#I drawn him at the time when he have killed the bison for the first time :)

[frogcat7]

[brighttears]

Dusk

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n 

Summary:  Not long after you, Joel and Ellie arrive in Jackson. You and Joel are instantly drawn to each other, not able to get the other off your minds before you’ve even spoken.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of drinking

A/n: my brain is soggy rn but here is the first chapter idec if it flops the second chapter is almost done i am seeing this one thru i have like a whole document for planning shit. this will be a slow burn btw

—

“these hands that kill, these hands that slaughter the marrow of life, these hands which are capable of so much tenderness, which is where love lies, i do not know how to contain these contradictions, within you, within us”

—

You don’t smile, don’t move your face at all, just kind of… observe him, head cocked, half hiding behind a post about thirty feet away from him in the Tipsy Bison. Usually, Joel would glare his glariest glare and it’d do the trick, but you don’t look like you’d even be phased, and you’re also making him nervous and self conscious and all he can think is don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush. Not knowing how to handle this, Joel folds his arms, glances at you and then away, at the floor, clears his throat, shifts, and looks back up and past you as if he doesn't notice you at all. It’s a little creepy, but your shameless intensity intrigues him more than anything has in a long time. Also, you are fucking stunning. Joel tries to subtly puff his chest but then decides against it halfway through. In his peripheral, he may have seen the corner of your lip curl. When he turns to look, he only catches you eyeing him one more time as you turn and walk somewhere behind him, past the corner he leans against. He catches himself before rubbernecking and instead lets you disappear. 

Then Tommy comes up from the other side of him, startling Joel so much that he flinches and almost chokes. “God damn it, Tommy.”

His brother only laughs, nudging him with a knuckle in his shoulder. “Am I goin’ crazy or did that chick over there just make you blush?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Joel grumbles, looking around to see who else may have caught him.

“Ah, come on. It’s cute.”

“Shut the fuck up Tommy.” he grumbles tongue-in-cheek, nudging his brother back. “Fuck do you want, anyway?” he smirks.

“Well, I came over to ask if you wanted a drink, but I can tell you her name if you want.”

“Whose name?” Joel very poorly feigns obliviousness and it makes Tommy laugh.

“Aw, come on. Look… I know you haven’t been here long, but,” he cocks his head until Joel looks back at him, “you can relax, you know,” he chuckles, but Joel isn’t amused. Tommy has had this talk with him a few times now and he does not like hearing it. ‘Relax’ sounds like such a ridiculous suggestion. When he’s mulled it over after past conversations, he only becomes more frustrated by the contradiction of his heart and gut—the pull of desire towards the concept of relaxation and the alarms going off at the same time. Joel has always felt intensely and it jabs at him as Tommy speaks. “I mean, we’ve got a bar, Joel, you can ask her out.” 

So that’s what he’s been getting at this time. Joel scoffs overdramatically. 

“Well, when Maria finds out about this she will be settin’ you up with her.” Tommy smirks.

“You will not tell Maria.” Joel snaps quietly, turning his body towards a still wildly smirking Tommy. He quickly tries to correct himself, “There’s nothin’ to tell.” but Tommy ignores it.

“Hey,” he shrugs his shoulders, “who says I’m tellin’ her? If she finds out she finds out.”

“Tommy, I swear to god…” Tommy cackles, Joel shakes his head and lets himself chuckle. Then Tommy leans on the wall next to his brother and they just appreciate each other's company. 

After a few moments of silence, Joel asks, trying to keep his voice casual, “What—what’d you say her name was again?” 

Tommy laughs again, “You’re just gonna have to go ask her yourself.” Joel gives him a mostly fake glare. “Aw, come on. Lemme pour ya’a drink, loverboy.”

“Loverboy?” Joel follows his brother to the bar.

—

A couple hours later, Joel sits at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on spread out knees, eyes closed and face resting on clasped hands like he’s praying. He’s more cursing himself though, trying desperately to tug at the flap that will roll the projector screen back up where images of you flick over it on a loop. 

He’s seen you a few times but has yet to make actual eye contact with you for more than two seconds. 

The first time he saw you you were eating alone at dinner, all the way across the room from him in the Bison. He stole glances, which was more like a diet stare, until you caught him. When he dared look back up, you were staring back at him while chewing. He did not look up from his plate again that night.

The next time he saw you you were on horseback, squinting against the sunset as you rode in from a patrol shift. Your rolling hips popped into his head and spooked him several times the next day. He definitely did not let the film roll at night. 

The last time he’d seen you before today you had caught him staring again at breakfast. After counting to ten, he looked back up, but you hadn’t looked away, barely containing a laugh with food in your mouth. Were you laughing at him? At the fact that he couldn’t stop looking at you? Were you making fun of him inside your head? It made Joel blush and he once again became very interested in the food on his plate for the rest of the meal. 

You are annoying the fuck out of Joel because you make him fucking blush, his mind wanders to you far too often throughout the day, and he is too fucking nervous to talk to you. He feels juvenile. He considers asking Maria to either put him on a shift with you or never put him on shift with you, but either way he’d be letting the cat out of the bag and she would never let it go, and then Ellie would find out and would never let him hear the end of it. 

It was in that moment, realizing he was just at the edge of losing sleep over you, that Joel knew he was fucked. 

— 

Before Joel and his little friend Ellie, you were the newest person to Jackson by far. Meaning, everyone was already all settled in and it left you feeling distanced and insecure. You still jump at every noise, hunch over your plate as if to protect from someone snatching it from under you, and are in general not very hospitable. It isn’t really anything against anyone, mostly just habits you’ve picked up from the road. The people here are nice, but that isn’t comforting these days; it can be more frightening than someone who’s upfront about being malicious because at least then you know what to expect. Arriving here, you didn't know what fuck was going on. You are so far removed. Some nights you pack up all of your belongings and consider taking a horse and bolting, but when you start thinking about where you’d go, you understand again why you hadn’t done it last time. It’s a bit nerve wracking here, but out there is walking around in a nightmare. 

Maria was the one who’d vouched for you when she and the rest of the horseback crew found you lying in the snow not far away from their settlement. You had collapsed from exhaustion, malnourished and lucky you still had all your toes when you woke up. You’re also lucky that they didn’t kick you right back out when you did wake up, since you’d basically trashed one of the rooms in their mini hospital in a wild panic. Despite that, Maria took a liking to you; she told you she liked your spirit and how gentle you were when some of the kids ran up to you—the shiny new toy—later that day while you were eating your first actual meal in the Bison. She and Tommy basically weaseled their way in from there and remain your only real friends, which you like. 

You saw Joel and Ellie ride in a couple months later and as soon as you got Tommy and Maria alone you questioned them about why they liked these two so much. Tommy told you that Joel is his brother who had come all the way from Boston to find him, having taken care of this kid, Ellie, the whole way there. You were impressed and wildly intrigued. 

What makes them stand out in your mind more is that you saw yourself in their eyes when they first rode into town—more than anything it was bewilderment. Because of this, no matter how curious, you know you’ll have to wait for them, like stray cats, to come up to you first. 

Ellie barely registered you though and you didn’t think Joel did either until you caught him staring. It was threatening until you noticed he was blushing. Then, it was fun, because you were making the big tough pretty boy blush without even smiling at him. 

You happened to be cleaning your saddle one day at the stables when Joel walked in with Tommy to grab horses for patrol. They weren’t having any kind of private conversation, just talking about the weather really, so you indulged yourself by inching a little closer to the doorframe to get a listen of his voice. Gruff, twanged, sweet. Tommy made him belly laugh, and that was the moment you knew you were fucked. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I Am Blackened Bones (Part 23)

Azula finds herself a spot on Appa’s saddle. Frankly she wants to sit where the Avatar sits, right upon the bison’s fluffy head. But the Avatar is worried that she will fall. He says that he would trust the other Azula more because she isn’t as fidgety.

You lack common sense and you act like a child, says her human counterpart, of course he doesn't  want you sitting next to him. You’ll jump off of the bison and get us both killed. She concludes. Unfairly, the spirit thinks.

Azula is particularly cranky today and the spirit is certain that it is because she is terrified. Azula gets moody when she becomes afraid. And so the spirit decides not to take her commentary too personally even though it is quite personal. 

“All set, Azula?” Katara asks. 

Azula’s heart gives a little leap. It usually does when the waterbender talks to her. She can’t explain it but she feels lighter, more fluttery when she talks to Katara than when she talks to anyone else. She thinks that it might be because Katara has done so many nice things for her. And her smile is warmer and more cheerful—prettier too—than everyone else’s. 

She has tried to ask human Azula what that means but human Azula only tells her that she is being ridiculous and should stop reading so much into things.

“Azula?”

Azula jumps. 

“Are you ready to take off? We’ve got a few more hours to fly.”

Azula nods. “I’m ready.” 

“Great!” There’s that smile. The one that makes Azula’s cheeks all warm. Azula returns that smile with one of her own. She hopes that her smile makes Katara feel fluttery and joyful. 

.oOo.

She knows that they are getting close when the spirit retreats into the dark place and she comes to the physical world. She is terribly tired of weathering all of the pain and discomforts on its behalf—not that it won’t feel the things that she does. Making this retreat has all the efficacy of hiding from the monsters under a blanket. Stupid creature that spirit is.

Today the spirit has left her in a more comfortable positon, unlike two days ago when she had re-emerged to dripping hair and soaked undergarments. Today she is propped up against Katara’s shoulder and looking up at the clouds. She sighs, she may as well enjoy the leisurely time while she has it.

“Are you doing okay?” Katara asks. 

“Well enough, I suppose.” Azula replies. This time even she can’t tell if she is being truthful or not. She has certainly seen worse days but her predicament still stands and it is constantly nagging at her even in moments of very relative comfort. She would, for once, just like to be truly content in life again…or possibly for the very first time. 

“Which Azula are you right now?” 

“The real one.” 

“Good!” Exclaims from his own little corner. “I was hoping to talk to you before we reach the Fire Nation.”

“What do you want to talk about, Zuzu?”

“What things are going to look like when you get home.”

“If I get home.” Azula mumbles. “It is perfectly possible that I will have to live out the rest of my days in the Earth Kingdom or one of the Water Tribes.” Without her firebending…

Her stomach sinks. She misses it terribly, misses how powerful it makes her feel. Misses how much stress it relieves to run through familiar routines. But she is so out of practice now. So much so that it might even be embarrassing to try to get back to it.

Now she is getting ahead of herself.

“Well if you get home there are going to be some changes…”

“There have already been plenty of those, Zuko.”

“You aren’t going to treat me like I’m beneath you. And you…”

“Have I been doing that recently?” She replies. 

“I…” He furrows his brows. “No. But…”

“Yes?” She quirks a brow. 

“Are you only treating me better because you’re in a pretty vulnerable position right now?”

A jolt of anxiety slices through her, leaving a fluttering sensation in her belly in its passing. She takes herself a subtle but drawn inhale. With her exhale some of the tickles subside. She hums, “possibly.” She hadn’t really put much thought into why she behaves the way that she does. Why she feels what she feels. Just that she has her behaviors and feelings and that there are some patterns to them. Patterns that have been disrupted by the spirit enough for them to become muddled. “I suppose that, that could be a part of it, yes.” She can’t place fondness for Zuko on the spirit’s emotions because the spirit seems to have a bigger distaste and mistrust for him than Azula herself. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the only one who seems to prefer the real me.” She looks from one face to the next. Sokka is rather shameless and open in that he knows that what she said is true, she supposes that she can respect him for his honesty. Toph, Katara, and, especially, Aang wear grimaces of varying intensities. Aang’s expression conveys the most guilt.

Azula shrugs. “It’s fine, I don’t really care.” 

But you do. The spirit informs her. It hurts a lot. I can feel it. You know it. I know it.

It both scares and comforts her that the spirit sometimes talks like her. 

“Do you want us to like you?” Toph asks. 

Azula furrows her brows and considers. “I haven’t decided yet.” She wants to be angry at them, but for what? With the exception of Sokka, none of them had particularly done her any wrong. They’d faced her in combat but she can’t say that any of it was truly personal. They had been on opposing sides and they’d done what they needed to do the same as she. 

And they have taken care of her. 

Taken care of her and treated her rather well, all things considered. 

“You don’t want to be alone anymore.” Katara says softly.

“I’m not alone. I have a highly agitating spirit to keep me company at all times.” But of course that isn’t the same as having several highly agitating friends to keep her company. She finds herself absently brushing her thumb over the polished spearhead in her pocket. “But I suppose that it would be nice to speak to someone who isn’t me now and then.” She has been alone for so, so long.

Zuko nods. “Yeah, it’s hard being alone.”

“You’ve always had uncle.” 

“Except for that one time that I made him really mad…and that other time when I outright pissed him off. He won’t admit that he was pissed but I could tell.” 

“When you took my side in the Crystal Catacombs?” She guesses. 

He nods. “I was alone then.”

“You had Mai. TyLee too.” And her. He had her. But she holds her tongue on that one, she doubts that he remembers. If he does remember, she doubts that he views her company and kinder words as genuine. “You were never alone, alone Zuzu. You would be worse off if you had been.” He would be like her. 

Her stomach is full of fluttermoths again, this time birthed by a sense of loss, loss over what she could have had. How things could have been.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “I guess so.”

And the conversation is through.

Through and ended with a lack of closure that she cannot quite place.

You thought that he was going to tell you that you wouldn’t be alone anymore. The spirit helpfully informs her. 

She unhelpfully tells it to keep itself quiet unless it wants  to come back to the forefront.

.oOo.

Azula begins complaining about an ache some fifteen minutes before the skyline comes into view. She says that it usually starts in her head or her stomach, precisely where she used to feel the energy from her fire chakra. Katara supposes that it only makes sense that her fire chakra flare.

And for it, Azula has taken to laying on her side, bunched in on herself, and tightly clutching her middle. Her grip only grows tighter as the skyline comes closer into view. And by the time that they can make it out clearly there are tears in her eyes and an occasional tremor throughout her body. Katara can’t decipher if the shudders are the product of pain or anticipation of pain to come. 

And the look on her face…Katara cringes. She has grown to hate that look. The torment that shows so unveiled upon her face in the crease of her brow and the gritting of her teeth. In the way that her fists clench ironclad and with the whites of her knuckles showing. 

“Can I…do you mind if I hold you?” Katara offers. The spirit loves her cuddles. She hadn’t been so sure about Azula until the woman dragged herself right into her lap. With the princess so close comes a new sense of knowing; a better ability to gauge her level of distress.

Proximity grants her the feeling of Azula’s trembles, the less violent shakes. It grants her the ability to hear Azula’s softer, shakier breaths. 

She wonders how the spirit is faring, tucked away into Azula’s mind. If Azula is scared then the poor thing is probably terrified. 

Azula gives a shaky hum of unrest and Katara holds her hand out. She almost regrets offering the princess her hand; that ironclad grip of hers threatens to shatter bone.

At least she isn’t screaming yet. 

Her screams are always so bone chilling.

“How are you holding up?” Zuko asks. 

Azula only shakes her head. 

That in itself is answer enough. 

She is doing just dreadful and growing worse with every inch of travel. 

And then they make it past the point that they’d turned back the last time.

“Please no.” Katara gets the sense that those whispered words were meant for Azula’s own ears rather than hers. “Please no.” She repeats. It becomes a steady mantra until finally the princess cries out. 

The first one is always the worst; it is startling and usually the loudest. 

Katara squeezes her closer. 

They push onwards. 

And Azula writhes in her arms. 

Her fingers clench and unclench. One hand squeezes Katara’s, the other grips at the loose fabric of Katara’s shirt. Her face is hot and red with strain and tension. Her cheek is pressed very firmly against Katara’s chest. 

Katara’s own heart hammers hard. 

She wishes that the princess would just pass out and spare herself the suffering. Katara thinks that she would have done so several minutes ago if it had been her. But Azula has a remarkable pain tolerance threshold, that or she is willfully stubborn like nobody else.

“We’re almost there.” Katara says.

“I can tell.” Azula forces. Katara has never heard such strain in her voice. 

“We don’t have to do this.” Zuko mentions.

Azula lifts a rather limp hand and waves the comment off. “We’re already so close.” She pauses for a muffled whimper. “I haven’t gone through this for nothing.”

That she can still think coherently, let alone speak is an impressive feat in itself. 

“I can try some waterbending.” Katara suggests. “But I don’t know how much it will help. Your injury isn’t physical. It isn’t even particularly mental. It comes from a plain of existence that waterbending can’t touch. It doesn’t stop Katara from trying when Azula grants her permission. 

.oOo,

She derives no sense of soothing from Katara’s waterbending. It can’t even take the edge off. It is cool on her forehead but she swears that instead of granting some of that coolness to her forehead, her forehead brings the water to a boil. 

And so she returns to gripping at her erupting head and the roaring bemoaning the furnace in her belly.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that the skin of her arms and legs is peeling away. 

Maybe there is some merit to that because Katara does move the water to stretch over her right forearm.

Agni, it hurts! It is killing her! 

Maybe she will die. 

Can this kill her?

She looks below, they are close enough now to the Royal Plaza that she can clearly make out the people below. 

They are having their mid-afternood firebending practice.

She cackles to herself.

The looks on Katara and Zuko’s faces are almost comical. Comical and depressing.

She knows for certain that the pain is driving her half mad when she glances over at Zuko and mumbles, “well it was nice flying with you, Zuzu, enjoy your walk home and good luck with Mai.” 

She sees his lips moving but they don’t make a sound. She wants to assume that he is saying goodbye and wishing her luck with her endeavors. He has a fuzzy little halo of darkness around his head and it is closing in quickly until it consumes him entirely. 

And then she is back in the dark place, laying across from the spirit who is sitting cross-legged and staring at her with a tilted head. “We’re together.” She comments, somehow it sounds more like a question, as though the creature is too dumb to see what is in front of it. 

“Yeah…we’re together.” Azula grumbles. 

She supposes that she would rather be alone with this chipper, off-kilter version of herself than out there with searing sensation. 

“We’re together.” Her spirit self remarks again.

She holds out her hand.

Azula is too exhausted to take it.

Maybe she’s the clueless one.

[cozy-possum]

Avatar Yue AU

Summary: I saw somewhere the reason Yue was born silent/dying was because she was meant to be the next avatar after Aang, that she wasn’t meant to live without a spirit in her

Aang freezes himself in ice, the containment holds. Until there is a shift; until the ice folds under pressure and he’s screaming, inhaling slush and water and no air. He’s too exhausted to do more than send bursts of air into the water. He tries to grab Appa's reins; he fails. Aang sinks, cold and alone, unaware that he was the last airbender for decades. Unaware that airbending has passed with him. Appa flies from the southern waters, safe from the churning depths below. He is an animal guide without his Avatar. He knows he must wait.

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

Aang awakens in the Spirit world; he cannot bend. He finds the air nomads, he finds Gyatso, he finds home. He knows he must wait, that the new Avatar is safe, a waterbender. It takes him four years of time in the spirit world to contact Appa. He guides Appa to the Southern Tribe; the one closest to the water, he hopes the chief will understand.

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

In the north pole, Princess Yue opens her eyes and cries for the first time. Her eyes are gray and her hair is dark. She cannot waterbend. Her parent’s do not mind; they are simply happy to have their daughter alive.

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

In the south pole, Chief Hakoda finds an injured sky bison. Sokka refuses to let him kill it, although he doesn’t understand why he’s crying and begging his father to leave it alone. Hakoda feels the need to respect his son’s wishes. He refuses to house it; Sokka spends three days digging and crafting an igloo big enough for the creature. Katara helps. Her shaky waterbending enough to move the ice easily over their heads when needed.

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

Yue cannot waterbend but Master Pakku still teaches her the forms; ways to maneuver away from water benders; to stay on her toes and if she needs it, to defend herself from attackers. She pushes him away using too much air to be natural strength. He teaches her actual waterbending moves after that, she moves no water, but during every lesson the wind picks up and almost takes the breath from them.

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

Yue meditates; in the spirit oasis, her parents were advised of it when she was young. The elders had left, gone to the southern tribe for some unknown reason. Yue calls out to the moon and ocean spirits, a soft welcome; she’s greeted by another gray eyed child; the arrows on his head glow as her eyes do and she learns what airbending is; the gift she’d been given.

Yue meditates to talk to Aang, to learn from Roku and Kyoshi, to escape the smothering her family and the entire tribe want to give to her, she is a miracle princess; not the avatar, just their princess. She meditates and calls to Appa, to try to sense where he is, for Aang's relief, for her own. She finds him, she learns of the boy, a chieftains son, and his sister, a waterbender. She asks Appa to bring them to her. Aang makes her wait a few more years. She knows what would happen if any of the fire nation spotted an air bison.

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

The boy is taller when he shows up, his sister as well, they’re both protective of Appa, but it doesn’t matter when Yue runs to him, her eyes glow and she wakes up, in the boy’s arms, he’s watching her, sighing relief that she’s okay. She asks what happened and he explains meeting Aang, through her. She’s sheepish; apologizing, but she catches the way Katara, his sister watches her. She wants to ask why she is staring, that both her and Sokka are the Southern Tribes equivalent to her position in the royal family, they should not be surprised by a princess. They seem nervous still and she wants to say more, but her parents come. That’s when she understands; Katara is furious that Yue has been kept away from the world; that the Avatar has returned and no one knows beyond these walls.

Katara shouts, directing her anger at Master Pakku the man who after the wind had thrown him out of his stance during practice he refuses to teach Yue more, he refuses Katara as well but she fights back, she’s glaring and hissing, like a mink viper and Yue’s so relieved to have someone to stand up for her. Katara swallows and Yue knows she’s going to waterbend. She’s waiting, excited to see the water moving, she’d always been drawn to it. Master Pakku falls to his knees instead. Katara had already learned waterbending, not from a master but from a prisoner who had escaped, she learned what is the Southern Water Tribe’s bending specialty, bloodbending.

Yue doesn’t have problems with learning waterbending, Katara doesn’t either.

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

She kisses Sokka after her daily mediation. He’d taken it upon himself to guard the door to the oasis while she meditates, he doesn’t enter through the door, only opening it when she taps it to let him know she’s finished. She asks him why and he shrugs. She finds him that night, kneeling in front of the pool, watching the spirits circle one another. She stands and watches him, he doesn’t say anything, he reaches his hands towards the pool stopping, she watches as the two spirits cause ripples, until they run under his hand, he pulls back bowing his head. She can hear him crying.

“Who did you see?” He jerks his head upwards and she smiles warmly.

“The moon spirit; it’s said she was once human; did you see her form? She’s quite lovely.” Sokka nods, hands shaking, she can tell he wants to reach out again but doesn’t, she knows the spirits will not repeat this for him.

“Katara has already seen her.” Is what Sokka offers and Yue is confused, she knows Katara has never come to the Oasis.

“The human, the form the moon spirit takes was named Kya.” His vice shakes and Yue wonder how he could know this woman so well to know her name. Yue had not even seen her form till she was nine.

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[shirtlesssammy]

7x22: There Will Be Blood

Then:

Team Free Will is back together and ready to battle some Leviathan!

Now:

Dick Roman, large and in charge, is now taking over SucroCorp, a leading manufacturer in high fructose corn syrup. He’s being interviewed on the news.

It’s here that he tells the world about how they’re going to remove additives and make a pure product for people to consume. Cut to several shots of slow, lazy Americans shoving sweetened foods in their mouths while watching the news story. (And I spy a wild Andrew Dabb in the background of one shot!) He ends the interview with “We are diving whole hog into what keeps Americans living longer... and tasting better.”

After the interview, Dick is handed a suitcase with the leviathan tablet in it. He tells his secretary to replace the journalist he just talked to with a leviathan. He then heads to the meeting room where they’re holding a trussed up Kevin Tran. He hands Kevin the tablet and asks him to read it. Kevin says he can’t. 

Dick sees they’ve entered hardball negotiations. He knows how clever Kevin is so he hands him a letter of recommendation to Harvard (couldn’t he have just paid them off to get him in?) Kevin declines. They next show Kevin that they’ve kidnapped his mom. 

At their hideout in the woods, Dean and Sam are getting nowhere on how to handle Dick Roman. Dean suggests making a weapon and taking him out. Sam wonders what will happen to the rest of the leviathan? Will they all just drop dead? Maybe.

OMG. They’re reading the word of God. Dean ponders if God is telling them everything (Just enough to make you squirm like a worm on a hook, Dean.) Ghost Bobby watches the brothers struggle with their task. 

Later, Dean’s brushing his teeth when the air turns cold. He turns to find Bobby. Bobby’s worked out what they can do to get their ingredients. They already have Cas’s blood. They need Crowley’s and an Alpha’s blood as well. Dean counters that all the alphas are dead. Cas killed them all. Bobby suggests getting Cas involved but Dean tells him that “Cas isn’t exactly in the problem solving mode.” Bobby gets mad enough to crack a mirror when Dean is a little slow to jump on his plan. Bobby! 

Sam shows Dean that Dick Roman acquired SucroCorp and now Dean’s precious pie is in danger. “Bastards.” The computer slams shut and their conversation ends. Time to listen to Bobby’s ideas. 

They start the ritual to call Crowley (seriously, what an elaborate process before Dean and Crowley’s summer of love). 

At Dick Roman headquarters, Kevin finishes translating the tablet. They release Linda Tran for his good deeds. 

Crowley says he’ll give them his blood after they’ve acquired the rest of the ingredients. He then goads them a little by saying that the angel blood will be the hardest, considering how much heaven hates them. Sam and Dean trade soulful looks. Crowley wonders if they have an angel up their sleeve, but Dean denies it. Crowley then tells them that there’s one Alpha that escaped back in the day. He’s in Hoople, North Dakota. 

At the Gas ‘n Sip in Hoople, the boys discuss Bobby’s outbursts. Sam wants a plan for what they’re going to do with him. As he grows stronger, he grows closer to becoming a vengeful spirit. Dean then notices the other customers in the convenience store. They’re all really out of it. (Tag yourself: I’m the slushy guy in the corner.) Sam connects their actions to the Turducken sandwiches and realizes that anything with corn syrup is a problem. “Then what the hell are we supposed to eat?” Dean demands. Sam holds up a basket of bananas and water. 

That night, they’re staking out the house of the alpha, but haven’t seen a thing. Bobby pops up and agrees to scout it out. He gives them the all clear and they head in to find dead vampires --only their heads aren’t missing; it looks like they swallowed something that did them in instead. 

They also find a secret room with a girl inside (oh, wait, she’s not a girl. She’s supposed to be 20. She’s been a captive for 12 years. Yikes.) She’s one of the Alpha’s “special girls” but not anymore. Sam promises to get her back to her mother. They ask about the dead vamps. She tells them that humans willingly came to them about a week ago. When they started feeding, they all died. Sam guesses it’s the corn syrup. They then ask where the Alpha is now. She doesn’t know but she’ll try and help. 

Later, the lone vamp that did not feed on a human comes back to an empty house-- well empty except for Edgar. He quickly takes the form of the vamp and kills him. 

Meanwhile, Dean is STILL going through corn syrup withdrawal. “I can't live on rabbit food. I'm – I'm a warrior.” He’s in bad shape, guys. Sam asks what their next step is. They need to confront the Alpha, so they’re going to need dead man’s blood. To the morgue! Only Dean has a better idea. They see a sloth man drinking his Slushy Mushy on a bench and realize there is vamp poison everywhere. They ask for his blood and he wordlessly complies.

They proceed to talk about Bobby-the-ghost right over the dude’s head, while he stares at them and drinks his slushy. (God, I really want a slushee right now.) A cop drives by with his siren blaring, but as the car draws closer we hear War’s “Why can’t we be friends” and the cop boops the siren along with the music. I...just...WOW. 

Dean and Sam drive out with the alpha’s “virgin” Emily to try and find his hideout. She gives them whatever details she remembers and they make their way to a creepy mansion. “This is where he took me,” she says. “Are you sure?” Uh. YEAH. It’s crawling with vamps.

They leave Emily in their bison-themed motel room (all hail Wanek) where she watches TV and learns about the wild Kardashian. 

Ghost Bobby throws a mini tantrum at getting left behind (Dean locks his flask in the safe before they leave). But as Bobby watches, Emily jumps up, pulls out the cell phone, and says hi to someone named “Daddy.” She’s sending him a present! Never trust...a virgin?

Sam and Dean stalk the mansion, working on a plan of attack. Sam proposes a radical new tactic..going in through the front door.

The door’s ajar so Sam creeps inside and...gets SNATCHED immediately. Dean pursues and gets tackled for his trouble. 

Bobby throws a tantrum in the hotel room. The cleaning woman heads in to check on the ruckus when Bobby goes full manifestation on her, then tackles her and possesses her. DAMN IT, BOBBY. Why’d you have to go darkside?

Wearing the cleaning woman, Bobby removes his flask from the safe and heads towards Sucrocorp. 

At alpha vamp headquarters, Emily greets Daddy Vamp gleefully. Dean tells them that they’re just there to talk, but not before giving Emily some serious sarcasm for tricking them.

Sure, they were carrying machetes and infected blood but that’s water under the bridge, okay? Dean’s flippant bravado isn’t impressing the vamps; he gets bashed into the table for his trouble. The alpha starts ramping up to eat himself a Winchester (with a Winchester chaser) when Sam tells him that they know about the vampire plague that killed Emily’s little nest. 

The alpha at first denies that the leviathans could have anything to do with it. He’d shared a lovely meal with Dick Roman, after all. Sam insists that they’re telling the truth and tells him that they need his blood for the weapon that can defeat Roman. 

The Winchesters are shown to the study (maybe they have cookies and juice, like a blood drive) while Edgar meets with the alpha. They try to escape, but they’re locked up tight in there. Dean grabs a needle from one of the bloodied IV bags and a concealed stoned-man’s-blood syringe from his boot. (ALWAYS check the boots, bad guys!) It’s time to lockpick and stick. 

The alpha promises to deliver Sam and Dean to the leviathans. Edgar, in turn, promises that he’s definitely totally NOT exterminating all the vampires. 

Meanwhile, it’s vamptonite to the rescue as Dean and Sam get the drop on a vamp and watch him half disintegrate in front of their eyes!

The alpha expresses frustration with the terrible customer service of Leviathan Corp. and Edgar grins. Yeah, he admits, the leviathans totally want the vamps dead. The additive will kill any monster that eats humans. Now that the lines are drawn, it’s showdown time. Edgar insults Eve and the alpha attacks (NOBODY insults his mom!), but he isn’t strong enough. Luckily Dean and Sam take this moment to show up, slicing off Edgar’s head. 

The Winchesters try to go after the alpha, but he tosses Dean across the room and offers an alternative idea. 

He’ll give them his blood and they can take down the leviathans. I guess...that works pretty well. The alpha pours his blood into a wine glass, hands it over, and snarls a farewell. The Winchesters aren’t done yet, though. Emily may be a lost cause, but there’s still a young boy held prisoner. They bargain for his freedom.

Sam takes the blood and they head out (presumably to rescue the little kid). The alpha taunts them. “Your flesh is crawling. All you really want to do is kill me now. You hate having to wait and come back and try again.” It’s an accurate summary...they promise to finish up their storyline at a later date. (Boris: Sam Fucking Winchester, season 12 ftw)

Back at the hotel, they recap how dropping off the kid went (horribly, they were accused of kidnapping him and had to jump out a window). Once in the motel room, they find the place is a wreck, with cracked mirrors and an empty safe. Bobby’s in the wind…

Well, at least they’ve got two out of three kinds of blood, right? “It's a good thing we got Crowley in our corner. Right?” Dean surmises sarcastically, “Seeing as how it all comes down to him. What could possibly go wrong?”

What could go wrong, indeed? Crowley gets summoned by Dick Roman himself. It’s time to make a deal.

______________________________

We Know Dick about Quotes:

We are diving whole hog into what keeps Americans living longer... and tasting better.

I can't do this, man. I can't live on rabbit food. I'm a warrior!

Keep your friends close, your enemies, blah blah.

You sure you want to head in there, machetes blazing?

You get a trophy in Stockholm Syndrome.

_______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[squidproquoclarice]

I love this chapter!!! Matchy matchy wedding outfits! Albert! Arthur in dog form Dusty! Disgruntled Dido! The world building! Arthur getting more self-confidence! And most especially the sweet requited, yet cautious (almost courtly) love that these two can finally express and are still working out. Will they be on their way to Ambarino next? And are they waiting til their wedding night? Also - like the other anon said - thank you for this despite your schedule. Take time to look after yourself

Fashionable nerds wanting to match a bit for their wedding makes me smile.  So with Sombra, that easily could have turned into another Legendary Animal hunt.  She’s essentially the Mexican answer to Giaguaro, or RDR2′s version of Khan from RDR1.  The Legendary Animal hunts in the main game were fun, but there’s also something that’s a bit of a downer about them.  Mindless trophy hunting c. 1900 is 100% accurate, but I’m a little surprised they didn’t embrace the nuance and hint at some of the problems it would cause in the future, like they did with many other things in RDR2, particularly ones related to thoughtless killing.  The White Bison in particular seems like a misstep since given the chance to do so, R* tried to depict Native Americans as more than just the “stoic noble native”/”ruthless savage” dichotomy, so choosing to slaughter an animal that’s sacred to numerous tribes without any context or consequences is a bad move, IMO. Albert was kind of a natural chance to address more of the ecological mindset and link that together in the way they didn’t in the game.  Plus yeah, him observing that people rush to kill those who take their property and Arthur having a bit of a wince at that as an ex-thief himself was too good to pass up.  Overall I did want to get Albert back in the story if possible because he was such a fun character, and getting Sally Nash back in the picture briefly too, and letting her live her dream, was just an added bonus.(The remarks from Sally and Rob DeFarge that jaguars aren’t good circus cats to display in an act, as opposed to a menagerie/zoo, are accurate.  Jaguars have much more unpredictable behavior than lions, tigers, and leopards so they’re extremely hard, if not impossible, to tame and train.)  Yeah, Dusty pretty much is Arthur in dog form.  There’s good reason Arthur felt drawn to pick up a puppy left abandoned on the street and relates to his anxiety, right?Dido is definitely annoyed, and the passive-aggressive shoving her way back between them given half the chance proves it.  And this is even before they start shutting her and Dusty out of the bedroom so Momma and Daddy can have some private time.  That?  Will not please her.Arthur getting more self-confidence is my jam.  I’m really looking forward to seeing him beyond 1901, because he’s going to continue to grow and change there.  The man we see in 1907 is almost inevitably going to be a lot more comfortable with himself.The journey to Ambarino and Adler Ranch is up next, yeah, and that mission will start in ch 26.  Going to be one hell of a long trip, and opening up more of the map again FTW!As to whether they’re specifically waiting for the wedding night, I’ll see what they say on that, but I’d expect probably not.  That was mostly Sadie joking to defuse the moment of both of them wondering if they expected to go home right then and have sex, and not being ready for that.  They’re neither of them going to make premarital sex into a moral or religious question.I could see Arthur maybe having seriously considered it.  He’s not a prude, but he also doesn’t exactly have a personal frame of reference aside from the cultural notion that “decent” and “proper” people wait, given he hasn’t exactly been around any loving, long-term couples aside from Hosea and Bessie, who were already married by the time they found him.  Had Jake and Sadie waited, he’d probably feel the pressure to do that also so he’s not seemingly treating her and their wedding with less respect than Jake.  But they didn’t, and he knows that, so he’s seeing it’s not quite a black and white dichotomy there.  Being a little excited and impatient a couple days or weeks before the wedding is far different from sleeping together for years without committing.Mostly they’re not rushing to have sex only because they now can do so.  That’s not a good enough reason.  They’re letting things settle a bit first, figuring it out between them, and when they both feel a bit more comfortable with this new dynamic being added to their friendship, it’ll happen.  

[hogwartslessons-blog]

Mythology| Tuesday. July 10th, 2018| Lesson Sixteen: Intro to the Americas and Inuit

pAmerican Mythology The mythos of various American cultures is quite diverse, due to the large number of tribes and cultural groups that exist in the region. However, there are many overarching themes that can be drawn out and examined. First of all, there is the concept of harmony in nature. In many cases, American peoples would take great pains not to upset the natural harmony of the world, and many of their rituals, myths, and societal practices reflect this belief. This is not an overly foreign concept to us, of course, as it is a common concept in other ancient societies which you have studied, with the Celts as a notable example. Another commonality between ethnic groups in the Americas is their associations with animals, both magical and non-magical. Whether we are speaking of the jaguar of the Aztec, the bison of the Lakota, or the caribou of the Inuit, all groups had particular animals which they revered and with which they were closely associated.  This connection, like their reverence for the harmony of nature, was expressed through myths about their societies and well as traditions and rituals based on cultural beliefs. As the year goes on, you will see a number of examples that demonstrate this point.

Finally, much like many other ancient societies, magic, myth, and history were highly intertwined. In some cases, so intertwined as to be indistinguishable from the others. That is to say, a historical account of a tribe’s existence may be completely based on their myths. However, recall that just because something is a myth does not automatically mean that it is untrue. Sometimes there is only the basic kernel of truth expressed at the center of the myth, but at other times, myths may recount actual historical events, people, or places. For example, the myth of Bellerophon and the chimera in Greco-Roman culture is full of references to mythological characters, however Bellerophon is the only wizard to have slain a chimera - which is a historical fact. Keep your eyes open for similar characters and beliefs as we explore the mythologies of the Americas this year. To start us off, Professor Morgan will be discussing Inuit mythology for the remainder of our class today.

The Long and the Short of Inuit Mythology

Inuit mythology focuses strongly on animal associations, just as Professor Wessex has outlined for you above, such as those about the polar bear (nanook, in Inuktitut). What makes the Inuit myths quite fascinating and different from other cultures is that their focus is not on creation and the workings of the gods and the universe (although there are myths that outline these aspects of the world), but are more about survival in the treacherous environment in which they find themselves and the cultural values and experiences of the people themselves. Now yes, I am speaking primarily of the cold, barren, arctic region of modern day Canada wherein the Inuit culture has flourished for thousands of years. Many of the myths speak of the hazards of the cold, and the dangers of the animals. Nanook, the Great Bear, is said to be almost human, and the greatest prey of all for a hunter. Of course, a polar bear is also the single most dangerous non-magical creature living around the arctic, and can just as easily kill a human as a hunter could kill it (or rather much more easily since polar bears are enormous, strong, and unafraid of humans.) There are other creatures, however, that may seem mythical in nature to the Muggle population, but bear so many similar traits to known magical creatures that there may be that nugget of truth to them

The Qalupalik

Take for example, the magical cryptid known as Qalupalik. I see those of you who I assume are not studying Care of Magical Creatures looking blankly at me. Let me explain. A magical cryptid is a creature that is magical in nature, but has been seen so few times, that it is assumed to be merely rumor since no specimens have been recorded or captured to this day. Though mostly anecdotal in nature, there is still the possibility that these creatures do exist.

Yes. They are rather horrid looking, or at least this artist thought so. The myth can be summarized as follows: The Qalupalik are creatures that live under the ice. They appear to be somewhat humanoid shaped and female. They wear a cloak with a large pouch called an amautiit (which the Inuit use to carry their children around), and make a humming sound audible to human ears from underneath the ice. As a gruesome twist, they eat children, sort of. The myth states that the Qalupalik will grab children who come to close to the edge of the sea ice - especially those who misbehave and do not listen to their elders (which is what would land them at the edge of the sea ice unattended in the first place). The Qalupalik would snatch the child, shove them into the amautiit, and disappear under the ice. If the first part of this myth is upsetting, the second part is down-right disturbing. The children were not immediately killed, but placed in a sort of stasis. They would remain in that stasis as the Qalupalik slowly drained off their life force -- I hope you remember the concept of a “life force”, that ever-changing thing which sustains the existence of all creatures, from your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes in Third Year. The child would age, most likely at a greatly accelerated rate, and the Qalupalik would absorb their youthfulness, keeping them more or less immortal. As the only victims of the Qalupalik are never seen again, nor are there adults around when the creature strikes, it has been very difficult for magizoologists to verify the presence of this creature.

Sedna

Another very prominent myth in Inuit culture is that of the sea goddess. She goes by many names, including Sedna, Nuliayuk, and Taleelayuk, to name a few. The myth changes based on region and period of time, but we will look at one of the more elaborate versions, for reasons I will expound upon later. The story begins with a young unmarried woman and a cold night, neither of which are uncommon in Inuit life. One evening, a stranger enters the family’s igloo and asks for shelter from the cold. The young man seems odd, and bears a necklace of two sharp canine teeth, but the family offers him hospitality and he spends the night in the family’s bed, where they sleep together for warmth. In the morning, the man has disappeared, and leading away from the house are animal tracks. The daughter of the family is found to be pregnant soon after. Fearing what will come of such a union, the father forces his pregnant daughter to be dragged out on the ice to an island and abandoned. There, in secret and alone, she bears children, half of which appear normal in every way, and the other half who have canine features such as large ears and noses.

The second part of the myth, after her children are grown, tells of her father’s remorse and his attempt to return her to the village. Unfortunately, the rescue boat becomes trapped by a storm, and the captain, fearing the daughter is either bad luck or dead weight, throws her overboard. She attempts to climb back aboard, but she is cut from the boat many times -- literally -- which results in loss of limbs, to put it gently. These pieces of her are said to change shape and take the form of various sea animals. And while she does not ever make it back to the village, she becomes a powerful goddess of the sea, commanding these creatures of the sea that came from her own body. In some versions, the woman is said to drown. While, in others, it is the father that forces his daughter to marry a dog due to her refusal to wed. Still others describe a great bird or fulmar that tricks her into marrying him and carries her off to an island away from her family. However, I have chosen this version to help illuminate some of the characteristics and facts this myth is thought to represent. Many a magihistorian has examined the versions of this myth and ultimately been unable to ignore the repeated animal transfigurations that feature throughout the tale. There are various competing schools of thought, some saying that this tale displays parallels to semi-modern “half-breed” prejudice, or distrust of those afflicted with lycanthropy, pointing to the stranger who takes the form as both canine and man as an example of a werewolf. However, others argue that this is potentially a heavily fabricated origin story of the first known Animagi in Inuit history and mythology. It is difficult to be sure, of course, but there is certainly more to this gruesome myth than meets the eye.

[rattlung]

rivers and roads pt 3

whats up it’s ur boy skinny penis back on his bullshit with another chapter of that fnv mcgenji fic no one but me asked for.

I wrote this in like two days and hardly edited, but yknow, fuck it. if your preferred jam is ao3 you can read it there too. if smth isn’t tagged that you’d like to see tagged let me know

“From where you’re kneeling, this must look like an eighteen karat run of bad luck.” She said this while gesturing with her gun, the metal of it shining against the lanterns. It wasn’t too bright, but his head throbbed and the shine squeezed at his brain. When he didn’t make a move or try to say anything, just squinted up at the woman, she crouched down and patted his face twice, like a mother with a petulant child. “Ay, pobrecito…”

The smirk could be heard in her voice, he didn’t have to stare to see it. He couldn’t look away.

She gave a theatrical sigh and a played-up shrug when she stood again. “Truth is… the game was rigged from the start.” The woman pointed the gun, and he stared down the barrel. She didn’t stop smiling, he didn’t look away.

She fired.

=+=

The walk to Primm was not a long one. Before the sun rose over the hills, McCree could make out the few buildings and the winding track of a wooden roller coaster behind them. It was a pleasant surprise, as he thought he’d be going further than that before he reached another settlement. He made a mental note to study the Pip-Boy’s mapping system thoroughly to learn the roads better. Unreliable distances meant unreliable food and water rations, a dangerous mistake.

Mr. New Vegas’s voice carried him over the final hill, dipping straight into an overpass, the bridge leading to the entrance of the town on the left. McCree stayed right so he could cross once he reached it and kept his eyes on the cityline. There were no lights on, which he guessed wasn’t very odd, seeing as it was hardly five in the morning. It was doubtful a lot of people would be awake.

“Hey!”

McCree jolted and reached for the pistol at his hip. The shout had come from in front of him and was followed by a man hurrying toward his direction, dressed in a military esque uniform the same color as the dirt that dusted his boots.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The soldier demanded, stopping a good distance away from McCree. “Primm is off limits to civilians. Head back to Goodsprings or wherever you came from - before you get shot.”

McCree regarded him with an unimpressed look. “‘Preciate the concern, sir, but I can take care of myself.”

It was the trooper’s turn to raise a brow, giving McCree a once over. “I have my orders.”

“What’s goin’ on in Primm that needs stayin’ away from?” He asked instead of rolling his eyes.

The man appeared to age several years at just hearing the question, obviously troubled and doing a poor job of hiding it. “Convicts broke out of the prison up the road, took over the town. Anyone there is either dead or boarding up their windows. That, and the tribes of raiders causing trouble in the nearby areas.” He lifted up the goggles attached to his helmet to rub at his eyes and sighed deeply, exhausted. McCree would have felt bad for him if he’d liked him. “You really would be better off heading back.”

McCree looked back to the military camp he had not noticed during his approach. In the rising sunlight, the tents appeared to be more stones and collapsed homes against the horizon, but now that he was made aware it was hard to ignore. A few other men and women strolled around tiredly in matching gear as the man before him. His eyes were drawn toward the flag hanging limp above it all, and then the wind blew and he saw it: a two headed bear. NCR, the New California Republic. A democracy, expanding its uninvited reach from what was left of California. McCree thought he must’ve worked for them a few times, because he only knew them for their money.

“Shouldn’t you be helping?”

“We’d love to,” the soldier stated, sounding unenthused, “but they don’t fall under NCR jurisdiction. Even if they did, we’re in no shape to provide any support.”

McCree gave the collection of people behind him a pointed look. “You’re not?”

“No equipment, not enough hands to provide backup if need be. The convicts are armed with explosives, they’d slaughter us.” He crossed his arms, seemingly finished with McCree. “If you’ve got any more pressing questions, talk to Lieutenant Hayes. He’s in a tent down the road.” He turned away from McCree and started marching back to his post. “Stay on the west side of the road if you don’t want to get shot,” he called.

=+=

Lieutenant Hayes wasn’t in better spirits than his trooper that sent McCree his way, but he was polite. He greeted McCree with all of his titles that he only half-listened to and told him the same thing the other soldier did but in more detail. Not enough supplies, not enough men, convicts holding the town hostage, nothing they could do.

“They’re taken to calling themselves Powder Gangers,” he had said. “We think it’s because of the explosives meant to clear boulders they had stolen. They organized faster than anyone had thought - well, most of them, at least. This group split off from the main force, so they seem to be on their own.”

“What about the prison?”

“Most people just call it N.C.R.C.F., that’s NCR Correctional Facility. Convicts staged a coup; killed the guards and took over the prison.”

McCree left the tent unsurprised. The wasteland had never been a safe place. Thugs and raiders torturing innocents wasn’t a new development. The idea of basing the group off of an obsession with explosives, though, that was different, McCree had to give them that. He’d seen enough “cannibal” raider groups to last a lifetime.

Still, he thought back to Goodsprings, the man that had intercepted him and Hana at the Prospector Saloon, and the N.C.R.C.F. printed across his back. He hadn’t been dumb enough to think him a real security guard, but his presence in town was more troubling now knowing his origins. McCree retreated back to the overpass, keeping the idea of returning to Goodsprings in mind. But, firstly, he has to make sure there isn’t any trace of the woman in the lilac suit in Primm. If there wasn’t anything he’d be back at square one anyway.

There was a makeshift blockade on the west side of the bridge made mostly of wood planks and old rubber tires, a woman standing behind it at the post with a rifle in hand. “You’re going in there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She scoffed, like she was surprised someone could be so stupid, and said, “Careful of the mines. Laid ‘em out in case they tried to initiate an attack.”

Most of the buildings he passed were either boarded up or hollowed out, crumbling toward the street. Among the trash and rubble were small pools of dried blood and bullet casings; the NCR hadn’t been overstating the situation in the slightest. The layout of the town - from what he could see as he approached off the bridge - was simple, unlike the winding road and similar buildings of Goodsprings. What was left of the main road was shaped in a ‘T’, headed by a large hotel with the roller coaster he had seen from down the way looming over it. An appropriately shaped sign titled the hotel “The Bison Steve”.

The front of the building to his left face the heading street, but McCree’s attention was drawn to the square office stood on the opposite side of it. Its roof was outlined by neon-light lettering reading “Mojave Express”. He recognized the company’s name, the very same company that issued the delivery order that had been left on him when he’d been attacked.

A gunshot rang out over his head. He heard the yelling from further in the town when his hearing cleared after the deafening pop. Two men, both dressed in armor that resembled the man’s from Goodsprings, rounded the corner.

“Get the fuck outta here,” one hissed, raising his pistol with a wild look in his eyes.

McCree didn’t say anything in return, only retrieved his own weapon in kind. He shot down the second man who had advanced even further than the first with a deadly looking blade. It clattered to the pavement, along with the man’s body, and the other yelled wordlessly. He fired at McCree, but the closest he came was a few bullets whizzing over his head. McCree put him down quick, once in the shoulder, second clean in the head.

They didn’t have much on them in way of supplies besides a few extra caps and ammo. The knife the thug had was deadly, but not in the sense that the cut would kill you. Rather, the rust and old blood it left behind would cause some sort of infection that’d finish you off. That, and the fact that the blade wobbled in its hilt, was reason enough to leave it behind. The gun the other had McCree unloaded and dropped in his bag.

When he’s sure no one else was on the streets looking to shoot him in the back, he makes his way to the Mojave Express.

There was a body propped against the side next to the door, a courier, by the looks of the messenger bag strapped around his shoulder, contracted with the NCR. The bag was covered in the same symbol printed on the flag the troopers had stood under. McCree opens the flap, finding a few bottles of clean looking water and flat bread wrapped in an extra t-shirt. McCree transferred the contents into his own bag before coming across a crumpled piece of paper underneath it all.

The ink was smudged in places, but there was no mistaking the contents of the letter. It was nearly an exact match to McCree’s own delivery order; the only difference being the manifest and the delivery order number. This man, Courier Four, was meant to deliver a pair of furry dice. He had no such thing on him, so McCree could only assume he had been stopping in to finish the contract and had been killed for his pay.

McCree folded the paper neatly and set it with his own, and left the man on the street.

=+=

Inside the Mojave Express, there was only an empty space behind the counter to greet him. Everything was silent except for his footsteps on the wooden floors, so he didn’t call out, not expecting anyone to be out back. It was a normal express office as far as he could tell; cleaner than most but McCree had a sneaking suspicion that was due to the raiders picking houses apart for supplies.

Besides crates of papers and bottles, the only thing interesting on the counter was a rather large piece of metal. It must have been some type of robot, he decided upon closer inspection, round and a little bigger than a dodgeball. He’d never seen anything like it before, had no idea what sort of function the little bot was supposed to be capable of - or how it would even function in the first place. Was it made to roll around? He doubted that, the several antennae melded in its base would make that difficult. He rolled it over to its side, revealing a miniature ventilation system on what he supposed was the bot’s underside. For cooling - or maybe a propulsion system so the bot hovered a few feet off the ground, maneuvering that way. A flying robot. Yes, McCree definitely wanted to see that bot working.

He ran his fingers over the metal casing, over a bullet hole, and against the plastic of a bumper sticker plastered on its side. It was bright red, even with a layer of dirt, and the lettering was blocky, reading “Roosevelt Academy; A Proud Bastion of American Ideals!", all white besides the large, bolded word “Bastion” in a gaudy yellow. There was a license plate on the other side of the bot, number itself unintelligible. The only thing that was left untarnished was the Great Midwest, Illinois, 2062.

As far as he could tell, there was no serious damage to the bot. There was no doubt it had seen some action, though, if the bullet holes were anything to go by. Whoever worked in this building had apparently tried their own repairs; piles of screws and scrap metal were strewn about the countertop, along with a few tools. McCree retrieved a screwdriver from the pile and opened the outer casing of the bot and peered inside. He grunted to himself. There were servos and gyroscopes that looked twisted and out of place, probably in need of recalibrating, something he’d be able to do himself if he had the know-how. He didn’t. What he could do, however, was replace the parts that needed fixing. What was laying around would be useful, but he needed more if he wanted to see this bot - hopefully - in the air.

Across the street from the Mojave Express building was something called the Vikki and Vance Casino. All of the windows were boarded up, and the only accessible entrance to the building was through the double doors from the heading street. McCree walked close to the walls and with his eyes on the road rather than in front of him.

Inside was a drastic difference to the exterior and last building he had been in. Countless people were milling about, everyone in the town who survived must have holed up in the casino once the convicts hit. The very entrance served as a barricade to the rest of the casino floor, all the lanterns lent to it to keep it nice and lit. It made the rest of the space difficult to see, as his eyes were still adjusted to the bright sun, which is probably what the folks had been hoping for.

An old man stood from the slot stool where he’d been sitting, not raising the pistol he had in his hand but not loosening his grip on it, either. McCree didn’t go for his own weapon, wanting to convey he meant no threat in the easiest way possible.

“I don’t know what it was that brought you to Primm, youngster,” the man started, voice smoother than what McCree would have expected, looking as worn as the man did, “but you might be wantin’ to rethink your plans. Town’s gone to hell.”

“Didn’t notice,” McCree said quietly, mostly to himself, but the man heard him and seemed to get some type of amusement out of it. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me askin’.”

“Johnson Nash, husband to Ruby Nash. Livin’ in Primm going on eight years now, thick ‘n thin.” He told McCree this all proudly, another smile crossing his features when he mentioned his wife. McCree decided he liked this man, and was glad he didn’t walk in the casino with his gun pulled. “I’m mostly a trader,” Nash continued, “not that that’s worth much with things the way they are. ‘M also in charge of the local Mojave Express Outpost.”

McCree tore his eyes away from where they had wandered as he listened - an old, shot up car on display with a protectron in a tiny cowboy hat patrolling in front of it - and stared back at the man. “I’m a courier with the Mojave Express.”

Nash gave him a strange look. “Well, I don’t have any work right now, sorry to say.”

“No, it ain’t - I lost a package I was supposed to deliver.”

“Oh, well alright. I can tell you everything I can. You got a delivery order you can show me?” McCree shouldered his bag over to rifle through it, retrieving the slip of paper and handing it over. Nash read it over and his brow raised, but he didn’t exactly look surprised. “You’re talkin’ about one of them packages. That job had strange written all over it, I tell ya, but it wasn’t like we were gonna turn down the caps.”

He handed the paper back to McCree, who returned it back to his bag. “What was strange about it?”

Nash settled back onto his stool, setting his pistol back on his lap and wiping his hands on his dusty overalls with a sigh. “That cowboy robot had us higher six couriers, each one carrying somethin’ a little different. One had a pair o’ dice, another a chess piece - that kind of stuff. Last I heard from the office, payment was received for the other five jobs.” He raised his brow again, nodding at McCree. “Guess it was just you and your chip that didn’t make it.”

“When you say cowboy robot, do y’mean that one?” McCree pointed to the back of the casino and Nash’s eyes followed his to the Protectron shuffling around.

Nash laughed once with a shake of his head, “Nah, that’s Primm Slim. He’s been here longer than me, I’d recognize him. Naw, this feller was much bigger, with a screen showin’ a smilin’ cowboy’s face.”

Victor. So there was no coincidence in the robot’s unlikely presence when he had been attacked, Victor was supposed to be there. But why? And no robot would do something on its own prerogative, so who programmed it? Who was watching for McCree?

“The first deadbeat we hired for your job cancelled,” Nash went on when McCree didn’t say anything. “Hope a storm from the Divide skins him alive,” he cursed, and even though McCree had only known him for about five minutes, he was sure this display of anger was uncharacteristic for the man. He seemed to think so, too, because he sighed again and shook his head. “Well, anyway. That’s where you came in.”

“They cancelled?” That was suspicious, like everything else about the whole ordeal. Had they known what would happen if they were to carry the chip?

“Yeah, he got this look on his face when he saw your name down on the courier list, expression got turned right around. Asked me if your name was real, and I said sure as the lack o’ rain, you was still kickin’. Then he turned down the job, just like that. I asked if he was sure - it was good money.” Nash shrugged. “‘Nope, let courier six carry the package,’ that’s what he said.” He gave McCree a long look, and then, grimly, said, “Like the Mojave’d sort you out or something. Then he just up and walked out. Never saw ‘im again.”

The idea of the courier stumped McCree. He knew plenty of people from his line of work, but none that would turn down money for him. At least he didn’t think he did. He accepted that, because of his most recent gunshot wound, he wasn’t as read up on his own history as anyone would like to be with themselves. Some things were fuzzy, others were gone completely. He could know this man, but there was also the possibility that he didn’t know him at all. Just another mystery to solve.

“Y’know who he was?” McCree asked Nash, already knowing the answer. “Where he went?”

“No idea,” Nash answered, just like McCree thought he would, but he still managed to feel a little disappointed. “Sounded like you two had some history for him to act like that - and turn down the money, too. Hope he didn’t see any trouble in that package of yours. Maybe he thought your name was bad luck.” Ain’t that the fucking truth. “Not for me to say,” the man finished with a shrug.

McCree couldn’t help but heave out a frustrated sigh. He scrubbed at his face, pinched at the bridge of his nose, then sighed again. Nash at least looked a little sorry for him. McCree would take what he could get.

“My package - it was stolen from me,” he informed. “Couple of guys with skulls painted on their faces, a woman in a purple checkered suit. They wouldn’t’ve passed through here, would they?”

Nash looked up, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, now that ya mention it, a few nights back a townie was out at night scavenging for some supplies. He said he saw a lady in a daisy suit comin’ through with a couple of Los Muertos thugs, talking ‘bout a chip.”

It was something, a big something. It was evidence that he was on the right path, that the people who attacked him were here before and that they were leaving a trail. It should’ve made him happy, but it just made his chest tighten; didn’t ease anything, only filled him with more anticipation.

“That woman, she shot me. I need to know the best way to get to them.”

Nash didn’t seem too hung up on the prospect of McCree getting attacked, just continued to rub at his chin and think for another moment. “Well, the best way to do that would be to talk to Deputy Beagle. He was keepin’ some tabs on ‘em, slinkin’ around Bison Steve when your pretty lady and her thugs rolled through. He may’ve heard where they were goin’.”

McCree nodded, remembering the hotel on the heading street. “Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Before you go, lemme warn ya about somethin’,” Nash called as McCree turned for the door. “The Bison Steve, it’s where all the gangsters are holed up. They took Beagle hostage after they killed the sheriff. Guess it took ‘em a go of it to get ransomin’ right.”

“Good to know.”

“Just be careful out there, son.”

McCree smiled. “I can take care of myself just fine,” he assured for the second time that day.

=+=

The interior of Bison Steve was about as one would expect it to be after being overrun by criminals. Garbage cans were knocked over, the floors were covered with the trash from said cans, along with rubble from failing walls. Only a select few lights overhead still worked and even those flickered. There were vending machines that still hummed, though, with a few bottles of cola left.

McCree navigated the halls of the hotel quietly, picking up those bottles and anything he saw that seemed to work - or had once worked - by using a battery or similarly electronic. The footsteps he heard around him didn’t make him uneasy, but he still waited until he caught each man off guard and alone before he confronted them. The halls were long enough, the were walls thick enough, and was McCree fast enough to handle every convict quietly without causing too much of a commotion.

They hardly carried anything interesting, maybe a few sticks of dynamite and a pocket full of ammo, or a chem or two. Sometimes they had caps, other times they had bills that reminded him of old world cash, but those were printed with newer faces and other symbols. NCR cash. Made sense, them coming from one of the NCR facilities; was probably the only thing the guards had on them in the way of money when the convicts killed them.

From one convict he took the previously stolen guard armor and ventured into one of the hotel rooms in the hall. He tossed the chest piece onto the bed and searched the wardrobe against the wall. McCree appreciated everything Doc Amari had done and given him, but the vault suit she provided did little in way of protecting - from the sun and from bullets. He didn’t expect to find much better in the old clothes he found, but at least he would be more comfortable.

He shouldered off his bag to dress in some faded-from-age jeans and a collared button-up, then folded the vault suit and stuffed it into the bag. The blanket from the bed came with him after he strapped on the chest piece and laced up his boots. He checked it for stains - blood or otherwise - before he decided on any worth. It was red and thin, but large enough to wrap around his shoulders and cover the bold N.C.R.C.F. across his back. The last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a powder ganger and be shot down by an NCR trooper later down the road.

With the bag back around his shoulder and dressed in his new rags, McCree felt more like himself than he had since he’d been shot in the head. He adjusted the “homemade” serape to sit more securely and made for the door, but then he saw it. On top of the wardrobe he had rummaged through, seemingly untouched by the havoc around it and pristine as could be, was a desperado cowboy hat. McCree grinned when he pulled it down, gave the brim of it a few whacks to shake off any dust it had collected, and place it on top if his head with a content sigh.

Now he felt back in his own skin.

=+=

He found Beagle on the bottom floor in the back of the hotel, in the dining area’s kitchen. He was knelt in front of the fridges, hands bound in front of him. He looked ragged, his white hair wild and his face dirty, exaggerated by the pout pulling at his expression.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to rescue me?” He asked, having undoubtedly heard the gunshots that had took place just outside where his captors had been loitering. “I’d cross my fingers, but my hands are numb.”

McCree regarded the sorry looking man with a raised eyebrow. “You must be Deputy Beagle.”

“Why yes I am,” he replied, insolently in turn for McCree’s flatness. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m in a bit of a predicament here. Would appreciate it if you set me free.” Beagle held up his hands wired together, a deliberate gesture.

McCree made no move to untie him. “I hear you might have some information I need, some words about a few Los Muertos and a woman in a purple checkered suit.”

“Indeed I do, good sir, and I would be thrilled to share that information with you as soon as I’m freed from captivity. I’m gonna need to be in a calmer emotional state for my memory to function as we need it.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, McCree narrowed his eyes at the man before him just slightly. He absolutely did not want to bother with this conniver after the trouble he’s put him through - Nash did not mention the incinerator the leader had been sporting when McCree found him. Unfortunately, Beagle did not waver. With a grumble, the cowboy knelt to mess with the knot, pointedly ignoring Beagle and the victorious glint in his eyes when McCree pulled the bonds free.

“Well, that’s just marvelous.” The deputy stood, shaking out his wrists and flexing his bloodless fingers. “I’ll be makin’ my way outside, now. The airs, ah,” he glanced behind McCree and at the smouldering tables and singed bodies. “Well, it’s a little close in here.”

He checked the kitchen for anything useful, coming out with a few more bottles of water, and met Deputy Beagle outside of the Bison Hotel. He was looking out over the streets with his eyes narrowed and his revolver drawn, looking like a sad excuse for a western hero rather than the man who had just ran through the hotel lobby with his hands over his head in fear.

“Hey, Deputy.”

Beagle jumped, spun around, saw it was McCree, and changed his demeanor back to the calm and suave hero. “Well, that was quite the adventure,” he declared, like he had much to do with it. “We taught those convicts a thing or two, didn’t we?”

McCree decided not to roll his eyes. “Sure.”

“Breaking myself out of a hostage situation - not to diminish your role in the whole thing, of course - but it was quite thrilling. Problem is, there’s still no law in Primm,” he went on, which solidified McCree’s suspicion that Beagle was, in fact, being one hundred percent serious in his claims. He didn’t dare argue, didn’t exactly want to. “What’re we to do the next time ruffians menace us and hold us hostage?”

Grow a pair, McCree wanted to tell him, learn to use that gun instead of posing with it, quit your hero act, be one instead of pretending, among other things. “If yer boss is dead, don’t that make you the new sheriff?”

Beagle’s eyes widened. “Oh no, I’m just a deputy! And I can’t be a deputy without a sheriff. It’s called chain of command .” McCree felt his jaw set firmly. He wanted to hit this man. Beagle chose not to notice this. “We need a new sheriff, someone brave like you, but more of a homebody. Someone with experience who’ll settle down and watch over us.”

“Know anybody who’d fit the requirements?”

“I heard some of the Powder Gangers talkin’ about someone in the prison named Meyers. Said he used to be a sheriff ‘fore he got locked up. Then there’s the NCR just over the bridge, they’re likely to jump at the chance to control another town.”

McCree didn’t like his options. After having just run enough of the criminals out of town, the convict sheriff was a bad idea for obvious reasons. On the other hand, he wasn’t comfortable with turning the town over to the NCR as there were so few independent cities left in the desert. McCree thought back to the tired soldier he had spoken with, the state of the military camp he belonged to, and decided that the NCR wouldn’t do Primm much good, either.

“I’ll help you bring law back to Primm,” he told Beagle anyway. “Just give me some time to find someone.”

Deputy Beagle’s face lit up. “You will? That’s just marvelous! I’ll start thinking up questions for the interview!”

He turned to walk away, heading for Vikki and Vance with an excited bounce in his step before McCree called out to him. “You still owe me some information.”

The man wilted, but only for a moment. “Ah, yes. My memory is much clearer now that I’m free.” Again, McCree refused to roll his eyes. “I was sku - uh, performing recon on the Powder Gangers when some Los Muertos guys arrived with your friend in the suit. They were talking about some delivery they took from a courier. Assumin’ that was you.”

“Seems about right,” McCree conceded.

“They said they would be headin’ through Nipton to Novac to meet a contact there.”

McCree let him handle his Pip-Boy just long enough to mark the road he needed to walk to follow his attackers’ route, then he was off again. McCree was glad to see him go.

=+=

Before he left town, McCree was sure to stop in and thank Johnson Nash once more, and ask about the robot in his express office. A courier had dropped it off months back, he found out, and Nash got it working again but only for a while. He explained to McCree that he was planning on using it for courier work, but he hadn’t any luck with getting it running again. He gave permission to McCree to tinker with it, and promised him the bot if he got it working. The prospect of a new, fancy toy buzzing around was enough to get him to try. As he left the casino to make his attempt, Nash commented on the fruitlity of the whole thing, said he’d just take it to the Novac scrapyard and be done with it.

McCree ignored him, and worked for the better part of three hours, shocking himself numerous times and cursing out loud more times than that. The machine sputtered to life when the sun began to sink, the casing snapping shut on its own and the body of the bot rotating so it could propel itself into the air. The sudden reaction gave McCree a jolt, stumbling off his stool and onto his feet. He stared at the robot cautiously, not exactly knowing what to expect from it. It would be his luck to have the thing start up on a combat mode.

Instead of incinerating him where he stood, the little robot beeped a few times, tilting down enough as if it was staring at McCree.

“Well,” McCree said, hands on his hips. He nodded at his work and let himself feel proud for a moment. “Would ya look at that.”

The robot beeped again in response.

It seemed to be running fine, it’s flight wasn’t jagged or shaky, and there was no smoke - McCree always took that as a good sign. He grinned, eyes catching on the hideous bumper sticker on the bot’s side once again.

“A Proud Bastion of American Ideals, huh?” A confirmatory beep. “Alright, then. Let’s hit the road, Bastion. Could use help like yours.”

wwhwhwhwheeeeew lmao. yeh. 

[fectless]

6. Pragmatic: Goal

“Wait ‘til you see it, Katara!”

The sun is just rising over the horizon and Katara is stowing her pack and sleeping bag in Appa’s saddle as Aang fixes the reigns on the bison’s horns. She stiffens at his voice, remembering their half-finished conversation from the ship a few days (and has it really only been a few days? It feels longer) prior.

“The Air Temples are some of the most beautiful places in the whole world!” he continues, oblivious to her thoughts.

“Aang… I know you’re excited,” she says slowly, trying to figure out how to be gentle about this, “but it’s been a hundred years since you’ve been home.”

“That’s why I’m so excited!” The boy turns to grin at her before going back to fixing the reigns.

“A lot can change in that much time, Aang. Th-”

“I know, but i need to see it for myself!” And with that he jumps from the bison, and Sokka shrieks from whatever Aang does to wake him.

Her face blanks, eyelids lowering halfway. They might be hiding somewhere else so no one can find them, Aang, she doesn’t get to tell him. They might all be gone right now. Or, more likely: They might all be dead. After all, no one has seen an airbender in a hundred years, except for Katara and the Southern Water Tribe (an the monsters from a few days ago).

Sokka climbs into Appa’s saddle, beginning to put away his things. Katara moves to join Aang by the reigns. They take off.

-.-.-.-_-.-.-.-

Sokka’s stomach growls and he grumbles back at it, the only noise besides Aang talking to his bison for quite some time. “Hey!” The Tribesman yells, more from outrage than to be heard over the wind. “Who ate all my blubbered seal jerky?”

Katara can feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of her head but only scowls. She’s not the one who goes through other people’s stuff.

Next to her, Aang’s eyes widen. “Oh, that was food? I used it to start the campfire last night. Sorry, Sokka.”

“What!” The feeling of eyes glaring daggers at her disappears. The tribesman groans, “No wonder the fire smelled so good last night.” Aang has no food to share with him, Katara knows. The airbender has been fasting, save for water and a few berries every now and then, since they decided to head to the temple. Sokka doesn’t ask Katara for anything.

She doesn’t offer.

Moments later, oblivious to the tension between his companions, Aang exclaims, “I know this mountain range! We’re almost there!”

Katara’s heart lurches and she sucks in a deep breath, mustering her courage. “Aang, before we get to the Air Temple, I need to speak with you about the airbenders.”

“What about them?” His head tilts towards her ever so slightly, but he still looks fit to jump from Appa and fly to the temple on just his staff.

“I-” Her throat tightens and she swallows a few times. “You need to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They-“ killed my mother. The words won’t leave her tongue (because she’s not sure that she isn’t the one responsible). Her chest feels like a massive bruise. “They killed most of the Southern Water Tribe, especially the benders. They could have done the same to your people.”

He spares her a glance, but his face still holds excitement. “Just because no one’s seen an airbender in a hundred years doesn’t mean that the Fire Nation killed them all.” As he speaks his expression morphs into a frown. “They probably escaped.”

Her heart is beating funny, as if being squeezed by a vice. She doesn’t want to say this. She has to say this. “Still. Even, even if they did escape, they might have had to abandon the temple, Aang. Go into hiding or-“

“You don’t understand, Katara,” he interrupts, face brightening. The only way to any of the Air Temples is on the back of a flying bison. I doubt the Fire Nation has any of those, right, Appa?” He pets the bison’s furry head.

“Aang-”

“Leave him alone, Katara,” Sokka gripes.

“The Fire Na-”

Neither boy listens. Sokka never does, and she can see by the Aang’s face hardens that he won’t hear her either. He calls, “Yipyip,” to urge Appa on.

Katara grips onto one of the bison’s horns as they ascend rapidly, eyes and mouth clenched shut against the wind. I’m going to be sick, she thinks. Her ears ring and her heart is in her throat. Or maybe that’s bile from her stomach, she cannot tell.

Aang says something, but her ears are too busy popping for her to make out the words. She cracks open her eyes and risks a glance at the airbender. His eyes are wide and his smile more genuine than what he was showing her. As her ears unplug she catches, “...home, buddy, we’re home.”

Her heart sinks as she takes in the temple. It’s beautiful, truly: all white stone, soft blue-tiled roofing and terraced gardens fitted onto the mountain top as though they had grown there, rather than being placed. But from what she knows of airbenders, Katara cannot help but wonder, Where is everyone? Aang is constantly moving about, always dancing around, always flying. The sky around the temple is empty.

Perhaps I’m simply too far to see them, she thinks. (She ignores the quiet voice that asks her, “And what of the sky bison? They are large- would you not see them?”)

(It is that other voice speaking to her again, the one that is not hers but feels as familiar as breathing.)

(She wonders if she should be afraid of it. Is she going mad? Has she spent too long under the midnight sun alone? Still, she cannot bring herself to fear it.)

Instead of voicing her worry, as she knows that the boys will ignore her words of caution, she says, “It’s beautiful here, Aang.” He grins at her, and then turns his smile at Sokka when the tribesman echoes her sentiments.

They land.

“Come on!” The airbender leaps from the saddle. “I’ll give you guys the grand tour!”

-.-.-.-_-.-.-.-

“So where do I get something to eat?” Sokka asks.

Katara takes one look at his posture and deep scowl and snorts at him. He glares at her. “What?” She shakes her head as she lengthens her stride to catch up with Aang. One of the first to visit an Air Temple and he’s more concerned with his stomach. It’s so typical of him that, for a moment, she almost feels like a child again. The moment ends. (She hasn’t been that child in a long time.)

The path curves up ahead and the airbender waits there for them, overlooking several of the temple’s courtyards. He points out several locations. “That’s where my friends and I would play airball, and there’s where the bison would sleep, and-” he breaks off with a gusty sigh, smile falling from his face.

Quietly, Katara asks him a question, hoping that her earlier thoughts are not just occurring to him. His shoulders slump as he answers, “This place used to be so full of life. Now it’s just a bunch of rocks and weeds.” A pause. Another sigh, “So much has changed.”

She can feel Sokka’s eyes on her again, this time as if he is silently urging her to comfort the boy, but she does not look at either of them. Katara cannot move, cannot speak. Her mind is drawn to memories of moonless nights and empty camps and the knowledge that what Aang feels now is akin to what she had felt whe she was younger and her mother’s death was fresh in the minds and hearts of the Southern Water Tribe. Akin to how she was feeling until she let anger and frustration rise to the fore mere days ago.

I have no pack, she thinks, realizing that Aang is looking for his. And then, I am no wolf. And neither is Aang. He’s just a sad, lonely child with no place and no family. (Like me.) She doesn’t know how to comfort him. She opens her mouth anyway, re-

And Sokka beats her to it, asking, “So, uh, this airball game?” He walks forward to clap Aang on the shoulder. “How do you play?”

Shortly thereafter, Katara watches as Aang use his bending to manipulate the ball, bouncing it off of the poles in the game’s arena until Sokka tries, and fails, to stop it from knocking him off his platform and going through the goal. Aang laughs every time he scores, his earlier melancholy nowhere to be seen.

This is good for him, she thinks. For the first time in a long, long while, she feels content. She has no chores that need doing, no tribesmen to worry after or fear, and her (friend?) traveling companion- and Sokka, too, she guesses- is happy.

“Aang, seven! Sokka, zero!” Aang poses while the tribesman groans and rubs at his sore limbs.

She smiles, despite herself, closing her eyes and leaning back against the natural wall that separates the airball field from the rest of the temple. Maybe I should play too, after this. Looks painful though, she muses as Sokka makes his way back to his goal post.

The Sokka calls, “Guys, check this out!” His voice is unsteady.

Jinxed it. The smile drops from her face.

She should know better by now.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 42)

A primitive adrenaline took Sokka over and he surged forward with a holler. He charged over the snow with a purpose, already home was feeling right. Navigating rolling hills of white and over mounds of glistening snow was coming naturally to him, it was as if he’d never left. Apparently his first re-encounter with the snow was a sorry fluke. Spear in hand, he charged at the arctic hippo. His father trailed behind, ready to jump in when needed. But this was Sokka’s hunt and his father was content to give him the glory of the kill. Heaven knew that he needed an outlet. He wouldn’t be brutal though, he wouldn’t let himself. He thrust his spear forward sending the great beast reeling. He struck out again, this time toppling it. The third strike marked the killing blow; they would make a trail and gather men to help them haul their catch back to the tribe. His father was brimming with pride and finally.

Finally.

He felt useful.

Needed.

Wanted.

 .oOo.

 Azula combed through the ship logs until a bored sort of tiredness convinced her to stray from the documents. The palace was growing horribly dull without Sokka and without the constant—sometimes profane—banter of the Ash Pit crew. She tried to ease her boredom by giving Khoza his promised tour and by offering Yoona extra speech lessons. But she had ran out of places to tour and Yoona’s attention span was rather small, it wasn’t long before the girl grew twitchy. Apparently, she had made friends with some of the staff and guests and was itching to chatter with them. Azula might have joined her if she didn’t have other, less pleasing matters to attend. With nothing else to do save for picking through the ship logs, Azula found herself growing uneasy. Before then, she had never found herself worrying for the well being of someone else and she didn’t enjoy doing so in the slightest.  She flipped through the pages and groaned, she didn’t realize just how many ships the Fire Nation deployed. No wonder their navy was so impeccable. She ran her fingers through her hair and set another page to the side. Hundreds of pages and just for one day.

 She emerged from her room, something she hadn’t done all day. Which she soon found was a cause for alarm. Halfway down the hallway she ran into Zuko, the tension fled from his body almost immediately. Azula grumbled, “you’re supposed to get tense when you see me.”

 “I was just coming to check on you…” he let her fill in the blanks.

 “Noted. Apricated. Now get out of my way.”

 “What’s the hurry?”

 “I have hundreds of ship logs to get through and I’ve read through maybe a hundred exactly. The sooner I get something to eat, the sooner I can get back to it.” Azula replied. “I still have to run through my firebending routine.” She had blown it off the day before and the day before that one. She refused to do so again.

 “Aang is getting worried.”

 “Tell him I’m fine.”

 “Not everything is about you.” Zuko retorted. Azula rolled her eyes. “He’s worried about Sokka. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind looking through some of those logs while you do you’re training.”

 Azula tapped her chin. “I think that might be the smartest plan you’ve come up with since we started talking again.” She should have come up with it herself, she supposed that she was still accustomed to doing things on her own. “I’ll go get them.”

 “While you’re in there can you bring me my crown?”

 “Sorry Zu-Zu, I lost it.”

 “Where, in your hair? I thought you’d be wearing it.”

 Azula motioned for him to follow her. She could already see Aang’s panicky look, he’d been holding it together for a while, but each day seemed to cause him more anxiety. It wouldn’t be long before he was leaping on his bison and following a blind trail. The least she could do was give him a lead.

 .oOo.

 Hakoda was very quiet. He was only ever that quiet when he was deep in thought and for a moment, Sokka thought that he would ask what he doing back home. But the inquiry never came, it would seem that his father would be waiting until Sokka was ready to share. And he wanted to, he wanted to very much, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. How was he supposed to justify abandoning Katara? How was he supposed to look his father, a man who had raised him much better than that, and tell him that he had struck his girlfriend.  Never mind that she stuck back and twice as hard, the fact that he had gotten physical again was cause for shame. He wasn’t ready to see the disappointed look in his father’s eyes, not after they had been filled with such high regard for him.

 “Good hunt!” Sokka declared.

 “A very good one. You’ve become quite the skilled hunter. If you’re around we oughta bring you along for the winter hunt.” Hakoda replied.

 The winter hunt! Sokka grinned, he’d dreamed of going on it since he was a boy. But it was only autumn and he would be back in the Fire Nation by then. His smile faded; would he be back? He wasn’t particularly wanted there and he didn’t see any way to make amends. So instead he forced the smile back onto his face, “I can’t wait.” For good measure he added, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to join you guys.”

 “I think I do.” Hakoda ruffled Sokka’s hair. “I remember when you stole a hunting helm too big for your head, picked up a branch larger than you were tall, and stumbled out of our hut. Your mother had to carry you back inside.” They shared a laugh. It felt so refreshing to laugh again. He could almost pretend that he had come back home without anything to push his hand.

 .oOo.

 Her motions were haunted. Every single one. No matter how splendid her performance was, she couldn’t find it in her to be excited. The last time she had worked on her stances, ended with a genuine reason to put them to use. Azula wanted that stupid oaf to be in the room working on his painting and making occasional commentary. It didn’t matter if it was snide or encouraging, she just wanted his presence in the room. She let her hair down, deciding to retire early. She was in good form anyways and could afford to cut corners or skip practice altogether. She’d probably feel guilty about it later but she wandered to her room anyhow. The gang diligently shuffled through page after page, Aang was the fastest and most eager in this. Katara was the most tedious. Toph, like most everything else, didn’t take it seriously. She made a competition of trying to finish her stack before everyone else did.

 Azula had given them all of the logs, still terribly undecided as to whether or not she should be looking for him at all. She had the biggest hand in pushing him out in the first place, it didn’t feel appropriate to try to drag him back home. If he was miserable where he was, he would make his way back home, just like she did.

 She wanted him to be happy, but for the sake of seeing him again, hoped that he wasn’t.

 Azula passed his room, something she usually bypassed by taking the other route to her own room. She paused and turned back. Had they looked in his room yet? Katara found his note in her own bedroom, maybe he had left another in his. She pushed the door open. It was dark, with the curtains drawn and no candles alit. She lit a few and pried about the room. She suspected that she wouldn’t even find a sign that it had been lived in, but the man had left a good many things behind.

Significant things.

 His paint set was left out on the dresser, a few tubes open and drying out. Azula bit her lip, it was a little too late but she closed them anyhow. Leaning against the dresser, a painted version of herself stared back at her. Both versions. And it hurt like hell. Azula sat herself down against the wall and drew her legs up.

 Even though he promised not to…

In all regards, he had left her behind.