself, settling for sincere congratulations instead:

-"Well, the rebellion is lucky to have you" - he offerd a hand for her to shake, whick she hapilly took. Ezra would never tell, but the way they fit together gave him a comfortable warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.

-"I don't know about that, Lieutenant." - she laughed - "But my team certainly is, though. You can call me Astra, by the way"

"Well, then you can call me Ezra" he winked as he finally felt himself take control of the situation, bringing her hand to his lips while mantaining eye contact. That gesture visibly caught her by surprise, but she played it off with another light chuckle.

"It has been a pleasure, Ezra. But you really shouldn't leave your general waiting" Astra squeezed his hand lightly, with a twinkle in her eyes that was going to be a constant memory in Ezra's mind. He could swear everyone in there was hearing his drumming heartbeat match the drums that played, but that was the least of his worries now: he needed to be sure he could see her again after this.

She seemed to think the same thing (hopefully), as he watched her do something to her comlink for a moment. When Ezra heard a blip from his own device, she explained:

-"there, my comlink number. It's always good to share these kinds of information with fellow rebels, make sure we can contact each other in case of an emergency, wouldn't you agree, lieutenant?" - Ezra quickly understood her idea, playing into her game with a boysh grin.

-"Of course, captain. In case of an emergency"

She hummed, placing her hand in a pocket of the jumpsuit. It may have looked like an ordinary and quick interaction to literally anyone else, but Ezra could feel it also meant something a little more exctiting to her. Maybe it was their relaxed minds after a significant victory, maybe it was the euphoria of a hard battle, or maybe the fun of interacting with an interesting person after years of tension; whatever the reason was, you didn't have to be a force sensitive being to see a connection had started to form between them.

But, lucky for him, Ezra was a jedi. He was the padawan of Kanan Jarrus, one of the bravest and most powerful Jedi Knights to ever exist. That thought alone brought him the confidence boost he needed to overcome the nervousness of something like talking to a beautiful girl at a party, and even more than that, flirting with said girl.

-"well, i guess i should be leaving then" - he snapped back to reality, feeling Zeb's towering and annoyed presence along with Chopper, who had been called as reinforcement at some point to hopefully drag him away from the spell he was currently in.

-"I hope we'll be seeing each other again?"

-"I don't plan on leaving so soon, Ezra. This drink is delicious" - he was now being pushed back by the droid, but refused to tear his gaze away from Astra.

-"And if i'm not here when you come back" - she added, pointing to his wrist - "You know how to reach me"

-"in case of an emergency" he stated, pretending seriousness

-"of course" - she saluted him lightheartedly - "in case of an emergency".

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Bars & Taverns

It may be a Dungeons & Dragons cliché, but the reason is solid enough. Bars & taverns are a good place for characters to meet up, adventures to start, information to be gathered, and spontaneous fights to break out because the Fighter/Barbarian wants to hit something.

Seeing as Ravnica is only ever one person’s absence from descending into complete chaos, it’s very important to have places for its citizens to have a drink, have a bite, sing bad songs, and blow off steam. Whether you are an Izzet researcher looking for people to bounce invention ideas off of, a Rakdos cultist looking to build up your fanbase, a Boros wojek getting off a three-week shift in the Rubblebelt, or a Dimir agent eavesdropping on persons of interest; a bar can offer something for everyone. All the establishments listed below are canonical, aka from official Ravnica Lore, but in keeping with the tradition of said lore, there’s very little in the way of description and a good number of them exist outside the District 10 map you have to work with. Are you even surprised anymore? Anyway, here are some of the most intriguing watering holes to grab a drink in.

The First Vineyard

Located in Old Rav (Ninth District), one of the deeper & older areas of Ravnica, lies a Golgari tavern whose main claim to fame is that it is Ravnica’s oldest tavern. How old? Who knows. Considering the Golgari have embraced death, rot, preservation, and fermentation as a way of life, it’s a reasonably safe bet you’ll find the oldest and most well-aged wines in the entire plane in this spot. Some of these bottles are probably older than the Guildpact.

If you need to impress someone fancy and you don’t mind being surrounded by the smell of death, this is the place to go. Orzhov believe expensive taste coincides with great taste and thus place high value on objects of (predictably) high value. Hence they have pretty much cornered the market on the kind of expensive goods they value, meaning one has to buy Orzhov to fit in with Orzhov and one has to be Orzhov to afford to buy Orzhov. If you want to skip all that, this should be your first & only stop. This vineyard won’t break your bank, and a little prestidigitation is all it takes to prepare it for the most snobbish of advokists. As with most things Golgari, the recipient is always much happier not knowing where (or who) the cuisine came from.

Titan’s Keg Tavern

Also located in the Ninth District, in the burned-down & often rebuilt neighborhood of Merrytown, lies a pub designed specifically for clients of particularly advanced vertical prowess, aka, GIANTS. At least 4 different guilds include giants among their ranks (Boros, Orzhov, Gruul, Rakdos), and while the city has gone to notable lengths to accommodate these individuals in all city establishments, whether a chair can withstand one sitting down can still be pretty hit or miss. But not here.

This bar is the best place in Ravnica to find a giant, regardless of guild. This is also the best place in town to eat in silence without causing any fuss. Not because it’s quiet, it certainly isn’t (can you even imagine giant karaoke?), but because every patron in this bar is at least 12ft tall, smashes things for a living, and comes here so they can forget about little people for a while. If you are the little person who disrupts that, you are going to have a giant-sized tavern full of angry giant-sized GIANTS teach you some manners. And it doesn’t matter what level you’re at, 25 giants will kill you.

Just getting into this tavern can be an adventure. As the tavern’s main draw is that it’s built specifically for giants, not being one gives you a definite disadvantage. Imagine walking in and a 15ft-tall host (in a suit) asks you if you have a reservation. Imagine trying to muscle your way in passed a Giant in sunglasses who has skipped “bouncer” and gone straight to “splatter”. Imagine a heavily tattooed Bolrac Clan Smasher meeting you at the door with “Welcome to Giant’s Keg Tavern. How tough you?” Imagine a line scrawled on the entrance that says “you must be this tall to enter”.

The Smoking Wreckage

Located in the 4th Precinct of District 10 (huzzah, something actually on the map), the Smoking Wreckage is a (you might have guessed it) Izzet League bar. Expect mixology taken to places it’s never been before. Your drink may bubble, fizzle, explode, polymorph you into a viashino, trigger a wild magic surge, or teleport you into Ral Zarek’s personal laboratory. Or worse, it might get you drunk enough to try another one.

Most likely you won’t have to worry about bar brawls in here, the beer itself is far more dangerous than the broken bottle. Remember, the name isn’t just for flavor in here. This bar is still an Izzet facility and prone to spontaneous uncontrolled reaction; i.e. blowing up. The setup that makes all of this possible makes The Smoldering Wreckage just as much a laboratory as anything in Nivix, except with booze added to the equation.

And you thought Rakdos clubs were dangerous.

The Broken Toybox and Gore House

Speak of the Demon and his pubs shall appear. Hidden discreetly in Precinct 6 are Gore House, a club notorious even by Rakdos standards, and The Broken Toybox, a tavern/brothel that definitely doesn’t have anything strange going on in the basement. You don’t really go to either of these places for the food.

(Dramatic Voice) You go looking for trouble.

What can you expect at a typical Rakdos club? Blood, pain, fire, sharp objects, and entertainment that is guaranteed to take someone’s breath away. So for Gore House, expect that dialed up to eleven. This is where the heavy hitters of the Cult of Rakdos do their biggest shows. Judith the Scourge Diva, Masters of Cruelty, Blood Witches, and rising stars desperate to give the audience a show they’ll never forget, no matter how hard they try. Attendance is synonymous with madness; if you aren’t crazy going in, you will be walking out. If waking up with no memories of the night before next to a dead body and covered in someone else’s blood was a club, it’d be Gore House.

As for The Broken Toybox, if the name alone doesn’t steer you away, you may already be beyond hope. "Den of Sin” just barely scratches the surface. This is where the Cult brings your most twisted and depraved dreams to life behind closed doors with spiked chains on them. If you or a member of your party wants to go here alone, you might need to have a serious conversation with them. This is not a fun toybox. The only rational reason for delving into this dark sanctuary is trying to find something nasty. A Sire of Insanity lurking in the basement suites, a lead on Massacre Girl’s safe house, or an influential figure with dark secrets. You may wish you didn’t have darkvision after a visit.

Bitter End Tavern

Hidden within Avaric, an official Orzhov territory, but one harboring deep anti-guild atmosphere, lies the Bitter End Tavern. While not officially a Guildless-Only bar, you can definitely expect some nasty looks from the patrons if you are flashing any Guild insignias. It technically exists outside the Ten Districts, so put it wherever you want. Guildless don’t have a ton of lore, which makes this a good location for any storylines or NPCs you might have designed that don’t really fit in with any of the 10 Guilds or even Ravnica as a whole. You can basically hang a sign over the door saying “Homebrews Welcome”.

You might find ancient worshipers of the Nephilim gathered here, or groups plotting a coup against a powerful member of a particular guild. Sooner or later, any notable Guildless or Anti-Guild individual will end up here for a bite. Same time, you can also find large groups of people willing to help out other un-affiliated citizens navigate this confusing cityscape world. Heroes of the Precinct likely drink for free here, and they’re always willing to help someone in a bad place with no one else to turn to. A certain mad Voidwielder might also pop in for a nightcap between insane schemes as well. Or just your garden-variety NPC commoners in bulk, lest we forget half the population of Ravnica is Guildless.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #7- Just in Case You Forgot Decepticons Were a Thing

While the Lost Light gets all of Rung’s appointments in order, our narrative is going to take a little shift, so we can get to know some pretty neat dudes.

And by “neat dudes” I mean completely morally and ethically reprehensible bastards.

But first, here’s a brief history of the Phase-Sixer known as Black Shadow.

Very limber, Mr. Shadow. Also, note the abstract sort of Decepticon insignia shape going on with the panel. That’s just neat.

Now, Black Shadow’s kicked a lot of keister in his long, storied career as a ‘Con, which makes his current situation all the more bleak, as he’s in the final throes of a visit with the Decepticon Justice Division.

The guy with the arm-mounted cannon that’s clearly compensating for something is Tarn, the leader of the DJD. His main character trait is he’s sapiosexual, but only for Megatron. He’s so devoted to the Decepticause and its rhetoric, he wears a mask of the insignia at all times.

Behind him are Helex and Tesaurus, who turn into a fondue pot and industrial-sized blender, respectively, and Vos, who turns into a sniper rifle, and was once fired by Megatron himself. I assume he’s only part of the DJD for the clout.

And then there’s Kaon, who turns into a wheelie chair.

Black Shadow’s looking pretty rough, but the boys haven’t killed him yet, and there’s a reason for that; the DJD’s sole reason for existing is to punish any Decepticon who stalls the glory of Megatron’s vision of a better tomorrow coming to fruition, no matter how slight the infraction, and simply killing their victims doesn’t exactly drive the point home, now does it? They’ve got to make an example, you know?

But really it’s so Tarn can pontificate. See, he considers himself a bit of an intellectual, as shown in his quoting of Megatron’s autobiography, Towards Peace.

Ugh, He’s a fanboy. It’s enough to make you want to puke. Which Black Shadow does. It’s mostly blood. Or is it? Hard to tell, energon is everything for these guys.

The DJD have had their fun, so now it’s time for them to say goodbye to Black Shadow. This is where Tarn’s special talent comes into play, and it’s a nasty one.

Tarn has a unique voice, one that, when matching the timbre and frequency of another ‘bot’s spark, can be used to affect said spark, even making it give up the ghost. This is exactly what he does to Black Shadow, but not before making him apologize for selling out the Decepticons for a butt-ton of money.

Speaking of unique voices, Tarn’s characterization is almost completely in his. It makes sense, given his power, that he have a way of speaking that stands out from everyone else. It’s smooth, and cool, and seems well-rehearsed; this is not a guy who stumbles on his words. He sounds like a Bond villain.

Roberts has admitted that he wrote these characters with English accents, and while I can’t say that I buy it for everyone in MTMTE, I certainly do for Tarn.

But maybe that’s just because I’m American, and a lot of the media I consumed growing up had the whole “the villain sounds British/camp gay” thing going on.

Anyway.

Black Shadow explodes, because we haven’t had one of those in a while.

With another tick put on their List, the DJD get ready to move on to their next target. We don’t get any names, but whoever they are, they’re about to have a very bad day.

Then we take a quick jump back to the Lost Light, since things were kind of a massive mess when we last saw everyone.

Rung’s not dead, by the way. I guess Swerve really is just that bad of a shot. Still, he’s not much more than a brain on a rope, and that means that Rung’ll be out of commission for a good while.

Poor Swerve. He feels so awful about this whole thing, even brought Rung one of his little ships to keep him company. The worst part is, now that Swerve’s shot the therapist, who will he talk to so he can work through having shot the therapist?

Speaking of guys who need therapy, Red Alert comes visiting in the dead of night, after visiting hours and in cover of darkness. He tells Rung about the little surprise he found in the basement, and bids him farewell, as he will surely be killed now that he knows about Overlord.

Who the hell programmed that drone to be so menacing?

Red Alert, again showing that this ain’t his first paranoia rodeo, slips a data slug full of Overlord bondage footage into the hole where Rung’s thumb should be- guess it got lost in the helter-skelter when he got shot- then walks out of the medibay, presumably to die.

Anywho, that’s enough of the Autobots for a little while. Let’s see what the Decepticons are up to.

On a planet far from wherever the Lost Light is faffing about, a Decepticon wakes up to a bunch of dudes hovering over him, insulting his looks, and stealing his organs. He reacts accordingly.

This is Fulcrum. No, not the Decepticon medic from Eugenesis, different guy. This Fulcrum’s primary function is probably about as removed from healing as it gets.

The guys trying to harvest him are the Scavengers, and they’re pretty surprised that he’s not dead, because, well…

Yeah.

Misfire- the dude who got kicked in the face a second ago- does both Fulcrum and the reader a solid by introducing all the members of this merry band of assholes, starting with the surliest of their ranks.

Crankcase was first introduced into the IDW run in Stormbringer #3, where he shot at Thunderwing and spouted off a couple lines ripped straight from a porno.

Stormbringer is really just… something else.

Spinister, who can and will shoot anything that meets his unpredictable criteria of being a threat, is the only other Scavenger who isn’t debuting in the comics with this issue. He was in Stormbringer #4, not that he really did anything of note there.

There’s Flywheels, who can’t tell a lie without transforming, and is a born-again evangelical. His character is a removal from his previous iterations, as he’s a triple-changer instead of a Duocon, a robot that only exists if two separate sentient vehicles combine. So, in his case, tank + plane = giant robot. Transformers is weird.

Then there’s the leader of this group, the ever-stressed, glorified babysitter, Krok.

Krok takes the opportunity to save Fulcrum from the verbal barrage, explaining that the Scavengers are expropriation specialists, meaning that they take people’s shit for their own benefit, and that includes bodily fluids. Misfire was supposed to be siphoning energon from the corpses in the area, but accidentally got high on another dude’s supply in the process. Misfire may be hopped up on drugs at the moment, but he’s only a bit more put-together sober, so this really is roughly par for the course with him.

Back on the Lost Light, Chromedome pays a visit to Brainstorm, who is currently hanging from the ceiling. Not in a suicidey way, mind you, just in a Brainstorm way.

He wants to be noticed so badly.

Chromedome’s here because he managed to steal Skid’s weirdly forgettable gun back in issue #4, while Skids was busy harassing that bar drone. He handed it off to Brainstorm to try and figure out what the deal was. Problem is, the gun blew up the moment Brainstorm cracked it open, only allowing him to get a quick look at the internals thanks to his super-futuristic robot eyes. All he can really say is that it looks like something that came from The Institute. Back at it again with the ominous proper nouns.

Getting back to the Scavengers, it looks like the boys have set up a little campfire for the evening. It’s a gorgeous night.

In love with the colors this issue.

We get a very brief history lesson that shows us why reducing your workforce to a spreadsheet instead of living, free-thinking creatures isn’t a super great idea, and then Krok drops the bomb on Fulcrum about the war being over. This is pretty wild to Fulcrum, probably because after 4 million years of that nonsense, you don’t really expect it to ever actually end.

Of course, when the impossible turns out to be possible after all, there’s only one question to really ask: who won?

Now, none of the guys really know how everything ended, only going off of the pulse wave that Vector Sigma shot off during the reformatting of Cybertron. They figure it was probably the Autobots, because they’re at least a little genre savvy. Bummer for them, considering they’re technically part of the bad guys. Just ask the campfire.

You know, I don’t think this is what President Roosevelt had in mind when he started doing fireside chats.

And so our location is finally revealed to us- this is the planet known as Clemency. Hey, wasn’t that the place Tarn said their next target was? Man, that really sucks for these guys. Hope they’ve got their wills in order.

Meanwhile, in the medibay of the Lost Light, Rung has another late-night visitor. This guy takes the data slug from inside his thumb hole, thus removing any hope of Red Alert’s fate being found out. Well dang.

Back on Clemency, the boys have made it through the night, and are using the light of daybreak to start scrounging up parts for their super sweet ship, the Weak Anthropic Principle.

Hold on to your butts, because this one’s a doozy.

The Anthropic Principle is based in the school of philosophy, and states that any and all observations about the universe- or any universe, really- have to be fed through the filter of realizing that said universe is only observable because it allows for sapient life to exist and observe it. There are two flavors of this principle; the strong anthropic principle states that the universe has some sort of compelling force which dictates it be able to house life which can observe it, while the weak anthropic principle basically says that the only reason we’re even considering the strong anthropic principle is because we live in a universe where we can.

Now, why exactly Roberts decided to bring this philosophical idea into the fold completely escapes me, unless he decided to, in a roundabout way, poke fun at the fact that we are currently observing a universe we don’t exist in through the magic of fiction- that theory doesn’t hold water, though, because there are still sapient creatures populating the universe of the IDW comics, and even humans at that. I’m curious where he even learned about this. What an odd, confounding tidbit of information this is.

But enough about that, because Misfire’s just seen a cryptid.

He transforms and blasts past Fulcrum and Krok, interrupting Krok’s explanation of what the device he keeps hidden in his fist is for, trying to catch up to the Necrobot.

The very same, Fulcrum, thank you.

Misfire is a firm believer in the Necrobot, while Krok is firmly not. Misfire’s tried chasing down this guy several times now, but he’s not caught him. The Necrobot is kind of like Bigfoot, if he were also a Catholic priest. This go doesn’t prove any different for poor Misfire, though it’s not all bad.

Flywheels’ only purpose as a character is so that Roberts had a stand-in for the word “fuck” for this issue.

Misfire’s found something very exciting, and he immediately calls Krok to bring everyone over.

Everyone’s super jazzed about finding this thing, and they break out the flashlights and break in to see all the fun stuff that’s inside this obnoxiously large ship.

Of course, this is a Roberts story, and we haven’t yet had any sort of scientifically experimental horrors yet, so we’re honestly a little overdue at this point.

But wait, there’s more!

Aww, it’s nice that Fulcrum and Krok already have each other’s contact info.

Everyone regroups and they weigh their options. Misfire fucking hates this ship, and wants nothing to do with it. Fulcrum however, isn’t so quick to throw this entire nightmare bus off the cliff. Fulcrum’s a little weird, and not just because he looks like he’s got a military pack on and no shirt.

Oh honey, you got a storm coming.

As if on cue, Krok starts hearing music, and asks around for a phone. He picks up a transmission from a familiar masked face. Tarn lets the fellas know that one of them has done a big no-no, and if the others hand the transgressor over, he’ll let them watch, because Tarn assumes that that’s something other people are into. Tarn is bad at people. The transmission ends, leaving the boys to panic, and also wonder where the leader of the DJD learned to count, until they find a very special friend deep within the bowels of the ship. The extra life signal, and the only other living thing on the Worldsweeper- Grimlock.

[leonenolee]

"My apologies, I am late. I attended to the needs of the World of the Living team. " 

Arriving at an open grassy field in the Twelfth Squad barracks, Riyon scanned her surroundings to check if the Hueco Mundo team members were already complete. With the sun completely set, the sources of light in the place are only a number of lit torches making it a bit hard to see the faces of the people present there. 

With what she can see, there are five shinigami captains as the color of their haori makes them distinguishable. With its ivory color, it is easy to spot them especially when the light of the full moon shines through it. 

Based on her point of perception, she began to mentally identify each person. 

On her left, Kyouraku and Ukitake are accompanied by their respective vice captains and another male shinigami. 

On her right, some members of the Executive Militia of the Stealth Force are on guard together with their Captain Commander, Soi Fon. 

On her front, Byakuya is standing there facing Mayuri and his vice captain who are busy preparing the materials needed to open a Garganta. Beside him, a female child wearing a shinigami outfit is standing and blankly staring at Riyon. 

A subtle smile formed on the female captain's lips as she saw the young shinigami girl looking at her. She began walking towards her while gently hugging a seemingly black thick fabric that looks like a piece of clothing. 

"Riyon-chan, if you are scared you can run to my arms and I'll comfo-," Kyouraku said teasingly to interrupt the fourteenth squad captain's march.

His flirty remark was halted when he received a gentle spank on the back by the lady beside her.

"Ahh! My Nanao-chan is jealous," he said as he places his hand on top of the vice captain's head.  

"I am not!" replied the girl with a flustered expression. The petite female shinigami wears a pair of glasses with her black hair tuck tied up. Her left arm has the eighth squad badge wrapped around it. On the same arm, she is carrying a thick light pink colored hardbound book with green borders. 

"That is not the proper way to speak to your fellow captain," she reprimanded him. 

Responding to her, he chuckled gently and brushed his hand against her hair. 

"Be careful, Riyon-chan," Ukitake bids the captain well with a worried expression written all over his face.

Looking at them, Riyon smiled and said, "I'll be fine." 

She then transferred her eyes to Soi Fon, "Take care of Seireitei while we are gone."

The head of the Stealth Force  answered her with a smug smile, "do not underestimate us, Ryuka-taichou."

Marching on further, she focused her attention on the little girl beside Byakuya. She halted in front of her and folded her legs until she met her on eye level. Carefully placing one of her hands at the top of the child's head, she gazes at her lovingly expressing her care and affection. 

"Rin-chan dear, I will leave you for a while.  Watch over our home while I am away, okay?"

Her sweet smile was responded by a lifeless blank stare from her sister's ebony eyes in which the left one is covered by bandages wrapped around the top of her head. The attached fourteenth squad vice captain's badge on her left arm shows the Ryuka insignia that looks like the kanji of death just below the squad's number character. At her back is a black zanpakutou with a hilt guard shaped like a flower. Attached on her sheath is a violet bunny stuffed toy as big as the scabbard with yellow buttons as its eyes. 

Sealing a kiss on her sister's forehead, she stood up and shifted her attention to the man standing beside him. 

"Thanks for asking them to set up already," she said to Byakuya who is busy watching the preparation of the two captain class shinigami in front of him.

"It took me a while to give these to the World of the Living team," she continued with her words as she gave one of the black fabric to him. 

Taking the piece of clothing, Byakuya glanced at her and carefully examined what was given to him. Satisfied with the explanation, he wore the cloak over his captain's haori.

"It's a black cloak with our clan's symbol embroidered on its back. It will mask our reiatsu while we are there. We don't want to be attracting enemies while we are there."

"We are ready anytime, Ryuka-taichou," said by a braided haired petite female shinigami standing on a tall black pole. The badge on her left arm covered in puffed sleeve signifies that she is vice captain in rank. Her emotionless green eyes are almost covered with thick bangs. Around her neck is a red choker that accentuates her slender figure wrapped in kimono-like shihakushou extending until the middle of her thighs. Her clothing is tied by a white obi around her waist. On her hands are white hand covers that also wrap her wrists. 

"Nemu-fukutaichou, you can begin anytime," requested Riyon. 

"Take this with you," the female shinigami threw an item to Riyon. 

Examining what was given to her, Riyon was given an explanation. 

"Use that to communicate with us when you are done investigating."

Riyon kept the item that looks like a white mobile flip phone inside her shihakushou. 

"We won't be long. We will be back immediately after I am done detecting all the reiatsu in Hueco Mundo."

"We won't be closing the Garganta then," replied Mayuri who was standing on another black pole several meters away from Nemu. 

"Nemu, start pouring your reiatsu."

"Hai, Mayuri-sama!" 

The two began filling the black spherical ball above them with their reiatsu. A light began connecting the two balls and moments later, a huge black void opened. 

"Be careful, Kuchiki-taichou," said by a tall man standing beside Ukitake. The male shinigami has long red hair tied highly supported by a violet bandana around his head. Wrapped around his left arm is a vice captain's badge with the kanji of six written on it.

"Renji, don't tell me you are worried about Nii-sama," teasingly said by a short haired female shinigami beside him. Her left arm too is wrapped with a vice captain's badge with the kanji of thirteen written on it. On her hands are white hand covers that extend beyond her elbows. 

Flustered with her remarks, Renji replied in a seemingly loud voice, "Are you kidding, Rukia? Kuchiki-taichou is strong and will return alive."

Rukia leaned forward to Renji annoying him with her expression, "Are you embarrassed?"

Byakuya closes his eyes feeling a bit humiliated with the innocent exchange of annoying lines of the two shinigami. 

"Kuchiki-taichou, let's go," Riyon said after wearing her own cloak. 

The two captains jumped into the black void and their figures slowly disappeared as they moved deeper into the pathway. 

____

Hueco Mundo. This is the place where hollows are born. It is a vast sandy terrain with skulls and bones and erected mineral trees. This world's dark and gloomy sky is decorated with a crescent moon that never changes its phase and position. 

Scanning the area, Riyon gently placed her hand around the handle of her zanpakutou, she thought, "this world is just like yours."

"Should I maintain a distance?" asked Byakuya who remembered what the female captain did at the obliterated area near his place of residence.

Responding to the inquiry, Riyon brought out the round wooden tablet from her shihakushou.  

"No need. I don't need to absorb the reiatsu of a casted spell here."

Gently laying the tablet on the ground, she placed her right hand on top of it and began murmuring some incantations. The cross shaped blood painted on the artifact turned into a light with each bar extending infinitely. 

All the reiatsu in Hueco Mundo started registering on the light. With her analysis, Riyon began to feel some sort of uneasiness. Her heart began pounding loudly as cold sweats exit her pores. Her eyes are tightly shut with her eyebrows knitted together. 

"One, two, three, four, five... " 

Opening her eyes in shock, she turned her head on the east side from where she is located. 

"Why are there so many Ryuka clan reiatsu in that area?!"

Picking up the wooden tablet and placing it in between her palms, she slowly stood up and turned her body towards the said direction. With her hands on chest level, she started sensing the spirit ribbons present in that area. 

"A mix of purple and red stripes. These are definitely Ryuka spirit ribbons."

Analyzing it more, Riyon has noticed some inconsistencies in the pattern. 

"The purple stripes are not evenly distributed. They aren't pure Ryuka clan members. Who are these people?!"

This sudden discovery baffles Riyon even more. With her spell undone, she kept the tablet inside her shihakushou. 

"Did you find them?"

The tons of questions inside Riyon's head increased with another inquiry. The man was looking at her emotionless waiting for an answer. 

Sensing the desire for vengeance as she looks in his eyes, she told the truth. 

"One of them is there." 

Noticing that Byakuya's hand is already gripping the handle of his sword and wanting to take actions, Riyon gently places her hand at its edge to stop him. His stoic expression turned into glare as he felt her force pushing his sword into its scabbard. 

"I won't allow you."

With their eyes locked, they started a battle of conviction. Byakuya's irritation became worse as Riyon pressed her other hand on his zanpakutou.

"Don't be impatient. You will receive justice for your men. I can't have you dead without witnessing it."

"Who do you think you are talking to?!" 

Feeling his pent up anger, Riyon gave him a caution. 

"I know you are strong. There is no doubt about that. However, they possess Ryuka reiatsu. I do not know who taught them and why they have knowledge about our high level spells."

Adding a worried tone to her voice, Riyon continued her explanation, "I am only allowed to use low level binding spells. If worse comes to worst, I won't be able to assist you well in this fight."

Convinced with her words, Byakuya loosened his grip. Riyon took a gentle sigh and released her hands from the edge of his sword. 

"Let's go back," she said while flashing a smile to the captain, "we can't have the Twelfth Squad holding the Garaganta open forever."

Bringing out the mobile phone that Nemu gave her, Riyon contacted her and informed her of their return. 

___

Somewhere along the Eastern side of Hueco Mundo, a hidden mosque-like castle lies at its center. On top of its roof is a protruding Ryuka clan insignia that looks like the kanji of death enclosed in a circular shape. Each corner of the castle is a tower heavily guarded by someone who is wearing a purple cloak. 

The inside of the castle is dimly lit and at the center of it sits a purple throne with the Ryuka clan symbol on top of it. Beside the throne, a petite woman with purple and blonde hair tied up into a pony stands. Her body is covered with a purple cloak with the hood draping on her shoulders. 

"Did you allow her to sense you just like what our master instructed?" the high toned authoritative voice asked. 

"Hai!"

Five female children wearing the same purple cloak answered in unison.

"Very good," complemented the girl. 

"San, follow her before the Garganta closes and join our master in Soul Society. It's time to let Seireitei know who should be the one ruling them," she commanded followed by a hysterical laugh afterwards. 

The third female child disappeared immediately. 

[waywardxson]

What I’ve Done

Who: Rory & @sshardassanderson ft. Skull, Dagger (NPCs)

What: Two Ghoulies try to take some revenge on Rory for betraying them. Grace gets away and gets Dare, who saves him. 

When: Dec 22, Late Afternoon through Dec 23, Evening

Where: Rory’s trailer, Fox Forest, Sweetwater River, Dare’s trailer

Notes: This para starts Sunday and ends Monday

Triggers: Violence, blood, broken bones, drowning, life-saving measures, suggested violence against a child, painkillers - if I forgot any, let me know so I can update, please and thank you!

Ghoulies

Derek had issued orders weeks again regarding Rory’s betrayal. But it wasn’t said much since then, and some were left taking matters into their own hands. That’s what Skull and Dagger were doing there tonight, wearing clothes in all black and face masks with an etching of their namesake. They were big burly meatheads who liked to spend their time destroying, and in order to move up in the ranks, a dead former ghoulie turned snake trash would surely aid in the endeavor. They arrived at Sunnyside in a pickup with a tarp over the back, their headlights kept off to prevent the other snakes from noticing their arrival. They needed to keep a low profile until they could get Rory into Fox Forest. 

“What do we do if the brat is home?” Skull asked bitterly, grabbing a tire iron by his feet. 

“Kill her of course. Boss didn’t say we had to leave anyone alive.” 

“You got the stones to kill a kid?” 

“Hey. She’s a snake.” 

“Right...” 

The two left the engine idling but the car parked as they descended upon the trailer they knew to be Rory’s after watching him come and go out of it. What they didn’t know was that this particular trailer was right beside Darius’. Creeping up upon the trailer, Skull quickly knocked in a window and reached for the lock to open it.

Rory

"I think he's getting it, daddy!" Grace chirped as she picked up her turtle from the terrarium on her dresser and pet the hard shell like he was a puppy. Grace had always been a little different. She never asked for normal pets, or normal toys, or normal anything. She was constantly surprising Rory with how wonderfully unique she was. A blur of blonde ran into the kitchen where Rory had just set down a bowl of tomato soup and a cheap grilled cheese he'd toasted the bread of before adding cheese and popping it in the microwave. He looked up as she held up the reptile who looked at him with glassy eyes. 

"What did he almost do, baby?" Rory asked. 

"Karate!" 

"Well good job there, Donut," he said as he gave the turtle a similar pet on his shell and then messed up his daughter's hair, earning him a giggle from the girl's gleeful face. "Dinner's ready, babe. Why don't you go let Donut get some rest after his martial arts training, hmm?" 

Grace looked at the table, considered and then said, "But daddy, mutant ninja turtles eat pizza." 

He pointed towards her room, "Then I guess we'll have some pizza tomorrow. Go ahead and wash your hands." But no sooner had she taken a few steps before a low shatter of glass made them both jump. Rory didn't know who but when he saw an arm flip the lock, he yelled in his daughter's direction. "Bedroom, now. Lock the door!" 

All he could do was hope she had listened to him. The moment the door opened and he saw the masks, the insignia, Rory knew. He didn't think, just acted. Running at the figure, Rory took him around the waist and tackled him out of the door frame, falling with him to the ground on the cold ground. He threw a punch but he hadn't known there was a second guy. He should have known.

Ghoulies

Skull hadn’t even gotten through the damn window before he was being slammed into the ground with an angry grunt. He swung blindly with the tire iron and it hit something but he couldn’t have even imagined what. Dagger came through moments later and grabbed at Rory’s hair, dragging him violently off of Skull while simultaneously trying to stuff a gag into his mouth. “Fucking tie him up a—“

Rory

Everything was happening on instinct. He hit the ground with a grunt and started to throw punches. Rory hadn't fought ever since he left the Ghoulies but that didn't mean he didn't remember how to do it, and since he was outnumbered, he needed to be on the offensive. The hit came from the side and Rory only just saw the swing of metal before it hit the side of his head. The sound rang in his head, cold burning against his ear, stilling his next punch long enough that he was pulled off by the back of his head. 

Rory tried to pull the person forward but when he realized he had no momentum, he pushed instead, taking them both backwards against the side of the house. Then he threw his head back, colliding with what he hoped was the guy's nose. His grip loosened enough that Rory turned to start throwing punches but only managed one when he felt a hit against his ribs steal all the breath out of his body. He turned to go for the second attacker but as he did, he took the tire iron against the side of his face and it knocked him off of his feet. Blood spat from his mouth as he landed on hands and knees in the icy ground.

Ghoulies

Dagger had the previous pleasure of seeing a handful of Rory’s underground fights. The guy was skilled, smooth, and aggressive. He’d fight tooth and nail to protect his little brat, and fought like his every match was expected to be his last. Tonight’s would be. They were here to make sure of that. The tire iron swung out again and after catching him in the ribs, Dagger was certain he’d be going down. He used the second chance that the former ghoulie was winded to bash him on the side of his face, and down he went. Deep down he knew it was pathetic to go at him with weapons but had the man had the chance, he’d of taken one too. Dagger sharply kicked into Rory’s wounded side and forced him down, his foot putting pressure on his head. 

“Get up you idiot.” He busses to Skull. “Find the kid and get her in the truck.”

“You didn’t say he was—!” 

“It’s like you didn’t ever see him fight. You’re an idiot.” 

“You’re...the idiot...” Skull mumbled irritably as he got up off the floor and started kicking in door, murmuring “little girl, little girl, where are yooouuu...” Pressing the tire iron into the the back of his neck, Dagger leaned in close to Rory. “Now you have two options. One, put your hands behind your back willingly, or when we find your kid, I’ll peel her skin off in front of you.”

Rory

Rory struggled to take in his breath, the hit having knocked all memory of how to breathe out of his chest. His body rattled, lungs trying to expand and take in the air that his chest burned to fill. He pushed at the ground, immediately pushing up until he felt the kick to the same battered spot and it flashed stars. The pressure on his head dug his ear against the ground, small cold rocks pressing into his face but all thought of his own well-being was gone when he heard the first guy mention his daughter. 

"Fuck you," he growled through bloody lips, coughing and spewing the bright red spit. He heard the sound of someone going after Grace, and all he could do was yell her name, and one simple order. Run. Dear God, please fucking run. He tried to put it in his head. She had a window. She could have slipped out. There were plenty of Serpents around and they were all good with her. His eyes turned towards Dare's place and he wondered if they were home. He should have known. Then he felt the tire iron push down and his neck ached. 

Though Rory was hardly in a position to make any kind of orders, he hissed with a deep voice, "Leave my kid alone and I'll go without a fight," he said, hoping that was something he would agree with. Grace was all that mattered. His Grace. Just leave her alone. "Even tied up you know I can kick your mother fucking ass."

Ghoulies

“I don’t think you understand fully how this works, Del Monico. You don’t get to negotiate terms.” Dagger hissed in his ear, pressing the tire iron harder against the back of Rory’s neck. “You’re a traitor. And the fact that I’m even offering you a choice is a courtesy. But since you’re not having it.” Dagger lifted the tire iron and slammed it like a bartering ram into what was assuredly some already broken ribs, crushing bone until it pushed as hard as it could internally. With that he twisted Rory’s arms behind his back and secured them with thin, flexible chicken wire, the sharpness digging into Rory’s wrists and drawing a thin trickle of blood. Dagger straightened up as Skull came back into the room, shrugging. 

“She ran off. I dunno where she gone.” Dagger sighed. “Great. Now we have to hustle before she gets help. Let’s move.” The pair grabbed a blanket from one of the rooms and draped it over their hostage, hauling him up off his feet with one person gripping the top and the other the bottom. With their two man team, they hauled Rory into the back of the pickup, adding two more restraints of chicken wire to the wrists and above the knees before spinning him around and shoving a dirty shoe rag into his mouth and pulling the tarp over him.

Rory

Rory knew it had been a long shot but he'd hoped maybe at least one of them had the good sense to give into it. He had fought through pain before. Fought through broken bones and bruised body parts. Fought through blood in his eyes and open wounds. But he felt less than useless when the bar strained the back of his neck, the bones struggling against the pressure that kept the fighter stuck to the ground. When he finally gave a little, Rory started to get up but barely made it anywhere before the bar cracked against against his side. 

The pain erupted so intensely that all he could do was make a gutteral groan before he was down again. Something was broken in his, crushed, and it made taking a breath almost impossible. Rory barely fought the wire going around his wrists and it was done before he'd even remotely started to come back and could hear past the ringing in his ears. He saw the second guy come back but didn't see Grace with him and though he spoke to his friend, Rory only hoped he said he couldn't find Grace. 

Not that he'd--- 

If Grace died-- 

Without getting any full breaths, Rory felt dizzy, his head full of static and nothing, and he either didn't - or couldn't - fight back. He choked on the rag, the cold cutting like glass against his skin and his vision doubled with every attempt to take a deep breath. Shallow pants were all he could manage, blood soaking the dirty rag shoved in his mouth. It was agony. Every movement of the truck, the sharp turns, the bumps in the road. 

Rory closed his eyes as the pain radiated inside him, furious and unrelenting, and he begged to pass out for any kind of relief he could find. He shivered in the cold, aching down to his broken bones, and even when they finally came to stop, all he could think was if Grace was dead, he'd want to be dead too. And if she wasn't.. they would be.

Dare

Dare had been out cold on his couch when there was thundering, frantic knocks and a panicked voice pleading for help that had him up and on his feet in an instant. He had hardly finished the second lock before little Grace threw herself into his trailer. She spun a frantic, desperate reiteration of the events that unfolded in Rory’s trailer and how she’d hidden in the muck until the bad guys were gone, with her Daddy hidden in the trunk. Dare safely tucked her into his bedroom, promising her that she would be safely there if she hid and stayed quiet, and that he’d bring back her Daddy safe and sound. Rushing outside, Dare hopped onto his motorcycle and followed the tire tracks in the mud to try and find Rory before it was too late. 

Ghoulies

Dagger and Skull drove the truck deep into fox forest where not a single sound would carry to the public before they stopped driving, parking between some brush before they headed back to the rear of the pickup. Dagger seized Rory by his underarms and dragged him off the flatbed, dumping him carelessly onto the half-snow covered ground. Skull grunted and looked around. 

“So what, are we supposed to bring the body back?” 

“I think we definitely could. Derek will know what to do with the corpse.” 

Dagger scooped Rory back up and they headed through the throng of trees, arriving at the Sweetwater riverbed. Skull reached over and broke away the thin ice closest to the shore. Dagger sighed as he looked down at Rory. “I think he needs a wake up call.” 

“Make me do all the hard work...” Skull muttered, though he grabbed Rory by the shoulders and shoved his head under the water.

Rory

For the first little while of the drive, Rory had tried to think of where they were. Right turns, left turns, right again, flat stretch.. but the pain that rocketed through him made it difficult to remember any of it, until he completely forget which way they'd turn. Fuck. Looks like as soon as he could get out, he was going to have to just run and hope he found something familiar. It wasn't ideal, but it was all he could do. The bright wash of light almost blinded him when the tarp was taken and he was yanked out of the bed of the truck, unceremoniously dropped onto the ground. Rory tried to look around, determine where he was, but all he saw were frost topped trees and his own shallow breath coming in quick, short gasps. 

The pain in his chest was almost unbearable and he wondered for a moment what it would feel like if his lung had been punctured. Then he seriously considered with the sharp pain he got when he tried a deeper breath. He shouted from behind the rag, obscenities raging on his tongue and in his eyes. The words still came until he was shoved face first into water so cold he couldn't keep from gasping and taking a whole mouthful into his lungs. 

Rory struggled through the pain, jerking his head every which way and trying to pull free. The cold cut like razors against his face and everything inside of him screamed. The wire at his wrists dug in as his hands turned to fists and just as he was sure he was lost to the river, a rough tug pulled him up. He coughed so hard the rag came free from his mouth, plopping in the water. His stomach clenched and he felt like he'd vomit from the coughing but as soon as he managed a full, painful breath, he growled, "Fuck you, motherfuc-" 

And was suddenly plunged back into the water.

Ghoulies

Skull brought Rory up after a moment beneath the force of the icy cold water before he started to curse them out, forcibly shoving his head back under again, Skull’s arm going like an iron bar against his back to keep him submerged. “What are you doing?” Dagger demanded irritably lighting a cigarette. 

“We need information from him first.” 

“Just trying to clear his head.” Skull replied with an annoyed shrug, still keeping his weight on Rory’s back as he thrashed beneath the surface. 

“Why do we even need to bring a body back?” 

“I assume because Derek wants to set him up like a corpse statue. Let him up for fucks sake.” 

Skull pushed him just a bit harder before he jerked Rory upright by his wrist restraints and tossed him back onto the snowy ground. “Dunno what the fuck you think he’s going to tell us. He’s new to the role of traitorous scum.” Dagger rolled his eyes and shoved Skull out of the way, bending down on the ground over Rory’s face. 

“Hey. Look. I know you think that these serpent guys are all your buddies. But uh...no ones here. No one cares about you since you left the ghoulies. You’re a pawn they use to get information about us. So now is your last chance to turn it around. When do the Serpents meet at the Wyrm?”

Rory

Rory at least had a chance to get a breath before going under the second time. Even though his chest was on fire between his aching lungs and throbbing side, he took it and did his best to struggle against the drowning. Thoughts of his girl alone kept him fighting until he was finally given a break and yanked out. Water beaded down his body as he was tossed back onto the ground, the rough landing stealing his breath. As he lay there, he looked up at the sky and tried to manage together a plan. If he could get his wrists free... that's what he needed. He could at least have his arms. He could punch. He could get the tire iron away from them. He'd take them hand to hand. 

Still coughing up water and blood, Rory started to tug at his binds, letting them dig harder into his wrists. He just needed a little room. The wire dug deeper gashes into his skin but he didn't stop as they asked their question, face in his. He knew what they were doing. He'd seen it before. Frankly, even if the Serpents didn't have his back, Dare had. Dare saved his kid and he owed him. 

"Alright," he gasped through a breath. "I'll tell you..." He cleared his throat, looking between the two men, and he said, "as soon as you suck my fucking dick." Rory didn't expect them to take it well, and he knew it would hurt, but like fucking hell was he turning on the only person, the only people, who actually helped him when they could have told him to go to hell.

Dare

Dare managed to find the truck in the distance, killing his engine a good mile or so away from it and hopping off his bike. He removed his jacket and rolled up his long sleeves, leaving his phone behind as well. They were near the river (because of fucking course they were), and if Rory needed him, he’d go in. He approached the truck quickly, searching for anything that he could use to get it going later. He grabbed a screwdriver from the passenger seat and started to approach the riverbank. If nothing else, he’d at least take some guys down for going after his friend. 

Ghoulies

Dagger sighed again, kicking Rory sharply in his hurt side again. “Man fuck you. We came out here hoping that you could clear a name for yourself again. Derek might’ve actually let ya come back in if you weren’t so god damn stubborn. But you know what? Fine. You’d rather suck Anderson’s dick than work with us? It’s your funeral and your kid’s funeral.” 

“So now what?” Skull demanded. 

“You really think he’s gonna give up anything?” 

“He might’ve if you’d of found the damn kid like you were supposed to.” 

“Oh so it’s my fault your terrible plan went to shit?” 

“Forget it. Just throw him in the damn lake.” 

“Why don’t you throw him in the damn lake?” Skull shot back with a scowl. “Or better yet-“ Skull removed a gun from his back pocket and fired without hesitation, the bullet going straight through Dagger’s right eye/nose cavity, blood splattering across the trees. “Now who’s the idiot?” Skull asked of the corpse that collapsed in a heap on the ground. “Take care of that in a minute. Now I don’t give a shit about what Derek wants. You’re a fucking traitor. So I hope you can swim fuckface.” He grabbed Rory’s ankles and began to drag him toward the ice.

Rory

Rory was busy tugging at the wire that he hadn't even noticed the gun being furnished. But the moment a stream of light caught the metal of the weapon, he had enough time to think *'this is it. this is the end.' But when the shot went off and he flinched at the loud echoing sound that sent birds flying, the large body that fell to the ground wasn't his own. "Jesus, fuck. You're fucking psychotic," but he knew the Ghoulies well enough to know most of them would take that as a compliment. "Fuck you." 

His voice hissed as Skull grabbed his bound legs and dragged him, dirt and mud and rocks scraping against his back as his shirt rose up with every step. He struggled but the added wired around his knees kept him from doing much. The ice on the river burned red lines into his bare back, cutting into his arms, with every step further from the shore. "You're fucking dead when I get out of this," Rory hissed, spitting the threat like venom. "You couldn't even find a little fucking kid, could you? How fucking embarrassing. No wonder you're trying to do this.. go suck the fuck up to Derek, hmm?" 

It was a vague thought in his mind that this was the end. If he was dropped in that water, bound and hurt like this, alone, he would die. This was the end and he couldn't stop the words that fell. "Don't worry, asshole. I'm sure Daddy will give you his cock in good time. Fucking piece of shit. Couldn't take me hand to hand like a fucking man, could you? Fucking pussy."

Ghoulies

Skull wanted nothing more than to throttle every ounce of life out of Rory with every insult hurled in his face. He thought of dragging out his suffering until the weasel was actually begging for death. But with portions of the river frozen over and only a partial path available, he’d unfortunately be taken under with it if this were the case. Kicking Rory over onto some thicker, more sturdy ice, he took a brief break to punch him directly in the face. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU’RE THE MOTHERFUCKER DYING TONIGHT! And when I’m finished, I’m gonna find your bring her here and go ice fishing for your corpse!” He only managed to begin a light push of Rory’s bound body toward the broken ice patches when he felt something suddenly jam into his shoulder, straight into bone before it was withdrawn and then smacking him in the back of his neck, missing his spine by inches. 

Dare

Dare shoved the man aside and he collapsed hard on the ice, sending a sharp lightning like crack through what remained of it. Pulling out his switchblade, Dare dropped quickly to Rory’s side and cut through the wires around his ankles and knees as quickly as possible before he was violently tackled at his side, the switchblade spinning from his grasp and landing near Rory’s bound hands. “FUCK YOU, ANDERSON! YOUR OLD MAN—“ 

 “—I’M NOT MY OLD MAN!” Dare interrupted, kicking Skull repeatedly in the groin to try and get him off as they grappled with the gun. 

“YOU’RE NO FUCKING DIFFERENT! HE BURNED DOWN MY HOME! HE KILLED MY LITTLE BROTHER! EVERYTHING I’VE LOST IS ALL—“ He punctuated his rage with a shot that blasted into the ice around them. “YOUR—“ The second shot clipped the ice near Rory’s feet. “FA—“

A thunderous crack beneath them interrupted the tirade, and Skull seemed damn determined that even if he had to go down too, at least they’d all go in. He grabbed Dare around the neck but was jabbed in his forearm with that same fucking screwdriver, forcing Skull to drop it and send it spinning into the icy water. 

“Rory she’s safe!” Dare managed, wiggling out from underneath Skull and trying to get to Rory. “She’s—“ The moment he stood he realized his mistake, the ice giving way all around him and dropping him waist down in the frozen water. The cold was like a thousand tiny knives wiggling under his skin and stabbing his bones, and he clawed up, trying to get purchase on anything to pull him out. “We all know the Snake leader is a little afraid of the water!” Skull called out tauntingly. “But—“ 

The ice gave way beneath Skull and the man completely disappeared, Dare spinning around as the ice continued to crack and give. “Del Monico listen to me, just go, get yourself out of—“ Before he could answer, a violent tug on his ankles dragged him under the water, the ghoulie determined to take them down with him.

Rory

Rory had a half a second recognition before Skull was letting out a shriek and he knew that he was right not to even consider what they were saying earlier. Even if Rory had been out here alone, he wouldn't have given them shit about the Serpents. Dare had said it when he was first offered to join. They were a family and while every family Rory had been involved in, he'd been kicked out of, he found something special here, something that was worth fighting for. 

"Dare," he said in almost surprise when the man was cutting at the wires. "You crazy ass son of a bitch. How did you--?" But before he could finish asking his question, he saw Skull recover and he hissed, "Your left!” 

But Dare was tackled down and as the fighting happened, Rory felt useless until the blade was close. He threw himself backwards, struggling for the blade that kept slipping out of his reach from the slick ice. Rory ignored it. He ignored the pain and the cutting. He ignored everything, even the gunshot, and as soon as he had the blade in hand, he turned it so he could start to cut at the binding the best that he could. He looked over at Dare, half in the water, and he cut harder, the edge of the blade digging into skin as he recklessly cut, trying to get free so he could help. 

"Dare!" He shook his head, blood dripping down his hands, and then everything broke. The cracking made the ice collapse underneath and then Darius was gone under the water. "No!" He yelled, kicking frantically towards the cracks as the blinds slowly started to loosen. 

He had to get free. He had to get Dare. He couldn't let him die here.

Rory

But as his body hit back against the ice, Rory felt it give before his body was plunged in. The ice cold water was so intense, he couldn't even think, body going completely still as the current under the water tried to pull him away. Grace, he thought. Then he remembered Dare's words. Rory, she's safe. He should have known. Dare had always kept her safe, saved her life. He would keep her safe now. It felt like needles bearing into his eyeballs when he opened them, seeing the two forms sinking low beneath him. 

Rory cut and dug, leaving long gashes until the wire finally, blessedly, gave in. With his arms free, Rory started to swim. The current helped, taking him in that direction. He fought through the screaming muscles and cracking flesh as he worked to get closer to Dare, fighting through the pain. He wouldn't let him go. He swam hard, lungs aching and begging for air, until he was close enough to grab the collar of Dare's shirt. 

All he could do was point to the crack in the ice where they'd gone in and hope that was good enough. Rory gave Dare a tug and pushed. They would have to fight to survive this, and with the way Rory's vision was darkening, he wasn't even sure that was going to be enough.

Dare

Of all things, Darius was sick of the Sweetwater River. He wanted to move to a place that had nothing but desert, so he’d never have to feel the cold sting of the only place that any villain in this town felt it appropriate to dump bodies. He twisted against the hold that Skull had on his ankles, a bubbled cry of pain escaping him as the Ghoulie’s knife went through his leg. The harder he pulled, the further they were dragged away from the surface and beneath more solid, sturdy ice. 

He’d only barely managed to keep hold of the screwdriver as they sank to the bottom of the river, violently jerked around by the undercurrent and sending them both tumbling and twisting. They were nothing more than a gaggle of limbs before Dare was seized by his collar and jerked free from the Ghoulie’s hold, Rory swimming half-consciously beside him and trying to push him toward the opening a good yard away. It was evident that Rory would lose consciousness soon, and Dare shook his head, gesturing for Rory to go before Skull was on him again, Dare barely managing to get his frigid, frozen limbs to respond in time to catch the knife from going into his chest. 

Even to the untrained eye, it was clear Dare struggled to find balance in the water. The current jerked his arms and legs around and out from under him, so much that he scissor kicked like a frantic toddler and snorted out more of his air. The Ghoulie took the opportunity to turn on Rory, but his chest started spasming, bubbles shooting out his nose as he swung haphazardly, still landing a hard punch into Rory’s injured side.Though the current had pulled him back, Dare clawed his way back over, a river rock clutched in his hand. 

Though it’d cost Rory, Dare managed to sneak back behind the distracted Ghoulie and clocked him impossibly hard in the back of his skull. An eruption of bubbles burst from the Ghoulie’s mouth as he screamed, and all he could do with numb fucking fingers was pound the rock into his skull again, and again, until the water began to dark into an impossible reddish hue.

Chest aching with the desire to gasp for breath, Dare searched for Rory.

Rory

If he could talk, he would have told Dare there was no chance in hell he was leaving him. That wasn't how this worked. It wouldn't be how he worked. Rory had long since wanted to be a better person than he had been. Even than he'd been when he was a Northsider. Not leaving someone who had your back, who came for you, who didn't tell you to fuck off.. that's how you become a better person. The water made him slow and awkward so his punch missed but Skull's was right on and as it landed, Rory unwittingly took a large inhale that filled his lungs with salty, dirty water. 

His body ached and the cold water cut but as it started to hurt just a little less, he knew it was a bad sign. His leg gave a quick kick, trying to motion towards the surface but the strength he needed to get there was leaking out of him the way blood left Skull's body. He wanted to fight, tried to fight, but managed only to float away, giving into the current. His only real comfort was knowing that no matter what, Grace would be taken care of. 

And then nothing hurt anymore.

Dare

Floating lifelessly and being carried by the stream away from him was Rory, and Dare quickly pocketed the screwdriver and pulled himself after him, just barely managed to catch the back of Rory’s shirt before he got away. His new friend was lifeless and unmoving, limbs floating around him in the under current and the water making him appear gray. 

Though he was struggling himself, Dare grabbed Rory’s face and pressed their mouths together, expelling a quick, small breath out and into Rory’s waterlogged lungs. Using the riverbed bottom, Dare pushed off and up for the surface, hitting the ice with an impossibly hard thud that stole the last of his breath away. Gritting his lips together tightly, Dare fumbled weakly for his pocket, digging the screwdriver out. The ice was weak due to the abnormally (yet ironically) warm weather, so the screwdriver went straight through. 

Keeping a hold on Rory as best as he could, he used the screwdriver like a pic, pulling them closer and closer to the large break until finally, just as the edges of his vision began to darken and dim, his head broke the surface. Sinking the screwdriver into the surface of the ice, Dare coughed and hacked, trembling violently as water clawed up his throat and spewed out like bile. 

“R-Rory...” He croaked, lightly jerking his friend as he struggled to hold on. “R-Rory b-breathe m-man...” But his friend remained still and silent, Dare bringing his head over to lay on his shoulder and cursing weakly under his breath. The ice had broken and formed a deus ex machina pathway out of the water and toward the shore, so continuing to use his screwdriver as his pic, he dragged them across the water until they reached the shore. 

Just before he climbed out, Dare heard a sickening THUMP, and nearly vomited at the sight of the Ghoulie corpse pressed against the frozen surface. Vacant, dead eyes stared at him, before the body was swept away by the current and dragged out of sight. Shaking off the cobwebs threatening to surround his mind, Dare shakily dragged himself and Rory onto shore and coughed some more before turning to his friend. Checking his neck, he felt around for a pulse, not finding one with numb as hell fingers. 

“Fuck me...c’mon man you can’t f-fucking die.” He turned Rory flat onto his back and despite the pain and murder shakes, despite what was obviously broken ribs, Dare started chest compressions. Unsure of what he was doing, he counted to some obscure interval of five and then pinched Rory’s nose shut and tilted his chin back. He’d seen mouth-to-mouth performed on enough movies and shows to have a general idea of how it needed to be done. After a minute or so, he still wasn’t seeing any sign of life from his new friend. 

“Cmon a-asshole...I g-got enough kid problems...”He compressed harder on the frail chest and then bent down again, exhaling as much of his frigid air into Rory’s lungs. Again. And again. And again he repeated the process. 

“DUDE!” He barked. “TAKE IN SOME FUCKING AIR!” He tilted Rory’s head back further, breathing another puff of air into his mouth until he saw Rory’s chest rise and fall in a breathing motion. “Yes! Fuck! Cmon!” He did it again, greeted suddenly by a splash of that cold ass water against his face, and suddenly Rory was coughing, Dare rolling him onto his side and hammering lightly on his upper back. 

“Good job, breathe, I got you. I...fuck man, I’m s-sorry.” He grabbed Rory’s arm and wrapped it around his neck, shakily getting onto his feet like baby god damn Bambi, and walked over to the Ghoulie scum’s truck. The interior was still mildly warm, and he carefully hoisted Rory into the passenger seat, the keys sitting on the dashboard. These guys clearly hadn’t anticipated being interrupted. His bike could wait. 

With Rory secure in the passenger seat, Dare drove back to the trailer park, getting Rory immediately into the bathroom before Grace’s tiny head poked out and saw her father in terrible condition. He turned on the warm water tap to give Rory’s body some time to adjust and laid him down with the shower head pouring over him. He quickly shot out a text on his burner to his medic friend to come over ASAP.

Rory

Rory had heard people talk about what happened when you died. There were things people in church said, when they talked about a warm, bright light that brought you into the arms of salvation. He'd also heard that you were welcomed into the arms of fire and brimstone depending on what kind of person you were. Rory couldn't be sure which way he was going in the afterlife but when he stopped feeling pain, he didn't feel either of those things. 

No warmth, no cold, no light. It was just empty. Empty and never-ending. 

There were moments of pain as he lay in that nothingness, moments when his chest hurt so hard he was in too much agony to even scream. Sometimes when he couldn't stop screaming. He didn't know where he was or what was happening to him, but he supposed maybe this was the price for all of his wrong-doings, all of his mistakes, all of the people he hurt. 

This was his punishment. 

But even punishment doesn't last forever. Or maybe it does but it just changes. Rory slowly started to blink eyes that felt far too heavy. Everything around him was dark at first, and then light, then dark again. By the time his vision started to adjust, he was in a room he didn't recognize, laying shirtless in a bed that wasn't his. 

He went to sit up and the immense pain in his chest tore a slew of cuss words from his mouth as his arm crossed over the bandages compressed across his chest and sides. Slamming his hand back against the headboard, Rory tried to breathe through the pain but every breath, no matter how small, brought with it just a little more pain. His brain was cloudy, memories foggy, and when the door to the room opened, Rory breathlessly looked at the man standing there. 

Curiosity filled his eyes as he said, "Dare? Where the fuck am I?"

Dare

Over the next day or so, Dare had a lot of cleaning up to do, and a pain in the ass cold to try and prevent him from doing it. He lugged his ass around as normal, taking care of Grace, keeping in touch with Charlie. His friend assured him that Rory would be in pain, but Dare’s quick thinking is what saved his life. That and the cold of the water preventing permanent fucking brain damage. There was also no current repercussion from the Ghoulie side regarding the two missing bodies (the other that’d been killed there Dare had also disposed of in Sweetwater when he went to fetch his bike). 

His ankle had been stitched and bandaged and he shouldered the other injuries carelessly when it came to lending a hand with Grace. He assured her Dad was fine, he had an accident, he’d be okay, yes Donut can stay here too. After checking up on Rory mid-afternoon the following day, he had a sneaking suspicion he’d regain consciousness. He twisted in his sleep and gripped Dare’s sheets in white knuckles fists, so Dare urged Grace to watch some tv while he headed back into the bedroom to leave some prescription painkillers and some water. 

But by the time the door opened, Rory was sitting upright, chest heaving, eyes wide and looking somehow hazy and alert at the same time. “Hey man. Welcome back to the land of the living. Got some super awesome pain meds for that shattered rib cage.” He crossed the room and handed over the two pills and water. 

“You’re in my room. Your kid is out there watching Tangled and wants to see you when you’re feeling up to it.” Dare sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I should’ve insisted you stay here until this shit with Derek blew over. I didn’t think they’d have the balls to cross into our territory. They almost killed you this time.”

Rory

Even with the pain raking through him, seeing Dare started to shake off the icicles from his brain. Had they been at Sweetwater? He started to think about it but a headache almost instantly formed so he took the pills without a second thought. They could have been anything in that moment. The prospect of any kind of release was all he really needed. Normally he would have straight swallowed them but his throat was dry so he tried to chug but each swallow sent more pain in his chest. He swallowed much slower and then tried to catch his breath when he finished half of the bottle. 

Grace. 

But instead of insisting on getting right up, Rory decided to wait for the pills to kick in. At least to try. He wanted to see her but she would be scared seeing him in a lot of pain. He watched Dare sit down and then shook his head when he spoke. 

"What are you talking about?" He put the water down on the table beside the bed and then cupped his hand along his side, trying to force his brain to remember how he ended up like this. "Who-- What happened?"

Dare

Hoping he wouldn’t have had to repeat the story seemed to be just a hope, nothing more. But Rory was owed all of the information. Dare rubbed at the fading bruising around his neck from his recent suicide attempt and sighed a little. He wasn’t going to let his mind drift back there again. No matter what. 

“Hoping you can fill in some of the blanks. But Grace came here saying you told her to run and she heard you yelling. And that some people put you in a truck. She also spent ten minutes reiterating to me how much she hated laying in mud.” Dare turned to face him. “I got to the Fox Forest when you were getting dragged into the river. The one dude shot the other dude because they were fighting I guess? Then that guy was gonna shove you in tied up. We fought, all three of us went into the river. You...drowned, Rory. Fuck face punched you in the side and you...” Dare cleared his throat, speaking quietly. 

“I killed him. Smashed his head in with a rock. I’m not much of a swimmer but I got us out, did CPR, got you breathing, and then took their truck back here to keep you warm. I put you in the shower and warmed you up until my doc friend came. Hence the Vicodin.” 

Dropping his hand from his neck, Dare tried to look as stern as possible. “I’m not gonna let them fuck you up like that again. I promise.”

Rory

It was strange the way that his memories came back. Rory went from not remembering anything, to suddenly remembering it all as soon as the words were spoken. It was like watching a movie and realizing with every new frame that while you didn't know what came next, you remembered seeing it before. He suddenly remembered the cold, and the water. He remembered the fighting, and he remembered letting go, letting the water take him, and fuck, he thought it was over. He thought everything had ended but the pain he felt now told him that nothing was over. 

"Jesus, fuck," Rory grumbled, rubbing his hand over his head. He was lost in those memories, lost in the water still. Maybe part of him was still underneath the surface of the river. Maybe part of him didn't come out. His body felt heavy and he leaned his head back on the pillow, trying to ignore the aching in his body and praying that the pain meds kicked in soon. "They broke in. One of 'em, broke in the window. I tackled him, told her to lock her door." 

But there was a warmth in his heart at the idea of Grace complaining about the mud. She'd likely taken many baths since then. "That's not the first time you saved my life," Rory said, his attention suddenly drawn to the way that Dare wrung his hand along his neck. 

"I betrayed them," he said. "I'm surprised they didn't try sooner. How many Ghoulies turn Serpent and live to tell the tale? I'm alive, Dare. Because of you."

Dare

Fighting back the gut instinct to argue with Rory proved difficult, but not impossible. He wanted to dissuade the former Ghoulie from thinking that was anything but a walking disaster from turning Bruce, but he consciously became aware at the bruising around his neck and stopped what he was doing. He needed to be the leader that they needed, and not try to focus all his energy on proving that he was anti-Bruce. Wallowing in a pool of self-flagellation and denial wouldn’t make him effective for anyone.  

“And I’d do it again, too.” He finally responded after a moment of silence. “Prospect or not, I’ve got your back. You’re gonna live here for a bit. Hopefully this shit storm with Derek will die down and we can get you back in your place. I’m gonna have some new security put in place too.” Dare stood slowly and walked alongside the bed as a million and one different thoughts ran through his head. Neither of them should’ve survived last night. But here they were, both alive and relatively unscathed considering the circumstances. 

“I’ve been fighting with myself,” He admitted slowly. “About some of the things I’ve done. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my old man, but he’s why Derek is so fuckin angry. When Bruce was a kid, he was a medically diagnosed psychopath. He feels nothing. And when I killed that Ghoulie, I felt vengeful. Disgusted too. But I know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He stopped pacing and gave Rory a firm look. 

“You are my brother and I’d do it a thousand times more to keep you safe. That’s what separates me from Bruce. And that’s how I’ll lead. You and your kid are important. You deserve a shot at being safe and happy, Rory.”

Rory

"I thought you can't swim," Rory said, rather than asked, not really looking for an answer. He didn't mean to feel the overwhelming rush of emotion but even hearing those words assured him that this was exactly where he wanted to be. This was his family in ways that nothing ever had been before, even the blood relations he had. Rory knew better than to argue with Dare in that moment, and maybe part of him wanted to stay too. He'd been practically dead twice as it was, one from Derek, and one in the river, and if staying here took away that prospect - at least for a little while - he was going to do it. 

"Thanks, man," he said with a nod. "I just wanted to know Grace was safe. I didn't think anyone knew where I'd be." But Dare did, and Rory knew that he'd have done the exact same thing. The memory came back to him, the question that the Ghoulies asked him when they finished dunking his head in the water. "They wanted to know when the Serpents meet at the Wyrm. They might be planning something there. There should be extra security there." 

He couldn't be sure if that was just between Skull and Dagger, or all of the Ghoulies, but it wasn't worth risking. Then he listened, nodding as Dare told him these things that he felt like the other male had been struggling with. 

"You're right," Rory said when Dare finished talking. "You aren't your old man. I doubt he'd have helped me when I knocked on your door for help getting Grace back, let alone fought to bring my ass back to life. I'm glad you can see it, Dare." He was right, Rory didn't know Bruce, but he knew the stories and he knew plenty of people like him. 

"I know you told me not to say it but.. thank you. For everything. I'd-- literally be dead if it weren't for you. I don't know how to pay you back for that but I hope you know that I won't stop trying."

[smolbeandrabbles]

Out of Nowhere Girl - Talos/Keller/OC (Captain Marvel)

Set In Canon MCU Captain Marvel / Guardian’s of the Galaxy Universe with a few out-of-canon ‘twists’...

Author’s Note:  Posting this a week after I see Captain Marvel (AS FOLLOWS CANON!) but still tagging with spoilers.

Oh my god. I was having an existential crisis after the movie and the fic that I posted that is not canon (Science & Faith. If you want to read you can click the thing) That I wrote this between acts at the C2C country music festival on 9th March... That makes this the quickest write and edit I have EVER done. It’s probably quite telling... (It’s 10/3/19 @ 8:26 PM GMT.) She is with Keller, Talos just simed him. I’m making that clear right now! It’ll make sense when you read!   This is an alternate version to ‘Science & Faith’ - so that characters there are the same. This one just follows actual movie canon.

Don’t worry it’s not the same story. It has a few similar elements... It will likely go back and forth between the two time periods. Please someone get what I did with his full name... 😂😭

NOT reader insert. Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC... I am slightly bending canon on Supernova; but I liked the concept. Maybe I've set it so there's more than one? Like a special forces part of the Nova Corp? (Tbh still figuring this out) So you can have it coming from another Saal... sorry not sorry Expositional conversation-narrative heavy... Sorry!

Simmed? Simed? Sim-ed? Which is it!?

Premise: When Keller gets sim-ed by Talos as a result of the Kree-Skrull war the aftermath is of no great consequence to his partner... However, when exploring on behalf of the Nova Corps Keller’s distress signature coming from a planet half way across the galaxy leads her to investigate...

Word Count: 4384

Warnings: Spoilers! Murder (I guess) Actually this might assume you know about her from Science & Faith...

My little out, out of nowhere girl Where you been all my life? Where you been trying to hide? It's like you’ve come Come from another world Fell right out of the sky And landed right here tonight...  

Keller had had a day. He’s had days before, as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and sometime-Scientist he expected for days to be a part of his life.  But this had been something else entirely. When he opened the door to his apartment, he was at least glad to be greeted by an essence of normality. Well, as normal as it could get he supposed…

Maliyah was pouring over drawing after drawing and ship schematics. She still couldn’t get something on that ship of hers to work right. Or, maybe she knew she was just stalling for time… She looked up with a smile; “I can already tell you have a lot to tell me…” “Yeah…” He sighed, throwing his keys on the counter and allowing a pause. “It’s where to start…” He looked across to her, at the way her skin sparkled just at his presence… She’d crash landed to Earth nearly two years previously. Through studying her they had built a friendship – and now it was a lot more than that. The blue lights across her skin; because, all of his were blue or white, or purple… used to only light up when he touched her. Or, when he was feeling something at the extreme end of the spectrum. They turned red every time he got hurt, and that hurt her too… So he’d tried to make his life easier. Tried. Now the lights appeared just because he was in proximity… She said that showed they had a strong bond. Keller was only human, so he felt proud of that. He hadn’t ever expected to see anything else otherworldly – until today happened. “Maliyah… You know a lot about the other species out there… right?” She put her pen down and turned her full attention on him; “Yes. Enough. Why?” “Because you were the only other race I thought I’d ever see. But clearly, I was wrong. Because-” He faltered, squinted in remembering and then tried again “…Tell me about shapeshifters?” “Narrow that down. It isn’t an exclusive trait…” She tilted her head “…But now I’m worried.” “Okay, uh… Green… pointed ears… Like… linear markings or patterns…or…” “Skrulls!?” She was takenaback “Skrulls on Earth!?” Then she slammed her hands on the table, more in interest that anger; “WAIT! Did you get SIMED by a Skrull!?!??!” Clearly he had no idea what that meant by the look on his face, but she couldn’t hide her laugh; “…Wait. Skrulls are on Earth? Okay, I’ll roll with it… Did a Skrull shapeshift into YOU.” “…Yes.” She laughed again “Oh God!” Then she attempted to stop herself “Oh! Baby, that’s terrible!” “Doesn’t sound like you mean it.” She cleared her throat, “Whilst it’s funny it’s not exactly good news…” She rested her hands on her thighs and chewed her lip “…What did you think about..?” “Huh?” “Your last thoughts. Before they simed you.” “Probably something like: Oh GOD I hope I don’t die?!” “You didn’t think about me, at all?” He hesitated, it probably wasn’t the best idea to confess to his other half he hadn’t thought about her whilst waiting on the fate of his own life… “…Uh…No…?” “Good.” “Good?!” She was clearly as full of surprises. As any ‘alien’ should be, he guessed. “Yes. I’m an Auron, my race and my planet are dying… Sightings of us are rare even in our part of the galaxy… As an adult female I am worth a hell of a lot to my home planet – And a lot of my abilities will be worth something to a race like to Skrulls.” “…So you’re telling me that not talking about you – like you asked - and therefore obviously not consciously thinking of you is good?” She nodded; “I wonder if the Kree war has come all the way out here?” She almost laughed again “That’s no good for me either… Considering my affinity with Xandar… You’ve done very well if they don’t know a THING.” “…Have you seen me today!?” Her sentence sparked panic in him. “Right now and when you left. I haven’t been out of here even once. I’ve been working this algorithm…” she shook her head “You haven’t come back, I haven’t called you… Zip. I promise.” “…Okay…” “Don’t worry about me… I’m more worried about you… Getting Simed is not the experience you want to have… are you okay?” “Seeing someone change into me… That’s bad, getting tied up and left in a Blockbuster though… Ehhhhh….!” She shook her head “…You really went through it then, huh?” She beckoned him over, and he was all too glad to walk into her arms… She brushed some stray hairs out of his face, her touch gentle and welcoming… A different set of colours formed on her skin – these lights pale and milky… pastels… enveloping him in her arms the effect was instantly calming… “I’m sorry…” “…You don’t need to be sorry…” “I told you, nothing about another race coming to Earth is good…” He almost laughed; “That makes you an anomaly then… You must be the one good thing.” ** Nick Fury almost jumped at the next knock at his door. This time it was Keller that opened it. "Oh! SIR!!!" He looked more than a little weary and Keller knew why. "Nick, I swear it's actually me! And I can prove it, but to do so you have to come with me." "Yeah that sounds... Safe." "Unfortunately I'm not the one who needs to information in your head. Or I could just stand here." He winced as he realised it maybe wasn't the best choice of words "Urm. Look just... Come to my office..." He backed out with an attempt at a convincing smile and wandered down the corridor to his own work space.

As usual it was hard to get Maliyah to look inconspicuous. This time she put up a fair argument of she'd only be going car, to security door, and then to his office. Still, she was sitting in a top that cut across her shoulders AND exposed her stomach and a short, layered skirt that showed off her legs. The marks across her skin, and all his fault, were more than just visible. And the jacket she'd brought because he insisted she wore one, was of course emblazoned with her Nova Corp rank insignia. Geez... He almost thought about loosening his tie just looking at her. She was curled up in one of his chairs reading a file of his. He rolled his eyes, of course the first thing Maliyah would do was break into his cabinet. She had a stack in front of her too. Her shoes kicked off and left by the chair. "I've asked him. The rest is up to you." "Does he trust you?" She didn’t look up "Would you?!" "...Not entirely. Depends what Sim Keller did!!!" "Well it probably wasn't GOOD!!" He sat behind his desk and nodded to her files; "Careful with those." She turned a page towards him "Why do you have a Nova symbol?" "It’s a very complicated astrological algorithm..." Why she thought everything centred around the 8-point star of Xandar was beyond him. "... Did you do this..." she nodded to the algorithm itself "Yes" "You're a scientist!?" "Part time... I don't... Not all the time... I dabble..." "That's why you wanted my blood. Right?" "Your bloodwork is... Incredible." "You should have tried some Skrull blood if you think MINE is interesting." He was at least amused; "... Bit late for that advice!!" then tilted his head; "Does it… Change? Now we are... Now we have a...?" connection? Did her race give that a name? "Yes?" "We should do yours again." "Worry about your own." She noticed the way he furrowed his eyebrows in concern; "... What we did... It'll affect yours too." He stared at his hands with wide eyes "And I'm not entirely sure what being simed will do to you…" "Geez! I clearly just need to take you everywhere with me don't I!?" "I don’t wanna get Simed...!!!!" That was the wrong thing to say as his door opened.

Jonathan knew it, and Malyiah knew it by the way he put his head in his hands. She thought it was cute. She thought a lot of things humans did to display their emotions were cute. She hadn't known a race feel so acutely as this. She'd chosen well, she couldn't have ever expected to. He was the best surprise.   Nick looked across to the female voice that had spoken and almost had a heart attack; He wasn’t faced with a straight-laced, suited, female S.H.I.E.L.D agent. Instead her purple fading to pink hair, eyes so deep blue they were purple, the mish-mash of clothes she was wearing - that still strangely matched - and the foreign markings visible every so often on her skin, like someone had tattooed her with white ink, made him think she wasn’t human at all. "Who the hell are--!?!" Jonathan Keller jumped quickly to her rescue; "Nick there's a lot of classified stuff that's happened in the last two years..." "Two years!? WHAT!?" "Remember that crash we were called to in Utah?" "... Yeah. Highest level. You were there ages... No-one ever spoke about it." "Yeah... Uh..." he brought his hands together and pointed across to the girl in the chair. "...Hi!" she smiled "You must be Nick Fury." He turned to Keller "Sir!!! Don't start telling me there's more of them!!! What is she S.H.I.E.L.D intelligence!?!" "... The fact there IS more of them is exactly why we NEED to tell her everything. But I was tied up in a Blockbuster ok, so I'm no help! You are." She was looking down at herself; did she look like S.H.I.E.L.D intelligence? Nick wasn’t sure he was following; "He employed you... Right? That's why you're here and you know everything...?" "No I'm not employed. HEY! Jonathan there's a thought!" "I'm not paying you. That's got implications I'd rather not have...!" If Maliyah didn’t catch on, Keller's agent did; "Wait---!! Are you two!?" Nick quickly grasped the situation as he pointed between the two of them. Keller nodded in silent admittance "It wasn't meant to be like that. I had to study her... But they were... It was inhumane Nick. I moved her out here... She's trying to get her ship back in order."   Malyiah shrugged as if that wasn’t the explanation she would give; "I won't know what I'm gonna do until it's fixed. At the moment it's in a high security area back in Utah..." "Yeah, I've seen it. I didn't know there was anyone involved... So you know about the Kree? And Skrulls." Her jaw tightened at the mention of the Kree; "So they DID bring their war here." "I'm not sure it was intentional." she hummed, fingering the pages of the file she was reading for a second "And what happened? Where are they now?" "Gone. Why..." "Gone where!? Like gone, gone!?" Keller looked glad of that, juxtaposing Maliyah’s sudden panic. "She didn't say where she was taking them..." he narrowed his eyes "Whose side are you on!?" Fury wouldn’t risk Carol’s life. Never. "... I'm not really on anyone's side... BUT... I guess I align better with the Skrulls..." She gave a shrug. "... The war isn't my problem. Them siming Keller is my problem. The Kree out here with me here that's ALSO my problem. " " Maliyah..." It was Keller’s warning " I'm not trying to start anything!" she held her hands up and turned back to Nick; "You can't help me, but you know they’re all gone? " " We have a Flerken though... " "I can tell by your eye... " she tilted her head, reading Fury’s own emotions; "What are you afraid of?? Is it him or me?? I'm stronger than you Terrans are but I'm not dangerous... And he's him. But I can understand the wary feeling there... " Nick tried to make it look like he wouldn't be afraid of Keller and he didn't know what she was talking about... And it worked. For around half a second. He took a breath and pointed to his boss; "Prove he isn't one." "He's not. He reacts to me." "Prove you aren't one." "I doubt they can get my empathic abilities spot on... They can probably try, but I doubt that they can get their skin to react exactly the same... It’s a unique pattern... And it's triggered through a DNA reaction. A Skrull would need both, but it can only sim to one set of DNA... " "Hang on... What?! And - WHAT!?" Nick realised he hadn’t listened to her first explanation clearly. She took a breath; "Like this..."  She watched him carefully as she guided years of evolution through her race to latch onto Keller... The feel of him around her was intense enough to let the bright lights flicker over her skin in all his shades. Nick was at least staring at her in wonder.  "That's how you know I'm not one.” "... How does... That work?" She tilted her head "At first instance. For these unique patterns... Intimacy. Real physical intimacy. For anything more than that... For a real connection... Blood. His mixed with mine, mine with his." "That sounds... Painful…” His eyes flicked to Keller again, who was keeping his gaze locked on Maliyah; "Have you..." "No. I wouldn't ask that of him." She didn't like that Nick would insinuate that she would "It is by far a conversation for another time..." Nick at least noticed that Keller look uneasy, which settled him a little. He changed the flow of the conversation again; "Why are you so intent on knowing where they went?" She shook her head "I'm just trying to make sure they don't know about me. And the only way to do that is to check in on their simed memories." "I don't think they are much of a threat to you... Right?" "Huh." Maliyah folded her arms "I'd rather they didn't tie him up and sim him. Guess we'll let that one go too, huh?" He had to crack a smile, she wasn’t human. Obviously, but she was so human. He wondered if that was her upbringing or Keller’s influence; "Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D Agent.” She stood to shake his hand; "Maliyah Saal. Nova Corps. Ravager Captain... Auron by way of Xandar... Pleasure to meet you." She gave him a warm smile, and it was like he instantly got why Keller had been taken in. She seemed strong, she had a sass about her that clearly EVERY extra terrestrial had... But she had an instant warmth... She turned to Keller which made Nick do the same; " I think we could be in the clear... Guess we'll need to keep a check on everything. " "You'd make a good agent. Are you sure we can't hire her!? " "Absolutely not." Keller let him know he thought he must be joking. She laughed, with a wink; "It's okay, Nick. My duty is to the Nova Corps. I leave S.H.I.E.L.D in the capable hands of its Human workers... "

 **

 " I think I've figured it out. " "What? " "The problem with your ship...? " "... At 3am!?" "You’re clearly not sleeping either..." She rolled over to stare at him. He was looking at the ceiling. His glasses were pushed up into his hairline and he was squinting "... No, I really think I've cracked it." "At least I was awake for something that wasn't stupidly thinking about fixing my damn ship." "No... But... I looked at your notes. You've been working on them for two years... I wanted to help... And formulate some for myself. I think I've got it Maliyah. I think I can get you home..." He turned to face her, but the look she gave was one of fear. "Don't you dare say that like I want to leave!" "Maliyah... You know it is dangerous for you to stay here... " He was extraordinarily calm. Like he was already letting her go. It only caused her to shake her head. "NO!" She buried herself in him; digging her nails into the skin of his arms and her head on his chest her colours burst into life and illuminated his darkened room. "Maliyah..." He ran a hand through her hair "... Let me let you go... Earth is not where you belong." She shook her head again; "Look at this..." He took her hand in his free one and lifted her arm, the way the colours danced for him. "Jonathan. I don't belong out there either... I belong with you." "I cannot protect you from your planet..." "Do not ask me to leave. I will not leave you." He was pretty sure she was crying... He gathered her close in his arms. "I'm human.... Maliyah... My race is breakable. It's vulnerable... It’s clear to me we have NO idea what’s really out there... You don't want this..." "Stop telling me what I want. I HAVE what I want." "Anywhere else in the world and I would believe that." "... What about anywhere else in the universe?" "Huh?" She looked at him, sadness in those purple-blue eyes... But something else too. An idea sparking to life: "If you can really help me fix my ship... Come with me. Come back to Xandar with me..." "Mali... I can't just leave..." "WHY!? Everything in your head we could use on Xandar." "Maybe... Maybe one day..." He said it softly "But your planet... If it’s at war.... It needs YOU and until you win; and you will win it my supernova... Until Earth gets a good grip on things out there... You cannot stay. And I cannot go."

** …10 Years Later… Maliyah piloted the Milano very cautiously. She knew the sector of space; just not as well as she would have liked. Kree these days were still running havok. Maybe not too much around Xandar... But things were shaky at best, which is why she was piloting her tiny Milano though this, rather than her Nova Corps star ship. The planet that Keller’s "distress signal" was coming from looked small and harmless. But it was the other side of the galaxy. Keller, even on Earth’s best space day, was not reaching here any time soon.

It made her hesitate. She shouldn't trust it, but what choice did she have? It didn't mean that someone hadn't taken Jonathan here, although that was unlikely it was not impossible. And it wasn't like it was a signal to her ship... Or any communications device. Keller’s very DNA and feelings were sending a direct signal to her. And for nothing in this known universe would she ignore something like that. Entering the planet’s atmosphere she knew exactly why the feeling was of distress. It looked dead. Or at least incinerated. The earth was scorched and there wasn't a trace of greenery or life anywhere. Yet, the feeling persisted. Which meant whatever was giving off Keller’s signal was here. And was very much alive.

 She landed on about the clearest strip of land she could find that the Milano would fit into and took a deep breath. Whatever she was about to face would not be good. She was already suited up for Supernova... Hopefully she wouldn't have to use it. Exiting the Milano she kept her blaster holstered. She wouldn't fire unless fired upon and whoever did that would be making a big mistake.

Pillars of smoke rising from the debris made the perfect cover... She breathed in and out, closing her eyes she focused on what ‘Keller’ was feeling. It wasn't nice for her to feel it, either. She pinpointed a location in a matter of seconds and headed towards it. Only for her to start noticing the purple, everywhere. And it was blood.  She continued through the mess of debris, every so often a body or two would present itself. They're Skrulls. She realised. The bodies were Skrulls. She knitted her eyebrows together. Carol Danvers, who she had met a few times whilst traversing the galaxy, had told her nearly everything to help her piece together what had happened when they were on Earth. She had given them a home, and finished the war. Clearly someone was trying to start it up again... And if this was the planet that Carol had made their haven. The Skrulls were from Earth. Which meant one thing... From what Keller had confessed to her that could mean only one thing... And it was something she didn't even think possible.

 She sprinted to the signal on that notion alone; across the ground that kicked up with every step she took. What had the Kree done here!? Why was he still alive when so many others were not!?! She stopped. Suddenly tense. He was walking toward her. His stance was fighting and she could read those emotions a lot clearer now. Her race and its engineering had failed her. It was confusing Keller’s real DNA with simed DNA from years gone by. Hopefully that wasn't about to cost her her life. Upon recognising him, she took two steps back. She'd made a point of studying Skrulls as soon as Keller had mentioned them. Talos. And he was big news. Huge news. He was a General that ran a whole sector, he was a good leader. He'd simed her life partner. Maliyah held her hands up in an attempt to show she wasn't trouble, as far away from her weapon as possible... "I've come from Xandar. So... I'm not here to destroy you like everything else... Unless you don't care; in which case... You're much more of a threat to me..." He took a step forward, which made her concede another, he was studying her uniform carefully. The eight-point shining yellow star running from her chest down her abdomen, framed by a metallic light blue.  The three-point ‘V’ of the Nova Corps shimmering just behind it, glowing faintly every so often. The rest of the uniform navy. Except the gold stripes up her boots. She thought she should have worn her Nova Corps over-jacket; multicoloured rank ribbons and clearer Corp red star emblazoned sleeves. Too late now, though.

He straightened, seeming satisfied but tilted his head. “Who are you?” She tilted hers in turn; “You should know. The fact that you don’t means he did real good to keep me out of his thoughts…” Or any part of his life. Keller’s desk, his car, his pager, his wallet. If nothing held the slightest trace of her then she owed Jonathan her very life. God, she knew that already. He looked confused, as he rightly should. “My name is Maliyah. Quite a few years ago when you were on Earth you simed a Terran known as Jonathan Richard Keller. Unbeknownst to YOU at the time of doing so I had already formed a connection with his DNA. Now, apparently, because siming creates an exact DNA copy of his - I have got some kind of connection with you.” “…You’re Auron.” She was more than a little surprised that he knew that, it made her smile; “Correct.” “Keller… Fury’s boss? How is he and his beautiful blue eyes.” She raised an eyebrow to a phrase she didn’t expect; “…That’s the man. And he’s well… No thanks to you and his constant reoccurring nightmare…” Every so often Jonathan would still wake up in cold sweats with the word simed coming off his lips – Usually it was drink induced, but telling him to stop drinking was pointless. She smiled, but it faded as she looked around her “…So… About this distress that I felt from half way across the Galaxy and came to investigate because Jonathan should be nowhere NEAR this sector… Human’s still haven’t figured out their space travel, God bless ‘em…” “…Well. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it.” “Yeah… Your distress signal tells me one thing I am grateful for. You need help. It looks like a lot of it. And I am here to offer my services... First off, you need to tell me what happened.” “Why should I trust you.” “You have no reason to, and I have no reason to trust you either – In fact I have LESS reason to trust you considering Keller – But Fury trusts you, and so does Carol. So. Yeah, I trust you. Just put a little faith in me…” His eyes flicked back to the Star emblazoned on her uniform and he nodded to it; "If you are really from Xandar then you know what happened." She swept the landscape with her eyes again "Kree... WHY!? It's over, your wars are over..." "There are those in the outside that think they should just end it." "... Is this planet all that’s left!?" "No... Thank god. There are still some of us back home..." She turned again, not wanting to voice it but feeling like she should know everything; "Are you...?? Did they..." "Not everyone. A few, as a statement. An example. My family... They are..." He looked to the stars for a minute "I don't know where they will have taken them but for now they are alive..." She followed the trace of his eyes "I can track that... I'm sure I can track that." She turned back to him; "Obviously first things first. I can't leave you here." "Oh really." She tilted her head at the sarcasm he was displaying. It wasn’t unlike that of her older brother. She couldn’t help but smile, Perhaps she would have more affinity with him than just Keller… "One, you're alone. Two, whatever this connection to Keller you have is... It won't let me leave "Keller" here. So. You simed the right guy. I guess... " Maliyah half turned back to her ship; but kept her eyes on him. He knew the reason she was putting faith in him was the same reason she was still standing over there looking at him like any moment he might change. Or change form. It looked more like a stand off than a potential team-up. Because Jonathan Keller for him was just a Terran male that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D had all the access codes and clearances he needed and eventually got him to his family. For Maliyah, Talos had inadvertently intervened with something sacred. The very fabric of her race’s evolution. Her relationship with Keller now blurred into him. And without this travesty none of them would be any the wiser. "Does he know?" "Jonathan? No. Why would he? I'm the only one that feels anything... He knows all the intricacies of what I am. Whether he understands them...” She afforded explanation with a shrug "He’s human. After all. About the only race out there not involved in the rest of the universe. And integrating even one of them isn't easy... But you should know that." She gave a small, mysterious smile, “So, congratulations. Siming Keller had consequences that you and I are both stuck with.” Talos folded his arms; for all her talk of helping, he hadn’t seen anything that would actually help them out yet. He decided to test that one; “How do we even get out of here… They’ve destroyed all the technology we had. You are some kind of… Supernova. So…” “Supernova is just the name, Jonathan used it all the time it kinda stuck, And I didn’t get here via the Nova Force...” Yet again Talos surprised her with just how much he knew… She wondered if he’d ever been to Xandar… If he’d ever Simed someone from there. Now was not the time to ask the question. “Then how DID you get here?!” She looked back at her Milano, now at least partially visible through the dust clouds as the sun hit the shiny paintwork, then turned to him with a significant look; “…Are we going to save your family, or not?”

[vagrantblvrd]

Infinite Possibilities (1/1)

Summary: When it comes down to it, it’s not that Ryan and Jeremy refuse to tell the others how they met, no. It's more that depending on who asks (and how and why and when), the story changes.

Or: Five ways the Battle Buddies didn't meet and one they did.

Notes: Inspired by exchanges with @miss-ingno and YorkandDelta who wanted to know how the Battle Buddies met in this AU and gave me the idea for this ridiculousness. <333!

AO3

Gavin’s the first one to ask.

Too curious for his own good, and takes the opportunity provided him when Lester calls them in for a risky job he claims he can’t trust anyone else with.

It’s an odd decision on Lester’s part, bringing the four of them in on this, considering the history they have with each other.

Not quite allies, not quite enemies, and not quit sure which side they should land on because there’s gut instinct and stupid human want.

Jeremy’s wary around Michael and fondly exasperated with Gavin. Michael’s eyeing all of them like he can’t believe his fucking luck to be stuck with so many idiots. Gavin is vaguely amused by the whole situation because aside from Lester, everyone here has tried to kill him at least once. And Ryan -

Gavin still unsettles him. Something about him makes it easy for Ryan to let his guard down around him even though he knows better. (Los Santos is a good teacher in that regard.)

“The two of you seem to know each other,” Gavin says, examining the array of weapons Lester’s acquired for their use.

If he was anyone else, Ryan would think it’s an idle comment. Just a simple observation, like what a nice day it is or my goodness, Lester certainly did get them a lot of explosives, didn’t he?

But this is Gavin. The only person to survive the Vagabond, extenuating circumstances or not.

Ryan shrugs, tugging a grenade out of Gavin’s hands because no.

He remembers what Gavin can do with those, and he’d like to keep his car in one piece this time if it’s not to much to ask for. (It really, really shouldn’t be.)

“You could say that,” he agrees, because Gavin’s not wrong.

========

Ryan’s separated from his squad on an operation when he runs into a kid in the same boat.

Young, probably straight out of boot. Clean-cut with his jaw set, and a good little soldier who has no damn clue what happened to set things off like this but damned if he isn’t going to do his job. (Because orders, and it hurts remembering how young Ryan was when he figured out the people giving them weren’t always right.)

This mess isn’t his fault, though, and Ryan really should have listened to his gut on this one, that bad feeling he had during the briefing and every moment after that up to the moment things went to hell on them.

Bad intel, and part of him wants to think it wasn’t intentional, but considering how quickly things went to shit on them – how prepared they were for his squad - he knows it was.

“Landmines that way,” Ryan says, and feels a twinge of guilt as he takes ammo off fallen soldier.

One of theirs, maybe even this kid’s friend with the way there’s a spill of chain and a set of dog tags hanging from his clenched fist. The way he watches Ryan with narrowed eyes, but hasn’t made a move for the rifle he’s carrying.

There’s no rank insignia or anything to give the kid to work with, which is kind of the point since Ryan and his squad were never here on a mission that didn’t happen.

The fact that things went to hell so badly that this kid and his unit got pulled into things going to make it a hell of a lot harder for the brass if (when) word gets out about this one.

“Landmines,” the kid echoes, hint of an accent to it – Boston maybe?

“Yeah,” Ryan says, mouth twisting. “My squad found them the hard way.”

The damn minefield wasn’t the start of things, but damn if it didn’t do just as much damage.

Killed Hopkins straight off, and enough blood to think Wilson was living on borrowed time. Kerrigan could still be out there, stubborn as anything, but he’ll be making his way to the extraction point with the package they came here to for.

There’s no route out of here that will get him there in time for a chopper ride out of here, not with how much is relying on that package getting home, so Ryan’s on his own here.

The kid hisses in sympathy, and Ryan looks away, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he thinks.

The mountains here play merry hell with communications, and the only road in or out twists its way though several villages and small towns. They might be able to get their hands on a vehicle, get somewhere safe they can call a chopper in, get the hell out of here.

Ryan looks at the kid as he realizes the direction his thoughts have gone. His own squad is fucked, which is something he’s deliberately not thinking about now, but this kid -

This kid’s squad is out there somewhere, but there’s enemy militia combing the area who tend to shoot first and ask questions never. Ryan doesn’t want to leave the kid here, but he doesn’t have time to stand around arguing with him if he’s determined to regroup with his squad.

“You have a plan?” the kid asks, looking to Ryan for answers as if Ryan knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“Follow the road. Steal a car. Get the hell out of here,” Ryan says succinctly, and shrugs at the look it gets him.

It’s not the best plan, but they’re short on options. There’s a route through the mountains, old hiking and game trails, but in the dark it’s all but a death sentence. A few miles to their east there’s a supply camp, but with the militia out there -

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” Ryan hedges.

“Right,” the kid says with a resigned little laugh, “that’s real convincing, pal.”

Ryan cocks his head as the kid sticks his hand out, this look on his face that says he knows they’re probably going to die, but fuck it.

“Jeremy,” he says. “I’d say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but uh, you know.”

Ryan laughs, and shakes Jeremy’s hand.

“Ryan,” he says, “and yeah, I do.”

Their odds aren’t great, but things could be worse, so there’s that.

========

“I don’t buy it,” Gavin says, soot smudges on his face and this cut on his cheek from flying debris.

Ryan groans, ribs aching from the force of the explosion, and somehow manages to sit up, putting his back to the trunk of a fallen tree for support.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling in spite of himself at the look on Gavin’s face.

Job’s done, and Jeremy and Michael are on their way to pick them up because someone - Ryan’s not going to name names (Gavin) - blew his car up.

Again.

Gavin makes his way over to Ryan and drops down with a groan, hesitating before he leans against him.

Ryan freezes for a moment before he realizes it’s pretty cold out and neither of them are exactly dressed for it. (Of course Gavin’s trying to steal his body heat like the clever little thief he is.)

He watches as Gavin stretches his legs out, hissing softly as he checks his ankle’s range of motion after that spill he took earlier.

“Yeah,” Gavin says with a quiet chuckle.

Ryan hums, putting an arm over Gavin’s shoulder when he presses closer, because because heat conservation or something along those lines.

========

Jeremy calls him a mother hen for this, but Ryan needs to make sure his body armor’s on right before they go out. Superstition or something else, Ryan doesn’t know or care.

Michael’s watching them from across the room, eyes tracking Jeremy as he heads over to talk to Gavin. (The whole reason Ryan’s so insistent on double-checking everyone’s body armor because he’s so...cavalier about wearing his own, and that worries Ryan.)

“Something wrong?” Ryan asks, moving to check Michael’s body armor.

After a brief altercation that Ryan refuses to call a slap fight Michael relents with moderate grace, and lets him check the straps, the way the armor lays.

Michael shrugs.

“You and Jeremy,” he says, making a vague gesture in their direction. “You work together before all this?”

Another job for Lester, and the four of them have worked together enough that genuine trust is starting to form between them. (Which is nice, because stealing a fucking SWAT truck isn’t going to be easy.)

“Occasionally,” Ryan says, wondering what brought this on. “I’ve worked with you before too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Michael scowls at the deflection, before it morphs into a sly little smirk.

“Yeah,” Michael says, because he’s never going to let Ryan live that one time – one time – Ryan had wasn’t great at driving, “and you still cant drive for shit.”

========

Ryan’s been out on medical leave, but the team’s kept in the loop when it comes to gossip.

All the little scandals like the one involving who keeps eating other people's lunch out of the break room fridge. What idiot fell on their ass running the obstacle course doing something they shouldn’t have for a stupid bet. How McCallister wrecked a squad car he had no business driving because someone questioned his skill behind the wheel, which.

Wow, yeah, didn’t see that one coming.

The new sniper they brought in from Boston - Dooley? - to replace Hammond when he fucked up his shoulder helping his cousin move. (Hammond’s never going to live that one down, because who the hell does that?)

Ryan doesn’t see the guy at all until the third day he’s back at work, and when he does all he can think is that the rumors about him have to be true.

Dooley either managed to impress someone high up or has amazing blackmail material on same, because there’s no way he meets the height requirements to get into the police academy, land a spot on SWAT

To be fair though, people have done worse than having that bit of their records fudged or wearing shoes with lifts in them to make the height different less glaringly obvious in person for the job. (Watching him shoot, makes Ryan wonder if someone saw that and knew fudging his records was worth it.)

“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” Carter asks, glint in her eye as Dooley trots over to the target examine the shot grouping, and she knows how Ryan gets.

“Rumors say he has a problem with heights?” Ryan says, because he knows how she gets.

Protective of her people, and if she called Ryan down here like this she wants a favor.

And true to form, Carter slides him a look, corner of her mouth ticking up just the slightest bit.

“Figured you’d be the best bet to help him out with that,” she says. “Theater kid right? Used to handle lighting?”

There are days Ryan regrets sharing that part of his life with his teammates, but seeing the bright smile on Dooley’s face as he heads over to them, he thinks it might not have been his worst mistake.

“I think I could figure something out,” he says, earnest little smile on his face when she shoots him a look.

“Just don’t break him, Haywood. He’s a good kid,” she mutters, as if Ryan would ever do something like that, heaven forbid.

========

Michael’s not wrong about being a better driver than Ryan. Whipping the SWAT van around tight corners and slinging it through narrow back streets with ease as they they evade the police chasing them.

Choppers in the sky, and it that would be a problem if Gavin and Jeremy didn’t have that angle covered. Black gunship lifting off a roof overhead as they pass by just as planned.

Michael sliding Ryan a grin at Gavin and Jeremy’s whoops of excitement over the comms as they smoothly drop into place behind the police choppers.

“Thought he had a fear of heights?” Michael asks, nearly putting the SWAT van on two wheels as he takes a sharp right, Ryan bracing himself against his door as he does.

Ryan smirks as the police choppers realize they’re being hunted, too slow to move out of the way  in time as Jeremy opens fire.

“Give him something to shoot and he’s fine,” which is more or less the truth.

========

This job requires more finesse than the usual ones Lester sends them on. Has Ryan and Jeremy being fitted for tuxedos, which is new.

Gavin’s absolutely delighted watching as Jeremy holds still for the tailor as they scrutinize  the fit of his tuxedo. Michael’s leaning against the wall looking highly unimpressed with Lester’s latest plan, and Ryan -

“Oh, you look lovely,” Gavin says as Ryan steps out of the changing room, tugging uselessly at his too-tight collar.

Ryan’s eyes narrow, but Gavin seems to be sincere. Circles around Ryan making these little noises of approval before stopping in front of Ryan again, gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Not your first time wearing one of these?”

Ryan’s eyes cut to Jeremy who looks a little harried as the tailor and his assistant position him him this way and that.

“No.”

========

Officially, there’s no such thing as rival agencies when both parties work for the same government.

Unofficially -

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters, shoulder aching where the other agent shot him.

Impressive aim with the clear intent to kill, and Ryan needs to have a talk with his superiors about what constitutes need to know information when he gets back.

If he gets back.

“Come on out,” the other agent calls, acoustics taking his words and twisting them, adding an eerie echo that sends a shill up Ryan’s spine. “I just want to have a little chat.”

Ryan’s bleeding through a tuxedo that costs more than he makes in a year. He’s trapped in the underbelly of the hotel an auction dealing in state secrets and being hunted by an agent from another agency. He thinks it’s fair to say that this is not his best day.

This was supposed to be an easy mission.

Get in, get the files and out again without being caught. The cover he’s using is an established one, reputation built up over the years, and well-respected in this community.

Trusted, even.

“No?” the other agent asks, sounding disappointed. “Guess that means I’ll just have to find you.”

Ryan’s got a bit of a reputation at the agency for being creepy when really it’s more that he has a knack for theatrics.

This agent, however, is making him reevaluate his fellow agent’s concerns because it’s amazingly unnerving.

The worst part is they’ve been manipulated into this position, someone looking to use them to further their agenda.

Setting them at cross-purposes, his handler had mused before Ryan lost contact with them.

Playing their agencies against one another and no way to tell who was in the right, or how high up any of it went. (Ryan and this other agent mere pawns in whatever game they’re playing, and it burns realizing how blind he’s been.)

Ryan’s earpiece is long gone, abandoned near the beginning of this little cat-and-mouse game, and it’s just him and his wits and whatever luck he has left to get him through this.

Ryan checks his weapons, and realizes he’s down to half a magazine and his last throwing knife. Regret for that foolish decision to leave his garrote in the agency drop box because he felt it wouldn’t be needed after all.

Hindsight and all that, he supposes, and pushes himself to his feet to finish this one way or another.

========

Gavin’s side-eyeing Ryan so hard he can’t help but laugh.

“Stop it, you’re bleeding you idiot,” he chides, but it’s tempered with this exasperated sort of fondness as he puts pressure on the gash along Ryan’s ribs.

His hands are cool, soothing, and Ryan relaxes into his touch.

He can hear Michael fussing over Jeremy a few feet away, snapping and snarling at him in worry. Jeremy deliberately provoking him every now and then because he’s an asshole.

Another of Lester’s jobs out of the way and a few more scars to add to their collection.

“Haywood,” Ryan says in an atrocious mockery of Gavin’s accent as he takes over the job of making sure he doesn’t bleed out on them. “Ryan Haywood.”

Gavin scowls at him, but it’s belied by the mirth in his eyes and gentle touch as he checks Ryan for other injuries.

========

“Hey,” Michael says, keeps his voice down so Jeremy won’t notice. (Won’t look over and know they’re talking about him.) “He going to be okay with this one?”

Jeremy’s tough, can take a hit better than any of them.

Used to throwing himself fist-first into a fight, wild grin on his face and a snarl behind his teeth. Worse than Michael, really, and he’s the one with the wolf on his back.

Know that doesn’t help when this latest job of Lester’s hits a little too close to home for comfort.

Someone setting up fight rings that don’t play by the rules Los Santos abides by when it comes to them. Doesn’t care if a fighter dies in the ring so long as they bring in a paying crowd beforehand.

Rumors that they’ve been forcing people into the ring, grabbing them off the streets and worse. No way to know how long it would have gone on if they hadn’t made the mistake of snatching one of Lester’s contacts and brought his attention to what’s been happening.

Jeremy volunteering to act as bait before any of them could say a damn thing because he knows his way around the fight rings, who else better? Stubborn set to his jaw and this look in his eyes that said he’d rather it was him than any of them.

The look of surprise on his face when Michael stepped forward to volunteer as well. (Eyes flicking to Jeremy and his, “What? You think you're the only one here who's gone into the ring? Get over yourself, asshole.”)

“Jeremy will be fine,” Ryan says, because this time he’s not alone. “You’ll be watching his back in there the whole time, right?”

Ryan’s needed elsewhere, much as it galls him, and none of them want Gavin anywhere near the fucking place. (He’s fast and agile, resourceful as hell, yes, but the people they put in the rings are goddamned vicious. Desperate and terrified and all the more dangerous for it.)

Michael looks to where Gavin’s talking to Jeremy. The two of them with their heads bent over Gavin’s laptop as they go over every step of the plan again, Jeremy pressing close to Gavin.

“You know,” Michael presses, worried and angry and scared because he’s never seen Jeremy like this. “About this.”

That -

“He’s got us,” Ryan says, because God help anyone who tries to hurt one of them now.

========

There are rules to the fighting rings in Los Santos, ones Ryan’s worked hard to keep in place.

Every so often though, someone thinks they can get creative. Think they’re being clever with their little loopholes. (That he won’t find out.)

His contacts tell him about some asshole with a ring on Elysian Island, close to one of Simeon’s operations.

When he goes down to check it out, he leaves the mask and face paint at home. Doesn’t want to spook the people behind it before he makes his move.

He finds a kid facing off against a behemoth of a man nearly twice his size.

The kid’s got blood on his teeth and a manic look in his eyes. Looks to be running on nothing but sheer will-power and he’s winning>.

Fights mean, dirty, and doesn’t give a fuck about it as he drops his opponent and turns to face the crowd, eyes landing on Ryan like he knows.

“You next?” the kid demands, bravado running high.

Ryan watches as the kid prowls closer to the chain link fencing meant more to protect the crowd from the fighters than keep them inside the ring.

The crowd around him is losing their minds at the challenge, voices yelling for blood merging to create a nightmare cacophony of sound.

The kid’s.

Ryan’s, if he accepts his challenge and steps into the ring.

Anyone but theirs.

Ryan looks around him. Sees the faces looking back with this horrible hunger in their eyes that sparks that steady burn of anger in his chest into a blaze as he  rises to his feet to bring it all tumbling down around them.

========

“It didn’t happen like that, did it?” Michael asks, tired and hurting, and trusting Ryan not to hurt him as he cleans the blood off his face.

Ryan sighs, looking over to where Gavin has Jeremy. Quiet words and gentle hands, one curled lightly on the back of Jeremy’s neck to help ground him. Ryan picks up the tweezers to pick splinters out of Michael’s hands, jaw clenching at the choked off  noise Jeremy makes as Gavin carefully enfolds him into a hug.

“No,” Ryan says, because he’s not infallible, and Los Santos is full of people worse than he could ever be. “But I wish it had.”

Maybe then he could have gotten Jeremy out of the fucking ring sooner.

========

Gavin’s on the good stuff, dopey grin on his face and a mess of uncoordinated limbs and messy hair and-

“If you aren’t careful you’re going to tear your stitches.”

- injuries.

Deliberate, intentional, and bound to scar. Ribs that have to hurt like a bitch, and this new fear of being left alone that makes Ryan want to break something.

Gavin makes a face, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to look at the bandage on his arm, hitching his shoulder slightly because he’s got another one there too that limits his mobility.

He’s a mess, and Ryan doesn’t know why the hell Michael and Jeremy trusted him to keep him safe while they deal with thee fuckers who did this to him when he should be the one out there looking for them.

Michael knows Gavin the best out of the three of them, and Gavin’s always been comfortable around Jeremy. Ryan is -

“Ryan,” Gavin says suddenly. “Are you ever going to tell us how you and Jeremy met?”

Ryan makes the mistake of meeting his eyes, and while Gavin’s puppy-dog eyes aren’t nearly as effective as Jeremy’s or Michael’s, they’re not to underestimated.

“Gavin - “

Gavin needs to rest, sleep, and is fighting it with everything he has even with the painkillers working their magic, stubborn as always. Fragile look in his eyes, and God help him, Ryan understands.

He can see the moment Gavin realizes how close to giving in Ryan is, this little a-ha moment reflected in his eyes.

“I’m injured, Ryan,” he says, manipulative asshole that he is.

“Fine,” Ryan sighs, pulling Gavin’s sleeve down to cover the bandage because the heat’s being finicky and it’s cooler in the room than he’d like.

The last thing they need is for Gavin to get sick on top of everything else.

========

There’s a certain level of irony in Ryan going to a vet clinic when he can’t patch himself up. (There are rumors out there comparing him to a rabid animal that needs to be put down, and some days he even believes them.)

If Lindsay has opinions on the matter she never lets it show when he shows up on her doorstep. Just chatters at him about the weirdest things with steel in her eyes daring him to insist that no, he really doesn’t need stitches for that knife wound or a mild anesthetic while she removes the bullet in his thigh.

Certainly no need for a blood infusion after dragging his half-dead carcass to her clinic and texting her a sad smiley face to let her know he was around back.

“Okay, well you can just shut the fuck up right now, asshole.”

“Lindsay - “

The cops are probably still looking for Ryan, and while he appreciates her putting him back together again, he can’t stay here.

“Swear to God, I will neuter you right here and now if you try to tell me you’re fine,” Lindsay growls, sounding like she means every word.

Ryan blinks at her, stunned speechless.

Lindsay nods sharply and strides over to the door, opening it just enough to bark out an order for someone to bring her a blood bag.

“Nice,” Ryan mutters, shrinking back when Lindsay walks back over to him.

She crosses her arms and glares at him, and it would be more intimidating than it already is if he didn’t know her anger is born out of concern.

“Not to quibble,” Ryan quibbles, “but I don’t think whatever blood type you have on hand is compatible with mine.”

Ryan’s no expert, but science and all that. (Although he does remember reading something about pig blood a while back, so maybe - )

Lindsay arches an eyebrow at him, and with impeccable timing the door opens and someone walks inside.

“Ah, blood bag, you're here,” Lindsay says, not unlike an evil villain in a movie.

The guy sighs, like he’s talked with Lindsay about this before.

“We’ve talked about this before, Lindsay,” he says, faint thread of amusement in his voice. “You know how I feel about that.”

Lindsay gives him a delighted smile and gestures for the poor bastard to come closer for introductions.

“Vagabond, meet blood bag - “

The guy clears his throat pointedly, and Lindsay sighs as though he’s being completely unreasonable in this.

“Yes, yes, fine. Vagabond, meet Jeremy.”

There’s a pause, a look on Lindsay's face, and this long, tired sight from Jeremy because he knows what’s coming next.

“He’ll be your blood bag for the evening.”

...what.

Lindsay smiles beatifically at Ryan as though she’s not one of the most terrifying people Ryan’s ever met.

“Now be good and do what Jeremy tells you to do, or I’ll be back,” Lindsay warns as she turns to leave “And believe you me, buddy, but you do not want that to happen.

In the silence that falls after her exit, Ryan and Jeremy stare at each other, not really sure what to do now.

“Uh,” Ryan says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Jeremy, though.

“Nice mask,” he says, like he’s complimenting Ryan on something completely normal.

“Thank you?” Ryan says, watching Jeremy gather medical supplies and God knows what else before moving over to roll up one of Ryan’s sleeves. “What the hell is going on?”

Jeremy shrugs as he swabs a patch of skin on he back of Ryan’s hand with a prep pad before inserting an IV needle.

“Universal donor,” he says, gesturing at himself, like he’s completely unbothered with this whole situation. “And I owe Lindsay for saving my life, so. Blood bag.”

That.

What.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows and looks around the room in which they are the only occupants like he’s checking to make sure no one’s looking. Checks again one last time and lifts the hem of his shirt to show Ryan the handle of the gun tucked in his waistband.

“I do crimes,” he says, grinning at Ryan. “This is just a side gig.”

Ryan still has no idea what’s going on, but he’s more terrified of Lindsay coming back and making good on her threat. (More of a promise with her, really.)

“Okay?” he says, watching Jeremy as he pulls up a seat beside him as he finishes setting up for the transfusion.

Easy, practice motions like he’s done this before and knows exactly what he’s doing, and then he looks at Ryan as the transfusion starts.

“So,” Jeremy says, waggling his eyebrows at Ryan with ridiculous smile on his face. “Come here often?”

========

Gavin buries his face against Ryan’s side, soft, helpless laughter squeaking past his lips.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “Lindsay would never call Jeremy a blood bag. She’s too lovely for that.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that because Lindsay is a terrible human being who absolutely would call Jeremy a blood bag, and they both know it.

========

“They’re going to figure it out one day,” Jeremy says, infinitely amused as they watch Michael tackle a squawking Gavin off the couch for some offense or other. “You do know that, right?”

Ryan shrugs, because he’s fairly certain Michael, at the very least has an inkling about the truth. All the things he and Jeremy have let slip in the past, but it’s just so fun fucking with them about it.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, popping open a can of diet soda and sitting back to see who’s going to win this tussle. “But it’s more fun this way.”

========

Ryan’s in line at the grocery store because even notorious criminals need to eat. It must be payday or something like it because there are several people ahead of him in line with full carts, the other lanes just as full.

Not ideal, but he’s in no rush at the moment with his latest job behind him and nothing lined up for a while.

He’s watching the woman at the register arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon when there's a clatter behind him and a panicked cry of “Oh shit, no!” before he feels a cart hit him.

When he turns, it’s to se a guy with a look of utter dismay on his face, apologies spilling out of his mouth as he wrestles his cart back under control.

“Oh my god,” he says, sounding mortified. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean - “

Ryan misses whatever the poor guy is saying, because Ryan is busy staring at his face.

It’s a nice face.

A very nice face.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much that is now frowning at him, and, oh, fuck, he’s being creepy about things again isn’t he?

“No, no,” Ryan says, remembers that smiling is a thing people do. “I’m fine, really. Just surprised me is all.”

The guy looks skeptical about that, but there’s something cautiously hopeful to it as he asks Ryan if he’s sure about that.

“I’m fine,” Ryan reassures him, even though his ankle stings like a bitch and he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise from the cart with how hard it hit him.

“Are you sure - “

“Ryan,” Ryan interrupts, holding his hand out because he’s an idiot and this poor guy has apologized more than enough for an accident. (Also his face and how much Ryan likes it.) “My name’s Ryan, what’s yours?”

Ryan’s secretly pleased he managed to get that out without flubbing, and almost misses the once-over the man gives him.

“Jeremy,” the guy says, hint of color on his cheeks as he realizes Ryan caught Jeremy checking him out. “Uh. Sorry?”

Ryan smiles, stupid bit of hope in his chest because maybe Jeremy likes his face too.

========

“I do,” Jeremy says, laughing like an idiot when Ryan looks at him, because he’s had a few drinks and working on another in a bid to catch up to Michael. “I like your face a lot, Ryan.”

Jeremy’s expression goes all goofy on him as Gavin’s voice reaches them, indignant only the way Michael can make him.

“I like their faces a lot too,” he says, stupid soft and far too damn honest.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and stops to clear his throat because these idiots do that to him. “Same.”

Jeremy snorts, and Ryan reaches out to take his drink from him because he knows Jeremy’s itching to help Michael gang up on Gavin.

Jeremy beams at him, darting in to smack a loud kiss to Ryan’s cheek before stumbling over the others.

Ryan watches him, and then decides to borrows a page from Gavin’s book as pulls his phone out to record the disaster sure to come for posterity. (Definitely not for blackmail material.)

[missmeela]

Prompt #13: Results

Meela woke up, still in the infirmary. At least the aching had gone. Auzelle had fallen asleep sitting in the chair next to her, her head resting on Meela's mattress.

She slipped out the other side of the bed and went to find the rest of her clothes. A clean uniform had been folded up for her, complete with insignia showing her new rank. She dressed silently and headed out into the early morning.

She looked around the camp, it was quiet. The only signs of life were the guards, but they were more concerned with looking outside the camp to notice her. She headed into her barracks and sat on her bed. She let out a long sigh.

Things changed so fast in the Flames. In the guild, there was always a steady monotony. The same faces, the same duties, the same worries. Here, each day brought change to everything.

It was only two days ago that she was getting flustered over a handsome sergeant. Now he was dead and buried. J'rahn too. She had been annoyed at the way he came on to her. But now she would have loved to hear his voice one more time. He'd probably tease Meela about the Captain and her overly keen interest in her. She didn't know if she could keep up with these constant changes.

A voice came from behind her, "Meela?"

Meela turned around and smiled warmly, "Oh, hey."

Fisher was sat up in bed, looking over to her. "I was worried about you. You went down like a sack of popotos yesterday. That must have been some pretty taxing mission the Captain took you on. But hey, a promotion."

Fisher looked around to check everyone else was sleeping, "The other lads were mighty pissed about it all. You don't typically get your second stripe on your second day." He chuckled, "I said they should be nice to you. I told them at this rate you'll be running the squad by the end of the week."

Meela smirked, "That's is a terrible thought. I don't even know who I'm meant to salute. I don't think I'd be cut out for that."

Fisher moved over to Meela's bed and sat down next to her. "The Sarge never worried too much about saluting. C'toh, I mean. Not this new guy. He had us running drills all day. Which the other lads blamed on you as well.

Meela looked down at the floor and sighed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you all trouble."

Fisher shook his head, "No, I think he's doing it deliberately. He doesn't like this captain being about. And I don't think that he likes that she has singled you out."

Meela's ears perked up and she looked back up to Fisher, "And what do you think of her?"

Fisher thought for a moment and shrugged. "Well, she's a magey type. Like you. I figured you'd be a better judge of that."

Meela hummed, "Well aside from the magic stuff. That's largely irrelevant anyway. What did you think of her?"

Fisher rubbed his chin and looked out to the doorway. "The thing is Meela, captains don't get to be captains by caring about people. She doesn't care about you, she cares about what she can use you for. You watch yourself around her."

Meela pressed her lips together and nodded. "I think you're right, but the things she must know. The things she could teach me. I thought I was learning so much at the Thaumaturges guild, but I can see now how much they kept from me."

Fisher nodded, "Don't be too quick to presume, Meela. Maybe there were some good reasons for keeping things from you." He got off the bed and headed towards the door. "No use sleeping now, we'll be on parade in half a bell."

The morning roll call was far less eventful today although she did earn a scowl from the sergeant when she answered, "Here, First Sergeant." The rest of the company were marched off and she was left waiting for the Captain to emerge.

Finally, the Auzelle appeared from the command hut. Apparently having left the infirmary at some point. "Meela, up and about I see. You should have woken me."

Meela shook her head, "It looked like you needed rest too."

Auzelle slung a backpack on and started walking off towards the desert. "I'm tougher than I look. Come on, no time to dawdle."

Meela looked off in the direction that the other soldiers had been so neatly marched and then jogged to catch up to Auzelle.

Auzelle kept a brisk pace. It was made worse with her being a good fulm taller than Meela. "So, I had some time to think about some things while you were asleep. I think maybe I pushed you a little too hard and too quickly. But you see, I was just so excited to find out what you could do. You have a lot of promise, Meela."

Meela didn't offer any reply.

Auzelle glanced at Meela and then looked forward again. "And I thought I wasn't being fair to you. Tell me Meela, why did you sign up?"

Meela didn't have a particularly descriptive answer, "The war."

Auzelle stopped abruptly and dropped the backpack on the ground. "The war? What about it?"

Meela stopped and looked up to Auzelle. "I guess I just wanted to help. To keep people safe."

Auzelle opened up the top of the pack and nodded, "I suppose that's admirable. I've heard some pretty crazy reasons. I think I had some pretty crazy reasons myself. The Empire killed my family. I thought that murdering as many of the bastards as I could would somehow make it easier." She looked around to Meela and shook her head, "It didn't."

Meela nodded sadly, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Auzelle took a large crystal out of the pack and handed it to Meela. "I didn't tell you that for sympathy, it was meant as a cautionary tale."

Meela took held the crystal in her hand. It felt warm to the touch, it gave out a sort of pleasant tingle. "An Umbral Crystal?"

Auzelle pulled a metal ball from the pack and placed it in Meela's hand, "Yes. You'll need its energy for this."

Meela examined the ball. It was covered in glyphs and other markings, only some of which she recognised. She looked up to Auzelle who was folding up the flap on the pack. "What am I doing?"

Auzelle waved a finger at the ball, slinging the pack over her shoulder. "Just read the writing. It will all become clear."

Meela shook her head, "No, what am I doing?"

Auzelle sighed and walked over to her, "I'm giving you the tools you need for the tasks ahead. You will be quite safe. I did the same thing myself."

Meela looked down at the ball, still unsure. She read the glyphs around the ball denoting some variant of a warding spell and another of teleportation. She looked up again to Auzelle who was backing up some distance.

Meela frowned and held up the orb, the ritual seemed simple enough but its outcome was far from clear. She thought back to Fisher's warning about the things that had been kept from her and she began the first spell.

The top of the orb glowed a deep hue of purple before erupting with an oozing flow of energy which trickled down the orb and over Meela's hand. She fought every instinct to drop the orb as the energy dripped over her. She gathered her focus and started the spell shown on the second glyph, the crystal she was holding in her other hand shone brighter.

She could feel the energy of the crystal being pulled into her through her palm but this seemed a much more natural sensation, she had used crystals like this in the past.

Then came the final glyph, she channelled the energy between the orb and the crystal as it described. At first, nothing was happening. Then suddenly the ooze stopped trickling off her hand and lept straight under her skin. She could feel the sensation of the energy strand as it wound it's way up her arm, through her body then out towards the crystal she held.

It felt unnatural, not painful, not a bad feeling, but it did fill her with unease. As the energy flowed she became more focused on the crystal in her hand. She could feel it's energy and the energy all around her like she had done the other night.

The orb was put out of her mind while she focused on the crystal. It seemed so very interesting to her, the way it breathed, the way it danced and sang. This was just an aether crystal, just little pots of energy used for casting spells. She'd used them dozens of times before. But now she could feel it resonate, how the energy from it flowed into her, how had she never seen it before?

She consumed the last few drops of energy contained in the crystal and it evaporated into tiny shards that were dusted away in the gentle breeze. She looked back to her other hand where the orb now sat. It was back to its original state, it looked so ordinary.

Was that it?

Auzelle came back over to Meela and took the orb out of her hand and dropped it into a little pouch. "How do you feel?"

Meela frowned and looked around, "Nothing happened. I thought there would be a spell."

Auzelle shook her head, "No Meela, how do you feel?"

Meela waved a hand, "Fine, I suppose. Maybe a little anxious. I expected it to be a-" Meela stopped mid-sentence. She looked at Auzelle curiously. She could feel something, but she didn't have a word for it. "I can feel... I can feel, you." She reached out to touch Auzelle's face. "It's you!"

Auzelle smiled happily and took hold of Meela's hand, taking it down from her face. "And what else? Look around you."

Meela turned around, looking all around her. It was everywhere. Everything had a little glimmer hidden in it. Like the whole land and the air had been covered with an invisible... something. It was wonderous.

"Can you feel it? The power all around you?"

Meela nodded, "I can. I can feel it. Why couldn't I see it before?" She looked at Auzelle, "Will it stop?" She pressed a palm to Auzelle's face again, "I can feel it so strong in you."

Auzelle shook her head, "Once your eyes have been opened, you'd have to choose to close them again. But who would choose to be blind to a beauty such as yours?"

Meela looked at her palm on Auzelle's face and brought it back to her side, retreating a few steps. "I didn't mean to. This is all so new."

Auzelle nodded, "New, yes. You have just opened a door on a whole host of new opportunities. This will form the foundation of a new understanding of the world around you and I will be there to guide you through it."

Meela looked around, it was like she had spent her whole life blind now she could see. How many other things had been kept from her and just how far was she willing to let Auzelle take her?

Continue with: Validation

[cybermoonmoon]

“...culture of arms”

This from summer 2020. The country was convulsed by the murder of George Floyd. Yet another unarmed Black man killed by police over a minor infraction. He passed a phony $20 dollar bill in a convenience store. Ordinarily a court appearance and fine. So often for Black men small charges means the death penalty. He should not have done it. It was wrong.

But he shouldn’t have been executed.

Once upon a time:

Coming home yesterday I saw my first Federal Marshals. This in my Brooklyn 'hood in front of our library.  See above. Unlike the sort out on the coast. These folks had federal insignia. I saw these were legit. Not the phony movie prop "...Police" patches worn in Portland by mercenary cops.

I chatted with a few. They were reserved, but polite. I asked if there was trouble in the library. They said no but didn't elaborate. In my centuries of experience with cops. I've found that acknowledging their humanity, and that they're in an impossible situation can get through the barriers...not always, but sometimes.

I was standing with fellow humans and was concerned for them. 

These were not the figures in the frightful violent videos from around the country this summer. These were real souls I was speaking to. They're human beings. I also noticed the culture of arms they lived by. 

By their every movement they were protecting each other.

How hard it must be to be a warrior. Worse to be in a war declared or not. From their Esprit de corps I could feel that they would do whatever they had to if ordered. Such for our whole history is the soldier's lot. I came away from this meeting with a world of mixed feelings. Nothing is simple especially in conflict.  

They were professional reserved, and though as i say polite. They gave no information and didn't break ranks. The warrior’s life the ancient culture of arms. I will never understand what they understand.

We must pray for them as we do for all.

[galfridus1]

First of all, congratulations! You deserve it 😊! Can I request 6 for Monspiet and younger Estarossa please, thank you! 😃

Thank you! And thank you for the ask Kat! And thanks for all your own work on this pair. I hope you like this.

Monspeet was sure something fishy was up. He had been bored that day so had gone for a stroll through the palace grounds, listening to the soothing wails of the hydra and counting the windows of the Demon King’s castle. And there were exactly forty-eight of them on the first floor. This had surprised him. Last he had visited the building interior he had only counted forty-two from the inside. So where were the missing six?

Lips pursed, Monspeet took a step closer, trying to figure out the lie of the land. The ones on the end, at the very easternmost edge of the palace appeared to belong to a self-contained annex. The windows were blacked out but that was not necessarily suspicious of course; there were plenty of rooms that required total darkness at all times in the demon realm. But nonetheless Monspeet got the feeling something was wrong. He stared upwards, eyes fixed on the panes, wondering what the Demon King was keeping secret behind them.

Well, he had nothing better to do so why not find out? The others were always telling him he was too curious for his own good but this was too intriguing to pass up. The question was, how to do it? Entry from the outside would surely be noticed, so Monspeet would have to try and find the way in from the inside. There must be one. Mind made up, the soldier started on his way towards the castle, his senses on full alert to ensure he was left alone. The realm was full to the brim with spies; the Demon King did not trust his people, not even his own sons, both of whom were kept under constant surveillance, though Meliodas and Zeldris could fend for themselves of course.

With a nonchalant wave to the guards, Monspeet made his way inside the castle, taking the central staircase up to the first floor. There were some benefits to being in training to join the elite Ten Commandments; it was gruelling work, the missions were of questionable validity and Meliodas was a hard task master, but it did open doors. Quite literally in this case. It would not be long now before he received his decree and he occasionally wondered which one he would get.

Quietly, doing his best not to draw any suspicion, Monspeet examined the paintings on the wall, his eye running over generals of old. The fashions of the realm had changed considerably, and it took a while as he walked down the hallways until he arrived at the familiar high collars which were popular in the present. He passed a few guards on patrol along the way, but they paid him no heed. This was unsurprising. Commandments were the highest ranked soldiers in the realm, apart from the princes and their tutors, and were generally left to themselves by all and sundry. It did get lonely sometimes; Monspeet had been courting a woman, sister of a fellow trainee, but he had seen her enthusiasm wane as his power expended. She herself was not of the bloodthirsty ilk.

He reached the end of the corridor and stopped, checking he was alone before starting his investigations. Close examination of the stonework confirmed his suspicions; the eastern wall of the castle had been built recently, likely in the last one hundred years or so. Something was definitely being hidden behind it, he just needed to discover what.

With great care, Monspeet began to tap lightly on the stones, listening for a change in the timbre of his knocks. It was cleverly done - the wall was protected with a magical barrier - but Monspeet could feel where the weakness was. Fingers grazing lightly over the stones, he searched for the opening, his hearts soaring with triumph as he pressed on a hidden switch and a door swung open. Looking inside, Monspeet could not but help shiver slightly; the room within was pitch black and carried the notable tang of pain and despair. A torture chamber perhaps? He told himself that, if so, it would do no harm to investigate further. He would ideally want to know about the place so that he could threaten the enemy with incarceration in the no doubt gruesome chambers. But as he entered the room, the atmosphere freezing his skin, he knew that this was not somewhere he should be exploring.

Eyes adjusting to the gloom, Monspeet stilled his breathing, treading on light feet to make as little noise as possible. This had always been a skill of his, the ability to move in silence. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his frame to ward off the cold; it was absolutely freezing, and if there had been light enough Monspeet was sure he would have been able to see the steam of his breath.

“Who’s there?” a small voice called from the gloom and Monspeet nearly jumped out of his skin with the shock. Just a torture victim he told himself, forcing his feet to continue their path. Nothing to worry about. Whoever it is will be behind bars, or worse… The thought caused another chill to slide down his spine as he stepped closer towards the source of the noise.

All at once, he was in a large, well-lit chamber and Monspeet squinted involuntarily against the sudden onslaught of light. Shielding his eyes, he tried to make out the interior of the room, noting rich fabrics and ornate furniture. The room was warm and clean, but smelled slightly musty, as if no fresh air had been permitted entrance for several years. It took some seconds for Monspeet’s vision to become up to the task, at which point they focused on a small boy in the centre of a massive bed, an oversized jacket draped round his shoulders.

“Who are you?” the boy quavered, fear evident in every word that he spoke. “Has Meliodas sent you?”

Monspeet bit his lip at this. If the prince was involved he was out of his depth. Brain working furiously, the soldier tried to think of how best to respond in a way that could extricate himself from this situation.

“No… and best not mention my visit to him,” Monspeet murmured, forcing himself to meet the boy’s eyes. They were the familiar coal black of the rest of his clan, but try as he might to sense it there was no sign of power. This was highly unusual; occasionally demons were born without magic or strength but it was extremely rare, and the children were invariably terminated at an early age for their own benefit. Weakness was not tolerated in the demon realm. “It was a mistake for me to come here, I merely took a wrong turn. If you will excuse me, I will trespass on your time no longer.”

The boy giggled, his face lighting up in an instant and Monspeet felt his chest squeeze. It was a gentle sound, one devoid of the usual cruelty, and it warmed his soul. “I know that’s tosh,” the boy blurted put through his laughter, “there rooms are really well hidden. No one wants…” The boy broke off, biting his lip and Monspeet suddenly felt an overwhelming pity swell in his breast.

“Please, stay for a bit,” the boy murmured. “Mel does his best but it’s really lonely here. He can’t see me that often, he’s so busy. He’s leading the war you know!” he finished proudly.

“Who are you?” Monspeet asked gently, moving closer to the boy, noting with shock the royal insignia on his clothing and his striking resemblance to his future leader. Even the hair was the same, two unruly strands sticking out of the top of his head. “You… you can’t be…”

“I’m Estarossa,” the boy said with a grin, “Meliodas’s younger brother. But I have to stay here,” he added regretfully. “I have no power you see, not yet, but I’m working on it!” he protested and Monspeet cursed himself. Obviously the horror he felt was showing plain on his face.

“Mel says once my power is awakened I can come out for real,” Estarossa continued, his eyes shining with his enthusiasm. “He takes me up to Britannia sometimes, but I’m not allowed out here. He says…” Estarossa halted, his eyes suddenly wary as he looked closely at Monspeet. “You’re not here to kill me are you?”

“N-no,” Monspeet stuttered, his hearts squeezing in his chest as the boy visibly relaxed. “But your brother is right,” he added thoughtfully, suddenly seeing the lie of the land. The boy was evidently shut up for his own protection. “You would likely be killed if you were found in the demon realm.”

“That’s what Mel said.” Estarossa sighed, his eyes cast down towards the velvet coverlet. “I knew he wasn’t lying. He never does.” Monspeet practically chewed his lip off at this; the one thing the General was known for was his ability to play fast and loose with the truth.

“I… I have to go, sorry,” Monspeet murmured, rushing on as Estarossa’s face fell, “we’ll both be in trouble if I’m found here.”

“You’ll come back and see me again?” Estarossa said timidly, his voice very small. “It really is lonely and you’ve been so nice.” Against his better judgement Monspeet managed a nod and a slight bow before taking his leave. Power or not this boy was part of the royal family, and was his liege by birth. He practically ran back through towards the castle, his breath coming quick in his haste; he no longer wanted to hide, he wanted to leave. Relief washed over him as the gloom subsided and the light of the castle came into view.

“Monspeet! What a pleasant surprise!” His hearts sank to his boots as he looked at the boy, so similar in features to the one he had just left. But this one was different, power rolling from him in waves, the mark of his accomplishment emblazoned on his forehead. He was done now; no way the General would permit this transgression to go unpunished.

Monspeet was just deciding whether to surrender or fight when Meliodas let out a bark of laughter. “You have found out my family’s secret. Now why would you do that? I told you that curiosity of yours would be your undoing.

“Well, you’re in real trouble this time,” Meliodas continued, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Father will not permit you to walk free with the knowledge of what you have seen. But don’t worry, your training is nearly complete. You are a valuable asset to the war, and I think I see a solution. I know a way to ensure your eternal silence.”

With that Monspeet allowed the prince to lead him away, fingers digging tightly into his elbow as they headed towards the Demon King’s throne room.