#i need to log off man my urge to destroy is rising

[dankmaths]

was going to make rarepair propaganda post abt how yosuke/adachi would actually be based but then i remembered that spinning my thoughts into anythinf even resembling coherent is like making my brain eat nails

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 12: Chiaroscuro

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2138

Content warning:  Content warning for references to child abuse and overtly racist cops.  Bear in mind that it was already written into the plot before 2020 happened.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the brilliant pandabearer

“I am disheartened by this reprehensible act against two of our citizens.  We do not condone hatred, bigotry, racism, or intolerance of any kind here.  I hope this brings us together as a community.”

         -Narinder Rao, Bryson City Mayor

         The sheriff was trying to play dominance games with an alpha.  He left Remi cooling his heels in the waiting area for ten minutes despite the fact he’d arrived promptly for their scheduled meeting.  Shaw had tried to avoid him outright, but Remi pulled the media card and he relented immediately; he’d won his position by a scant margin and didn’t have the political clout to withstand a media frenzy.  If he still refused to play ball after this, well, Remi still had a few more cards up his sleeve.

         Several deputies seemed to have important business in the front office while he waited.  While he wasn’t in the mood to play, RainFire needed to cultivate as much rapport with Enforcement as possible.  So he donned his easy-going demeanour like the well-worn armour that it was and flirted and charmed while not promising anything.

         “Mr. Denier,” Shaw called, noticeably irritated he had to come in person since his receptionist was currently slipping his phone number into Remi’s hand.  He’d scented the other man before he spoke, of course, but there was no need to be rude to the young psy in front of him who was obviously inexperienced in flirting.

         “À plus tard, cher,” he winked, tucking the slip of paper into a pocket to dispose of later.  Red flagged the younger man’s cheeks and he ducked past his boss to make his way back to his desk.

         The sheriff’s polite smile was strained as Remi sauntered over to him; he made sure to keep the leopard in his line of sight as they walked back to his office in silence.  Stale coffee and the maelstrom of dozens of people assaulted his senses.

         “I always wondered, what made you decide to come here?” Shaw asked, southern accent thick, as Remi settled in one of the two chairs facing his desk.  He stifled the urge to bare his teeth in annoyance at the small talk when all the animal wanted to do was tear out the throat of its enemy.  It was too uncivilized to bother with social niceties, especially when it saw the man as a threat to be eliminated

         “It was what was available for a new pack,” he shrugged, seeing no need for prevarication.  The information was out there for anyone who cared enough to look, and he had a feeling the Sheriff had done his homework.  There was more to the process, of course, but that was the bare bones of it.

         “Doesn’t seem right that the good folk of this county don’t get a say in a pack of predators moving in,” Shaw feigned bewilderment and shook his head, light glinting off a pate shaved to hide the fact he was mostly bald.  “It would’ve been better for everyone if we’d all stayed in our own lanes.  Nothing good ever came of pandering to the other races.”

         “Talk to your Trinity representative about that,” he said flatly.  “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, where are you at in the investigation into the assault that occurred outside Acapella two nights ago?”

         “Mr. Denier-”

         “Alpha,” he corrected.  “My proper title is ‘alpha’.”

         “Alpha Denier, it’s still the early stages.”  In a false display of sympathy, Shaw leaned forward to loosely weave his thick fingers together on top of the desk.  “We have no fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses, and no suspects.  You must understand that we have limited resources and an inquest would require much of that with very little chance of success.”  Shaw spread his hands as if in remorse.

         “DNA evidence was taken at the hospital.”  What he didn’t say was that the pack had taken their own samples, while theirs wasn’t admissible in court, there was still a chance that it would help identify the assailants for some extra-judicial justice.

         “The hospital didn’t have a protocol for preserving evidence, no need for it before you people moved here.  The samples weren’t logged properly and got destroyed.  A damn shame, but I’ve been assured they’re remedying the situation.”  It didn’t take the nose of a changeling to tell that Shaw was lying, he didn’t bother to hide his smugness at stonewalling Remi.

         “RainFire offers its assistance in the investigation.”

         “You don’t have the authority.”  The flat rejection was no less than what Remi had expected.

         “One of the survivors is changeling, therefore changeling laws apply should RainFire choose to exercise our rights.”  What went unsaid was that changeling justice was swift, brutal, and brooked no interference.

         “Forgive me if I doubt you’n’s impartiality.”  The smirk that had been dancing in the human’s eyes died, leaving them flint hard.

         “Local Enforcement leadership has already proven its own lack in that area.”

         A vein in the officer’s forehead throbbed as his blood pressure and heart rate increased.  The cat wondered how hot the blood would be, how far it would gush if it sank its teeth into the human’s carotid arteries.  The temptation to allow the leopard to surface was callow, yet strong, and completely unnecessary.  Fear filled the office, hovering beneath the thick cologne Shaw wore.  He wondered if the sheriff’s sense of smell was dulled or if he thought the cloying concoction would hide his reactions from Remi.  It might have worked against a changeling who hadn’t grown up surrounded by the stink of constant fear, but the acrid bite was etched too indelibly in his memory.

         “It’s becoming increasingly clear that local Enforcement’s reluctant to protect the changeling community but is more than willing to police it.  RainFire will respond to any attack on changelings or humans with changeling affiliations within the area we have claimed.”  Remi let the leopard rise in his eyes, not enough to change his pupils, just enough to remind Shaw he was right to be afraid.

         “I won’t tolerate a witch hunt.”  The sheriff gave his best imitation of a snarl.

         “Nor will we.”  The leopard’s growl was genuine.

         Whenever Lorel found herself in need of parental advice, she inevitably called her aunt.  Maternal, of course, since she only knew her father’s name and that of his now-defunct pack.  Even though her grandparents raised her, calling them was out of the question, unless she felt like a lecture and shame; in her experience, there was no such thing as unconditional love.  No, what she needed was a calm perspective from someone who wanted the best for her.

         Pacing the living room while the call went through, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms.  There was a strange buzzing under her skin.  All the feelings and sensations bouncing around in her head drove out what she intended to say by the time her aunt Nora answered.  What came out instead was peevish.

         “Did you know that RainFire intended to expand their territory?”

         “Sorry… you… breaking… up.”  Her aunt’s words came haltingly even though there was no interruption in the video itself.  Lorel could still make out every coil of hair that was so like her own, albeit auburn compared to her copper, glowing in the Australian sunlight.  The vague, pastel memories of her mother showed in the older woman like ghosts.  Her childhood impressions of her mom were of someone a little less colourful, gentler, but with the same mass of curls.  The familiar sight seemed to chase back the gloom of early evening filling the corners of her own living room.

         “Static hasn’t been an issue for nearly fifty years.”  Not since the psy had invested in international telecommunications infrastructure.

         “Yes, I did know, and I knew you wouldn’t have taken over the bakery if I told you.  You deserve to-” she sighed and held up her hands, apparently at a loss for words.  “To be whole.”

         “I’m fine,” snapped Lorel.  “What I don’t need is a pack of leopards threatening to kill me for the crime of living where they want to stake a claim.”

         “What you need is something you’ve never been given,” she replied evenly.  “And I’m partly to blame for that.  I should have done more.”  At that, Lorel swallowed the acerbic words on her tongue.

         “We’ve been over this: you’re barely fifteen years older than I am and were in college halfway around the world,” she reminded her aunt with as much gentleness as she could summon.  “Speaking of which, how are your classes going?”

         “Harder than I remember, but I’m enjoying it so far.  Nice attempt at changing the subject, though.”  She wagged a finger at her niece, who pretended to be abashed.  “Give them a chance, Lolo.  If it’s not what you need, my cousin’s still willing to buy you out, but at least you’ll know.”  Unable to look into a face filled with such tender love and concern, Lorel hugged herself and looked down at her feet.

         “Besides, some of those cats are drop-dead gorgeous.”

         “Aunt Nora!” she snapped her head up to gape at the other woman.

         “I’m old, not dead!”  Laughter lit up her entire being, wrapping around Lorel like a warm hug, and she couldn’t help but smile along with her even as she shook her head in fond exasperation.  While she was on the edge of forty, her aunt could be- and had been- mistaken for her sister, and certainly young enough to be studying for a second career as a marine biologist.

         “I love you, Lolo, and I know you wouldn’t have taken this risk on your own.”

         “Yeah, who wouldn’t want to risk death threats?”  Lorel unfolded one arm to wave her hand in a flippantly sarcastic gesture.

         “You have choices: give the leopards a chance or sell to Marselo.”  Her harsh, no-nonsense tone had Lorel twisting her face into a moue of distaste.  Sometimes she wondered how Nora and Klaudia Maddox could possibly be related, but then, when least expected, her aunt revealed a spine of pure steel and the family resemblance was undeniable.

         “You didn’t even want SweetCheeks, something about moving to Hicksville, Nowhere?  I had to guilt you into it.”  The older woman’s insistence had seemed strange at the time but made sense now that Lorel knew what her ulterior motives were.

         “Yeah, well, I like it so far,” she admitted begrudgingly, burrowing her bare toes into the Aegean blue area rug.  “You built up a good business.”

         “Damn straight,” Nora sniffed with obvious pride.  “So, you better take good care of it, ya hear?”

         “Yeah, yeah, love you, too.”  She rolled her eyes and thrust both hands into her hair.  “They’re dangerous, No-No.”

         “You’ve survived things that would break other people.  I know you were taught to fear them,” a shadow of remorse crossed her face, “but my money’s on you.”

         “What if I can’t?”  The question was a whisper because she couldn’t speak past the knot in her throat.

         “What if you can?  Imagine what you’d be capable of.”  The strength of her aunt’s love and confidence in her was still a kick to the heart and she’d always regret not confiding in the other woman when she was younger.  Nora had fluttered like a vibrant butterfly at the edges of her youth; shame and a twisted sense of protection had kept Lorel from reaching out to her sooner, she didn't want her spirited aunt to put her life on hold for Lorel's sake.  What support Nora could provide, no matter where she was in the world, had gotten her through some of her toughest years.  As an adult, she soaked in as much of Nora's love as she could, and tried to return it as best she knew how.  “I have to go, I have a date with some algae.  Let me know what you decide.”

         “I will.  I love you, No-No.”  She kissed two fingers and pressed them to the comm screen.

         “Love you, too, Lolo.”  Her aunt mirrored the gesture on her end before they both hung up.

         Twilight seemed to rush back into the room once the screen went blank; for once, she didn’t bother turning on a light and allowed the shadows to envelop her.  It wasn’t fully dark to her eyes, never had been, yet she still kept nightlights around the house; a childish habit Nora had never ridiculed her for, seeming to understand without words why an adult changeling would fear the night.

         “We are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of night nor of darkness.”  Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head, accompanied by the remembered pain of sudden light on her sensitive eyes.  “Why are you sitting in the dark?  What are you trying to hide?”

         Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

[antiquechampagne]

Mixed Media - Chapter 2 - Jump

Running into the fortress tower, Rita could feel the heat through her thin pajamas. Her ears rang from the piercing inhuman roars echoing through the stone fortress. She knew to stay well behind the soldier who ran up the stairs in a panic before her. The archdemon burst through the wall belching fire just as she expected, the soldier pushed from the dais and crushed by the heavy blocks below. What she didn’t expect was the smell. The stench of the dragon hit her like wall, a foul wave of rotting flesh mixed with sting of ozone.

Once the dragon retreated from the gaping hole, she knew what she was supposed to do. She couldn’t even count the number of times she had started a new Skyrim character, but never before had she felt the pressure of actually failing to make the jump from the tower into the gap of the neighboring roof quite so keenly before.

Staring down, Rita barely heard Ralof yelling at her.

“See the inn on the other side? Jump through to the roof and keep going!” She froze. It looked so real… the drop so far down. “JUMP!” he urged.

The proximity of the next deafening roar jolted Rita out of her stupor. Taking a deep breath, she tried to convince herself that it was just a dream, nothing bad could happen to her. Closing her eyes, she finally jumped.

She did not land with the calculatedly helpful grace of the video game she knew and loved. Instead, real world physics pulled her down, her feet catching the round logs supporting the roof. Her momentum carried her painfully to the wooden floor below, landing hard on her left arm and shoulder. Stars sparked behind her closed lids.

“Go!” Ralof called from above her. “We’ll follow when can!”

“Yeah, sure…” she squeaked.

Rita tried to rise but she realized quickly that not only was her wrist was in bad shape, but her ankle also protested painfully when the put her full weight on it. She hoped both were only sprained and not broken. She didn’t have much time to investigate, as the whole inn shook as the archdemon flew low over head. Making her way to the other end of the building, she lowered herself through the hole in the floor to the ground floor as gently as she could. Luckily, she landed mostly on her good foot.

Outside, the dragon spat fire as soldiers and civilians took cover.

The Imperial soldier who had been holding the checklist turned to her. His name surfaced in her chaotic mind; Hadvar.

“Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.”

He took off and Rita followed as best she could, her twisted ankle forcing her limp most of the way. As they passed by a tall stone wall, the archdemon landed above them. A tattered purple leathery wing nearly clipped her in the shoulder as she attempted to hide, huddled close to the quaking wall. She watched helplessly as it destroyed more of the town with great gouts of fire. The fetid smell of the creature once again filled her senses, nearly making her gag and her eyes water.

“Quickly! Follow me!” Hadvar ordered as the beast took flight again. He led her through the burned out husks of a home. As she ran past a toppled doorway, movement caught her eye. Something small, hairless and rabbit-like wiggled under the wreckage of the thatched roof. With an impressive sense of certainty, Hadvar ran through the chaos around them unfazed.

Suddenly, they ran into Ralof, who was now brandishing an axe.

“Ralof! That traitor! Out of my way!” Hadvar growled.

Rita glanced around worriedly, clutching her bound and aching wrist to her side awkwardly. The dragon loomed above them, belching out fire, strafing the nearby buildings.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof answered.

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” the Imperial spat back.

“You!” Ralof looked to Rita. “Come on! Into the keep!” He beckoned her to follow him inside the stone keep.

Hadvar turned and sprinted in another direction. “With me, prisoner. Let’s go!”

“Damn it!” Rita grumbled as the dragon came around for another pass. She knew she had to make a decision, and fast. She went with the choice she favored. She ran towards Ralof, the dragon scorching the courtyard just a few feet from where she had been standing.

Once inside the keep, Rita caught her breath by the door while Ralof ran over to a fallen Stormcloak.

“We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” He turned back to her, scanning the roughly circular room. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it.”

“Just like every time.” Rita huffed. “And, yes, that was a dragon… but not dragon native to Skyrim.”

“What?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She held up her bound wrists. “Would you mind?”

Ralof nodded and quickly cut the ropes. “There you go. You may as well take Gunjar’s gear.”

Before he could finish, Rita interrupted him “He won’t be needing it anymore, right?” Ralof gave her a funny look before moving off to the corner to wait.

Rita looked down at the body on the floor. Picking things off a real looking body was much more intimidating. With a bit of a huff, she finally knelt beside the dead man. Unsure where to start first, she tugged on Gunjar’s armor, the multitude of straps and ties confusing her. Rita’s stomach lurched. He was still warm.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Ralof’s eyes narrowed. “You’re green in the guts, girl?”

“Just give me a second.” She gave up on the armor, resigned to pick his pockets for anything useful. All that was in his pockets was an apple, a few Septims and a small polished marble figure of a woman in robes. She didn’t remind Rita of any gods from Tamriel. Who could she be? Rita returned to looking over the body. The only other thing she removed from the corpse was his fur boots.

“Sorry,” she whispered to him, the guilt of stealing a dead man’s clothes eating at her. It was so much harder when it felt so real. Scooping the axe off the ground, she joined Ralof as he examined one of the closed gates that sealed the room.

“Ahh… this one’s locked. Let’s see about that other gate.”

He walked across to it. A memory jogged in Rita’s mind. Imperial soldiers were going to appear soon. She wanted no part of ensuing fight. She stayed next to the locked gate, eyeing Ralof nervously.

“Damn. No way to open this from our side.”

She heard the shouts of the rushing soldiers. A dead man’s armor was looking very nice now.

“It’s the Imperials! Take cover!” the Stormcloak warned.

The Imperials quickly opened the gate, too hurried to notice Ralof crouched next to the door. Rita’s reaction was much less advantageous. She just stood stock still in the open room, the axe held loosely in her shaking hands.

The soldiers rushed into the room. Missing the hiding Nord, they raised their swords to attack the petrified woman before them. Ralof leapt from his hiding place, squarely landing a heavy blow on one soldiers back with his axe. Watching the heavily armored woman rushing towards her, sword raised, Rita lost her nerve and dropped her axe. It landed with a loud clang on the cobblestone floor. She covered her head reflexively as she cowered, her eyes closed and hands up in surrender. Rita screamed, feeling the axe blade slice into the flesh of her hand. Abruptly, instead of warm rush of blood, tingling electricity shot from her palm, throwing the Imperial across the room, even arcing to the second man. Stunded and confused, Rita just blinked when neither Imperial got up once they fell to the ground.

“So you’re a student of the arcane arts, I see.” Ralof wryly observed.

“I… guess so?” Still shaking, Rita looked down at her palms. The left one decided to start bleeding, but from inside the wound a strange glow started to build.

Ralof seemed unimpressed. “Maybe one of these Imperials had the key.”

Rita quickly found the heavy iron key in one of their pockets, holding her breath to prevent the smell of burned flesh from distracting her. Whatever was happening here, she needed to focus and protect herself. As quickly as she could, she took a simple hide helmet from one soldier while pocketing what valuables she could fit in the two pockets of her pj pants. On second consideration, and with a little more effort than she wished, Rita also pinched a belt with a few pouches on it, tightening it around her own waist.

Handing the key over to Ralof, he unlocked the heavy gate. “That’s it! Come on; let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads.”

Heading down into the bowels of the keep, Rita hobbled along, still favoring her ankle. Suddenly, a deep rumble and roar reverberated through the stone, causing the corridor in front of them to collapse.

Frustrated, Ralof wiped the dust and grime from his face, grumbling, “Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easily.”

As they moved closer to a wooden door, Rita could hear agitated voices from inside.

“Do you think you have enough in you do that spell again?” Ralof asked.

“I can try.” Rita really hoped that she would not need to get sliced open again to summon another bolt.

Carefully opening the door, they slowly advanced into the room. It was filled with barrels, trunks and sacks. They snuck close on the two Imperials who were hurriedly raiding the storeroom. Rita looked down at her hands, nervously rubbing the edges of the strange wound. It hurt sharply and wept blood, but the glow was growing brighter. Looking over to Ralof, he shrugged his shoulders towards the soldiers, urging her to hurry up.

She stepped out from behind a large barrel, pushing her palms towards the men but nothing happened. Startled, the soldiers turned and stared at her for a heartbeat before dashing towards her, pulling the swords at their belts.

“Come… on…” Rita stammered, taking a step back. “WORK!” After what felt like the longest second in history, her hands started to tingle before another blast ricocheted off the advancing soldiers, knocking them off their feet. One laid still, but the other tried to struggle to his feet. He quickly meet his end by Ralof’s blade slicing into his neck.

Rita hid her revulsion to the copious amount of blood pooling on the floor by turning away and steadying herself on a barrel. Her head swam, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was due to being faced with this much gore or the exhaustion that was suddenly flooding her body.

“I’m going to see if I can find any potions.” She knew she would find a handful of useful concoctions hiding in one of these barrels. There always was. She was happily tucking away the glass vials when she noticed something familiar nestled next to them, a stimpak.

“This is so weird.” She shook her head, but this strange feeling did not stop her from pocketing the post-apocalyptic chem.

“Done? Let’s get going,” Ralof urged.

“One second.” She pulled out a small-unmarked vial of bluish liquid. Rita hope it was a magicka potion of some kind. So many of these potions looked similar. Pulling the cork, she sniffed. An earthy but medicinal smell filled her nose. She had no way of knowing how much energy she had used. Downing this now could waste it, but she knew there were many more Imperial soldiers to encounter, more than she really wanted to deal with. She swallowed the solution as quickly as she could. It smacked of bitter herbs and meaty broth. Rita waited. She felt a tiny rush, as if she had downed an espresso shot, but nothing else. She silently wondered what would happen if she died in this strange dream. Would this all start all over?

“Ready?” Ralof asked.

“I suppose.”

They rounded the hallway and opened the next door. Down a short ramp, they could see cages suspended from the ceiling coming into view.

“Troll’s blood! It’s a torture room.”

The sounds of a scuffle echoed up the hall. Running down the ramp, they could see the torturer and his assistant fighting against two blue-clad Stormcloak soldiers. The soldiers appeared to be gaining the upper hand, pressing the torturers to gain the advantage. Rita stayed back, letting Ralof rush in to battle and finished off the pair.

“That takes care of that,” He said as the last one fell. He turned to the taller female soldier. “Was Jarl Ulfric with you?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up,” She answered.

“Wait a second.” Ralof stopped and turned to Rita. “Looks like there’s someone in this cage.” He tried the door. “It’s locked. See if you can get it open with some picks. We need all the help we can get.”

Peering between the thick metal bars, Rita gasped. Slouched in the corner, her eyes barely open and her breath shallow, was a familiar face, but one that was very out of place.

“Curie?” Rita shook the cage to see if she could get any response from the synth. All she heard was a low moan. Running to the small table, Rita rummaged through the small knapsack she found there. She pocketed the potion before bringing the four metal lock picks over to Curie’s cage.

“Do any of you know how to use these?” she asked the others around her. They all shook their heads.

She looked desperately at the crude metal lock. “Okay, then…” Holding the padlock in one hand, she inserted the thin metal tool into the slot. She fished around, feeling the tool scrape against the innards of the lock before getting caught on something and snapping in half.

“Fuck.” She swore under her breath. She could almost feel the Stormcloaks’ stares. “I’m doing my best, I swear. This is a lot harder than it looks in the game.” She tried again, this time closing her eyes. She tried to imagine the lock picking mini game, visualizing the locks delicate cylinders and gently pressing each one up as she had so many time before. She tried to mimic the movements with the tools in her hand. When the first one finally depressed and stayed, she nearly let out a shout of joy. The feeling quickly disappeared when she rushed the second tumbler and her tool broke again.

Taking a moment to gather her resolve, Rita slotted the third pick into the lock, aware that she was quickly running out of chances. It took all her concentration. When the last tumbler clicked into place and the lock popped open in her hands, she finally allowed herself to breath.

Hastily, Rita slid the lock off the door and swung the door open with a creak. Kneeling next to Curie, she looked her over. She looked mostly intact except for a few scrapes and bruises.

She fished the stimpak out of one of the pouches on her belt. “I hope this works.” Stabbing the needle through Curie’s threadbare jeans, she pushed the plunger and prayed. Within a few seconds, Curies blue eyes blinked open.

“Oh? Another stranger, but you…” she pushed herself up, propping herself against the bars of the cage. “You don’t look like the others.”

Rita could imagine how strange she looked, kneeling there in a crude helmet and pastel purple flannel. “I’m not,” The room shook. Rita offered the synth her hand. “Think you can stand?”

“Yes, I believe I can.” Pulling her to her feet, Curie stepped out of the cage. “What is happening?”

“We don’t really have time for that. We need to get out of here first, then we can figure that out.”

Curie hesitated, glancing at the group of Stormcloaks mulling around the other end of the room.

“Their friends, I promise.” Rita tried to sound as reassuring as she could. Pointed to the adjacent corner of the room. A long counter dominated it, weapon racks lining the wall. “Find something to protect yourself with. Pocket anything that looks useful.”

As Curie walked over, Rita looked back into the cage. She scooped up a few stray coins, but what really caught her attention was the book lying among the refuse. It wasn’t a leather-bound spell tome she had expected to see. Instead, there was a dusty D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine.

“Maybe later…” she thought to herself, roughly shoving the journal into her belt pouch. Turning back to the group, she nearly laughed as she saw Curie’s choice of weapon. She stood with what looked like a giant elongated spoon resting on her shoulder… one that crackled with a strange red energy.

Curie, noticing her curious look, simply shrugged. “It was all that was available.”

“You both done?” Ralof impatiently asked. Both women nodded. “Then let’s go.”

Rita couldn’t agree more. The sooner they could get through the caves, the quicker she could figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe if she completed this tutorial, she could finally wake up.

Authors Note:

I hope you enjoy it! How many little nods and Easter eggs did you spot?

[happytroopers]

Rex gets injured and Jedi reader is really worried? Fives and Echo help to calm her down

Rex gets injured and Jedi reader is really worried? Fives and Echo help to calm her downYes, hello, it is I, the Mod who absolutely didn’t mind getting carried away with this prompt-Mod Simone🌼

The wind whipped against your face as you accelerated your speeder, but still kept behind Rex ahead of you. Normally, you took charge during missions out in the field, but you had accommodated Master Kenobi’s wishes and let Rex take the lead for the moment. You had also been able to sense how Rex wanted to lead and had been all too happy to give him that small pleasure out in the field, as it was the only way you had of showing your immense, and forbidden, affection for him.

Your eyes scanned the surroundings of Saleucemi around you. You didn’t exactly expect General Grievous to hide behind a fallen log or jump out from behind a bush, lightsabers at the ready, but your training with the Jedi Order had left a lasting instinct of constant vigilance. You were distracted, reaching out with the Force to feel for Grievous’ presence in the Force around you. So engrossed were you in your concentration in searching for the General that you didn’t notice the sense of another presence, but one with the same sinister intents for the galaxy.

The snipers’ shot hit Rex dead-center, straight in his chest, and the force of it made him lurch backwards, throwing him off his speeder. You receded from the Force with a snap only you could feel and hear, much like the way a tight rubber band bounds back into shape once let go, and you made a sharp turn, panic making you jerk the wheel of your speeder around a little too quickly for it to be comfortable for you. Panic roiled in your chest, as well as blind anger at the attacker who hadn’t even been brave enough to show his face, as you broke every speeding law in charted space in order to reach Rex’s unmoving shape on the ways a way’s back.

“Help the captain!” You vaguely heard one of the other clones in your scouting party shout, but you didn’t care as you stomped down on the brake and jumped off your vehicle long before it had even stopped moving. You scrambled over to where Rex lay, fear choking you, and tore off his helmet. You cradled his face in your hands, the face you could pick out of a thousand clones lined up, even as you knew it would give you no small trouble if anyone were to see you touching anyone in that way. You struggled to suppress the urge to ignite your lightsaber and hunt down those, most likely some type of droid, who had made the smoking hole in the middle of his breastplate.

“Jesse, you better get back here…” You heard Kix speak into his comm as he hurried towards you and you reluctantly, but quickly pulled your hands away from Rex’s face. You couldn’t resist whispering a few words to him that you knew Kix wouldn’t hear as he sprinted towards you after disembarking his speeder, gentle reminders of stolen kisses in dimly lit hallways, brushes against each other in narrow passages and the many times you had almost given him a heart attack rushing on ahead and how it wasn’t fair for him to get back at you like that.

“How bad?” Jesse asked, as he too came to kneel beside Rex.

“Pretty bad.” Kix frowned down at Rex and you inwardly cursed yourself for your fascination with your Master Windu’s newly rediscovered Vaapad combat-form instead of using the Force for healing and the direct aid of others. “I need to remove his armor to see the full extent of the damage.”

“Those snipers might’ve called for backup.” Hardcase suggested grimly and you gave him a dark look.

“Have they been destroyed?”

“I didn’t catch that, sir.”

“I said-“ You had to make a conscious effort to rein your emotional turmoil in again. “The snipers, have they been destroyed.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” You gave Hardcase a curt nod and looked down at Rex again, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “We need to move. Unless we wanna get picked off by that backup you mentioned. We have to find some cover and quickly.”

“Sir, I believe those things are domesticated.”

“What things?” You followed where Jesse pointed, to two spindly legged animals approaching them, drawn by the loud noises and the interesting new people. Had they been wild beasts, they would have shied away instead of sought them out.

“So?” Kix shrugged.

“I think we’re on farmland. And where there’s a farm… there’s usually a farmer.” Jesse wagged a finger at Kix and you could barely contain the crushing sense of relief that washed over you.

“Thank the Force.” You breathed, but then cleared your throat and handed out orders again as the clones looked to you. “We need to hurry. We don’t want to be out here in an alien planet in them idle of the night.” You glanced down at Rex and a fierce protectiveness surged through you. “Let’s find us a farmer.”

XXX

You could do nothing but a poor attempt at meditation as Kix tended to Rex in the barn, removing his armor and mumbling lightly to himself about medication, bacta and kolto and whatnot. If Jesse or Hardcase noticed how thoroughly horrible your halfhearted attempt at easing your own mind was, they didn’t comment.

The farm you had found was owned by a rather suspicious twi’lek. The first thing she had done was point a rifle right at you, but with the help of the clones, you had been able to persuade her to let you stay in the barn for the night, even as she ushered her two small children away from you. You thought you had gotten a strange sense of unease from her, particularly when the clones took off their helmets to persuade her to let them stay, but your mind had, and still was, unable to focus on anything other than how the eyes of the love of your life had rolled back into his head and how his tanned skin had already gotten a pale, unhealthy pallor.

Your head jerked upwards as you heard the unmistakable voice of a clone exclaiming something rather loudly outside, but Rex, Kix, Jesse and Hardcase were all inside the barn with you. You got to your feet as you heard the twi’lek say something back and you hurried out of the barn, seeing that two more clones had arrived. Your host had her rifle pointed at them, her voice rising in anger.

“Ma’am, I told you, we got a message via our commlink that our captain had been wounded and we-“

“Fives! Echo!” You hurried forwards, your lengthy training in diplomacy kicking in as you sought to prevent the situation from excalating. It looked as though the twi’lek had already strained the limits of her usual hospitably by allowing your original group to stay; adding two more would have to be handled rather carefully.

“You’re here-“

“General (Y/L/N).” Fives and Echo snapped to attention and you greeted them with a pitiful jerk of a nod.

“You made it.”

“General (Y/L/N), you’re… not looking so good.” Fives stated awkwardly and Echo elbowed him with his rifle.

“Rough night.” You tried to brush it off, but you knew that there was a good chance that Fives had picked up that your feelings for his captain went a bit deeper than the platonic kind. If Fives knew, he most likely had told Echo about it as well.

“How bad is it, General?” Asked Echo and you gave him an exhausted look.

“Bad.” Your voice came dangerously close to cracking on that one word alone. Your conversation was brought to an end as your host cleared her throat loudly and you reluctantly turned to face her.

“I suppose this means there will be two more of your troopers in my barn for the night?”

“Yes.” You confirmed. “We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“’Inconvenience’? Captain Rex was sho-“ You stomped down hard on Fives’ foot and he yelped, jumping backwards.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us…” You grabbed the clones by the scruff and hauled them over towards the barn, away from the twi’lek, who you suspected was growing rather irritated with the sudden flood of visitors.

“General, could we have a word?” Fives asked just as they were nearing the barn, but still out of earshot of both their fellow clones and the owner of the farm. You felt a stab of impatience, wanting to get back to the man you loved as quickly as possible, but you forced it down and nodded, turning around and trying to maintain an authoritative exterior, despite your shaking hands and your frayed nerves. You knew that your old Master would have told you to recite the Jedi Code ten times for that alone.

“Uh…“ Echo started eloquently.

“Well?”

“We’re not just your troopers, General. We’re also your friends.” You blinked at Fives in surprise, confused as to what had brought that on.

“Of course.” You agreed slowly. “Yes, you are, but may I ask why you felt the sudden need to declare that?” Fives and Echo glanced at each other.

“The Captain’ll make it, sir.” Echo blurted out abruptly and you raised your eyebrows at him.

“I know.” You muttered, rubbing your hands and bouncing on your feet. You glanced at the small barn.

“He’ll be fine, sir. Captain Rex has made it through worse things than that.”

“Has he?” You whispered to yourself and you jumped when you felt pat you on the shoulder.

“We clones are resilient.”

“Oh, I know.” You blurted out. You would have been able to pass it off as a simple comment, had it not been for the slight blush that rose in your cheeks as you thought back on the times Rex had proved his ‘resilience’.

Echo cleared his throat loudly and made an odd comment about the weather out of the blue and Fives started whistling as the door of the barn slid open. Kix stuck his head out of it and you were immediately on high alert, your overthinking mind immediately jumping to the worst of conclusions.

“He’s awake.” Kix called and you felt your lungs deflate like balloons. Kix gave her a pointed look. “He’s asking for you, General.” Without another word, you rushed forwards and past Kix, stopping in your tracks when you saw Rex, looking haggard and pale, but alive. He was lying on the bench Kix had been treating him on, with a large patch covering the upper half of his bare chest.

You were positive that you had never been as relieved as you were the moment when you looked in to his eyes again.

[notthisagain]

The Men We Make (Ch. 2)

After the sixth attempt, Deorstan gave up.

The magic felt fine, felt the same as it ever did, and he was certain that the words were cast just as he always had. Years of training and practice had lent him some measure of skill, so much so that he could perhaps in a loose and kind way be called a necromancer in his own right (a word he did not care for, admittedly, and never entertained), but not even that seemed to make the least bit of difference. He had struggled fiercely in the days when the Acherus was still in the hands of the Lich King and the weakest of acolytes were culled for sport, a fate to which he had nearly succumbed, yet all that frustration did not measure to what he felt right then. Beneath his helm, the Death Knight frowned and allowed his hand to fall back to his side. The would-be assassin, sixth in a long and scattered line of bent and mangled bodies, would not rise at his urging.

In some way, it was a relief. Some took the act as a novelty but more found it offensive at best and evil at worst, and Deorstan saw little reason to further alienate himself from people who already seemed to only just tolerate his presence. Yet he could not help but feel unsettled at having become so impotent so quickly. It was in the dusty and web-laden ruin of a tower the Lady Edlothiel called home that he was last able to produce some result. There, beneath the watchful eye of the Baneseeker, Deorstan threaded together some pitiful, forgotten skeleton with unlife and left it in her care. How it came to be there, crumpled in a corner, he never asked. The Lady did not seem a murderer and the webs were old and thick. Likewise he never asked what came of it. By no fault of its own it was doomed to be a lesser thing than the man who raised it and if that magic bled and unwound as it did in his hands then he would not be surprised.

It took weeks before the gnaw of worry waned, his sensibility numbed and yearning for other concerns. Univited as he was, it became more and more apparent the Death Knight had no intention of abandoning Bradensbrook.  To his surprise, they let him attend to smaller tasks around the village when the hours were quiet and uneventlful. Firewood was always in demand and though he could not tell which wood would burn best, he found he had a talent for splitting logs. He did not have the sense for masonry but he could gather stone. The forge was too intense for him but he could seek out metal from the cliffs. There was almost always some thing to busy himself with and Deorstan was always grateful when a new one was passed his way. The less he was idle, the less his mind wandered to the vials, to the ichor that undoubtedly lingered beneath his skin.

Again the worry breached his thoughts and again he felt himself frustrated by it. The knight stared and bent to wipe the gore off his blade, as though the touch of cold iron might be the final, missing catalyst; as if all he needed was some simple component and his magic and his body would be back to top form. Yet the enchantments that kept Deorstan upright imparted nothing upon the corpse save what it had taken when it tore it apart. It stared, wide-eyed and bleeding, at the carrion birds that just began to roll into slow orbit far overhead.

--

He woke.

I do not sleep, he reminded himself, and for how foreign a feeling it had become, he knew it for what it was. He woke, and blinked at the light shining overhead. Dim as it was, barred by the bone-brittle branches of the forest above him, it still seared his eyes in a way that was almost painful. It came to him in steps, one by one, that something was amiss.

Val'sharah shone in emeralds and golds especially when the sun was rising and falling, and for all the gloom that blanketed the coast there were brief hours in the day where it was beautiful, even there. He saw none of it: rather, it was all shadows and sharp shapes overcast in dulled greys and silvers, with only the barest hint of living green muddled underneath. He could not see the village, with its steepled roofs and cornfields, resting helpless beneath a fortress of stone. Instead they existed as vague shapes around him, as if smudges of charcoal was what gave his surroundings form and only in the most loose sense of the word at that. Perhaps if he looked hard enough he could have made out the low stone fences, whole and broken, that encircled the homesteads. Perhaps, in the distance, he could point out the windmill. Neither came to him, transfixed as he was at the light overhead, silver and dreadful.

"You miss it."

Deorstan could not have been certain that he had been alone. Since he last left the company of his Greywatch peers, he had been largely solitary: he was not a sociable man by nature and the village seemed happier for it, and so his default condition had been isolation even if it was in the periphery of their lives. Blinking away the pain in his eyes, his gaze then lowered to a figure that stood before him, beneath a particularly sharp crown of branches. It was Deorstan's own voice that had spoken though he knew himself silent; it had been this man, watching him with cold blue eyes, that had stolen his throat. Deorstan stared at himself, staring at himself.

He repeated, "You miss it." This other Deorstan shared his suit of Saronite, cast in deep greys rather than the cool dark blue he knew his plate to be, but he wore no helm. A pallid face with sunken eyes and a mess of unkempt, brittle hair was fixed upon him, his expression as vague as the world around them.

"I'm dreaming," Deorstan said.

"Are you?" said the other.

"Or I am hexed," returned the knight, fighting an urge to turn his eye back up to the light overhead. "Some manner of spell, some trick to wrest my senses from me. There is always some manner of foulness afoot, here in this wood. Some new evil. I won't not have it. Be gone, if it is your doing. Should I find you, I will not hesitate to destroy you."

The other spoke flatly, the rough notes of his voice echoing cold in his ears. Whatever it was that softened the hard geometry of the village did no such thing to his tone. "So you might. Yet it remains, this fact: you miss it. This place."

"What place?"

It was then that the false man then raised his stare away, lifting his head to sky, and through some compulsion that Deorstan too turned his gaze upward. The shadowy impressions of the village blurred even more as he took his mind away from them and to what he then recognized as the greater moon gleaming impossibly bright. The jagged canopy of branches seemed to sharpen against its light, rendering themselves in hard black lines crossed haphazard across her face.

"Deorstan Alfrec Gully," sighed the voice that was his own, "How could you forget your home?"