#anyone who can be in a camp with these two must be so brave. irritating asses

[accultant]

"Gentlemen... you're both contemptible."

Iago scoffs indignantly, all maturity thrown out the window when it came to being a nuisance with their twin, "Wh- but- he started it!"

[dwellordream]

“...First, let’s talk about materials. We can rule out a Steppe Nomad inspiration for any of this right off. The Eurasian Steppe is very large and covers a range of arid climates (that is to say, parts of it are colder, parts of it are warmer), but they all have spinning and weaving technology, by which the supple hairs of woolly animals, or plant fibers like linen, or cotton, or even natural protein fibers like silk can be fashioned into fabric which is more flexible, comfortable, breathable and temperature controlled than the raw leather we see in the show.

...there is a distinct lack here of lots of leather, except in the sort of things that lots of cultures use leather for (boots, fittings, saddles, bags, tents). Instead, clothing is mostly made out of nice, comfortable, breathable textiles, because of course it is. That is not to say, to be clear, that leather or hides or fur were never used – fur especially was used; merely that they were generally used to supplement clothing primarily made out of textile.

...Now Plains Native American clothing does make much greater use of animal skin as a clothing material, but there is an important distinction to be made here. The problem here is with the plasticity of the term ‘leather’ which can technically include a wide range of products, but in practice is understood to mean exactly what the Game of Thrones costume department and literally every piece of official artwork of the Dothraki understand it to mean, which is the product of tanning processes.

I am not an expert, but as far as I can tell, Native American clothing was not made in the same way; animal products were used in a process I have seen described as ‘brain tanning’ (rather than using chemical tannins) and the final product was then smoked. The result – which is often called ‘buckskin’ regardless of the animal source for the hide – is very different from the leather we see in the show.

This is, in terms of material, very clearly not what the ‘vests’ the Dothraki in the show are wearing. Buckskin would also be used to make trousers, as opposed to the “horsehair leggings” of Martin’s wording, which also strike me as deeply improbable. Haircloth – fabric made from horsehair (or camel hair) – is durable, but typically stiff, unsupple and terribly itchy; not something you want in direct contact with your skin (especially not between your rear end and a saddle), unless you just really like skin irritation. It is also a difficult material to get in any kind of significant quantity – and you would need a significant quantity if you intended to make most of your trousers out of it.

...Well that’s for materials, what about patterns? Once again, we can quite easily rule out anything steppe inspired. Again, the Eurasian Steppe is big and has lots of variety, but relatively long robes are generally the norm in terms of dress; where long robes were not worn (see our Scythian above), the common pattern was heavy sleeved garments and trousers with very complete coverage. A common example of the type of long robe-like garments is the Mongolian deel, a long sleeved robe or tunic which provides a lot of protection against the elements. In the case of elites – and Daenerys is, initially, mostly around elites – these could be made of expensive silk or brocade – but poorer versions might be made of wool.

...And there is good reason for these relatively high-coverage garments. Plains or Steppe peoples naturally tend to live on, well, plains and steppes – that is large expanses of semi-arid grasslands. The very nature of that terrain configuration produces fairly extreme seasonal temperature variations (that is, very hot summers and very cold winters) as well as extreme daily temperature variations (that is, hot days and cold nights) because such places are far from large bodies of water and also don’t have tree-cover, both of which serve to moderate rapid temperature changes.

Consequently, as anyone who has lived in a plains state in the USA (or on the Eurasian Steppe, though that is fewer of my readers, but for my brave handful of hits from that part of the world, hello and welcome!) can tell you, you need clothes that can be layered and which can be both warm in the winter and cool in the summer. For us moderns, we mostly do this by owning multiple season-specific wardrobes, but clothing is expensive in pre-modern societies, so multi-purpose garments, or garments that be layered, to turn a warm-weather outfit into a cold-weather outfit are important!

There’s no reason to suppose the Dothraki Sea would be any different: it sits at about the same latitude as King’s Landing so there is little reason to assume it would be warm all-year-round. Parts of the Eurasian Steppe stretch decently far south, sharing a latitude with northern Italy and Spain; nevertheless they do not enjoy the same Mediterranean climate because they don’t have the same exposure to the weather patterns created by the sea. The southern end of the Great Plains stretches down all the way into Texas, but still gets properly cold in the winter with temperatures regularly dipping below freezing in the winter despite the latitude. For a people who are camping and working outside all of the time, warm clothing is going to be a must.

...There is tremendous variety here, but I don’t think any of it could be aptly described simply as “Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings.” Now, if you looked hard enough could you find something that resembled Martin’s leather vests, bare chests and horsehair leggings somewhere in the clothing of Native Americans across two continents? Probably, but among the specific Native peoples that Martin cites as inspiration, it does not seem to be at all common. And if that description was wholly unconnected to anything in the real world, we might well stop there and conclude that, well this is just the ‘dash of pure fantasy’ that Martin was talking about (although as we’ll see, it is going to be quite a bit more than just a dash). But I don’t think we can stop there, because (removing the medallion belts) Martin’s description does adequately describe something that exists in the real world: Halloween costumes purporting to depict Native Americans.

...The vest-and-pants style of Native American Halloween costume seems to be rather rare now, but it was, at least to my memory, much more common in the 1990s, when A Game of Thrones was written (initial publication date of 1996). You can see them, for instance, on many of the background extras in the famous Thanksgiving scene from Addams Family Values (1993) and that vest style was also a part of the outfit for the also-quite-unfortunately-branded YMCA Indian Guides/Indian Princesses program (rebranded as the ‘Adventure Guides’ in 2003 after decades of Native Americans complaining about it) which was also fairly popular in the 1990s.

Now, I am not saying that Martin planned to construct his Dothraki out of Native American stereotypes and bad Halloween costumes. In fact, I am fairly confident he intended nothing of the sort. But in the absence of doing some effective research (and it is going to become increasingly apparent that at least effective research was not done) there was quite possibly nothing else to inform the effort other than what was ‘in the air’ of the popular consciousness. Of course the danger of those often simplistic public stereotypes is that people often do not know that they have them, assuming instead that the vague impression they have is essentially accurate (or at least, close enough for a regular person). And that’s a real problem because it reinforces the popular stereotype, especially given Martin’s reputation for writing more ‘historically grounded’ fiction. And that is a problem because…

The clothing that the Dothraki are described and visually shown wearing is clearly intended to convey things about their society. Returning to our visual comparison above, it is easy to see that the actual clothing of both Eurasian and American ‘horse cultures’ was often bright, highly decorated and generally eye-catching, featuring complex patterns and shapes. It was both nice looking, but also spoke to the humanity of the people that made it and their very human desire to look nice and have nice looking things. By contrast, the clothing of the Dothraki is presented as simple, rugged and unadorned.

...I want to stress this to make the point clear: people in the past liked to look nice! Much of the popular perception of pre-modern clothing assumes lots of dull, drab colors, undecorated or merely adorned with rough pelts, but this is almost entirely a Hollywood construction. The Romans didn’t exclusively dress in white (indeed, the toga candida, the white toga, was an unusually formal thing to wear, like a politician’s suit-with-flag-pin), medieval peasants didn’t wear drab brown (they dressed in bright primary colors mostly), and as I hope the historical pictures for this essay show, both steppe nomads and Plains Native Americans wore nice clothing with lots of patterns, color and decoration. These men next to Khal Drogo are his elite guard of ‘bloodriders,’ the companions of a ruler who wields tremendous power and wealth! And yet they have opted to wear mostly undecorated bland brown leather.

Just to underline this point, think about what a fine set of clothing communicates to an observer (for instance, one of Khal Drogo’s thousands of mounted warrior retainers who are present at this event). Imported goods, like metalwares (which nomads won’t generally be able to make themselves) or fine imported fabrics demonstrate not only trade contacts but also often that the leader has useful ties to foreign leaders (since such things were often gifts or tribute from foreign courts). Garments whose production, due to fine patterns, complex weaves, intricate beading or quillwork, would take many, many hours of production demonstrate that the leader has a lot of subordinate people in their household (in many cases, that would mean women), which both implies the ability to give these people as gifts (either in marriage or because of their non-free status) and also the access to resources (in this case herds of animals) needed to sustain so many people – in short, the sort of leader who can reward faithful warriors richly.

And of course a leader who outfits his closest retainers – his bloodriders, in this case – with such wares (especially expensive foreign metal military equipment) demonstrates both access to military capital and also the ability to reward his trusted lieutenants. In short, the Khal whose person and immediate retainers are decked out in finery looks like backing the winning side, which is a very important thing to assess as one of his warriors. So even if not one of Drogo’s men cares about their personal appearance at all, it is still politically important for them to dress for success.

Which then demands the question, looking at the very fine clothing of historical horse cultures that supposedly provided the inspiration for these Dothraki fellows: Where is the exquisite bead work? The fine quillwork? Where are the carefully made fringes? Where is the silk brocade? Where are the detailed, complex patterns?”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part I: Barbarian Couture.”

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : Playing With Fire   chapter 7

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Story Summary:  The Huntsman, that is what they called your brother. A name he had earned by hunting down the fey for coin. Coin that is given by Father Carden for his services. You refuse to stand aside and watch how your brother hunts down those who are fey. When you start to warn the fey camps your brother wishes to attack, you find yourself behind enemy lines. But when the Weeping Monk becomes suspicious of you, you realise you are playing with fire.

Chapter Summary: The Monk arrives in Mirstone to confront you about what he has found out about the fey camp in the North.

Notes: Starting to build the tension I guess.. also I didn’t find a fitting gif so take this one because pretty.

Warnings: Lowkey Slut-shaming. Which will get worse in some chapters, be warned.

Word count: 2365 words in this chapter.

Chapter:  7/ 30+ something (buckle up, it’s a wild ride.)

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You had wrapped a warm scarf around your neck to hide the bruises that had formed from Draegan's grip on your throat. The last thing you wanted was the stares from the other villagers. You waited until dark before you started to copy the maps you had 'borrowed' from the bag. You were drawing the last details of the maps when you heard the door of your home creak, alerting you to the fact that somebody had entered your small home. Damnit, you hadn't locked your front door. You discreetly moved the maps under some books before turning around to see who it was. And when you did your heart dropped. The Weeping Monk was standing in the doorway. Why was he here ? You nor your brother were expecting a visit from Father Carden today and they never came this late in the evening. Your brother would not have left otherwise. The thought crossed your mind that maybe he had told Father Carden about you trying to help a fey anyway. You stood up from your chair but showed no intention to move closer to him. "Is Father Carden gracing us with another visit ?" You asked in a obviously fake polite voice. The corner of his mouth turned up but it was gone in a flash as he shook his head. He was staring at you now, his eyes following you as you walked around the place. You could feel that he was choosing his next words cautiously and calculated. "No. I came alone." He stated after a moment of silence. You straightened your back, taking on a defensive stance "Have you come to kill me after all then ?" He started to walk around the place as if he was studying you "No." You hated to admit that it was unnerving "Then why have you come ?" He folded his hands behind his back, now facing you "I've been told your brother has recently acquired a map." Damn. The one who sold your brother the map had not kept their mouth shut about it to the Monk. You kept your composure, perhaps he assumed your brother was keeping it to get more coin "I'm afraid my brother is not here. He's..working." You hated to call it for what it was. Hunting fey. "I'm aware." He quirked a brow. Damn.. he had indeed come for you after all. He stepped closer towards you and you stood your ground "A map that held the location of a fey camp that is now deserted." "I don't see how I can help you with that. My brother is the one who you should be asking about that." You tried to avoid the topic of the map completely. "Those who help the fey will meet the same fate " He stared you down. You felt a chill go down your spine. He knew. He knew you were warning them. He had hinted to it in the forest but you had hoped he was just trying to unnerve you. There was no question now that he believed you had taken the map and warned the fey in the North, why else would he have come here to talk to you alone about it ? You did try to save the fey boy from him and he must have connected the dots pretty quickly after that. "I'm aware." You parroted his own words. Then he took two steps closer, and in response you grabbed a pan that was on the table, willing to hit him if he got any closer. His eyes fell on the pan in your hands before they locked on your face. He smirked and let out a scoff "Tell me the locations of the fey camps. I know the Huntsman has acquired the information. I know you have seen it when I was here with Father. Don't lie to me." He sounded irritated. "And cost me my brother's payment from Father Carden ? Forget it." It was a plausible excuse, you actually could not care less about the payment. Besides, you had already warned those camps. The new maps where laying under the stack of books on the table. You hoped he wouldn't think that you would hide them in a similar spot again. He was anything but pleased with the answer, the tension between you and him was palpable "You intend to warn them, don't you ?" His voice was lower then it had been moments ago. It was not a question. It was a statement. You tried to stay calm, but it was starting to tick you off how the Monk seemed adamant to keep bothering you. Didn't he have other things to keep himself occupied ? You were still the sister of the Huntsman, and as long as you didn't confess to warning the fey to Father Carden he had no solid proof to give to Carden. It could be anyone in this village, even one of your brother's men. You spoke through gritted teeth "You can't make me tell you anything, Monk. This is the Huntsman's village, all I have to do is tell one of his men that you are trying to undermine my brother's work."

He was glaring at you now, he knew you were right and it aggravated him tremendously. He was on thin ice coming here without the permission of the Huntsman or Father Carden. The Monk knew he would have to intimidate you into telling him "Do you think you can outrun me and reach one of them then ?" Your grip on the pan tightened at his question. He took two steps around the table in your direction. You backed away to stay out of his reach "Stay away from me, you bastard !" You held up the pan, ready to strike if he came within your reach. He stopped and scoffed at the sight "I could kill you, y/n. I should kill you. If you had not been the Huntsman's sister I would have killed you the moment you attacked me in the forest. Are you truly willing to die to protect the fey ?" Was this it ? Was he really going to kill you in your own home ? You gave a short nod, you had lost your patience with this arrogant bastard "I am. I will die knowing that I protected the innocent from you ! From the torture they would face by your paladin bastards !" Even though he was far more skilled then you, you were not going down without a fight. You launched at him with the pan and almost caught him off-guard. He thought you were bluffing, he had not expected that you would be brave enough to fight him. He ducked just in time so it hit his shoulder hard instead of his face, he turned to the side as he grabbed your wrists. He disarmed you and the sound of steel alerted you that he had drawn his sword. He grabbed hold of you as you tried to escape from his grasp, turning you so your back was against his chest, he held the sword to your throat. "You confess then ?" He spoke lowly, you could feel his breath on the side of your face. "I guess we both secretly help the fey." You struggled against him but he kept you in a firm grasp. He knew you would remind him of the fact that he spared the boy. You elbowed him in the ribs, and he let out a pained groan. His grip faltered momentarily but he pulled you against his chest again, and pressed the sword against your throat now. Making sure you couldn't do that again, not giving you the room to move your elbow anymore. Not giving you room to move at all. This was not supposed to go this way, he had wanted to give you a warning “Don't force me to kill you, y/n.” What ? Was that not why he had come here in the first place ? You stopped struggling for a moment “Why have you come here, Monk ?” He moved his sword so it was no longer pressing directly against your skin “Stop warning the fey. It will not end well for you. Father will not be as forgiving as I am.” “I don't seek forgiveness for saving lives.” You let out an insulted scoff. The Monk had no good counter answer for that. He could say that he was saving their souls by killing them, but your words from the forest still haunted him. Remembering how you had told him he was damning his own soul that way. When he took a deep breath out of frustration he became aware just how closely he was holding you against him. He had done this with other people before but somehow it felt different now. He resisted the urge to step away from you. The close proximity to you was making him nervous, it felt too...intimate.

The sudden silence between you made you uneasy, he was holding you so close that you had felt his chest rise and fall as he had taken a deep breath. And then.. silence. As if both of you were unaware of how close you were standing against each other before he had done that. In that moment it was as if something shifted in the atmosphere between you, he was no longer holding you as firmly as he had been. After another second that felt much longer he spoke again, you noticed that he sounded calmer now. He sounded different, persuasive even. “Be smart, y/n. Don't be brave.” He tried to sound convincing, knowing that the latter would certainly cost you your life one day. The Monk remained still as he contemplated his next action, then he slowly moved his sword away from your throat. “You would spare my life if I stopped ?” It confused you, there was no way Father Carden would agree to this. “Father nor the Huntsman are aware of what you have done. If you stop, I will overlook this. This never happened, just like you and the boy were never in the forest that night.” You frowned at that before understanding what was going on. You had leverage on him, and now he had leverage on you. He would keep his mouth shut about you having warned the fey and you wouldn't rat him out for letting the boy go. It had never been your intention to rat on him for that, but it seemed he did not trust you for that matter. “Alright... I'll stop.” You said calmly, lying through your teeth to the Monk. If he believed you had stopped it would buy you enough time to bring the new information to the fey.

Another moment passed by before he let go off your arm and released you from his grip. You immediately turned around and took a couple of steps away from him. Being so close to him felt strange. He watched as you stepped away from him the moment he had let go of you, he hoped the warning was clear. But he had a feeling you weren't going to be so easily convinced. You had a stubborness that matched his own. His expression hardened again “If you lied to me-” “You'll kill me. Got it.” You snapped at him, you hated how he was bossing you around like this. How he had the arrogance to just waltz in here. The he suddenly looked past you and you turned to see what had caught his attention.

Brogan had entered your home as well "Ah, what do we have here ? I thought I heard another voice in here." This was not looking well for you, if he told your brother about the Weeping Monk being in your home it would further push him to believe that you were indeed working with the Monk... among other things. The Monk looked at Brogan, a brow raised as the man stepped further inside your home. "Thought you'd have better taste, little bird. And a man of the cloth at that ?" Brogan tsked. It sounded terribly demeaning. Like he was scolding a toddler. The Monk narrowed his eyes when he heard the comment, not understanding what Brogan was insinuating "What ?" "We were just talking." You firmly stated. Brogan scoffed "Just talking, eh ? With him ? He doesn't look like the talking type to me." If it had been unclear to the Monk what Brogan was insinuating, it was clear now. You saw the Monk shift his balance, looking uncomfortable being there all of a sudden. Oh great. Had you known that, you would have tried something similar to scare him out of your house. "Believe what you wish, Brogan. The truth is that we were talking. As you stated yourself, didn't you say you heard another voice as you tried to eavesdrop on me again ?" You refused to let Brogan bully you in your own damn home. He had a tendency to be this demeaning to you and get into your business. Most likely to rat you out to your brother. Brogan's expression hardened, not pleased with the way you defended yourself "I am-" You interupted him "Leaving. As is the Monk. Get OUT of my home ! Both of you !" The anger was boiling inside of you, it would help to make it clear that neither of them were welcome there. The Monk looked at you, he seemed almost startled at your sudden outburst of rage. And so did Brogan. Your patience had run out. The Monk scoffed and shook his head as he headed towards the door. Brogan tried to get his attention by glaring at him, the Monk walked into Brogan's shoulder as he passed him by. "Damn paladin dog.." Brogan uttered once the Monk left. Then he turned to you and you glared at him. He chuckled, a sound that send a chill through you, before he also left your home. You drew a deep breath, scolding yourself for forgetting to lock the door.

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[chrysalispen]

Prompt #28 - Irenic

AO3 Link HERE

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"Yes," Nero said, irritably. "We did. Not that it's any business of yours."

"I see."

"She had no particular objections at the time that I recall." Try as he might to sound indifferent, it rang false in his own ears. A paltry defense of something that should have required none, to his thinking, and yet it carried with it the fetid stench of a guilty conscience. He hated it. "I suppose she told you and Garlond about it, then. Unless it's spread all over the camp."

"No one's spread any rumors about the two of you." The look in G'raha Tia's eyes rankled at his frayed temper further still. "As far as I'm aware I am the only one who knows."

Nero had expected some degree of censure had their salacious little interlude ever seen the light of day. He hadn't missed the man's attraction to Aurelia Laskaris and felt quite sure he would be compelled to do something absurd like defend her honor.

But to his surprise, there was nothing of envy in that stare. Or if there was, G'raha was far better at concealing it than Nero would have done at the same age. He was painfully aware that for all his conceits and all his cool, cultured airs, he wore his heart on his sleeve. It had taken years to break himself of the habit of reacting personally to every slight, perceived or real, and he struggled with it still. It was the only fault he would readily admit to sharing with Cid Garlond.

On second thought, Garlond probably didn't know. He was sweet on the eikon-slayer himself, and Nero had little doubt that if word of what had transpired had come round to the other engineer, he'd have gotten an earful and then some. Garlond would have shouted and pontificated at length about what a selfish shite he was.

This boy only looked at him.

Beneath the weight of that stare he felt first uneasy, then his cheeks began to burn with something that felt... no, something that was shame. For that tense brace of moments, Nero was an Academy student of twelve summers once again, standing before the provost's desk, called upon to account for some nameless instance of misbehavior.

The comparison left him embarrassed and angry. Hells! He wasn't that student any longer, that was the thing. Hadn't been that boy for years now. He was a man grown- and more to the point, a free one. There was no longer a legatus to whom he was compelled to answer, nor any Emperor to whom he must bend the knee, nor any bureaucratic apparatus to gainsay him.

He answered to no one and could do as he pleased.

But that stare, that silent reproach, bored into him until he had to look to the gloom-choked skies over Silvertear's northern shore. 

"Well," he said, his voice as cold and brisk as a midwinter morning, "get on with it then."

"With what?"

He decided not to mince words. "You want me to apologise to her."

The auburn tail flickered with his inner restlessness- but otherwise, G'raha gave no response. The bow of his mouth was drawn and solemn, thoughts turned inward as they seemed to do more and more often.

From here the outline of the Tower was just barely visible, the crystal facets shimmering azure and light as its massive spire reached into the heavens, only to disappear amongst the clouds. The cloud sat so low that even the short journey on the road that led down into the Syrcus trench was nearly impassable, and so they had decided as a group not to brave gigas territory attempting to access the Dossal Gate until the haze had lifted somewhat. Nero would have gone full bore ahead, damn the consequences if he hadn't needed the others.

His exasperation made itself known in a soft and huffed sigh, broad shoulders slouching in the confines of his coat. He thrust his hands into the deep pockets.

"If you aren't here to chastise me, then why did you want to talk to me?"

"Let me say, first of all, that you are quite right. What happened between the two of you is not my business." G'raha's smile, thin and rueful, did not touch the melancholy cast in those two-toned eyes. "But what I have to say to you does concern the Warrior of Light. I know the two of you have not... necessarily seen eye to eye, in the past-"

"An understatement. We were once enemies."

"-but I would ask you to try and look past your differences, and treat her with some kindness. She could use a friend."

"She is the champion of the realm," he said wryly. "So-called. And hardly in need of your protection or anyone else's."

"That's where you would be wrong."

"Meaning?"

"I've heard a great deal about what's gone on behind closed doors. Aurelia is a close friend so I will not betray her secrets." One of those eyes, the crimson one, flickered aside to catch his gaze. "As I likewise consider you my friend."

The Garlean scoffed, his lips twisting into an icy sneer.

"You're a fool, then," he said. "Worse than that, you're a naive fool."

"All men need a confidante, Nero. Even me. Even you."

"I was Gaius van Baelsar's second in command. The man who successfully uncovered the secrets of the Ultima Weapon." When G'raha did not answer, he challenged: "That fact truly stirs no rancor in you? I find that curious."

"I recognize an attempt to bait me when I hear it." Nero said nothing, choosing instead to carefully study the mica formations upon a nearby outcropping with a focus only slightly less feverish than if it had been a recently uncovered tomelith. "You were once an enemy of Eorzea, that I won't deny- but you are not without your positive qualities."

"Name three."

G'raha beamed at him. "That is not much of a challenge, you know."

"No?"

"You are clearly a very resilient man. You are also resourceful- your knowledge has been of great assistance to us whether you believe it or not."

"That's two."

"So it is." The Miqo'te held up three fingers. "Three - and I fully expect you to deny it - you are remarkably reliable. You could have chosen any number of ways to sabotage the excavation and yet not only have you not done so, but you have also lent your expertise to fill the gaps in my own knowledge."

"Your knowledge has been useful to my own goals," Nero said shortly. "Don't take it as a sign of aught else."

"Four," G'raha grinned, "you're a half-decent culinarian."

"Amateur at best."

"Amateur or no, Ryssrael adores you."

"Seven hells," he groused, "get to the bloody point."

"My point is that I can think of few better suited to help her."

"She has that Ishgardian. That knight-"

"You clearly know nothing of Ishgard. One or two may treat her as an ally but a political alliance is hardly a friendship." G'raha shook his head. "She needs a real friend, Nero. Someone she can trust to look out for her interests. Not Ishgard's, or Eorzea's, or the Scions'. Hers alone."

"Why are you asking this of me? Even if she didn't detest me-" "I doubt she detests you any more than you do her."

"Not the point. And you seem to be solidly in her corner. Why not take this duty upon yourself?"

"Because," he said, his gaze returning to the silhouette of the distant Tower as his smile faded, "there is something else I need to do first."

"And what is that?"

That fathomless stare seemed to travel for malms. It crossed dark waters and passed through the heavy bank of clouds and into endless heights of faceted azure, and for a moment G'raha Tia seemed immeasurably old, older even than the prize they sought. He appeared to be lost in his own reverie, viewing something that appeared intended only for his eyes.

Still, Nero tol Scaeva did his level best to see it himself. He looked with the eyes of a man who had never touched a scrap of magic in his life outside the hallways of his own imagination, but no matter how he strained he saw nothing mystical or ominous. There was only light and Allagan artifice: a sentinel in turns fantastic and ancient, taunting him as it stood just out of reach.

As he had, his entire life, stood out of reach of others. He felt himself suffused with an emotion that was very much like yearning, for a brace of seconds, before the sensation passed.

Ridiculous, he thought. All of it. Bloody ridiculous. I never would have had these worries had I simply followed behind and not attempted to ingratiate myself.

But once again, G'raha Tia was smiling like an excited child.

"I have no idea whatsoever," that relentless cheer was a light that pierced the faraway expression he held, dispelled his dark mood like the morning sun through mist. "But I rather suspect we'll all find out ere long, don't you think?"

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 25: Thoughts on The 100 2x10

Twenty years later, I return with Ep. 2x10: Survival of the Fittest.

This commentary is NOT pro-Grounder or pro-Lxa.

I last watched in January and I have literally no idea what’s happening lol. I mean, I do because I’ve seen the whole thing enough times but still. Like specifically.

One of Netflix’s warnings for this show is “fear.” I CANNOT.

The idea of Arkers and Grounders perhaps meeting in certain ways pre-canon is interesting (the suicide by earth idea) but then the story just becomes one of yet more Mindless Grounder Brutality and I get bored. Like I’m sorry this is truly the most boring civilization ever imagined and I cannot believe we’ve been asked to care more and more about them with each passing season.

The lost possibilities of Bellamy & Lincoln. Also of Lincoln, in general? Someone who tried so hard to be something other than what he was taught to be.

Also, his story is basically confirmation that he became obsessed with Octavia because he was illegally spying on the cool Sky People and then ran into a Pretty Girl and that was just that on that.

The underworld. They’re not subtle.

Mmm-mmm my favorite set. Indra looking badass as per usual, giving her warriors a pep talk. And Kane with friendship heart eyes like “I’ve found my new BFF!!” (This is truly how I read the expression on his face.)

“Only our Guards are armed here.” Lol okay but does anyone really believe Indra travels with ONLY two knives on her person?

I’m generally a Jaha apologist but I cannot stand him in S2, primarily because his whole thing is based around him caring about “the Grounders’ land” in this realllllly awkward native peoples parallel, as if this was supposed to make him sympathetic when (1) there is literally no evidence at all that the Sky People occupied Grounder land in s1 or are occupying it in s2 and (2) he is advocating abandoning the main characters to death, the main characters are a bunch of teens, and literally no one calls him out on how disgusting that is. The only thing he’s right about is that the Grounders are terrible and Kane’s boner for them is ridiculous, but still.

Is there a Grounder named Michael? Lol.

“My shock baton’s got your back” probably isn’t intended as wildly inappropriate adult man hits on teen girl flirting but........ I dunno how else to read it.

Murphy > Grounder I said what I said.

That woman in the background of the fight with her eyes wide like ‘oh heavens! oh my!’

Kane’s here trying to be like stern dad keeps his kids in line for the sake of peace and Indra and the rest of the Grounders are like... fucking crickets. So ridiculous. So immature. Keep your own bitches in line Indra.

I completely forgot that Mountain had multiple airlocks and thus just, you know, opening the doors wouldn’t do anything. Makes sense, I’m just dumb.

Clarke > All Grounders and seeing her show respect to Lxa or anyone, even if it makes sense in context, just irritates me.

Clarke: *gives several very good reasons why sending large numbers of Grounder warriors into the Mountain will do literally nothing but lead to more casualties.* Grounders: *raaaaa I hate being told no, let’s just attack!!! ATTACK!*

“He shouldn’t have attacked my ship.” Honestly I think part of why S2 Clarke is my favorite is because I really identify with her, surrounded by idiots, just doing her best to get fucking anything done and done right.

“You’re very brave under the Commander’s protection, aren’t you?” DUDE. DUDE. You literally just reminded everyone that this five foot tall blonde teenage girl roasted your brother and several hundred others alive and you think the commander’s protection is why she’s brave? She’s brave because she’s smarter and tougher than you, duh.

And after all this Lxa’s like “Quint’s right.” Um he’s truly not though??? Ugh, the stupidity irritates me.

“Hook up” for “alliance” I am DYING.

Kane is absolutely the worst faux-father figure. Encouraging Octavia to get her ass kicked by idiots who are training for no reason...

And then this bitch (Quint) tries to kill Clarke as if that were even remotely a good idea... what if you were successful? What then? Lxa would torture you for like 100 days and then kill you start thinking things through.

I miss Byrne in that she was annoying but at least had, like, a perspective and purpose, BUT that was a cool death scene. A good sort of shock.

“Work detail” is such an odd phrase, like... one would think....everyone works?? It seems to be code for “mop some floors.”

I’m gonna be honest, the search for the CoL was the clear weak point of S2 for me but Murphy & Jaha are an interesting pair to share screen time.

Murphy: hesitates to accompany Jaha to Wells’s grave until he sees the possibility of getting a firearm of his own, then falls in love. You had me at ‘can hold a gun!’

They really are wasting bullets. Those are...kinda a finite resource? Also you’d think that these literal members of the Guard (based on their jackets) already know how guns work.

Kane really is devoted to this I’m Your Daddy thing, huh? “Look at me, shooting this gun, I’m so cool--don’t you want to be cool like me? I can teach you.” (And O in the back sharpening her sword like she knows what she’s doing.)

I don’t get how Mount Weather could influence Grounder legend given that they’ve known about Grounders for less than a generation, and they tend to destroy anyone they capture, not, like, release them back into their villages? Cool idea though!

Octavia, the secret weapon, exploitable by both sides because she knows both sides, is an interesting path SOMEone at SOME point should have gone down, or should go down, like in fic. Just putting that out there.

See, literally, what did I say? Quint does not even succeed in killing Clarke and he’s sentenced to death in 0.5 seconds. You gotta think ahead man!!

Lol I’ve seen this how many times and only now am I hearing that the word “Pauna” (which I’ve also been mispronouncing) is in fact in the episode. I always thought that was extra-canonical.

Pretty hilarious that Clarke, attempting to run away from the Irradiated Gorilla, leads everyone right to...the home of the Irradiated Gorilla. AKA the National Zoo.

Look the only thing I really have to say about this entire story line is that it’s pretty clearly only here to make sure Clarke, the main character, has something to do in an episode that isn’t really about her, like it’s straight up Filler just like the Bellamy Scales a Cliff episode, and it’s dorky and laughable and awful CGI and I get that--but I still maintain that the concept of “animals from the zoo survived and are still out there in mutated form” is cool and we should do more with that, as a fandom.

Also....moose? How’d that get there??

“Leave me” Lexa says, as if it weren’t incredibly easy for Clarke to save her. Like...why do you give up so easy all the time??? Grounders are weak. The slightest thing happens and it’s either “Time to kill you” or “Time to die.”

Murphy, unimpressed by the beauty of Earth.

Completely forgot that elder Murphy’s name was Alex. Put that one in my back pocket.

This Jaha and Murphy scene at Wells’s grave is the best of a fairly lackluster episode. “Clarke sugar-coated it for you, didn’t she?” “Good can come out of even the darkest acts, John.” “Camp You is that way.”

(Also...when did Clarke get a chance to talk to him? Was this over video in S1? I guess it must have been since she’s been busy in S2.)

When Kane lets Octavia fight the Grounder he is 100% doing it for himself and the alliance. He’s using her.

And somehow this is the ONLY time Octavia lost a fight. I wish the show had acknowledged more, as it does here, that tenacity is a great virtue but it’s not the only virtue. Also the Grounders truly are canonically terrible at what they do.

My favorite O characterization is when she’s just a blank slate for people to write on because she never was able to create a personality for herself. Because I think it’s the most true to her backstory, which seems only intermittently relevant imho. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” “I would like to be stronger,” hence “I shall get beaten up.”

*Sings* Lxa is a terrible leaaaaaader!!! Getting all up in Clarke’s head trying to tell her that caring about not constantly killing people is..............somehow.....................bad??? Lol.

This scene here where Lxa provides the groundwork for the Ai-in-Commanders thing, is probably where the show began its downhill slide. Don’t get me wrong, I love S2 as a whole--most of this nonsense didn’t really come up until S3--and S3 itself has good ideas, including the AI thing, but they were just realized so badly...... Makes me sad. We could have had so much more!

“Don’t be afraid, death is not the end,” is like......the least helpful thing to say. Yet again, Clarke uses her brain and figures out an actual plan, as opposed to “die heroically” which is really all the supposedly genius Lxa ever has. “Die heroically” or “Save own ass at others’ expense I said what I said.

I’m so salty.... I can’t even believe myself.

I enjoy the Indra and Octavia relationship.

So I’m going to say that I always assumed, and still basically assume, that the reason Indra chose Octavia for a second is that she really did think there was something special in her when she saw her fight. Like that’s all. Just like she would with a Grounder kid who wanted to be a warrior. But I think it would be interesting if she’s thinking just as Kane is: that Octavia is a useful bridge between the two peoples, that perhaps, she could get something from her. (Counter spy?)

“No one gives anything without expecting something in return.” Early John Murphy philosophy synthesized.

What the fuck is Jaha eating? Little...food pellets.

It’s true that he’s being cynical but it’s ALSO true that Jaha is withholding important truth from him and ultimately, arguably, using him.

“You didn’t give a damn about us. You still don’t, that’s why you’re not fighting for this kids in Mount Weather.” SOMEONE FINALLY SAID IT. THANK YOU MURPHY. MVP of this ep.

“I was pardoned, slate wiped clean, I’m still treated like dirt.” The treatise of the Ark AU thanks.

More patented Murphy nose rubbing.

Murphy and Raven, both pulled in, to some degree, by cultists.

Murphy and Octavia, both manipulated by more powerful adults for their own ends.

Jaha is so... he has all these peace and love, everyone is accepted, nice ideas and beliefs and faith, but he also does not care at all about sacrificing a few here and there. He may remember Alex Murphy but he doesn’t really care, he’s not really haunted. Remembering is like a courtesy. He may miss his son but he still ultimately believes, even hearing how utterly stupid Wells’s death was, that it was worth it for some unknown greater good. And he’s willing to give up on people who aren’t even dead yet, just write them off as an acceptable loss, even though they’re his people and a subset of his people to whom he owes a particular debt, and still consider this sacrifice, not even yet made, to be worth it for this bigger plan. There are a lot of things I respect about Jaha as a leader, and surely in a universe of terrible leaders he is not the worst, but this is his fatal flaw, what keeps him from being good. Real leaders do accept that losses will happen, as Lxa says, but they don’t seek out losses and they don’t merely catalogue them and then move on. They feel them, and accept responsibility for them, and carry them forward.

No I am not talking about Clarke, although within this universe, she comes closer to the ideal.

The story line with Lincoln, Bellamy, and the Reapers is like nightmare fuel if I think about it too much.

Indra, with the tiniest slice of meat possible on a huge plate: “Eat! Get strong!”

Kane, trying to be sexy and seduce a new friend: “Thank you.”

Kane and Octavia are talking and Indra is just in the background, sitting on a tree stump, brooding in the most photogenic way possible, very ‘google earth, always taking pictures’ of her.

I’m sorry but I can’t stop seeing Kane’s whole demeanor in literally every scene of this episode as like “Attempted Daddy.” Not in the paternal sense.

“You’re asking me to be a spy?” / “I’m asking you.......... yes, to be a spy, that’s exactly it.”

Objectively ridiculous for Octavia to think the Grounders are her people but, I get it, she’s desperate for people of some sort.

“There’s a million ways to die out there” should have been the title of the series. More accurate than “The 100.”

“If it’s not your time than nothing can kill you” IS everything infuriating about Jaha in one line. Saying ‘it’s just what was meant to be’ is a pretty easy way to avoid responsibility for anything, ever, and it’s extra sketchy from someone who, as a leader, knows or should know that his actions have consequences for other people, sometimes life or death ones. I mean...everyone but he and Murphy did die searching for the CoL.

We REALLY need more fic that utilizes Jaha as a weird guru type.

“You wanna stop being treated like a criminal then you have to stop thinking that that’s all you are.”

Here, Clarke comes up with yet another smart idea. How many is that in one episode? She’s too smart, guys, just too smart.

That said, the first time I watched this ep with my mom (the second time in general for me, the first time for her), when Clarke explained her ‘release the Grounder prisoners’ plan, she was like “...Duh? I thought that was already the plan? Isn’t that what Bellamy was going in there to do?” Basically most people on the show < Clarke < my mom.

The tragedy of Lincoln’s addiction story line really does get to me.

I’m a little insulted on Bellamy’s behalf that he was marked Harvest lol.

I just watched the episode and I heard them explain their plan... but I still don’t really see how it was going to work. Like just... cause chaos and let Bellamy run inside? Kind of feel like someone would have caught him at some point, and also--doesn’t that run a significant chance of getting Lincoln killed? Oh well. It all works out eventually. Mostly.

Anyway, not the greatest episode, but it had its moments. The Jaha and Murphy story line was good, and I actually enjoyed the Octavia, Kane, and Indra stuff more than I thought or remembered. But it’s always kind of a bummer when one or both mains get lackluster filler plots--and in this case it really was both--I mean, Bellamy’s was important, but it wasn’t very long. And none of my faves: no Mount Weather, no Jasper and Monty, no Raven.

It still fucks me up that Liz Phair wrote music for this show.

[cowboysandcannolis]

Good Enough For Me (Female Reader X Bill, Lenny or Micah)

“You couldn’t get a man to put up with you for more than one night, Y/N!” Karen shrieked with a drunken giggle.

It was a fall evening and you had joined the girls by the fire. They were chit chatting about things you were pretty uninterested in. You lived a life a bit more exciting than theirs. You could tell them all about your latest heist, a massive wolf you saw out and about that you would just love to have as a coat, the time a few days ago when you faced three O Driscols with just your knife...But you didn’t. You continued to listen to their stories about what they found in so and so’s pocket while doing the washing, who was snippy to who that day...Well, at least the fire was warm.

And then they got into taking about their love lives, great. You could feel the jabs coming already. You didn’t have a man and really didn’t plan on needing one. You had your evenings out with one night cowboys that you would never see again. Though you didn’t feel the need to bring that up.

“I’m telling you, men don’t like their women so stuck up! If you would loosen up a bit and stop coming home drenched in blood with a rabbit on your shoulder well maybe you would have someone.” The blonde stated very matter of factly, her nose tilted up. How high and mighty.

“I could too! I just ain’t interested!” Normally you wouldn’t have even bothered responding to her but the rum in your stomach started to do the talking for you.

“Bet you couldn’t! I bet you that diamond ring I stole that you couldn’t!”

It was good money but it wasn’t anything you were interested in. With that you excused yourself, tossing a glare over your shoulder at her as you made your way to the other fire, catching a shiver on the way.

Perhaps it was later than you thought as this fire was just about deserted as well...Besides ((You pick your guy out of: Bill, Lenny and Micah. ))

-BILL-

“Hey there, Miss L/N” Bill offered, bringing his gaze up from the fire. He must have just come off guard duty, as his posture and voice suggested that he hadn’t been drinking like most nights. His dark eyes catching the light of the fire in their gleam.

You wouldn’t readily admit it but you rather had feelings for Bill. At first his gruff nature caused you plenty of eye rolls but after awhile in the gang you came to see through the act and like the man. He was awkward and self conscious, sure. But you also saw that he was loyal, brave and pretty fun when you broke through that shell. Now a days you two had plenty of stories about drunken adventures you two had shared.

“Hey, Bill.” You muttered, sitting on the log opposite him, slouching down and folding your arms over your thighs.

This wasn’t normal you and it caused Bill obvious tension as he sat up straighter, trying to get a good look at your face.

“Er, something wrong? You ain’t seeming real happy..”

“It’ll sound silly if I tell ya.” You sigh, picking up a stick and poking at the fire with it.

“Naw, you won’t.”

“Well...”You gnawed at your lip as he leaned closer to hear you.

“The girls are always teasing me about how I ain’t like them. How I’m not a normal woman, ‘bout how men won’t like me. Well I ain’t content to live my life washing clothes and cooking meals! I can shoot as straight as the rest of em, why sit around here doing nothing?” You vented, tapping your boot angrily against the ground, your eyes looking up at the star speckled heavens.

“They said that ta ya?” He craned his neck behind him, gazing at the silhouettes of the ladies against the other fire.

“Well-“ he started before grunting.

“They say things about me too. The think I’m stupid, a real prize idiot ya know-“

“But you ain’t!” You argue back, sitting up straight. You two had been through this before many times. Bill not thinking he’s good enough and you passionately trying to convince him otherwise. Ain’t no body saying things like thy about your best friend, especially not himself.

“I know. But obviously they ain’t right about you. And you say that they ain’t right about me. Hell, I think you’re the perfect woman and I-“

You could practically see Bill paling, even in the dark. He shouldn’t have said that. He should not have said that. His feelings for you were never meant to be voiced.

“You...” You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks, dipping your head a little to hide a smile. “You think I’m the perfect woman, huh?”

“Well..” Bill was really struggling now.

“I-er- yeah. But- ugh...You...I kinda...”

You stood from your seated spot on the log, approaching him, he was ready to be smacked by you. He knew he deserved it. He just ruined the best friendship that he ever had. Instead of smacking him you seated yourself beside him and kissed his cheek softly.

-LENNY-

“Miss Y/N, nice of you to join me.” Lenny grinned, setting his beer aside, next to the book that he had given up on trying to read in the unsteady firelight. Actually it was a book that you had recommended to him.

“Hey, Lenny” You sounded disappointed, he didn’t like it.

“What’s goin’ on?” Lenny is up on his feet and beside you momentarily, a frown etched on his handsome face.

“Nothing”

“It ain’t nothing, I can see that it ain’t nothing. You don’t have to tell me but-“

You cut him off right there. You trusted Lenny with your life, as you had helped each other through more scraps and hard times than anyone else. If you had to tell someone it might as well have been your best friend.

“It’s the girls.” Your gaze raised to look distantly at the other campfire and his did the same. You could hear them laughing.

“They normally don’t bother me but...I guess they hit a sore spot...” You muttered as Lenny scooted closed to you, causing you to feel even more comfortable, more truths spilling from your lips.

“Karen’s always on me about how I’m not a normal woman and all that’s associated with that. About how I’ll never find a man that would want me. I just don’t want to sit around and do the washing and cut the vegetables when I can shoot as straight as anyone.” You huffed, hanging your head a little.

That’s when you felt Lenny’s arm around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Well I like you just the way you are. And I hope you aren’t out to change that because of what Karen says after too much whisky.”

You scoot closer to your best friend, your head resting against his chest.

“You’re just sayin’ that because you’re my best friend.”

There is a brief pause and you can hear that his heart picks up speed a little

“No. I’m sayin that because I love you.”

-MICAH-

Micah wasn’t the most observant man but he could tell when his right hand (wo)man wasn’t themself.

He was speaking before you even got the chance to sit down at the fire

“Well, what’s got you looking so sour?” He remarked, his icy eyes tracking you carefully.

You had earned Micah’s trust, something no one in this gang had ever done before. He liked your attitude and skills to begin with and then you, much to his chagrin at the time, helped him out of a rough spot on a job gone wrong. Since then he offered you more and more jobs to go on and before long you two didn’t fight without each other. Of course people in the camp talked, as they loved to do. You two laughed it off over a bottle of whisky.

You plopped down on the log opposite of him with a sigh “Them girls, just loving to stick their noses where it don’t belong.”

“Mmm, as per usual.” He answered, sipping from his whiskey bottle before standing and offering it to you. Which you gladly accepted. “Anything in particular?” He asked.

“Well they’re at it again about how I ain’t a regular woman and how I’ll never catch myself a man if I keep acting like a gun slinger.”

“They’re fools, all of them.” He remarked, sitting beside you so you could share the bottle.

“I know, I help provide for them-“

“And you get no thanks, only ridicule, I know the deal around here.”

You grumble something, crushing the dirt under your boot in irritation.

“I should show her-“

“Why don’t we show her right now?”

“What do you mean?”

With that Micah took a long gulp of whisky before tossing the bottle aside, scooping you up bridal style and made quite a show of carrying you away to his tent.

Let’s just say that the next morning you two got a chuckle out of imagining the look on Karen’s face.

[warriorsfireandwater]

Chapter Seven

Firepaw’s first catch came after nearly half a moon of training. It was a frog, and though it was a small thing, Dawnwhisker had praised him and told him that he would be catching even more prey soon. She’d sent him back to camp to put it on the fresh-kill pile, saying that it was important to show the Clan he was capable of hunting.

Firepaw was back in camp now. He tossed the frog on the pile, and felt a little rush of pride. It was meager, and he knew it, but it felt good to finally contribute something.

Unfortunately, the first cat to notice was Silverpaw. The tom padded up to the fresh-kill pile, and stared down at the dead frog. “Did you finally catch something, Drypaw?” he sneered. “It’s almost enough for a kit to eat.”

Firepaw sighed tiredly. “Don’t you have the elders’ nests to change, Silverpaw?”

Silverpaw ignored the reply. “I bet you stepped on it on accident and didn’t even really catch it. Did you even thank StarClan for the lucky catch?”

Firepaw flattened his ears and growled. No, he hadn’t, but he couldn’t flat-out admit it to Silverpaw. He still didn’t know the first thing about customs or StarClan, and though Dawnwhisker had mentioned giving thanks to StarClan one time, it had slipped his mind.

Silverpaw reached out and hooked a plump fish off the pile with his claws. “You’ll never be a real warrior,” he hissed. “Remember that, kittypet.” He picked up the fish in his jaws and padded away, tail held high.

Firepaw bristled with fury. I hate Silverpaw! He thought, lashing his tail. I haven’t even done anything to him! He whipped around towards the reeds that bordered the camp and padded back through them. I’ll show him, he thought. I’ll go catch more prey and throw it right in his face!

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

Firepaw had wandered up the river for a while, still seething. He’d missed two birds, confused a snail for a mouse, and hadn’t caught a thing. I’m not going back until I catch something!

He continued up along the river until he found himself at the human bridge. Dawnwhisker had told him that, while ThunderClan territory was close to the other side, the land across it was neutral territory until you got to Fourtrees. So perhaps it would be alright to cross? He hadn’t seen the other side yet, and there could be prey over there.

Firepaw cautiously padded onto the stone surface. The bridge was flat, and made of small rocks - not smooth like a road was. Seeing as it wasn’t going to collapse under his weight, he hurried on along to the other side.

As Firepaw reached the other end, he heard furious yowls to his right. He jumped, and whipped around to face the source of the sound. Fear pulsed through him. Is ThunderClan invading? Or is this their territory now?

But it seemed the yowls weren’t meant for him. As he spotted the ThunderClan patrol, far down the length of the river, he realized they were chasing something, and they were all running right towards the bridge. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what they were pursuing.

There was a large, long-furred gray cat racing on ahead of the patrol. A cat? he thought. Why are they chasing a cat?

But they stopped as the treeline ended, as though that was where the border lay. The ThunderClan cats spat and hissed, before one tom called, “Don’t come back, you mange-pelt!”

The gray cat didn’t stop. They continued to run on, either unaware that the pursuers gave up, or simply wanting to put more distance between them. The cat continued to run, and they were getting ever-closer to Firepaw.

The ginger tom bristled as he realized that the cat had spotted him. The stranger narrowed their eyes and charged on.

“Stop!” Firepaw snarled. “This is RiverClan territory!”

“Hah!” The gray cat spat. “Just a puny apprentice. Get out of my way, flea!”

His eyes widened. She isn’t going to stop! Firepaw held his ground as the molly charged right for him and leaped. The apprentice dodged to the side, and she missed. The molly landed sloppily, and grunted as she regained her footing and turned to face him.

“Hmm, quick,” she muttered. “But you won’t stop me. I must get to RiverClan.”

“Well, you can’t!” Firepaw spat, still startled by the sudden attack. “Go away. Cross this bridge and you’ll be a trespasser.”

The molly stared at him before breaking out into rough laughter. “You’re brave, apprentice, but you’re stupid. You think you can beat me?” Her laughter cut off as she coughed loudly.

Firepaw got a good look at her as she continued coughing. The molly was large, with thick fur, but her pelt was messy, and it was covered in dirt and burrs. He could smell her unpleasant stench from where he stood, a fox-length away. She’s either sick or hasn’t groomed herself in a moon! he thought. Maybe both. She had a wide, flat face, unlike any cat he’d seen before.

She curled her lip, revealed a set of yellowed teeth. “Quit staring at me, scrap. Get out of my way. Don’t you know who I am?”

Firepaw growled. “I don’t care. You’re an intruder.”

The molly narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “You aren’t Clanborn, are you?” she asked, before smirking. “Can’t be a rogue, either, you’re too small for that. Could be RiverClan if it weren’t for that thin fur of yours. A kittypet, perhaps?”

How could she tell? Firepaw’s eyes widened. He had lost his kittypet scent in the time he’d been with RiverClan, and there was no way anyone would have happily admitted to outsiders that they’d accepted a kittypet into their ranks. “I’m a RiverClan apprentice!” he finally snapped, a little too indignantly.

The ragged molly laughed again. “Thought I’d seen it all,” she wheezed, shaking with mirth. “Then I see that RiverClan brought a kittypet into their Clan!” She shook her wide head. “Get out of my way,” she repeated. “Last chance before I beat you into mousedust.”

Firepaw wasn’t fooled. She can’t be very healthy, not with the way she landed and was having a coughing fit. She must be exhausted by being chased by ThunderClan, too. “Stay off our territory!”

The molly narrowed her eyes. She braced herself, as though to spring, but she wheezed once before she began coughing loudly again. “Oh, fox-dung,” she swore, before doubling over.

Firepaw saw his chance. He darted forward and swiped, striking her shoulder. The molly stumbled, but she retaliated quickly. She ducked down and sank her teeth into his leg. Firepaw screeched and dropped to the ground. Lashing out with a hind paw, he caught her right in the forehead and pummeled her until she released him. She crouched, eyes clenched shut, and Firepaw quickly stood again and prepared to strike.

He hesitated. The molly hadn’t moved again. She groaned quietly before she flopped over onto side. “Well?” she choked out, as he continued to stand there. “Finish me off, then. You’re a warrior apprentice dealing with an intruder, remember?”

Firepaw frowned. She might be an intruder, but she’s old and weak, he thought. I still don’t really know the Code… but aren’t we supposed to take care of injured cats? “No,” he finally said. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Ugh,” the she-cat moaned, her head dropping to the ground. “Why are apprentices always so useless? Can’t you see I’m wasting away? And if you won’t let me into RiverClan, you might as well do me away for good.”

Firepaw continued to study her silently. She’s got to be a Clan cat, with the way she’s talking, he thought. So why is she alone? “You’re tired and weak,” he pointed out. “It would be cruel to kill you. Besides, I’m pretty sure the Code is pretty against that sort of thing.” Not that I think I could actually… even do that.

“Bah,” the she-cat wheezed. “You don’t even know the Code.” She was silent for a few moments, before she lifted her head again. “Well. If you aren’t going to kill me, and you aren’t going to let me go to RiverClan, do something useful and get me something to eat.”

Firepaw flicked his tail. “You can’t order me around,” he retorted. But she must be starving… I guess I could try. Not that I know I’ll actually catch something. “But fine. I will. Stay here.”

The ragged molly shifted slightly so she could lay her wide head on her paws. “And if you're going to feed me, bring me something good, eh? No rotting toads or meatless lizards.”

Lizards? Firepaw thought. Nobody here even eats lizards. He shook his head and turned around to cross the bridge again. I came out here to hunt prey anyway, so…

It took him awhile, but he did manage to catch an old magpie. It was a sloppy catch, but he’d done it. Firepaw returned to the molly with the bird in tow. She was still right where he’d left her, at the edge of the bridge. She lifted her head, and though her expression betrayed nothing, her dull eyes seemed to brighten at the prospect of prey.

Firepaw dropped it in front of her nose. “Eat,” he said.

The molly sniffed it and huffed. “It's old,” she complained. “It'll be all stringy.”

“It's still fresh-kill, you ungrateful old mange-pelt,” Firepaw snapped. Twice today he’d had cats mock the only two catches he’d ever made, and the old she-cat bossing him around and complaining was all the more irritating.

The molly just let out a throaty laugh. “I’d rip out your whiskers if I wasn't so tired.” She sniffed the magpie again before she began to pluck out the feathers to get to the flesh. Firepaw sat down, tail twitching. Well… now what do I do? I can't just leave her here, but—

“Firepaw!” came a furious yowl. “Are you eating your catch?”

Firepaw froze. He recognized the voice as Leopardfur’s before he looked over his shoulder to see the deputy leading a patrol right over the bridge towards them. Behind her was Weaselfoot, Beetleclaw, and Silverpaw—three of the cats who had no love for Firepaw. He grimaced. This isn't going to be good.

“He's not even eating it!” Beetleclaw spat. “He's feeding a rogue!”

The patrol caught up to him easily. The strange molly made as though to get up, but she winced, and stayed where she was. Beetleclaw and Weaselfoot stood near her, hissing. Leopardfur stared at the molly for a long moment. “That's not a rogue, you daft minnow-brain!” she growled. “That's the ShadowClan medicine cat. Mirestorm, you've fallen on hard times, it seems.”

“No one’s called me Mirestorm in seasons,” the molly wheezed. Her ears were flat, and it seemed she had the sense not to be as snappish as she had been with Firepaw. “Not since Brokenstar became leader, anyhow.”

Leopardfur twitched her ear. “Then what do we call you?”

“They all called me Yellowfang,” she muttered. “Feel free to call me that or not. Brokenstar sure seemed think it was hilarious.”

“Yellowfang, then,” Leopardfur said. “Why've you come? Unless you're here on business with Mudfur, you are a trespasser.” She eyed Firepaw, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Though it seems our apprentice believed you were a welcome guest.”

“That's not what I—” Firepaw tried to explain, but Leopardfur lashed her tail.

“Silence,” she ordered. “You can give your excuses to Crookedstar when we return.” Leopardfur returned her attention to Yellowfang. “I'm still waiting.”

Yellowfang flicked her tail. “I'm not part of ShadowClan anymore,” she meowed. “I come seeking sanctuary. I need protection from Brokenstar.”

Brokenstar? Firepaw thought. Is that the leader of ShadowClan?

“Why would we offer it to you?” Weaselfoot spat. “If you're not with ShadowClan, you're a rogue!”

“And you stink like human garbage,” Beetleclaw hissed. “You'll bring sickness to our kits.”

Leopardfur silenced the toms with a glare. “What would you offer us in return?” she asked.

Yellowfang shrugged. “I'm a medicine cat, isn't that enough?” she asked. “Even if I had nothing, I'm allowed safe passage and care wherever I go. But I have my skills as a healer. Surely RiverClan could always use another, unless Mudfur took on an apprentice at last.”

Leopardfur shook her head. “We’ll bring you to camp,” she said. “But I promise no protection. That'll be Crookedstar’s choice, especially considering you aren't really a Clan cat anymore.”

Yellowfang raised her head and curled her lip. “I will always be a Clan cat,” she spat. “Brokenstar and his lies can't stop that.”

“Either way,” Leopardfur said. “It isn't my choice. Get up. We’ll take you back to camp. Can you walk?”

“I can walk fine,” Yellowfang growled. She stood, a bit wobbily. “Let’s go.”

Leopardfur turned and began to pad back across the bridge. Yellowfang went behind her, with Weaselfoot and Beetleclaw flanking her. Silverpaw and Firepaw took up the rear.

Silverpaw cast a smirk at Firepaw. “I bet Crookedstar will exile you,” he crowed. “Or maybe he’ll just have you cleaning the elder’s ticks for the rest of your life.”

Firepaw flattened his ears. Would Crookedstar actually exile me for feeding her? “Oh, shut up, Silverpaw.”

Silverpaw didn't reply, but the mocking grin didn't fade at all during the walk home. Neither did Firepaw’s nagging worry that Silverpaw could be right.

[angstofdestiny]

The forest was quiet around Tavaris – almost too quiet. There was a shem encampment few yards ahead bustling with noises loud enough to scare away the local game. Only one brave owl still hooted above them, Falon’Din’s messenger calling for Tav to bring his wrath upon the shemlen disturbing the night.

Tav adjusted his quiver on his hip, jumping quietly at the low branch of the tree in front of him and climbing quickly to get a better look at the camp. He was alone, so he had to act fast and efficiently – there was no place for blunder if he was to eliminate a whole group of shems and get out unharmed. They couldn’t find him before the last arrow found its target.

He crawled along the sturdy branch, peeking from ahead at the fire and people gathered around it. There were five of them – three men and two women – even though from the noise he’d expect a small army. They were all dressed in travel garb – thick, durable clothes with leather elements that weren’t hard enough to be considered armor, but could give some protection against blows. Tavaris wasn’t sure if it would stop an arrow but to stay on the safe side he decided to aim for the faces – which made his task even more difficult.

He wasn’t going to back away though. He was the best sharpshooter in the clan – if anyone could do it, it was him. He was going to singlehandedly protect his clan from intruders that came too close and this time everyone was going to appreciate him.

The lines of his fresh vallaslin started to itch and he scrunched his nose in annoyance, waiting for the feeling to pass. He was not going to focus on the itch, he had a mission to do – but the tingling was awfully insistent.

He sat a bit up, encircling the branch with his thighs and squeezing, before he unclenched his hands from the bark. He scratched irritably at the itch, still observing the camp.

While he moved one of the women below turned around to look at the trees.

“I think I’ve heard something,” she said. Tavaris stilled, with his hand still at his cheek.

“Probably some bird. Or a squirrel, Tasha,” one of the men said. “You’re jumping at shadows as usual.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate her, Vall,” another man said. “Tasha might be jumpy but eight times out of ten she’s right. Remember that boar?”

“Alright, alright,” the man named Vall said with a shrug. “I’ll look around.”

“Just be careful,” the third man said. “I’ve heard there are wild elves around.”

“I’m more scared of wolves. Elves, wild or not, can be reasoned with. And even if not… They are tiny. I’m pretty sure I can handle an elf.” Vall stood up, towering over his companions. From where Tav sat he looked like he was almost seven feet tall.

No matter, Tav thought, gritting his teeth in anger. Just a bigger target. He didn’t like the dismissive way in which the shem talked about his people, he didn’t appreciate being called ‘wild’. But they were going to pay. For trespassing and for insulting the Dalish.

“So, how are you feeling about seeing your sister again, Lina?” Tasha asked. “I know this wedding was a surprise, but you must have some expectations. You haven’t seen each other in five years!”

“I’m rather looking forward seeing my mother and kid again,” the second woman – Lina – answered.

“Oh, come on. You see your mother every second month. Do you really look forward it more than to seeing Katia?”

“Katia just went up and left leaving us with all the work and now she’s back with a fiancée and a kid on its way and expects us to behave like that was alright? I just hope that man will help with the business – I don’t trust Katia to be of any help.”

“I’ve seen this guy,” the other man said. “I don’t trust him a bit. He claims he’s a scribe, but he has an unsettling vibe about him. I think he might be an apostate.”

“Andraste! Why would you come with such wild tales, Tomma?” Tasha said, outraged. “You’re always suspicious of anyone who’s better off than you and how many times were you right?”

“That doesn’t mean that man is not suspicious, Tasha.”

Something rustled to Tav’s left and he turned a bit, taking the bow from his back and getting ready. The big shem – Vall – was walking through the trees outside the ring of light, searching for the danger. He didn’t look up, though. Revassan was right. They never looked up.

Tavaris didn’t hurry, pulling out the arrow from his quiver and aiming at the man’s face. He didn’t have to hurry, not with this one.

The arrow whooshed quietly when he let go of the bowstring, hitting the man straight in the temple, breaking fragile bone there. Vall did not make a sound as he fell to the ground – just his heavy body giving out a low ‘thud’ as it hit the soft bedding of the forest.

Four now left, Tav turned back to the fire where the shemlen were chattering about families, wedding and their mysterious ‘business’. Tavaris wasn’t even exactly sure what the word meant, not overly fluent in the common tongue. It didn’t matter – they weren’t going to attend to it anymore, he was going to make sure of that.

He scanned the four people sitting around the fire, deciding on the further course of action. He had to be quick now, before the shem scattered into the forest forcing him to give chase. He also wasn’t sure about his chances if it came to melee fight – he was still awfully small and he wasn’t very good with his knives yet when it came to fighting. He always lost his sparrings with Tamlen.

The man with a cudgel – Tomma –  had to go first. Then the other one – they were the worst danger. Shem women were supposed to be a bit weaker than men and they weren’t so big, so he felt more confident about his chances if any of them got away at first. That Tasha woman, though, was third. She was too observant to chase her through the forest. That left Lina the last.

The best outcome, though, was if he was too fast for them to properly react. He could do that.

“Mother send me a letter saying that Miko is starting to learn his letters,” Lina was saying when Tavaris was pulling four arrows from his quiver. “I can’t wait to see…”

Thud! The first shem fell back, an arrow sticking out of his eye. The three shemlen left turned to him in surprise.

“Tomma!” One of the women shouted in surprise, not really registering what happened yet, but Tav wasn’t sure which one. He was lining another shot already.

The second arrow shot from under his fingers, the second man clutching his throat, as he fell to the side with a loud gurgle. Tasha finally understood what was happening, jumping to her feet and pulling Lina after her.

“We need to…” She didn’t finish, the third arrow piercing her throat. She slid to her knees, her hands going to the arrowshaft sticking from her wound.

Lina turned around, jumping over the fallen tree they were sitting on, trying to run for the cover – she wasn’t fast enough, Tav’s arrow still caught her in the shoulder. She shrieked in pain, scrambling to run. This wasn’t a mortal wound though, so Tavaris cursed, his fingers already searching for another missile.

Second arrow caught her in her thigh – she stumbled and fell on her knees, giving Tavaris time to jump to a lower branch and then to the ground. The woman looked over her shoulder, her face ashen. She was rather young, in early twenties, Tav guessed, with dark eyes and hair and a terrified expression that morphed into a surprise when she noticed him.

“Just a kid,” she said, her eyes wide – then her expression turned panicked again when she realized that Tavaris was not going to let her go. “Please, kid, you don’t have…”

“Not a kid,” Tavaris said through his clenched teeth, letting the next arrow fly. He had vallaslin, he was an adult.

The last arrow embedded itself in the base of her skull, severing the spine. Lina collapsed limply, face first into the ground. Tav took a deep breath, trying not to think about the child she was talking about or her sister and mother. That didn’t matter, he told himself. She was a shem.

Tav looked around the camp solemnly, overwhelmed by the experience. There lay five shems killed by his arrows. He was a worthy protector of the clan.

But someone’s mother was dead. He knew how it felt to lose a mother.

The owl hooted above him again. Tav’s shoulders loosened.

Falon’Din was pleased.

[timmyrx2000]

Dipper Steps Up: Chapter 6

Chapter Index: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13)

Chapter 6

When Wendy and Dipper left the Shack, the sun had just set. The night insects had not yet tuned up, but bats twittered overhead and out in the forest the woodpeckers, who didn't give up until the light was almost gone, drummed away. "Where are we going?" Dipper asked as they stepped off the trail.

"Into the woods," Wendy said. "You bring a flashlight, dude?"

"Yeah, I have one of the prototypes Grunkle Ford made."

"Good deal. I got the one I use camping. We'll need light on the way back."

In the gathering twilight they hiked on, uphill and down, skirting thickets of huckleberry, boggy growths of cobra lily, and stands of trailplant, threading their way through second-growth fir and pine forests, passing expanses of tree stumps and seedlings. "Dad logs all through here," Wendy said in one clearing, the air sharp with the scent of freshly-cut wood. She switched on her own flashlight and said, "Not far now."

Finally, they reached the cleared crown of a domed hill. Stars spangled the sky overhead, lots more than Dipper had ever seen in Piedmont, where the light pollution from Oakland and San Francisco dimmed them. No moon yet—it was gibbous and waning and, because of the recent change to Daylight Saving Time, it wouldn't rise until nearly eleven.

Creatures howled in the distance. Like the panda duck that Dipper had tried to win for Wendy, the species were indeterminate. In Gravity Falls, they might be anything. Wendy stood beside a stump and took a deep breath. "OK, dude, I know you won't freak out, but this might be rough on you. Remember I'm here for you, though. Wanna hold my hand?"

"Anytime," Dipper said. Her hand was warm in his.

"OK, Gramps, I brought him!" Wendy yelled into the night.

Dipper looked at her, but she had turned off the flashlight and he saw only her silhouette against the stars. "Huh?"

"He said not to tell you till he got here. Gramps! It's me, Wendy!"

In front of them, a greenish fog coalesced. Floating a couple of feet above the ground, it pulsed and brightened and then shrank in on itself, transforming into a hulking, bearded human figure.

"Oh, my gosh!" Dipper said. "The ghost from the Northwest mansion!"

"Dipper," the apparition moaned in its deep, rumbling voice. "I have to talk to you. I mean you no harm!"

Dipper almost sagged with relief. "No problem, sir! Wendy, I'm not afraid of him. You look a lot better, Mr. uh, Lumberjack. Your beard's not on fire, and your missing eye seems to have healed up. And the, uh, axe in your head's gone."

"I'm not haunting anyone now," the ghost explained, self-consciously straightening the blow tie it wore on its . . . beard. "I have no wish to terrify. When you're a ghost, you can take many forms."

"Dude," Wendy said, squeezing Dipper's hand, "this is Archibald Corduroy. He's, like, my great-great grandfather!"

"I wondered about that!" Dipper said. "I saw his picture in your house—uh, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Corduroy."

"You treated me well," the ghost said. "I regret tricking you and then turning you into wood."

"That . . . was sort of scary," Dipper admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

The apparition shrugged modestly. "Well, I am a ghost."

"Yeah. Uh, excuse me, but I thought that after Pacifica let everybody in, you had gone on to, you know, your reward."

"I could not bear to leave this forest that I loved so much in life," the ghost said, gesturing with a sweep of his glowing arm that took in all the surroundings. "Also, once free of haunting the hated Northwest house, I wondered what had become of my family. I soon discovered I have a mighty descendant in Daniel, and a beautiful one in Wendy." The ghost floated next to Dipper and confided: "She likes you, boy!"

"Aw, Gramps!" Wendy said, laughing. "Cut it out, dude! Look, I brought Dipper, like you asked, so just tell him what you've got for him, OK?"

The ghost backed away from Dipper, towering over them both. "He's a brave, intelligent boy, Wendy. You could do a lot worse."

"I really like your great-great granddad," Dipper said to Wendy.

Wendy giggled. "You guys! C'mon, Gramps."

"Very well. Dipper, the root of your friend's trouble is another ghost from the past. An evil one. Well, I say 'evil,' I suppose I went a little overboard myself, but my anger branched out from the betrayal the Northwests committed against my friends and me—no, no, I'll cut that short. Forget it. I'm sorry for the bad things that came from my long hatred, leave it at that. But now an ill-intentioned spirit is trying to possess your fiend Taylor. If he succeeds, terrible things will happen. You have to stop him."

"How?" Dipper asked, his throat feeling tight.

"I'm a lumberjack, not an exorcist," the ghost said a little irritably. "You must discover the way to help. Speak to the boy's family. Seek out his mother. Tell her. She will sense the truth of what I've told you. And beware! The spirit that threatens your friend is implacable, his grip as strong as cypress roots!"

"Dude," Wendy said, "you have, like, a really good vocabulary for a nineteenth-century lumberjack!"

"Being an outdoorsman doesn't mean you have to be illiterate, girl." The ghost started to dim.

"Wait, wait!" Dipper said. "Uh, sir—who is the ghost? That would help!"

"You already know in your heart," the fading ghost said. "It is a spirit that wishes to reincarnate—for revenge!"

"Bill Cipher?"

For just a second the ghost became a little brighter and clearer. "Who? No! Think human!"

And Archibald Corduroy went out like a candle flame in a wind.

"Who did he mean?" Dipper asked in the sudden darkness.

"I'm stumped," Wendy confessed. "Man, Dipper, you took that whole thing a lot better'n I expected! First time Archibald appeared to me, I totally freaked!"

"When was that?"

"Fall, two years back, after you an' Mabes went back to California. Along in October. I was in the woods behind our house cuttin' down some deadwood for the fireplace, and there he was, floatin' right in front of me. I kinda attacked him with my axe, but that went nowhere fast. He eventually calmed me down and told me who he was and all, and said he was gonna watch over our family and protect us, and since then I never saw him again—until I started asking around about the Northwests. Few days ago, he appeared to me in a stall of the girls' bathroom at school. Now, that was awkward. Anyhow, he seemed to know you were gonna come to Gravity Falls and said I needed to get you an' him together so he could tell you something, and he said you might be scared, so not to let you know who I was takin' you to see. You weren't scared, though. Good for you, dude!"

Dipper shrugged. "Those first ghosts I ever saw, the ones in the Dusk 2 Dawn, scared the heck out of me. Mainly because of what they were doing to Mabel and your friends. But I've kinda learned that most ghosts don't want to hurt you. Who could be haunting Chuck Taylor, though?"

"Dunno, man," Wendy said. They'd both switched on their flashlights and were headed back through the woods.

They didn't talk much. But when the lights of the Mystery Shack gleamed through the trees ahead, Dipper stopped in his tracks and said, "Reincarnate. Oh, no!"

Wendy stopped too. "What's wrong, Dip?"

"No," Dipper said. "No, no, no. I hope I'm wrong."

"About what?" she asked.

He swallowed hard. "Nathaniel Northwest."

The rest of the week flew by without any substantial developments in the case. Grunkle Ford lent Dipper a few detection devices and taught him how to use them, and then Grunkle Stan drove the kids home the next Saturday.

They spent Sunday and Monday brushing up for the CAHSEE that the school would give on Tuesday and Wednesday, and to their relief, the tests didn't seem all that hard. "I hope you didn't get bored and start putting down random answers," Dipper told Mabel after the last exam ended.

"Nope!" Mabel said. "I learned my lesson after the test I took in fifth grade that said I should be busted to kindergarten."

Chuck had seemed OK, and that afternoon, their first practice since the early spring break, he recovered his playing form again, pitching hard, hitting hard, running full-out. The Thursday practice was good, too, and Dipper began to think that everything was all right again.

Saturday brought a big game with the Bay City Blues. Their win-loss record tied Piedmont's, and Coach said that the teams were a pretty close match in ability, too. The Blues had a good pitching staff, some good hitters, and typically racked up scores of five to ten points in a game. They weren't the most spectacular team, but like the Panthers they played a steady, relentless game.

Saturday morning, the game started out well. Bay City won the toss and chose to take the field. Their pitcher had game: he struck out both Mike and Petey with three pitches each, and Dipper began to think the Panthers were doomed to an early loss.

However, Chuck, looking healthy, belted out a solid double, and following him at bat, both JD and Barb managed singles, sending Chuck home for the first run of the game. Unfortunately, Jon J sent a sweet high fly ball deep into left field—and right into the fielder's glove.

Chuck's pitching began unsteadily. The first batter racked up one strike and three balls before hitting a single. The second man up got a double on the first pitch, putting the runner on third and ready to score. From the bench, Tripper watched Chuck wipe sweat from his face, kick at the mound, and then lean forward, looking determined.

Off on the sidelines, Mabel, in her cheerleader costume, acted subdued. The Panthers had a bigger crowd than ever—their away games had frankly pitiful attendance, just the kids' parents and maybe five or six students—but now the bleachers were nearly full of cheering kids and adults. Except Mabel's enthusiasm had ebbed. Dipper knew she was worrying about Chuck.

However, Chuck promptly struck out two Blues in a row. The next two batters both got on base, though, one single, one double. Then when Vance McCall stepped into the batter's box, Chuck took his time considering his first pitch. McCall was the Blues' best hitter by far.

And he proved it by pulling a low fly to far right field, where it hit and bounced, for a moment looking as if it would go straight to Petey DeFoy—but then it bounced again, taking a bad hop deeper into fair territory, making it hard to field.

McCall wound up standing on second base. The first two Blues scored, and there went Piedmont's lead. As though to apologize to the fans, Chuck struck the next guy out with three fast pitches.

Second inning began with X-Man getting a single, trying to push it into a double, and getting tagged out. However, then both Hi-Ho and Bobby made it to base—Hi-Ho successfully stealing second before Bobby's single put him on third. Dub struck out, and it was Dipper's turn.

He'd been working hard on his batting. He let a ball go by, choked up on his grip, and took a swing at the next pitch—and connected. It was a grounder, skipping just past the third baseman and running right along the foul line.

Miracle of miracles, it didn't cross the line, and Dipper made it to first! More, it took Hi-Ho home—Dipper's first RBI. For a moment, it looked like a Piedmont rally, but Big W's hard grounder was snagged by the Blues shortstop, who fired the ball home just in time for the catcher to tag Bobby out.

The Blues couldn't get anything going in the bottom half, and the second inning closed with a 2-2 tie.

The Panthers came to bat for the third inning. Coach sent Dipper and Krenk in as subs and asked Chuck how he was feeling. "I'm OK," he insisted, though Dipper thought he was sweating harder than usual. It was a dismal inning, three Panthers coming up to bat, two being put out, one getting on base, and then with Jimmy in scoring position on third base—Krenk went down swinging, one, two, three, to retire the side.

In the bottom, Chuck's pitching was noticeably slower and less accurate. Still, he held the Blues to just one run, though that put them ahead again, three to two.

Before the turnover, Coach walked out and asked Chuck, "You gonna be OK? I can pull you."

Dipper saw Chuck shake his head and heard him mutter, "I think laying off practice last week put me off my game. I'll stay in."

In the top of the fourth inning, Mike, first up, got a single, and Chuck matched it. Coach called for time out and said, "Pines, you're faster. Go in as a pinch runner for Monohan."

Though he felt a flutter of anxiety, Dipper did. He led off second, tense, ready to jump back if the Blues pitcher suddenly turned and threw to the second baseman. Like Chuck, the Blues pitcher seemed to have lost some steam, and JD blasted his first pitch into a hard liner into the gap and dug out on what looked to be a double—but the right fielder scooped it up and got it to first in time to hold him.

But Dipper, running full out, tagged third, saw the coach motion him, and, imagining the Gobblewonker nipping at his heels, blasted for home. He could hear Mabel, not leading a cheer, but just screaming "Go, Bro, go, go, GO!"

The catcher stepped up, mitt raised, and Dipper fell into a slide, raising dust. The ball smacked the mitt. Dipper's cleats touched home plate, the catcher tagged his calf, and the ump yelled, "Safe!"

The crowd went wild. Well, mostly Mabel went wild, but still. He had tied the game again, 3-all.

There the Panthers lost their luck. One man out on a pop fly, and then a double play ended their chance to pull ahead.

Chuck didn't look as if he felt well when he stood on the mound. But he bore down and struck out the first two Blues at bat—the second out was actually their first man in the rotation. Then he got two strikes past the third batter—and as he wound up for the third pitch, all at once he tottered and went down on one knee, the ball on the ground, his right hand going out to brace himself. He croaked, "Coach!"

Waylund, Dipper, and the other Panthers hustled out. "What's wrong, Chuck?" Coach asked.

"Real dizzy," Chuck gasped. "Better take me out."

The crowd applauded as Waylund helped Chuck to the dugout, and Dipper saw Mr. and Mrs. Taylor coming down from the bleachers, looking anxious. Waylund sent in Jon J as replacement pitcher, and he did his best, but Chuck's second near-faint had shaken up him and the other Panthers, and Jon J let another two Blues batters on base before the next one got a single, pulling the Blues ahead by one run. Then he pulled it together and struck the last man out.

Dipper hastily trotted in to ask Chuck how he was feeling. Chuck, huddled on the bench, shrugged miserably. "We'll take him back to the doctor," his dad said.

"Not until the game ends," Chuck said firmly. "Just a little dizzy."

It might have gone better if he'd gone then. The Panthers, keenly aware that Chuck was sick and was watching them, lost their concentration. They fought the game out, even managing another run in the top of the seventh, but it ended with a Blues win, 9-4.

Dipper had missed an easy catch and had fanned three pitches, striking out in the worst way possible. As soon as the game ended, the Taylors took Chuck away—he was walking under his own power, at least—and the team morosely apologized to the coach.

"Forget it, men," he said. "I'll stay in touch with the Taylors and get word out to you if it looks serious. Let's hope it isn't."

"We're all hoping," Mabel said. She had come into the dugout, and tears stood in her eyes.

In the back seat of the family car, as their mom and dad stood outside talking about the game—and probably Chuck's illness—Dipper said to Mabel, "I'm going over to the Taylors' this afternoon."

"I'm coming too," she said.

"If you want. Listen, do me a big favor. You get Chuck and his dad aside somehow. I have to talk to Mrs. Taylor."

"About what?"

Dipper's voice was grim: "About a family ghost."

To be continued

Note from the Authors: This was just an idea I had but the one who really worked his magic and wrote almost all of this is none other than BillEase. He’s an amazing author who usually hangs out at fanfiction.net. Don’t pass up on a chance to check out his stuff. This guy is AMAZING. He wrote the story, I just gave the plot.

[theemightypen]

9, 40 and 41 for Éothíriel please :D

The rest are under the cut! :)

9) “There’s a leaf in your hair…” (Canon)

The King of Rohan is staring at her.

Lothiriel cannot fathom why he is; he is friends with her father, of course, and with her brothers, but they have exchanged perhaps five words at most. She is not a beauty, not in the high, otherworldly way of her new Queen, nor in the golden, fierce way of his fair sister, but she knows she is not unpleasant to look at. (Or, if she is, everyone has been very good at keeping it from her.)

And yet the king is staring at her, as if she has suddenly grown a second head.

It is…disconcerting, to say the least.

“You are blushing,” her sister-in-law murmurs, low enough for just Lothiriel’s sensitive ears. “Would you tell me why?”

“Aly, please,” she begs, dropping her gaze. “Don’t tease me so.”

Alycia frowns, but pats her hand under the table subtly enough. “Alright. For now.”

Lothiriel tries to eat her meal as gracefully as she can, but every time she looks up he is still staring. On one such time, she meets his sister’s eyes as well. The White Lady of Rohan had been intimidating at first–so fair! So brave!–but she has come to know her cousin’s betrothed very well, and likes her very much.

So of course, Eowyn reads the distress in her face, follows her embarrassed gaze to her brother. Who is promptly elbowed–rather viciously, from what Lothiriel can tell–in the side.

Finally, he seems to realize he’s been making her uncomfortable, grimacing into his wine glass as Eowyn whispers Valar-knows-what into his ear.

Still, she feels ill at ease. Why had he been giving her such scrutiny? She is not much like the other ladies of the court. Too soft-spoken, taking the most pleasure in small, intimate groups of those she already knows than the loud, raucous celebrations the end of the War dictates…Lothiriel rarely calls attention to herself.

Her father offers her a sympathetic smile when she slips from the table–Amrothos would usually call her out, or Elphir would join her, but both are absorbed in conversations with various members of the famous Fellowship.

The garden is a quiet relief after the loudness of the hall. Lothiriel could sit all night, alone, under the stars, and wish for nothing else in all the world.

But it is not to be.

The footfalls that announce someone’s presence are light, controlled. The walk of a soldier, she thinks, and turns to face them, expecting her one of her brothers, or even Faramir.

But no. It is the King of Rohan, once again.

“I owe you an apology,” he says, startling her. “I should not have stared at you so.”

Lothiriel gulps. He should not be frightening–he is a king, a friend to her family, remarkably tender with his sister, and prone to sincere smiles when talking with Merry and Pippin–and yet there is something about him that makes her face flush, her pulse race faster.

“I am not accustomed to such attention,” she admits in a quiet voice. “But you need not apologize.”

His small smile only makes her face heat further, and she is grateful for the relative darkness of the garden. “Will you let me explain, at least?”

She nods, rather curious herself.

He reaches out towards her and her breath nearly stops in surprise–what is he doing, does he not know how improper it is for a man to touch an unwed maiden’s hair–only to wince when something catches, tugs a few strands of her braid out of place.

“There was a leaf in your hair,” he says, holding the offending item up for inspection. “And as I have never seen you anything other than perfectly poised, I could not imagine how it came to be there.”

Flushing deeper still, she tucks the loose strands back behind her ear. “I am fond of the outdoors, my lord. Even we Gondorian princesses are permitted some imperfections.”

His laugh is perhaps the most charming thing about him, and she finds herself wanting to bottle the sound, to keep it for times when things are less easy, less happy.

“I am glad to hear it,” he says, and offers her his elbow.

Her fingers tremble, but she laces her arm through his all the same.

40) “You call that music?” (Canon)

“You call that music?”

Lothiriel startles, the harp tumbling noisily to the floor.

Eomer merely grins as his wife glares at him, crossing the room to sit on the carpet at her feet.

“I am trying to do something productive today,” she says. “Would that you would do the same.”

“I have been productive all morning, swete,” Eomer argues, holding the harp out of her reach. She’s such a little thing, his wife, and it is an easy thing to tease her like this, using his longer arms to his advantage.

She huffs, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Please, Eomer. I have tried every instrument I can think of, and the harp is the only one that seems to not fail me.”

Eomer frowns, looking down that the stringed instrument in his hands. “I still do not see why you can’t just sing.”

A flush enters her cheeks–even after a year in the Riddermark, there are still parts of her that are so Gondorian–and she frowns at him. “It is not proper for a lady to share her voice with a large assembly.”

“In Gondor, perhaps,” he says. “But we are not in Gondor.”

“I am well aware,” she says with a roll of her eyes, but he knows she isn’t truly irritated by how she leans willingly into the touch of his hand on her cheek.

“And you have such a lovely voice, Lothiriel,” he wheedles. “Surely it is more…improper not to share it? Every Eorlingas would agree with me.”

Lothiriel blinks. “I…had not thought of it like that.”

Sensing victory, he rises to his knees, crowding her back against the chair. “I would be happy to help you practice.”

Her eyes are dark as always, but the pupils are blown-wide–he suspects his are, too. A week of marriage, a year of marriage; either way, she was as desirable as ever. “And how should we go about that, husband?”

She gives a shriek of surprise when he stands suddenly, tugging her into his arms.

“Vocal warm-ups,” he says, before dropping her onto their all-too-inviting bed.

Lothiriel laughs, bright and warm, and opens her arms up to him. “By all means, instruct away.”

Eomer does not need to be asked twice.

41) “Damn auto-correct….” (Modern AU)

Not for the first time, Lothiriel curses her brothers, vodka, and Friday nights all together.

“I think my head is going to split open,” comes Pippin’s voice, from somewhere in the vicinity of her couch.

“Mine’s already cracked,” says Merry, who Lothiriel can just make out sprawled across the sleeping bag left over from her one attempt at camping. “Remind me to never challenge Legolas to a drinking contest again.”

Lothiriel manages a snort, despite the pack of wargs currently pounding behind her temples. “Gimli could have told you that, Merry.”

There’s a knock at the door and they all groan. Eowyn’s amused face appears, with Faramir not far behind. “Good morning, you three.”

“The light, the light!” Cries Pippin dramatically. “Turn it off!”

“That ‘light’ is the sun,” Faramir says. “It lacks a switch, I’m afraid.”

Eowyn comes to sit beside Lothiriel and gives her hair a stroke. “On a scale of 1-10?”

“Oh, a 15 easy,” Lothiriel says. “Thanks for coming to pick us up.”

A sudden stillness falls over the room.

Something like panic creeps up Lothiriel spine. The headache suddenly seems minor, unimportant. “What?”

Wordlessly, her phone appears in view, presented by a clearly-struggling-with-laughter Faramir.

“What,” Lothiriel repeats again, “did I do?”

She looks at her phone, feeling on the verge of vomiting–and not from the hangover.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, no.”

In her phone, Eowyn’s name (which is accompanied by a horse, heart, and sword emoji) is directly next to Eomer’s name (which is accompanied by the much less flattering grouchy-faced emoji).

“Damn auto-correct!” She cries and then winces, as her head throbs in response.

“It might have been better that you did call Eomer instead, Lothiriel,” Pippin offers tentatively. “After all, I don’t think Eowyn could have carried you out of the bar after that last shot.”

Lothiriel groans, burying her face in the pillow. “Oh, Valar.”

“And I don’t think you would have been waxing poetic about Eowyn’s biceps, either,” Merry says. “No offense, of course, ‘Wyn, but I think your brother has you beat.”

“None taken.”

“Kill me,” Lothiriel whines, grasping Faramir’s hand in desperation. “Please, if you love me at all, you’ll take this pillow and smother me with it.”

“I’m afraid he can’t,” Eowyn says, sounding horribly, awfully cheerful. “Because you have a date in approximately twenty minutes.”

Lothiriel shoots up, nearly knocking her forehead against Faramir’s. “I have a what.”

“With Eomer. At the coffeeshop on the corner. In twenty minutes,” Eowyn says. Her eyes narrow in a way that Lothiriel has long since learned tends to indicate a hidden death threat. “And since he was kind enough to bring you and these two drunken hooligans–”

“Hey!” Protests Pippin. “I prefer the term ‘wastrel’, thank you!”

“–home last night, I suggest you go. And explain yourself.”

She’s out of the door in under 15 minutes, the hangover still pounding dully behind her temples, but it’s less nauseating than the guilt and panic swirling under her breastbone. Of all the people to call–Eomer! Damn autocorrect! She must have been much, much drunker than she thought–she’d done so well up until now, to not let him (or anyone else, especially Eowyn) know she very much would not mind being pushed up against a door–or a table, or any available flat surface, really–and be kissed senseless by him.

Every nerve in her body is on-edge when she opens the door to the coffee shop. His arched eyebrow is as familiar–and attractive–as ever and she makes one last attempt to smooth down her likely horrible looking hair before settling into the seat across from him.

“So,” she says, “I’m…sorry?”

“For which part?” He asks. “Calling me at 2 in the morning? Singing with your head out the window of my car? Calling me a ‘grade A Rohirric beefcake’ in front of my sister and her fiance?”

Oh, Elbereth. “All of it?”

Eomer snorts. He fixes her with a look then, and this one’s. Oh. It’s…different, somehow, with a hint of vulnerability in his dark eyes. “What about the part where you tried to kiss me?”

Lothiriel’s stomach drops to somewhere near to the depths of Moria. Or lower, maybe. “I. Um. Yes?”

That vulnerability shutters away, and Valar, she knows this look–irritation, anger, and yes, a little bit of hurt, too. She’s said entirely the wrong thing.

“Of course,” he says, bitterness in every tone, “of course you regret that–”

“Eomer,” she interrupts, drawing courage from Elbereth knows where to reach across the table and take one of his hands–warm and calloused and attractive, something must truly be wrong with her, to be so entranced by his hands–”I only regret that I was falling-down drunk when I. When I tried to kiss you. That’s not something I think would have been pleasant for either of us.”

His hand is stock still in hers for a moment and she cringes, tries to pull hers back–maybe she can tell him that she’s still drunk, or that this has been some kind of weird fever-dream–but then his fingers are laced through hers and he’s. Oh. He’s smiling. A real, honest-to-goodness Eomer Eomundson smile, complete with crinkled eyes and that one dimple she’s-never-noticed-not-once.

“Another time, then,” he says, voice pitched low, and Valar, if she doesn’t want to launch herself across the table to test the truth of his words. But this is a public place, and her head still hurts, and part of her isn’t entirely sure she hasn’t dreamt the entirety of the last hour up.

“Maybe breakfast first?” She asks.

Eomer nods, his hand still warm around hers.

“What do you like here?” She asks, suddenly curious.

The spark of mischief in his eyes is utterly, utterly terrifying. “I don’t know. I hear they have great grade A Rohirric–”

She flings her napkin at him and he laughs.

[bl-giftexchange]

A Haunted Holiday

To: @nerdsfordayz From: @nessiefromspace

Hi! I hope you like my fic! It was fun writing it! ^__^

Timothy had bought the house on the cheap. Not like a really good price that was a big steal impressing others. It was the kind of cheap where the seller was beyond desperate with a foreclosure. In fact, Tim had offered a lower price, his maximum he could spend and they'd taken it without hesitation. It was their quick response that had Tim curious. The large, colonial style house was the only available place in the small town where Tim had been able to find residence. Which had Tim thinking it would have been more costly, but the six bedroom, three and a half bath was his property faster than a pin dropping.

It hadn’t taken Tim a week to figure it out. The place was haunted, and not just with one ghost. No, so far, Tim had counted nine ghosts and a goo, sludge monster that always clogged the pipes. That was why he’d gotten such a desperate deal. His home had been haunted for over a hundred years and had reached a stagnation when the previous owner had mysteriously died. It had been startling at first and Tim would admit a bit concerning, now he knew what to look for.

He developed habits in the first months that kept him alive from the untrusting creatures. He knew to start a bath in two bathrooms, then see which got clogged with black goo and use the other bath. He’d made the habit of jiggling the stair railing to gauge how loose it was. Then, depending, he would use the other set of stairs to avoid mysteriously falling or continue if it was safe. He also found the only unhaunted room and had camped there, even if it was the most rundown. As he set his bags in his room, he informed the house that he valued their privacy and hoped they valued his. They had responded by opening and closing the bedroom door when he was sleeping or changing. Tim would take a deep breath and then smile and ask if they were doing these things because they were lonely or scared and wanted company. They would stop immediately and leave him alone for the rest of the time. Those moments of talking to them had inspired Tim to begin talking with them regularly. They were after all, real beings in his home and ignoring them would be rude.

As Tim learned their habits more and more, they got that much more irritated with him, forcing him to drop his things, or send food flying. His only response would be disappointment, telling them they should have better manners, they weren’t cavemen. It was tough, but Tim pressed on, refusing to give up. He hardly jumped at all when they tried to scare him, a feat he was proud of. And he’d grown resistant to the small sparks of electricity they were always giving him. A lot of days, he worked in the small coffee shop in town and he would keep his work in his car and park the car outside to keep his most important things safe. He’d discovered quickly, that they could not leave the house, which was a bit of solace to Tim.

It wasn’t until he was moving boxes to the attic three months into living here that he saw an entity for the first time. It was a female ghost who had popped out, trying to scare him. She wore a flapper dress and kitten heels. Her short, blonde hair razored to her neck with a gorgeous band of gems dangling around her head and down her forehead, matching the bracelet she wore over her gloves. Tim had jumped a little, startled, but he smiled at her and introduced himself.

She’d frowned. “You’re not scared? That’s new.”

Tim had shrugged. “Why should I be scared of my roommates?”

“Because we’re monsters,” she said plainly.

Stopping from his work, Tim looked her up and down and then shrugged. “Don’t look like a monster to me.” He smiled. “Are you always up here? It’s freezing! Do ghosts get cold? I’ve been wondering if I should get the heat to come up here, or if it gets warm enough with the residual heat from the house?”

The woman looked startled. “You… You’ve… been thinking about me? I’m a ghost. Ya know, haunt you and make you fall down the stairs to your death?”

Tim looked at the doorway to the stairs. “It that what happened to the last owner?”

“He was a pig.”

“Huh,” Tim said. He looked at her again. “Anyway? Are you warm enough up here?” Tim felt the prickling on the back of his neck of a second ghost sneaking up behind him, but he smiled at her anyway.

“Don’t,” she said, her eyes looking next to him. The goosebumps resided. She looked at Tim fully then. “I can get cold, but the residual heat is enough.”

Tim thought for a moment and then smiled at her. “I think I’ll get some heat pipes put in. Good enough may be good enough, but not for me. My name’s Tim, by the way, or Timothy, but I usually go by Tim.”

The woman eyed him wearily. “Nice to meet you.”

He did not learn her name that day, but when he announced when the construction was going to begin, he asked them to be polite and not chase them out, or else the attic wouldn’t be warm in the fast approaching winter. To his great delight, and the surprise of the only company brave enough to work on his house, the heating system was easily and quickly installed. It would also double as the cooling system in the summertime. Tim frowned as the men quickly left without walking him through their work. He went up to the attic and inspected it.

“What?” the woman asked.

“I don’t know… It just… Their work was really fast, like really, really fast…” he looked at her hopefully. “Do you think you or another one of our roommates could take a look at it? I want to make sure the job was done correctly.”

The woman looked at Tim for a long time. “I cannot leave this attic, but I can ask someone to help… I… I must admit I didn’t believe you at first, and for that, I apologize.”

Timothy smiled. “I get it, I’m a stranger.”

“Yes…” She smiled then. “I’m Jane, or Janey. Thank you.”

“Hello, Janey! And you’re welcome! I just hope that they did their jobs correctly.”

They hadn’t. Timothy had words with that company, calling them lazy and cowards, demanding to get different workers who were competent and not about to put his life in danger. “What if a fire started because of their faulty work?” He listened to more apologetic words. “Look, just come and fix it, but don’t expect to get paid more than half of your normal price. Your workers were undisturbed the whole time they worked, so I don’t understand what their problem was, except that they must have been trying to do me harm.” That had really lit a fire under the owner and it had been fixed and set up properly by himself.

That had somehow earned the trust of the whole house and they allowed Tim to them fully and all the time now. They stopped messing with him and Tim could eat properly in his home now, or touch a light switch without getting shocked. He learned their names and now they walked around freely and talked with him.

So, when Hubert was crying one day, Tim immediately went to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just whining and pitying myself,” he sighed glumily.

Tim smiled and put his laundry down. “I do really want to know, Hubert.”

“It’s just… I’ve always dreamed of being one of those mischievous ghosts, but you’ve never noticed me.”

“I- what?” Tim asked, his eyes large, he had no idea what Hubert was talking about.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, stalking through the wall in the hallway.

Another ghost, Olivia stood next to Tim, an amused smirk on her face. “He rearranges your eggs.”

Tim started. “What? But how am I supposed to notice that?”

She shrugged. “He also ruffles your pillows, makes your towels crooked, moves your clothes around in your drawer, and moves the furniture an inch to the side.”

“Huh, I thought that was just because I hadn’t gotten the pads for wood floors… Hmm…”

After that, Tim took precautions, numbering his eggs and paying close attention to how his things were placed, so as he went through his day, he noticed what Hubert shifted and could feign annoyance and make a show of putting couches back. Hubert smiled a lot more, though Tim caught the slight blush in his cheeks when he inconvenienced Tim.

The last ghost wasn’t discovered until he explored the guest house and the door shot immediately behind him. Tim stopped and smiled. “Oh! Hello! My name is Timothy, or Tim to my friends and roommates. I’m the new owner of the house, but just because I own the place doesn’t mean this isn’t your home either! In fact, if I had known, I would have introduced myself sooner, but the main house ghost never said anything. So, there’s eleven of you in total…” He giggled. “Oh! Here I am just rambling! Anyway, if there’s anything I could do for you, just let me know. I can clean up in here and install heating for the winter, I installed the heat in the attic for-”

A harsh chill ran through him, shoving him against the door. The ghost appeared before him, pinning him with her arm against his neck. Her dark hair was slicked back, her features masculine and deadly.

She leaned in close to him. “You have met Janey?” she demanded.

Tim nodded. His throat was icey and he could feel the pressure that restricted his airflow, but there was nothing touching him. This was the first time Tim had ever experienced something like this.

“And she introduced herself, which means she trusts you.” With that, the woman stepped back. Tim got a full look at her now, in a pinstripe suit and polished men’s shoes. “I don’t know how you gained her trust, but you need to know something. The rules of this place.”

“Oh… Okay-”

“Stop talking. The first thing to know is that a sorcerer once owned this house in eighteen sixteen. He collected every soul in this house for his evil deeds. The second thing to know is he got an apprentice in the nineteen-twenties named Jane and he fell in lust with her, but when she refused his advances, he grew insanely mad and jealous. He tricked her and her lover to come here where he killed them and set a curse over them. If anyone says her lover’s name in the main house, it will unleash a horrible monster the sorcerer created himself. It will devour all the ghosts and humans who enter the house and then consume everything in this world. Never ever say the name, Athena, in that main house. Ever.”

Tim thought for a long moment, processing everything. “I take it you’re Athena, then? Why can we say the name here?”

Athena grunted. “You’re smart. I was told, when the bastard trapped me in here, that Janey thought I was gone, my spirit moved on, so precautions weren’t necessary. And he just really wanted me to suffer.”

“That’s horrible! That’s… That’s…” Timothy could not think of the words. “Wait, what stops Janey from saying your name?”

Athena clenched her teeth. “I’m… I’m also told that…” Athena looked out the window facing the house, her eyes training to the attic. “She doesn’t remember me. She would remember if someone said my name, but…”

A sniffle escaped Timothy. Athena whizzed around to look at him, Tim wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, that’s just… So, incredibly sad! What a horribly cruel man!”

Eyeing him wearily, she glanced back at the house. “Yes, he was.”

“Did he die here?”

Athena shrugged. “All I know is I felt the day he died and while it gave me tremendous joy, it did not break our curse. If I could leave this place, seek out this demon and kill it, I would, but ghosts cannot go outside. We are trapped in the homes we died in.”

Tim had vowed that night to find a way to help them. He didn’t know how, but he would. He returned to the house, miming to the others that he knew. They were relieved, but worried. He promised never to say the name until he knew how to rid the evil. That seemed to agitate them, but as the months passed and nothing happened, they calmed.

Tim had also made it a priority to always keep the shades pulled open in the attic. That way Athena could catch glimpses. He didn’t know how helpful it was, but visits let him know it had made her more open and helpful to him.

.::::.

He sighed as he pushed his cart through the department store, searching for wrapping paper. Christmas was two days away and he was running out of time to get all his roommate’s presents ready. Once he’d found the perfect wrapping paper, he found each of them a card.

As he read one for Athena, hands wrapped around his eyes and a large, warm man leaned into him. “Guess who?” he whispered.

Smirking, Tim gasped. “Shh! We can’t let anyone know I’m having an affair!”

Deep laughter rolled over him. Tim turned as the hands left his eyes and he smiled at Wilhelm, a man he’d started dating within the last month. They weren’t officially a couple yet, and that was okay with Tim. He wasn’t sure how to explain Tim’s situation with his home, not to mention why Rhys would never want to have sex in his home. The idea of a stray ghost or two that might interrupt them during sex, was too much for Tim.

He smirked and pulled Tim into a kiss. “I see you’re buying cards for your family to go with their presents you sent to my house instead of yours, where they won’t be staying.”

Tim smiled sheepishly. “I’m just a little paranoid.”

“Mmm… Wanna get something to eat?”

“I should really wrap those presents…”

“Good, we’ll eat at my place. I’ll get the ingredients while you…” he waved his hand at the cards.

Timothy smiled wide as Wilhelm left. Sure the man was twice his age, Tim was not ashamed. Tim was lucky to have someone as cool and badass and buff as well as caring and adventurous in his life. Timothy felt himself heat at those adventurous memories. Wil was good at pulling Timothy out of his comfort zone and it was exciting. Often though, Tim reminded himself they hadn’t actually become a couple yet. He could not get his hopes up or start planning a future. He had promised himself to enjoy the moment with Wilhelm and let it take him where it may. Except to Tim’s house.

He’d gotten the last card when Wil came back with food and beer, all complimenting each other. Wil loved to cook and always made something wonderful. Tim smiled and walked with him to the cashier. Tim loaded his car up with both their things. Wil only had his motorcycle, which would not hold his groceries. Tim was not sure how he had planned on getting his things home if Tim hadn’t been there, but Wil was always resourceful. They met at his place, a rented, single-wide, manufactured home. They parked and unloaded their things.

“Hey, Tim, wanna take a ride again?” Wil’s wolfish smile had Tim blushing. They had taken a ride into the woods up to a lookout point where Wil had bent Tim over his bike and the memory heated Tim. Wil pulled Tim close, holding him and kissing him. “Hmm? Under the stars, all alone with just the bike?” His hand slipped under Tim’s jeans to squeezed his bare ass.

Tim flushed, biting his lip as Wil’s hand reached further and further down, pressing into Tim and making him gasp. He leaned into Wil, hands fisting in his shirt, and muffling any sound he made. Wil teased him, pressing, but never further. He could feel Wil’s smirk as the man kissed Tim’s neck and rubbed a finger over him.

“W-Wil…” Tim breathed, they were in public, afterall.

“Yeah.” Wil lead Tim inside, not removing his hand from Tim’s ass.

As Wilhelm made dinner, Tim wrapped his presents happily. He’d turned on Christmas music and while, Wilhelm hadn’t reacted to it, Tim had caught him dancing. He swayed his hips, quietly singing. It filled Tim’s heart and he watched for a while, smiling wide. When the presents were all wrapped, he moved on to the cards, to write an individual message into each. He worked hard to get them perfect and they were going to stay perfect until they were opened.

Wilhelm visited him while he waited for the next step in the meal. He kissed Tim’s neck, looking over his things. “So, are you going to send these to your family?”

Tim thought for a moment. “Maybe.”

That gained a growl from Wil. “Still so mysterious.” He pulled Tim’s chin, tilting his head back. “How can you be so adorable and sexy and mysterious and cute at the same time?” He kissed Tim.

He giggled. “I doubt I’m really all that mysterious or sexy. I’m just me.”

The man stared at Tim for a long time. “I like just you,” he finally said.

A warm smile crept over Tim’s face. “Yeah? Awkward dork and all?”

“Mhmm, and all these wonderful freckles.” Wil pulled Tim’s shirt up as he said this. He smoothed over Tim’s fire red hair and biting Tim’s neck. He winced when Wil bit just a little too hard. A timer went off and Wil sighed, leaving Tim to tend to their food.

Tim, rosey all over now, tried to focus back on his letter to Athena. Through an aroused fog, he managed to write something sincere and stuck it in an envelope. He was all finished. He cleaned up and set the table and the two ate.

“So, how far along’s the house renovations?”

Tim smiled. “It’s good! The contractor's stopped being wusses and they’re almost done! Just a couple more touch ups and it’s a normal house.”

“Good. At least you let them into your house.”

Timothy flushed at his pointed look. “Look… It’s just… I’m embarrassed, it’s a mess…”

“So, it’s not that it’s haunted anymore?” Wil looked at him knowingly. It made Tim even more sheepish. Wil smirked and leaned forward. “I know how you can make it up to me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

Tim rolled his eyes and crawled under the table.

Wilhelm leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “I meant do the dishes, but this is good too.”

Tim swore, flustered. He wanted to stay under the table for the rest of time. Wil stuck his hand under and motioned for Tim to go to him. Face hot as the sun, Tim complied, snaking up between Wil’s legs and avoiding his gaze. He sat on his knees, his hands resting on Wil’s muscular thighs.

Wil tipped his chin up and kissed his lips. “You’re too damn cute.”

Sighing heavily, Tim let his head fall against Wil’s stomach. His head bounced when Wil began to laugh. “Why do I have to be so embarrassing?” he groaned.

“Not embarrassing, cute. Hmmm, this is a great view.” Wil pulled Tim’s jeans up, peaking in.

Timothy giggled.

.::::.

When Tim had finished the dishes, his cheeks freshly flushed in an afterglow, he dried his hands and set about packing his things into his car. He found to his surprise that Wilhelm had already done it.

Timothy wrapped his arms around Wil and kissed him. “You’re so good to me.”

“Eh, I could do better.”

He kissed Wil. “You are better already.”

The man smiled and then went to Tim’s passenger side and climbed in. Tim froze. He went over to the driver’s door and opened it, leaning down to look at him. “Uh… What are you doing?” He tightly spread his lips into what he hoped was a casual smile.

When Wil’s eyes landed on them, he guessed not. “I’m going with you, you’re gonna need help bringing in all these presents and stuff.”

“Uh…”

Wil smiled at him and patted the driver’s seat. “C’mon, it’s cold out here.”

Tim mechanically slid in and started the car. He knew the moment he parked in his garage, Wilhelm would want to go inside. He was nervous, he didn’t want Wil to get hurt and he couldn’t have Wil trying something and being watched.

But there they were, parked in Tim’s garage, the door closing and the car turned off. “We’re… Here…” Tim said nervously.

“Yep!” Wil got out and Tim sighed heavily, opening the trunk door. As he got out, Wil scooped up the large presents and other groceries, including a large duffel bag.

Tim blinked as he loaded the last bit in his arms. “You brought an overnight bag?”

Wil shrugged. “Thought I should be prepared.” He winked.

Tim flushed and glared at Wil’s back as he lead the way into Tim’s house. “You sure you haven’t been here before?” Tim asked bitterly.

As they entered the house in the entryway, the door slammed hard. Tim jumped, bumping into Wilhelm and making him drop all the items in his arms. Tim had kept a firm hold on his, but Wil had packed everything in, making it easy to spill over.

Out of nowhere, Norman, the self appointed head of the house appeared and dashed at them. “GET. OUT!” He knocked the boxes out of Tim’s arms.

“HEY!” Tim yelled. “STOP KNOCKING OVER MY PRESENTS!”

Norman’s ghostly voice echoed around them, thick and cold and deadly. “Get. Him. Out.”

Tim put his hand on his hips, glaring at the hovering ghost. “Well, yeah, I was trying, but you’re slamming doors that are preventing him from leaving! Not only is that confusing, but also now he knows about you and us!”

Norman, quite corporeal now, turned pale.

“Yeah!” Tim scolded. “And not to mention you tipped over my presents for you and the others!” Tim’s face was red and he didn’t care if Wil overheard anymore. “I carefully looked, and bought them! And then I had to find for the perfect wrapping paper, and wrap them and decorate them and find each of you the perfect cards, and then you just knock them over!” He wiped the angry tears from his eyes. “I had them shipped to a different house so they’d be a surprise for you! This took me since October, Norman! And you just…” Tim sighed and wiped his eyes again. He bent down and picked up the presents, all anger or passion sucked out of him.

Norman looked ashamed, but he stared at Wilhelm wearily. Wilhelm stared at Tim, dumbfounded. He picked everything up and followed Tim into the dining room. “You can see them?”

Tim shrugged. He set the bent and busted presents on the table and sniffled. Wilhelm set the others next to them. Tim looked them over, distraught.

“Tim, we need to talk…”

“Mmm,” he said, surveying the damage. He frowned and looked at Wil. “What do you mean, ‘can I see them?’” He pointed at Norman. “You can see Norm?”

“Norm? The ghost?” Wil looked from the ghost back to Tim, his face stoic. “Yeah, I can see all matter of supernatural things.”

“Ah.” But Tim was once again looking over the presents. Boxes had been smashed, wrapping torn and ribbon tangled and wrinkled. Thankfully, nothing looked broken, but now he’d have to start all over and he couldn’t trust them to take care not to look or knock them over.

Suddenly, Wilhelm was guiding him away from the presents. “Timothy,” he said gently, anchoring each hand on Tim’s shoulders. “I’m sorry about your presents. I’ll help you rewrap them.”

Tim nodded.

“I can see ghosts. They didn’t show themselves to me.”

Tim frowned. “You can?”

“Yes,” Wilhelm sighed. He straightened and looked awkward for the first time since Tim had known him. “Look… I’ve been here before… In this house. When it was foreclosed and I’ve met all these ghosts before. I was actually trying to-”

“Get rid of us!” Norman burst out.

Timothy glared at him. He ducked his head and backed up a little.

“Yeah… It’s… It’s my job,” Wilhelm said.

“What?” Tim looked at Wilhelm, taking a step back. “You’re job… But what about-”

“I do own the shop, but that just pays the bills. My real job is to hunt supernatural beings and destroy them or send them off to the other side where they belong. That’s what I was trying to do here, not destroy them, but help them move on, but no matter which ghost I picked, none of them could go. So, I left to research it…”

Timothy frowned. “I know why you can’t.”

“What? How?” Wilhelm looked impressed.

Grunting, Tim crossed his arms. “I asked them. Jeez, it’s not like it was hard.”

Wilhelm looked at Tim like he was insane. “You… Wait, you asked them? But they’ve killed a man! They haunt and attack everyone in this house. Are you saying they never attacked you?”

“We tried,” Norman said. He wandered over to the presents.

“Don’t touch them,” Tim warned.

His fingers curled away. “We haunted him and kept him from sleep and rotted his food and flooded the place… We even loosened the railing, but all that did was tell him there were multiple ghosts and he just started talking to all of us…” He wandered over to them. “He wasn’t afraid of us and he was careful to learn our tricks and he… He learned about us and tried to accommodate us, like this was our home… Like we were deserving…” Norman straightened, pulling his hands behind his back. “Tim, I apologize for my ghastly behavior and I will make sure no one sees their gifts. I will make it up to you.”

Timothy smiled softly. “Thank you, Norman.”

“You weren’t afraid of them?” Wilhelm asked.

“They’re just ghosts, and one goo… sludge… thing,” Tim said, frowning. “They’re not monsters.”

Wilhelm stared at Tim for a long time. He was avoiding Wil’s gaze.

“Now, since you’re an expert at these things, we could use your help. Do you know what the beast is that’s keeping everyone here?” Tim’s voice was all business, cold and removed.

“Tim…” Wilhelm reached for him.

Tim stepped back, dodging Wil’s reached. “Don’t!” He took a deep, calming breath, his cheeks redding and eyes misting. “You lied to me, just… Don’t.” Tim wiped his tears and took a deep breath, looking Wil in the eyes. “Just help me with my family.”

Norman looked startled.

Wilhelm sighed. “Okay.”

“Good. Do you know about the beast here?”

Nodding, Wilhelm went to his bag, which was full of instruments Tim could only assume was for his true job and not an overnight bag. More lies. Wil pulled out a large roll of blueprints and a notebook. “From what I’ve read about situations like this, it’s a curse. And the only way to break it is to bring the two cursed objects together. They have to touch.”

“That’s impossible! There’s no way to get it into the main house.”

Wilhelm smirked. “So, there’s an extra ghost in-”

“Stop!” Tim hissed. “There’s only one rule in this house. We don’t talk about that, otherwise the beast will be released.”

“That’s a good rule.”

Tim nodded. “And what we need is in the guest house, across the yard. There’s no way.”

That gained a smirk from Wil. “There is a way. This house was built with an underground tunnel to there.”

Tim’s eyes widened and he stood next to Wil, looking over the blueprints. He followed the tunnel. “In theory… This could work,” he smiled at Wil.

Wil looked at him longingly, his eyes drifting to those lips.

Immediately, Tim pulled away and looked in Wil’s bag. “You think you have everything to do this with?”

“You want to do it now?”

Tim eyed him.

The older man growled. “I’m not trying to be antagonistic, Tim. I’m just making sure I understand that you plan to run in, unprepared, guns blazing.”

“If we can’t do it now, we might as well just give up. I promised to break this curse and I’m going to.”

Wilhelm sighed and then after a moment, smirked. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

Tim nodded and they looked through his bag for anything Timothy might need on hand and then Wil hefted the bag over his shoulder. They began to leave the kitchen when Tim noticed Norman standing by the table, unmoving.

“Wow, you really meant you’d guard them.”

“I will not be moved!” He saluted Tim.

Timothy smiled warmly. “Thank you, Norman.”

Leaving the main floor, Tim lead the way to the basement. The basement had items from the inhabitants over the years that had never been thrown away. Tim had glanced through everything, noting the oldest things were some furniture he had plans to bring back to life and an old, haunted looking trunk. The large, ornate lock was enough of a warning for him to never, ever touch the worn trunk. He went to where the map showed it, but all they found was a brick wall. Tim sighed. “Great.”

Wilhelm left and returned with a large sledge hammer. He struck the brick hard. Tim took a step back and found something to sit on. He waited, trying hard not to watch. He tried to ignore those muscles moving elegantly under those clothes, expanding and contacting. Tim had always loved Wil’s strength, but now, when he looked at Wil, all he felt was betrayed.

Though, Tim supposed, with the time to think about it, that Wil had been protecting himself. He hadn’t known Tim at all or that Tim could see the ghosts or that they were Tim’s friends. And they hadn’t been dating long. Weren’t even officially a couple, but how much of what Wil had ever said was truth or not?

An hour later, Wil, skin glistening from sweat had made a large enough hole to move through. Tim picked up the heavy bag and went through.

Wil followed, clicking on a flashlight. “I can take that, Tim.”

“You need to rest.” Tim continued ahead.

“I’m okay.”

“I over reacted,” Tim said. He didn’t look at Wil as they walked. “I felt betrayed, but it wasn’t like we were serious or we’d known each other that long. You’re job requires secrecy and you didn’t know me that well… Don’t know me that well. You probably didn’t know I had any connection to the ghosts.”

“I didn’t,” Wil stepped in front of Tim, making him stop. “I didn’t know you, and yeah, when we first started talking, I was just trying to feel out who you were, but then you were cute and sweet and I…” he ran his hands through his hair. “I started to really like you and then I started to worry if they were going to hurt you.”

He frowned, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “That’s why you bullied your way in tonight?”

Wilhelm nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-”

“You did though.” And this time, Tim looked at Wil. “The moment you realized I was safe to tell, you told me.” Tim stretched upward and kissed Wilhelm. “I over reacted, I’m sorry.”

Pulling Tim close, Wil kissed him fully. “You are too sweet.”

Nails slightly digging into Wil’s shoulders, Tim bit his lip. “I’m really only apologizing because watching you bust down that wall was stupidly hot.”

The large man chuckled. “I will remember that.” Wil let go of Tim and they continued on their way.

“So,” Tim said, sidling up to Wil’s side. “You hunt these creatures? How’d you get into that business?”

Lazily, Wil pulled on Tim’s hip, bringing him close. “I can see them without any spells or them showing themselves to me. Some order found me and trained me and then tried to use me for their own shit and I killed them.”

Tim would have stopped walking if Wil hadn’t been pulling on him. “W-woah… I’m… I’m sorry… That’s horrible.”

Wilhelm shrugged. “It was over thirty years ago.”

“That’s still a horrible thing to do.”

Again, Wil shrugged. When they reached the end of the tunnel, they found a floor hatch. Wil handed the light to Tim and pushed up on it. It was a solid door with a solid padlock dangling in front of them.

“So, now that we’re not in the main house,” Wil said, grabbing his bag and looking through it. “What exactly has happened in this place?”

“A sorcerer got butt hurt that a woman didn’t find him attractive and cursed her and her lover, Athena. If he can’t have Janey, no one can.”

“Ah.” He took hold of a crowbar and shoved it into the padlock. It broke easily, the years having worn it down. Wilhelm lifted it, forcing through the large rug that restrained them. Wilhelm worked on pulling the rug to the side while Tim called out.

“It’s just me, Athena, well, and a friend, but he’s here to help!” As Wil threw the rug off, Tim poked his head out and smiled. He couldn’t see her, but he continued to talk. “He’s a…” he looked at Wil.

“Hunter.”

“Hunter… But he’s not here to harm you. We’re gonna break the curse!”

Now Athena appeared looking skeptical and weary of Wilhelm. Her arms were crossed. “That’s impossible, I can’t-”

“Leave the house, yeah, but!” Tim pointed at the tunnel. “This tunnel is part of the house! It was here before you died, so you can use it!”

“And what will you do once I enter the house?”

Tim looked at Wil for a moment, seeing if he had any ideas. When he offered none, Tim shrugged. “Run?”

Athena’s brow crooked upward. “Run?”

“Yeah, Wil and I will distract the beast and you high-tail it to the attic. There’s a heating system you can use to get up there if you can’t go through the door.”

She frowned. “Tim, that’s… crazy. You don’t have a plan.”

“Do you wanna see her or not?”

“Of course I do!” Athena snapped. “I’ve been stuck here for eighty-eight years, longing for her, but what if we fail?”

“Not an option!” Timothy said, enthusiasm bursting like a fountain.

“That’s no answer.”

“Okay,” Tim sighed. “So, we just made this half-cocked plan, but even if we’ve prepared for years and years, it’s still risky. We could have a fool-proof plan and then it all go to shit for some reason or another. We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. He’s counting on your fear, Athena.”

That seemed to light a fire under her, her eyes dark and deadly. “I am not afraid of him. We will defeat him.” She jumped down the tunnel and stood there waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, she smiled wide. “Let us go!”

Tim mirrored her smile and he and Wil followed. They made their way back, their conversation slacking the closer they got. Tension welled up as they got within feet of the exit and saw multiple ghosts crowding around, staring at them. All talking at once.

“Norman told us what you were doing when we tried to look at the presents.”

“You got one for all of us, why?”

“Who cares about that now? What about his plan?”

“This is crazy!”

“Absolutely insane!”

“How can we help?”

Tim smiled. “She needs to get to the target no matter what.”

“Go with her,” Wilhelm said. “If it gets passed me, you’ll need to stop it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Tim nodded. “Alright, you ready?” he asked Athena stepping through the hole. The other ghosts disappeared into the house, leaving the three of them alone.

Rolling her shoulders back, Athena stepped through the wall and instantly convulsed onto the ground, writhing in pain. She screamed, the sound piercing through Tim’s ears. From the back, the large chest began to shake.

“I knew it!” he whispered, kneeling next to Athena to try and help her. “Athena… Can you become corporeal? I can drag you out of here.”

“It- It hurts!” she gasped.

Tim looked at Wil, not knowing what to do. Wilhelm immediately went into action, grabbing a large container of salt. He spread it around Tim and Athena, circling them. He began to draw lines, making a safe pathway to the stairs.

The chest shook violently, before its lid burst open and a large shadow spread all through the basement, blocking the lights. A dark, bloody night sky shone in that darkness. Tim stood, preparing for a fight, whatever it was.

“You really think you can reach her?” the harsh voice asked.

“It’s him,” Athena gasped. “He’s the monster!” She let out a strangled laugh. “Of course, he’s the monster!”

Tim understood. This was the sorcerer that had caused so much damage and pain. He’d locked himself away in the chest, waiting to be the one to finally get rid of Athena. Tim glared.

The dark laughter brought goosebumps to Tim’s skin. “You think you’re so brave, human? You think you understand my power?”

“You coward!” Athena yelled. “You’ve been hiding here the whole time!”

The shadow laughed. “You have not tried to win your love back for eighty-eight years! Who is the true coward? Hmm?”

Gritting her teeth, she tried to sit up, but struggled. Timothy, anger rising, could not stop the words bubbling out of him. “You! You’re the coward! Instead of moving on like a man when you were rejected! You cried and whined and forced them into your sick and twisted curse! Athena’s lived with this curse, waiting for the right time to act and she did the moment she found one!”

“You,” it said, turning into the form of a man, smoky tendrils whisping together to form the body. He walked over to Tim. “You, who long so much for acceptance, have sunk to ghosts and a sewer monster for company! You are too pathetic for humans-”

Tim snickered, cutting the sorcerer off.

The monster stared. “What?”

“You’re just wrong, that’s all.” Tim laughed, shaking his head. “I have plenty of friends, including those in this house. They were not given the choice to be what they are. You forced them and then you made yourself into the monster! You were so afraid that Janey might be happy, you guarded Athena. Instead of moving on you trapped yourself here like everyone else.” He rested his hand on his hips, cocking them to the side. “I bet that’s why you became a sorcerer, huh?”

Growing large, the monster loomed over Tim, screaming. “You know nothing of me!”

“Except that I’m right!” Tim smirked, pointing at the sorcerer. “Ha, I get it now! You were running away! You became a sorcerer to what? Prove yourself to a love who then rejected you again once you showed them your powers?” The shadow loomed, but not as exaggerated. Tim poked further. “No, not a love? Then, a parent?”

“Shut up!” it screamed, pushing against the barrier the salt created.

“Ah!” Tim tapped his finger to his chin. “Given all the evidence of your hatred to women, I’d have to say it was-”

Again, the monster rammed the barrier. It budged some, but not nearly enough. He screamed at Tim. “I did not become all powerful to be talked down to by some human!”

“Your mother?” The sorcerer raged. Tim ducked as he was pushed, the force of the monster’s anger finally breaching the barrier and knocking him through the air. Tim hit the brick wall, falling over the pile Wil had created from earlier.

“Tim!” Wilhelm yelled, running over. He stood in front of him, between him and the sorcerer. “You did good, now go!”

Nodding, Tim pulled himself from the pile, his body refusing to work with him. He ignored the furious screams from the beast and kept walking, hugging himself. He ran to the stairs, not daring to look back. If he looked back, he’d want to stop and help Wilhelm. So, he limped up the stairs, wondering if there’d always been so many. His body panged harshly, but he fought through it.

When he reached the top, he toppled onto the floor, pulling himself up the rest of the way. Athena, who was waiting, crouched down. “Tim, you’re hurt!”

Tim took a quick moment to wave her comment away before forcing himself to stand. “I’m fine, let’s… Get going…”

“You’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, staring at her. She began to turn solid, her form grabbing and helping Timothy up. He pointed in the direction of the stairs. They hobbled together, hurrying as fast as Tim could.

As they reached the stairs, a large, taloned hand shot through the floor. “No, you don’t!” it yelled.

“C’mon! The other stairs!” Timothy ordered loudly, pulling Athena away. He lead her through the hall, clipping a table that stuck out just enough in the thigh. “DAMMIT HUBERT!” Tim snarled, pulling Athena further down the hall. When they were halfway, he pulled Athena to a stop and backtracked silently, motioning for her to not speak. They reached the main stairs again. Tim, now limping with both legs, hurried up, hearing the beast scream in frustration.

Tumbling past the landing and into the hall, they met no resistance. Not until they got to the attic, where they skidded to a halt. A man lay on the floor in front of the door to the attic. His body was crumpled, bloody and tattered. They could just make out the carpet through him. Slowly, he lifted himself up to his, glaring at the two of them. His face was ripped apart, light shining through gruesome holes. “H-how… How have you gotten so far so… quickly!? I’m a class A sorcerer! I will not be beat by you!” he snarled.

“You were great once.” Athena said. “But all those years have withered you away, making you weak and even more arrogant!”

“I am the best!” He yelled, rushed at them.

They braced for impact, but the sorcerer was thrown back. Voices rang around them. All the other ghosts were charging him, tackling and kicking and punching. Olivia screamed to Tim. “Go! We got him!”

Tim pulled Athena towards the door.

“NO!” the sorcerer threw himself at them. Tim pulled out a handful of salt from his pocket and threw it at the beast. He sizzled and screamed, reeling backwards, hands covering his face in pain. The two ran up the stairs, throwing themselves against the door and into the attic. Quickly Tim slammed it shut.

Janey turned from the window to look at them. “Tim, what on Earth!?”

Athena, chest heaving, stared, taking in Janey’s form. From the side vent, Tim saw a brown sludge with a deep green glow pool across the floor. He stepped out of its way as it nestled in front of the door.

The two women stared at each other, unmoving.

Timothy could hear the fight through the door and cleared his throat. “Uhm… We kinda need to hurry…”

“For what? What’s going on?” Janey asked.

That made Athena frown. “Janey, you don’t know what’s going on? Don’t you know who I am?”

“Uhm,” she looked between her and Tim. “A… friend of Tim’s?”

Athena stumbled backward. “N-no… That’s not…” She looked at Tim.

The door was thrown open, the sorcerer lunging forward and grasping Athena’s Ankle. His face was barely recognizable and oozed a dark liquid. Tim took hold of her and pulled her away, but the beast had a head start and Athena was dragged back, closer to the monster.

The sludge pooled around the sorcerer and the monster grimaced in pain and disgust. Tim tugged, pulling Athena away from his reach. He yelled. “I will not lose!”

“Yes you will!” Janey said, stepping forward and glaring at him. “After all these years, you are going to lose! You made me forget Athena, now, you’re going to die remembering us!”

The sorcerer struggled, pulling on the doorframe to escape the goo, but it held him down. He blasted it, disintegrating half of it, but more just oozed around him.

Janey went to Athena, smiling wide. “Heya, love!”

Athena shook her head. “But… But you said you didn’t know who I was?” The sorcerer shot more flame at the goo, only to get caught in it again. The goo was a large, but it was losing mass quickly.

Giggling, Janey blushed. “I was lying… I was… getting you back for wearing that stupid suit.”

“What?” Tim demanded. “Janey! Now isn’t the time! You two have to touch in order-”

“I know, but I needed to make a point. We don’t need to hide anymore and you’re not my Athena when you’re pretending to be someone else.”

Athena gaped. “You’re still on about that?” Janey eyed her, cocking a hip and crossing her arms. Rolling her eyes, Athena sighed. Her outfit began to change into a casual pair of men’s pants. She wore a woman’s blouse that fit her loosely, while her shoes remained the same. Her hair was no longer slicked back and fell loose around her face. “There.”

“There she is!” Janey smiled wide, her eyes twinkling.

The sorcerer burned more goo up, freeing himself some. He began to pull himself out, snarling at them.

Janey closed the space between her and Athena, wrapping her arms around her neck and kissing her. Athena’s hands rested on Janey’s waist, pulling her close.

The sorcerer screamed, convulsing and clawing at his face. Light began to crack through him, pulling him apart until he burst, shattering into small flakes that ignited the goo, dissolving it in the heat.

“No!” Tim yelled, lurching forward.

“Let it melt. We can’t let him reside in the sludge.”

Tim glared at Athena and hugged himself, letting the creature burn. He looked away as the last bits evaporated. He wiped a tear from his blurred eyes and saw a bit of sludge stuck to the vent. He scooped it up with his finger, smiling. “There’s still some here, do you think?”

Janey nodded. “That should be fine.”

Smiling, Tim found a small, empty container and plopped it in. It would be okay for the moment until Tim got it some water. He excused himself to check on the others. He was worried about Wilhelm. The two didn’t hear him, so entwined with their reunion.

Coming out of the stairway, Tim gasped. All seven ghosts were sprawled all over the hallway. Tim ran to the railing, gasping as some had been thrown over, one was even caught in the chandelier. They were limp and broken and even more see-through than normal. He covered his mouth. “You guys are hurt!”

“We’re ghosts, we just need to rest, we’ll be back to normal,” Olivia.

Biting his lip, Tim nodded, bouncing on his feet.

She smirked. “Go see your boy.”

Tim ran as fast as he could down the stairs, his body ached and yelled at him to take it easy, but he just couldn’t. He remembered to stop by the kitchen to pour a tablespoon amount of water in the container with the goo. He left it on the counter and made hs way to the basement, his body once more screeching at him.

“Wil?” he called, his voice cracking. He couldn’t see him immediately and his heart hit his throat. His vision blurred and he had to wipe them several times in order to see. “Wil!?”

There was a groan and Tim went for it. In the back of the basement, Wilhelm sat against a wall, covered in dust, bleeding and tangled in furniture pieces. Tim ran for him, stumbling when his leg buckled. He hit the ground hard.

“Tim!” Wilhelm scooted over to him, pulling him onto his lap. “Tim?” Wilhelm asked, looking him over.

Tim leaned on Wil’s shoulder, his head tucked under the man’s chin. “If I say I’m too hurt to move, can we just stay here?”

Wilhelm held him tight. “How hurt are you?”

“Probably not as hurt as you are.”

Chuckling, Wil moved to look at Tim, pulling his cheek down to look into his eye. “I ain’t that hurt, I’m used to getting thrown. You’re the one who hit the brick wall.”

Tim laughed, coughing. He winced.

“Yeah, okay, we’re getting up, you need a hospital.”

He refused to move. Now that his body had run out of adrenaline, it hurt like hell and it was too hard to think. But Wilhelm lifted him easily, cradling him in his arms. Tim was limp, but as they ascended the stairs, he couldn’t help the smile on his lips.

“What?”

“You’re just really strong.”

“Well, you don’t have a concussion.”

Tim laughed.

.:::::.

The doctors were horrified at Tim’s condition, not to mention Wil’s. He was definitely not as worse as Tim. The sorcerer hadn’t rammed him with fury like he had Tim. And the story about Tim only falling on the brick pile was barely received. They took Tim away and Wil paced the waiting room until they forced him to get looked at too. Then they left him alone for too long.

Finally, they came over to him. “Are you family?” they asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t know why he said it. Sure, he meant to lie, but for some reason, he didn’t feel like it was a lie, not with Timothy.

She eyed him and then shrugged. “You can see him now, he’s sleeping, but you can stay there as long as you like.”

Wil nodded and followed her. Tim lay in a bed, his eyes closed, sleeping. Wil pulled a chair up next to him and sat down, taking a his hand in his. He kissed it. “I’m so sorry, Tim. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t know I didn’t want you to get hurt until you were.”

Tim laughed, his lips widening. “You’re silly.”

Wil looked up.

Those wonderful lips smiled at him, Tim’s heavy lids fluttering open to look at Wil.

Wilhelm leaned in, smiling wide. “How are you feeling?”

“Great! They gave me…” Tim indicated the medication button. He giggled. “We did it, Wil! We saved the world!” Timothy giggled quietly. “I know I’m over exaggerating, but it’s fun!”

Wilhelm laughed. “I think I love you.”

Eyes widening, Tim’s smile was a little manic. “Wow! That’s just! I was thinking the same thing! I was thinking that, wow, you’re really strong and I need those muscles in my life, but of course, you’re great too, but man! Have you seen them? I just…” Timothy looked up at the ceiling. “I just love everything about you!” He giggled. “And you of course! I love everything about you and you! And I’m just sitting here, wondering how I can get you to stay in my life and my house, like, ya know, wake up with you everyday?”

Wilhelm laughed. “We can figure it out when you’re out and not drugged up.”

“Oh, hey! How’s everyone else?”

“I’ll stop by the house when you’re napping.”

“Okay, I left Goobriel on the counter next to the sink. Don’t feed him more than a tablepoon of water until we figure out what to really do with him, he loves water and I don’t need him in my pipes anymore.”

“Goobriel?” Wil asked, laughing.

“Yeah! I finally thought of a name for him! I was thinking Sludgington is way too obvious, and we can call Goobriel, Goob for short!”

Laughing heartily, Wilhelm nodded. “I like it. I’ll make sure to check up on him.”

.:::::.

Tim was brought home on Christmas day late in the morning. He sighed heavily as Wilhelm drove him home.

“What is it?” he asked, taking a hold of Tim’s hand.

“I never got to finish wrapping those presents…” Tim sighed heavily. “Oh well, I mean, the curse is broken, they’ve probably moved on…”

Wilhelm was silent. He didn’t say anything as they parked and he went around to Tim’s side and gently picked him up, holding him in his arms again.

“W-Wil,” Tim flushed. “I can walk myself.”

“Yeah,” Wil smirked. “But then you couldn’t adore my muscles. I know how much you love them.” He smiled wickedly.

Timothy blushed horribly, his hand resting on the man’s chest.

Wil kissed Tim’s head. “Let’s go.” He went into the house, dropping Tim’s bag in the hallway and going through the kitchen so Tim could see Goobriel. In his terrarium, Goobriel wiggled, happy and healthy. Wilhelm continued, walking him into the living room where Timothy gasped.

The Christmas tree sparkled with decorations and lights. Pristine and perfectly wrapped presents sat under the tree. All around the living room, ghosts stood, smiling at Tim.

“What!?” Tim’s eyes misted. “I thought… I thought you would all… move on… once the curse was broken!”

Janey smiled. “We can, but we all have unfinished business.”

“Yeah,” Norman  said. “We can’t just go to the afterlife without our Christmas presents!”

“Well, then you can never open them!” Tim laughed, eyes overflowing with tears.

Wilhelm sat him in a cushioned chair.

They smiled at him. Athena stepped forward. “We wanted to thank you, Timothy. You have always saw us as more than monsters and you kept your word and you set us free.” She pulled Janey to her. “You brought me back to my Janey and I can never thank you enough.”

Timothy smiled. “I’m just happy everyone’s safe now!”

“Thanks to you!”

Wilhelm stood behind Tim. He moved and collected all the presents and handed the first one to Tim. “Janey wrapped them.”

“Except for mine, of course, Norman wrapped that one.”

“It might be a little crooked.”

Timothy smiled. “I’m sure it’s going to be perfect!”

The ghost the present belonged to stepped forward and Tim handed it to them. It was an ornament. He’d gotten all of them an ornament, each corresponding with the year they’d died. The ghost looked at him, shocked.

“I wanted to replace the bad day with something good… With a nice memory…” Timothy sniffled. “They all remind me of you in some way…”

The ghost smiled and thanked Timothy. They turned and went to the tree, hanging it up. They turned around and smiled before fading into nothing. Timothy’s lips quivered. Hubert stepped forward then, blushing. “I…”

Tim smirked. “You finally got me, I have quite the bruise, you mischievous thing, you.” He handed an embarrassed, yet pleased Hubert his gift. It was a cat. “You’re sweet, but mischievous, just like a cat.”

Hubert flushed, his smile widening. “Thank you, Tim, for everything.” Hubert placed the cat on the side of the tre, smiling at if as he faded away.

One by one, Wil handed Tim a wrapped box and one by one, a ghost opened them, until only Janey, Athena’s, and Goobriel’s were left. Timothy, cheeks stained with tears, gave Athena’s to her.

She unwrapped it and held the police badge in her pale hand. She quirked a brow.

“You were a part of the police department before you died. You’re always protecting and fighting for those you love.”

She smiled. “This isn’t an ornament. This is an actual badge that you poked a hole in.”

Tim smiled. “It knew when to change in its environment.”

Athena smirked. “Yeah, okay.” She hung her ornament up and waited for Janey.

Janey unwrapped hers and gasped. It was an ornate glass star. She smiled, tears falling down her cheeks. She bent down and hugged Timothy. “I love it.”

“You always made my day brighter. I think you made everyone’s brighter.” Tim hugged her close. “Thank you for giving me a chance to be your friend.”

“Thank you for being my friend!” She kissed his cheek, leaving a cold impression. She hung her ornament and stood next to Athena, taking her hand in hers. “Thank you Timothy!” She blew him a kiss as the two disappeared.

The living room was silent. Tim stared all around before his hand covered his mouth and he began to cry. Wilhelm picked him up and set him in his lap and held Tim until they both fell asleep.

When Tim woke up, his eyes were dry and tired. He moaned and curled deeper into Wilhelm. Wil hugged him close. “How are you feeling?”

Tim was silent for a long while. “Empty…” he sniffled. “But I’ll be okay, we still have Goobriel.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t seen his present yet.”

Tim sat up, smiling a little. “He hasn’t, has he!”

“I’ll go collect him.”

Still sore, Tim bent over to pick up the present from the floor. When he sat back down, Wil was back with Goobriel in the small terrarium. It wiggled, vibrating excitedly at Tim. Tim showed him the present. “I got you this for Christmas!” He began to unwrap it and showed the round glass ornament with liquid and sparkles in it. Tim smiled wide. “See? It wiggles like you!” He moved it around, showing the moving liquid. Goobriel wiggled along with it.

Tim smiled wider, his heart warming. He stood and put the ornament on the tree with the other ten. He took a step back and looked at the glowing tree, brighter with the lowering sun. He felt his heart swell, remembering all the time he’d spent with his friends. They would always be there in his heart and in the wood and soul of this house. He would never forget them and he would always cherish them.

He went to Goobriel and stuck a finger in the tank and pet its head. “Merry Christmas, Goob!” It wrapped around Tim’s finger lovingly. Tim smiled at Wil. “Merry Christmas, Wil.”

“Merry Christmas, Tim.” Wilhelm leaved over to kiss him.

Tim looked at the tree and all the ornaments. “Merry Christmas everyone.”

[oldwarriors-fireandwater]

Chapter Seven

Firepaw’s first catch came after nearly half a moon of training. It was a frog, and though it was a small thing, Dawnwhisker had praised him and told him that he would be catching even more prey soon. She’d sent him back to camp to put it on the fresh-kill pile, saying that it was important to show the Clan he was capable of hunting.

Firepaw was back in camp now. He tossed the frog on the pile, and felt a little rush of pride. It was meager, and he knew it, but it felt good to finally contribute something.

Unfortunately, the first cat to notice was Silverpaw. The tom padded up to the fresh-kill pile, and stared down at the dead frog. “Did you finally catch something, Drypaw?” he sneered. “It’s almost enough for a kit to eat.”

Firepaw sighed tiredly. “Don’t you have the elders’ nests to change, Silverpaw?”

Silverpaw ignored the reply. “I bet you stepped on it on accident and didn’t even really catch it. Did you even thank StarClan for the lucky catch?”

Firepaw flattened his ears and growled. No, he hadn’t, but he couldn’t flat-out admit it to Silverpaw. He still didn’t know the first thing about customs or StarClan, and though Dawnwhisker had mentioned giving thanks to StarClan one time, it had slipped his mind.

Silverpaw reached out and hooked a plump fish off the pile with his claws. “You’ll never be a real warrior,” he hissed. “Remember that, kittypet.” He picked up the fish in his jaws and padded away, tail held high.

Firepaw bristled with fury. I hate Silverpaw! He thought, lashing his tail. I haven’t even done anything to him! He whipped around towards the reeds that bordered the camp and padded back through them. I’ll show him, he thought. I’ll go catch more prey and throw it right in his face!

Firepaw had wandered up the river for a while, still seething. He’d missed two birds, confused a snail for a mouse, and hadn’t caught a thing. I’m not going back until I catch something!

He continued up along the river until he found himself at the human bridge. Dawnwhisker had told him that, while ThunderClan territory was close to the other side, the land across it was neutral territory until you got to Fourtrees. So perhaps it would be alright to cross? He hadn’t seen the other side yet, and there could be prey over there.

Firepaw cautiously padded onto the stone surface. The bridge was flat, and made of small rocks - not smooth like a road was. Seeing as it wasn’t going to collapse under his weight, he hurried on along to the other side.

As Firepaw reached the other end, he heard furious yowls to his right. He jumped, and whipped around to face the source of the sound. Is ThunderClan invading? Or is this their territory now?

But it seemed the yowls weren’t for him. As he spotted the ThunderClan patrol, far down the length of the river, he realized they were chasing something, and they were all running right towards the bridge. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what they were pursuing.

There was a large, long-furred gray cat racing on ahead of the patrol. A cat? he thought. Why are they chasing a cat?

But they stopped as the treeline ended, as though that was where the border lay. The ThunderClan cats spat and hissed, before one tom called, “Don’t come back, you mange-pelt!”

The gray cat didn’t stop. They continued to run on, either unaware that the pursuers gave up, or simply wanting to put more distance between them. The cat continued to run, and they were getting ever-closer to Firepaw.

The ginger tom bristled as he realized that the cat had spotted him. The stranger narrowed their eyes and charged on.

“Stop!” Firepaw snarled. “This is RiverClan territory!”

“Hah!” The gray cat spat. “Just a puny apprentice. Get out of my way, flea!”

His eyes widened. She isn’t going to stop! Firepaw held his ground as the molly charged right for him and leaped. The apprentice dodged to the side, and she missed. The molly landed sloppily, and grunted as she regained her footing and turned to face him.

“Hmm, quick,” she muttered. “But you won’t stop me. I must get to RiverClan.”

“Well, you can’t!” Firepaw spat, still startled by the sudden attack. “Go away. Cross this bridge and you’ll be a trespasser.”

The molly stared at him before breaking out into rough laughter. “You’re brave, apprentice, but you’re stupid. You think you can beat me?” Her laughter cut off as she coughed loudly.

Firepaw got a good look at her as she continued coughing. The molly was large, with thick fur, but her pelt was messy, and it was covered in dirt and burrs. He could smell her unpleasant stench from where he stood, a fox-length away. She’s either sick or hasn’t groomed herself in a moon! he thought. Maybe both. She had a wide, flat face, unlike any cat he’d seen before.

She curled her lip, revealed a set of yellowed teeth. “Quit staring at me, scrap. Get out of my way. Don’t you know who I am?”

Firepaw growled. “I don’t care. You’re an intruder.”

The molly narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “You aren’t Clanborn, are you?” she asked, before smirking. “Can’t be a rogue, either, you’re too small for that. Could be RiverClan if it weren’t for that thin fur of yours. A kittypet, perhaps?”

How could she tell? Firepaw’s eyes widened. He had lost his kittypet scent in the time he’d been with RiverClan, and there was no way anyone would have happily admitted to outsiders that they’d accepted a kittypet into their ranks. “I’m a RiverClan apprentice!” he finally snapped.

The ragged molly laughed again. “Thought I’d seen it all,” she wheezed, shaking with mirth. “Then I see that RiverClan brought a kittypet into their Clan!” She shook her wide head. “Get out of my way,” she repeated. “Last chance before I beat you into mousedust.”

Firepaw wasn’t fooled. She can’t be very healthy, not with the way she landed and was having a coughing fit. She must be exhausted by being chased by ThunderClan, too. “Stay off our territory!”

The molly narrowed her eyes. She braced herself, as though to spring, but she wheezed once before she began coughing loudly again. “Oh, fox-dung,” she swore, before doubling over.

Firepaw saw his chance. He darted forward and swiped, striking her shoulder. The molly stumbled, but she retaliated quickly. She ducked down and sank her teeth into his leg. Firepaw screeched and dropped to the ground. Lashing out with a hind paw, he caught her right in the forehead and pummeled her until she released him. She crouched, eyes clenched shut, and Firepaw quickly stood again and prepared to strike.

He hesitated. The molly hadn’t moved again. She groaned quietly before she flopped over onto side. “Well?” she choked out, as he continued to stand there. “Finish me off, then. You’re a warrior apprentice dealing with an intruder, remember?”

Firepaw frowned. She might be an intruder, but she’s old and weak, he thought. I still don’t really know the Code… but aren’t we supposed to take care of injured cats? “No,” he finally said. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Ugh,” the she-cat moaned, her head dropping to the ground. “Why are apprentices always so useless? Can’t you see I’m wasting away? And if you won’t let me into RiverClan, you might as well do me away for good.”

Firepaw continued to study her silently. She’s got to be a Clan cat, with the way she’s talking, he thought. So why is she alone? “You’re tired and weak,” he pointed out. “It would be cruel to kill you. Besides, I’m pretty sure the Code is pretty against that sort of thing.” Not that I think I could actually… even do that.

“Bah,” the she-cat wheezed. “You don’t even know the Code.” She was silent for a few moments, before she lifted her head again. “Well. If you aren’t going to kill me, and you aren’t going to let me go to RiverClan, do something useful and get me something to eat.”

Firepaw flicked his tail. “You can’t order me around,” he retorted. But she must be starving… I guess I could try. Not that I know I’ll actually catch something. “But fine. I will. Stay here.”

The ragged molly shifted slightly so she could lay her wide head on her paws. “And if you're going to feed me, bring me something good, eh? No rotting toads or meatless lizards.”

Lizards? Firepaw thought. Nobody here even eats lizards. He shook his head and turned around to cross the bridge again. I came out here to hunt prey anyway, so…

It took him awhile, but he did manage to catch an old magpie. It was a sloppy catch, but he’d done it. Firepaw returned to the molly with the bird in tow. She was still right where he’d left her, at the edge of the bridge. She lifted her head, and though her expression betrayed nothing, her dull eyes seemed to brighten at the prospect of prey.

Firepaw dropped it in front of her nose. “Eat,” he said.

The molly sniffed it and huffed. “It's old,” she complained. “It'll be all stringy.”

“It's still fresh-kill, you ungrateful old mange-pelt,” Firepaw snapped. Twice today he’d had cats mock the only two catches he’d ever made, and the old she-cat bossing him around and complaining was all the more irritating.

The molly just let out a throaty laugh. “I’d rip out your whiskers if I wasn't so tired.” She sniffed the magpie again before she began to pluck out the feathers to get to the flesh. Firepaw sat down, tail twitching. Well… now what do I do? I can't just leave her here, but—

“Firepaw!” came a furious yowl. “Are you eating your catch?”

Firepaw froze. He recognized the voice as Leopardfur’s before he looked over his shoulder to see the deputy leading a patrol right over the bridge towards them. Behind her was Weaselfoot, Beetleclaw, and Silverpaw—three of the cats who had no love for Firepaw. He grimaced. This isn't going to be good.

“He's not even eating it!” Beetleclaw spat. “He's feeding a rogue!”

The patrol caught up to him easily. The molly made as though to get up, but she winced, and stayed where she was. Beetleclaw and Weaselfoot stood near her, hissing. Leopardfur stared at the molly for a long moment. “That's not a rogue, you daft minnow-brain!” she growled. “That's the ShadowClan medicine cat. Mirestorm, you've fallen on hard times, it seems.”

“No one’s called me Mirestorm in seasons,” the molly wheezed. Her ears were flat, and it seemed she had the sense not to be as snappish as she had been with Firepaw. “Not since Brokenstar became leader, anyhow.”

Leopardfur twitched her ear. “Then what do we call you?”

“They all called me Yellowfang,” she muttered. “Feel free to call me that or not. Brokenstar sure seemed think it was hilarious.”

“Yellowfang, then,” Leopardfur said. “Why've you come? Unless you're here on business with Mudfur, you are a trespasser.” She eyed Firepaw, disappointment clear in her eyes. “Though it seems our apprentice believed you were a welcome guest.”

“That's not what I—” Firepaw tried to explain, but Leopardfur lashed her tail.

“Silence,” she ordered. “You can give your excuses to Crookedstar when we return.” Leopardfur returned her attention to Yellowfang. “I'm still waiting.”

Yellowfang flicked her tail. “I'm not part of ShadowClan anymore,” she meowed. “I come seeking sanctuary. I need protection from Brokenstar.”

Brokenstar? Firepaw thought. Is that the leader of ShadowClan?

“Why would we offer it to you?” Weaselfoot spat. “If you're not with ShadowClan, you're a rogue!”

“And you stink like human garbage,” Beetleclaw hissed. “You'll bring sickness to our kits.”

Leopardfur silenced the toms with a glare. “What would you offer us in return?” she asked.

Yellowfang shrugged. “I'm a medicine cat, isn't that enough?” she asked. “Even if I had nothing, I'm allowed safe passage and care wherever I go. But I have my skills as a healer. Surely RiverClan could always use another, unless Mudfur took on an apprentice at last.”

Leopardfur shook her head. “We’ll bring you to camp,” she said. “But I promise no protection. That'll be Crookedstar’s choice, especially considering you aren't really a Clan cat anymore.”

Yellowfang raised her head and curled her lip. “I will always be a Clan cat,” she spat. “Brokenstar and his lies can't stop that.”

“Either way,” Leopardfur said. “It isn't my choice. Get up. We’ll take you back to camp. Can you walk?”

“I can walk fine,” Yellowfang growled. She stood, a bit wobbly. “Let’s go.”

Leopardfur turned and began to pad back across the bridge. Yellowfang went behind her, with Weaselfoot and Beetleclaw flanking her. Silverpaw and Firepaw took up the rear.

Silverpaw cast a smirk at Firepaw. “I bet Crookedstar will exile you,” he meowed. “Or maybe he’ll just have you cleaning the elder’s ticks for the rest of your life.”

Firepaw flattened his ears. Would Crookedstar actually exile me for feeding her? “Oh, shut up, Silverpaw.”

Silverpaw didn't reply, but the mocking grin didn't fade at all during the walk home.

[satyr-syd]

When Bakugou comes back to Yuuei after All Might and the other heroes rescue him, Uraraka gives him a big, tight hug, and Bakugou doesn't know how to feel about that.

"Bakuuuu!!"

Before Bakugou can tell Uraraka to fuck off, she nearly crushes him in a tight embrace. Her strong, warm body presses up against him and he suddenly feels weightless - and uncomfortable because he never lets anyone hug him. But Uraraka lets go as quickly as she first grabbed him. Still, Bakugou feels weightless. Actually, he's pretty sure his feet aren't touching the ground.

"What the shit."

"Sorry Baku!" Uraraka says, clapping her fingers together and releasing her hold on him. His feet hit the ground with a thud. "That sometimes happens, I slip up when I get distracted, I – we're just so glad you're safe!"

Bakugou scowls. “’Course I’m fine.”

Why would you be glad? he thinks. It’s not like he’s friends with Uraraka or anything. Apart from their battle at the sports festival, they’ve barely said two words to each other. He only knows her because she’s strong - that much was apparent from the sports festival, no matter what all those other bastards said about her being ‘fragile’- and has bad taste in friends. She hangs out around Deku and that Engine kid all the time.

Not that he’s been paying attention - Bakugou’s just observant.

Uraraka must be like Deku: the kind of person who thinks they have to help everyone out, caring about everyone, even if they obviously don’t want to be helped or cared about. That’s why she’s glad he’s safe. Because of some superficial obligation or some shit like that.

Probably. But then why did she correct herself with “we” when she clearly was going to say “I”? It didn’t make sense.

It takes all of Bakugou’s strength not to explode when the rest of his class all start fawning over him. “Fuck off! Fucking hell, I’m fine!” he shouts, but they ignore him, which pisses him off even more.

Bakugou’s fists are nearly about to explode when Aiwaza walks in, staring at Bakugou intently. That dickface thinks I can’t control myself, Bakugou thinks with a frown. “What’re you staring for?” he barks at his teacher.

“Calm down, Bakugou, you just have something in your teeth,” Aizawa says with a sigh. “Everyone sit down - class has begun.”

The class disperses into their seats, and for the rest of the period, Bakugou anxiously runs his tongue along his gums, turning the question around in his thoughts: why does Uraraka care?

A week passes, and finally, Bakugou can’t stand it any more. At first he thought it was stupid to mull over something as meaningless as why Uraraka would say “I” rather than “we,” but Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t bother with stupid things. So it must be important.

After class, Bakugou follows Uraraka home. Just for a little bit - until they’re alone. He doesn’t need any of those dickwards from class interfering.

He hurries around the corner of the next street so he can step out in front of her to block her path. “Hey.”

Uraraka jumps in surprise. “Oh! Baku, you scared me.”

Might as well get right to the point. “Why did you say you were glad I was safe?”

Uraraka tilts her head. “What - um - we all were! You’re our classmate, and we care about you…?”

He clicks his tongue impatiently. She’s saying “we” again. But he wants to know how she could care about him at all with their history. “What about you?  Shouldn't you hate me? I beat you in the sports festival.”

Uraraka shrugs. “You won fairly, because you were better. And you treated me like a real opponent - like I was strong.”

“You are strong,” Bakugou barks. “Those fuckers are fucking idiots if they can’t see that.”

Uraraka looks down to the side, so her hair covers her face. “You really think that?” Bakugou thinks she’s blushing, but that doesn’t seem right - why would she be blushing?

“Duh. You probably could have beaten half the shitheads with a lesser quirk than mine. And Hair-for-Brains said you took down that villain at the forest camp, too.”

She was definitely blushing now. Bakugou felt his cheeks start to redden, too. He scowled at the erratic heartbeat in his chest. Stupid.

“Deku admires you, you know,” she says after the beat of silence.

“I don’t want to talk about De - ”

“I admire you for the same reason!” she interrupts. Bakugou has half a mind to bitch at her for interrupting him, but she doesn’t give a moment’s rest. “Braving through that time with the villains, standing up to them like that...I never could have gotten through that like you did!”

It’s not the first time someone has said that to him the past week. He’s getting tired of hearing it, especially because of what most of them were implying. “I bet you thought I was going to side with those fuckers. You did, didn’t you?” Bakugou mutters.

Uraraka frowns. “Of course not.”

“But why? I’m not stupid - everyone else think I’d fit right in with their crowd, and they’re probably right. ”

Uraraka places her hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. He flinches in surprise, but she doesn’t move her hand. She looks straight into his eye and says, “I know you’re not stupid, Baku. But you are stubborn. No one can convince you to do something you don’t want to, and you said you want to be a hero. So…I had complete confidence in you.”

Suddenly, Bakugou’s stomach turns and he feels unbalanced and...taller. “Uraraka.”

“Yes?”

“Put me the fuck down.”

“Oh, sorry!”

She returns him to the ground, but the weightless feeling doesn’t go away completely. His heart still feels like it’s floating in the clouds, and Bakugou doesn’t know why. And it’s pissing him off.

Uraraka looks at him questioningly, waiting for him to say something. But he said everything he wanted to, and he wants to just walk away but he can’t with her staring at him like that, it’s making his face burn again.

Bakugou finally growls, “I’m going now,” and takes off in the opposite direction.

“Oh - bye, Baku!” he hears her call. “Try not to get captured again!”

Bakugou grates his teeth at her teasing. He shoves his hands in his pockets and fights the urge to look back.

He can’t stop thinking about her and her stupid hug, and it’s fucking annoying.

She said that she had complete confidence in him. That was more than anyone else had said, and she had sounded so sincere about it that it made Bakugou’s toes curl. As irritating as she was, with her fucking compliments and fucking kindness and that fucking blush - he can’t find it in himself to be mad at her.

He adjusts his route home to coincide with hers. He tells himself it’s a shortcut, even though it takes five minutes longer than usual to get home.

He doesn’t talk to her, of course. Why would he want to? She’s annoying. So he keeps his distance, trailing behind her far enough away so that he doesn’t seem like a creepy stalker or something. Or, he tries to.

One day, on their trek home, she stops in the middle of the road.

Shit.

“Bakugou, I know you’re following me.”

Fuck.

He starts to head in the other direction, but she calls out after him, “You can...join me? If you want?”

He should just blow her off, or walk another way, but his feet are already carrying him towards her before his head can catch up. “How did you know I was there?”

“You’re not as discrete as you think.” Uraraka says with a smirk. “Plus, I learned a lot from Battle Hero Gunhead during my internship.”

They walk down the road in silence while Bakugou debates whether or not he should ask more about her internship. It might be useful information, but it's not like he needs it. Should he ask anyway, just to be polite? He immediately shakes the thought from his head. Fuck no! Polite has never - and will never - be Bakugou Katsuki’s style. It’s a waste of time pretending to be nice to people who don’t give a shit about you anyway.

But Uraraka said that she did give a shit - she didn’t say it exactly like that, but she had the same sentiment.

“Hey, Baku - ”

“Don't call me that,” he snaps unthinkingly. He notices Uraraka bite her lip and adjust the straps on her bag awkwardly, and mentally scolds himself. “...it sounds stupid,” he tries to clarify.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” she says dejectedly. Bakugou feels insanely guilty, not that he should because she was just being stupid if she felt bad, because Bakugou didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just being stupid.

A sideways glance shows her head hung beneath a curtain of her hair. Bakugou almost yells in distress. If it was her fault, why does he feel like the guilty one?

Suddenly, a trail of darkness skates his vision, pulling him out of his thoughts. Black smoke...black mist! Bakugou pushes Uraraka to the side and fires an explosion at the cloud. The cloud parts for a moment before compressing back together.

"It's that shithead from before!" Bakugou yells, glancing back at Uraraka. But she's looking up past him, in wonder and horror.

"Black Mist," she mutters. Bakugou whips around to see the cloud has expanded outwards, blocking off half the sky and the street in front of them with a smoky black wall.

"Well well well, if it isn't the young Bakugou, and the little girl from before."

Bakugou growls. "What kind of line is that, fuckmunch?" He's sick of this shit. All these villains that think they have a chance to get him on their side are so fucking arrogant and goddamn idiots if they think he'd want to join them after all of this.

“Won’t you come quietly this time?” Black Mist’s voice echoes through the smoke.

Bakugou grits his teeth together and angrily sets off an explosion from each hand, the reaction force knocking him into Uraraka. They tumble over each other in a pile of limbs.

“Grab my hand,” Uraraka says as she scrambles out from under him. She yanks his hand up before he can reply.

“Let go, bi - ”

“No! We can’t let him separate us. If you let go, he'll warp us apart and take you away again.”

She has a point. He really doesn't want to deal with these shitheads again, and he doesn't want her getting in the way when he blows this fucker away, so he locks his fingers in hers, and hopes she doesn't mind the sweat.

Black Mist surrounds them completely in a tunnel of darkness, isolating them from the rest of the street, and starts to close inwards. They press their backs against each other while Bakugou readies his free fist.

“Your heroes may have infiltrated our base, but the villain alliance is still as strong as before. We could be stronger with your help, Bakugou.”

“Fuck off! Like hell I'm going with you!”

A mailbox suddenly slips out of the fog, flying straight at them. Bakugou’s fist explodes to meet the mailbox mid air, blowing it out of the tunnel of smoke. “That the best you got?” He’ll battle it out, just like before, shooting explosions into the smoke until he finds Black Mist’s true body -

Uraraka tugs his hand, “Baku, I have a plan - ”

“I don't want your help! I don't need it!”

“I don't care!” she shouts. “I didn't ask if you wanted it - I'll fight by your side as long as I'm still standing!”

A garbage can materializes above Uraraka’s head. Bakugou barely has time to yank her aside before blasting his elbow against it. The can shoots through the cone of darkness, creating a hole in its wake, but before Bakuogu can jump through Black Mist fills the opening. “Fuck!”

Uraraka pulls his hand down, her face inches from his own. “We don't have time to argue so just listen!”

She should be terrified, and even though her lip trembles, her eyes are cold and determined. It sends a jolt through his spine - she looks almost scary.

For once, he can't bring himself to argue. He nods briefly and deflects a stream of mist trying to grab at them while she whispers her plan in his ear.

“Now doesn't seem like the time for romance, children,” Black Mist teases.

Uraraka pulls away from his ear and squeezes his hand. “Got it?”

Bakugou nods, and sends a giant explosion behind him, knocking down the telephone pole Uraraka told him was there. She jumps up and touches as it topples over, stopping it in mid air.

A giant black hand reaches for Uraraka and Bakugou leaps in front of her to deflect it with an exploding punch. “Grab it!” he yells as he fights off Black Mist’s creeping tendrils of smoke with consecutive blasts from his knuckles.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her grab the floating bar. She starts twirling in in her hands. A gust of wind comes off from the pole as she starts to turn it faster, its weightlessness enabling her to spin it so fast, it looks like a solid circle. Black Mist’s attacks struggle to reach Bakugou as the wind speed pushes him back further and further, diffusing his thick wall of smoke.

A glint of silver catches his eye. It hovers twenty feet above them, uncovered by the blast of wind. With a smirk, Bakugou blasts himself off the ground and captures the silver collar in his hand.

“Oh dear…” the villain says in a defeated voice as they fall back down.

Right before he hits the ground, light fingers touch his leg and his momentum stops. He floats to the ground, his harsh grip on the silver collar threatening an explosion at any moment, and Uraraka releases her quirk.

The mist recedes into a cloud around Bakugou's fist, revealing a crowd that had gathered while they had been fighting.

“Oh my gosh, are they okay?”

“They defeated the villain!”

“Are those Yuuei kids?”

“Hey, yeah - it's those class 1-A kids again!”

Uraraka pales and holds her stomach. “I think I'm going to throw up.” She thrusts herself behind a tree and Bakugou cringes at the tell tale sounds of barf.

It's only another few moments before the police appear. Someone must have called them while they were fighting. Bakugou hands Black Mist off to them. “Make sure you do your fucking job right and keep this shitty cloud locked up.”

Once the police have taken a handle of the situation, Bakugou joins Uraraka. She's sitting against a tree (is that the one she threw up behind?), looking less queasy than before.

Before he knows what he's doing, he’s standing in front of her and sticking out his hand.

Uraraka smiles gratefully and takes it, and he pulls her up to her feet.

“If you're expecting me to thank you, you're wrong,” he tells her. He didn't need her help getting rid of that bastard. She just would have been more of a burden if he didn't let her help.

Uraraka smiles. “I'm not expecting anything of you.”

Suddenly her hands rest on either side of his face, and she guides his head down until their faces are even. Bakugou gulps. He hates when people touch him, normally, but Uraraka’s hands feel delicate and soft on his cheeks and it’s actually kind of nice. “It's enough that you're safe, this time,” she says. And then she swiftly kisses his cheek.

Shocked, Bakugou nearly jumps a foot in the air - only he's floating. Again.

“Oh!” She touches her fingertips together before Bakugou can say anything. “Sorry, Baku - I mean, Bakugou!”

Uraraka drops her head, staring embarrassingly at her feet.

And that's when Bakugou realizes - she kissed him. On the cheek, but still. That means - she likes me. That would explain her adorable - adorable? - blushing, why she cared that he was safe, why she insisted on fighting with him. She likes me. He can’t explain why that makes him so happy, but it does, and Bakugou’s cheeks explode in blush and he has to bite his lip to keep from grinning.

Uraraka takes a step back, and Bakugou realized how long the silence stretched out. Say something, stupid! He quickly spits out, “... you can call me Katsuki. If you want. I guess.”

Uraraka’s sudden smile is more brilliant than any explosion Bakugou could make. “You can call me Ochako, Katsuki!”

His heart thumps loudly when Ura - Ochako takes his hands in hers. The walk down the road together, Ochako swinging their hands back and forth, and Bakugou thinks that maybe it isn't so bad to have someone fighting by his side.

Also on ao3

[ehsopenmind]

The first thing Benjamin saw as he woke was the glittery trail of a shooting star. It flickered in the dark skies, lost in the mix of deep blues, swirling purples and vibrant pinks. The boy groaned and sat up, his head aching. He brought one shaking hand to his forehead and surveyed his immediate surroundings. He was perched atop a grassy hill, that overlooked a great body of water, which churned with oil black waves and reflected the sliver of a pale silver moon. Gnarled pine trees were scattered around the hill and stretched their twisted limbs toward the open sky. The boy looked up to find branches shadowing him, and he leaned backwards to feel the roughness of bark against his shoulders. He frowned, not knowing whether the tree had always been there or if it had appeared as soon as he’d noticed the other trees. He swallowed and got to his feet, swaying side to side before regaining his balance. He placed his palm against the tree, as if to reassure himself that he was in a physical place, before trying his voice.

“Is there anyone out there?” he called, fear crawling up his spine. He regretted speaking out once the words had left his tongue and squeezed his eyes shut in attempt to block whatever phantom monster would jump out at him. Seconds passed, and ,still, he was left unharmed and pressed against a tree. He blinked and saw no change in the layout of the world. He cautiously stepped into the thick grass, his legs brushed by the thin dark green blades. The sky was lit with the glimmering trails of stardust left behind by shooting stars and the winds blew his hair in all directions, its’ cold fingers working up and down his scalp. He shivered and inched even further down the  hill, guided only by the faintest sense of direction, urging him down the hill, and to the rolling waters of the sea, for he assumed that’s what laid ahead of him.

The water tossed and turned, the crash of surf against land almost deafening. He stopped a few yards from the water’s edge, his eyes stinging with the spray of salted liquid and his body convulsing with violent shivers. He squinted out toward the foaming sea, the moonlight barely light enough to reveal the thrashing of some sort of animal. It squirmed within the waves, with scales glinting and glowing green eyes wide with suppressed terror. A mighty tail whipped back and forth, creating swirling whirlpools in the midst of the turbulent waters. Benjamin’s mouth opened with shock. It was a dragon, caught inside the roaring ocean. He felt another pang of fear, and resisted the urge to run and hide. His nurse had warned him about such creatures.

“Dragons are beasts of legend, child.  They walk the earth, they writhe in the seas, they dance on air and they crawl through fire. They are elemental beasts, with old magic that can shake the land, flood valleys, rip apart buildings with terrible winds and tear apart mountains with fire. They want nothing more than to rid the earth of humans, for they hate us. We took everything from them, and they will not hesitate to kill. These monsters are dangerous my child, and can only be defeated by the lucky stroke of sword on scale or by ancient magic. I pray that you will never encounter one my dear.”

Benjamin wiped away tears, the voice of his nursemaid echoing in his mind. She would never know that he had been taken away, she’d assume he was dead.

He stared at the dragon, it was flailing in wild attempts to free itself, but couldn’t escape the onslaught of waves across it’s body drawing it toward the shore. He trembled with both terror and cold, his teeth a chattering of bone. The dragon was howling, a low haunted noise that grated against the boy’s ears. It shook the ground beneath the boy and stirred the waves. It was clear that the beast had power, though it was still trapped, a fact that puzzled the boy. How could something so horrifying and powerful be trapped in mere water? He wiped away at the salted spray dripping down his pale face and shouted into the wind.

“Stop it!” The boy blinked in surprise as the dragon quit it’s flailing attempts to free itself and turned its wide head to face him. Benjamin swallowed, his courage draining away. “You can’t escape if you’re making it worse!” he called out, his voice carrying out in loud ringing waves of sound. The dragon tilted its head, still being carried by the waves toward the shore. Benjamin bit his lip. He had the dragon’s attention, though he wasn’t sure why he wanted it. He was following pure instinct now. The dragon was coming nearer, actually starting to swim with the wave, toward the boy, it’s gaze curious.  The boy felt words form on his tongue, though he wasn’t quite sure how to say them. He wiped again at the rain slicking his forehead and frowned, noticing the dark cover of cloud that had swallowed the starlight drenching the land in heavy draughts of rain, but strangely there was still an abundance of light, though the boy could not name it’s source. He glanced back at the hill and then at the advancing dragon, who was coming nearer every second. Making his decision, Benjamin scampered back up to the cover of the trees.

The dragon touched down onto the sand of the beach and started its climb up the hill, it’s breath steaming in the cold air, green eyes glowing and turquoise scales glinting oddly in the light. It’s wings flared as it scrambled for claw holds on the steep slope, which was slippery with rain. Benjamin took a step backward, his brown eyes wide with anticipation. The dragon was certainly beautiful, with curled blue horns and dark edged ridges that rose down the length of it’s back. Its wings were leathery and criss crossed with webs of navy blue veins pulsing underneath the folds of skin. Its toned muscles stood out, bulging against scaly armored skin. The eyes were surprisingly full of intelligence and seemed to survey his entire body, assessing him.

The beast snorted with irritation as it kept sliding and pumped its powerful wings, trying to take flight in the wild winds.

“Careful.” Benjamin warned,  concern toward the creature taking hold of him. The dragon made a grunting noise and took to the air, its strong wings beating as it tried to keep itself aloft. Benjamin stared as it glided overhead, landing in between two large pine trees. It stomped around, snorting small flickers of flame and growling deep in its throat. Benjamin blinked, inching toward the dragon with hesitant steps. It turned it’s green glowing stare to him and it cocked its head.

“You aren’t scared?” it asked, which startled Benjamin. It was not as deep and rumbling as one might have expected, but softer and higher, like a young boy’s.

Benjamin shook his head.“I’m plenty scared.” he replied bravely. The dragon bent its head low, so as to look at the boy closer.

“But I can sense no fear emanating from you, at least not toward me.”  

Benjamin frowned.“You can differentiate fear sources?” he questioned. He now realized that he really wasn’t afraid of the dragon. He was more frightened of the prospect of being isolated in this strange place. The dragon wore an amused expression, the corners of it’s eyes crinkling.

“Yes I can young son of man. You are far from home.” It noted pointing a nose in a southerly direction.  

Benjamin looked off at the roaring seas and bit his lip. “Then I cannot reach home, if it is over an ocean.” the dragon smiled, revealing white smoothed bone sharpened into fangs.

“I suppose not. I would offer to carry you, but the wind is too strong and you do not know how to breathe underwater.” the dragon shifted its weight, staring at the waves, a thoughtful gleam to its eyes. “What is your name?”

“Benjamin.”

The dragon nodded slowly. “I have heard of this name.” It stood taller, wings twitching and claws digging into the soft dirt of the hill. “My father used to tell stories of a son of man called Benjamin, who brought the seas forth and ruptured mountains. Who carried himself on the air like a bird and who split the earth open for lava to flow. He had the magic of dragons, our ancient magic. My father says he must have stolen it, but the son of man was kind and taught dragons how to speak. He was our friend, and then he was taken from us.” The dragon’s voice turned cold as he continued, tail absently swinging back and forth behind him. “The other sons of men came, with weapons and tried to kill us. Benjamin tried to help. He attempted to reason with the soldiers but they would not listen. They claimed that we were dangerous monsters. But we only killed the sons of man when they threatened us with their steel and fire. The bullets did not kill us at first, but the sons of man are smart. They learned how to kill us quickly and then they came after us. Benjamin used his powers, and many of his kind were killed, but still they did not give up. A lucky gunshot wounded him and before we could get him to one of our camps, the leader of the sons of man grabbed his body and hauled him away. We never saw him again.” The sorrow was clear in the young dragon’s voice.

“Did you know him?” Benjamin asked.

The dragon shook his mighty head.“I did not, but I’ve heard enough of him to feel like I did.” the dragon laid down, curling its tail so that it flopped over onto it’s front claws. “My name is Airell, and I am pleased to meet you.” he paused,  chuckling. “I am supposed to kill you actually.”

Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Kill me?” he echoed.

The dragon shrugged. “Of course. Since Benjamin was taken, my father ruled that all humans that we meet must be killed, but lucky for you, I like you.”

Benjamin hugged himself, a new sense of fear resting on his shoulders. This dragon did have the capability to kill him.

“Now you are afraid? After I’ve told you I would not harm you?” the dragon muttered, green eyes staring down at Benjamin with confusion. It stretched its head so that it was level with the boy’s face.

Benjamin shook his head. “I was afraid, when I first saw you out on the water. I was taught to avoid you, and your kind. I can see that not all of you are mean spirited beasts.”

Airell sighed and his head rose, small puffs of smoke rising from his nostrils. “Your kind only sees the outside, the claws and fangs, fire breath and magic. They see only a threat, nothing within. They do not know our ways, they do not try to learn them. The sons of men are creatures made of demons locked within minds riddled with insecurities and judgments. They feed off hatred and choose to judge others based on the first few seconds of greeting. I have been taught to shy away from them, that they are incapable of love. But… you hold something in your heart boy. I do not know what it is but it is not love. It is something powerful, and I suppose that the wizard will want to explain this, your role in it all.” The dragon stopped, watching a few stars fly past. Its expression saddened, and it dug its claws deeper into the earth.

“How do you know of my future? We have only just met. How do you know of Elmerus?” Benjamin questioned, settling himself beside the dragon, who did not seem to mind the small human child pressing against his scales.

“I know of many things, past, present and future, but I wish to keep the future hidden. It is best that people do not know of the events that alter their lives, so as to keep them from changing their destiny.” Benjamin swallowed, looking up at the great lizard, his hair falling in his face and eyes shining with worry.

“Is my destiny so terrible that you would not give even a simple warning?”

The dragon smiled a bit, a deep chuckle escaping it’s throat. “You amuse me little son of man.” Airell spoke lightly, it’s eyes tracing the flight of shooting stars flickering across the marbled purple and blue skies. The wind roared, ruffling Benjamin’s hair and causing shudders along the dragon’s wings. The trees branches jerked back and forth, snapping sounds filling the air. “However, I should not be so open with a son of man, even if you carry an air of trust about you.” Airell continued, though he made no move to leave. “It wouldn’t be wise.”

“But you’re still talking.” Benjamin pointed out.

The dragon chuckled, shifting it’s weight and peered down at the human child. “I am, aren’t I?” Airell smiled and looked back up at the sky. “The night is waning. You should be careful boy, once the day strikes, I will not be able to protect you.”

The boy’s eyes widened.“I’m in danger? What from?”

The dragon sighed, and moved to stand. Benjamin scrambled out of the way, his feet slipping in the wet mud.

“Oh son of man, if I were allowed to tell you of your enemies and of your future then I most certainly would. Alas, it is forbidden and so you must forge your own path.”

The boy bit his lip and scanned the breezy hilltop and the thrashing of the waves. His mind was running over the dragon's words, reeling from the information thrown at him. There had been a man named Benjamin who’d befriended the dragon tribe and who’d been slaughtered by his own brethren. Then there was the mysterious ‘something’ in his heart. That sounded ominous. Not to mention the apparent danger he was in.

“You aren’t real.” he decided, staring up at the great lizard with a look of fierce determination. “This is just a dream and you’re part of a test. I’m not in any danger , I’m back in Elmerus’s hut.”

The dragon raised the slight ridges above it’s eyes that seemed to serve as eyebrows. “Is that so? You are sure of this son of man? For it is foolish to make such bold assumptions. You cannot be sure that you are dreaming nor can you be sure that you are not.” Airell stretched his wings a bit, cocking his head as he peered down at the young prince. Benjamin shrank under his gaze and backed away slowly, worry flashing across his features as he looked down at the ocean below.

“I am...I need to be sure of something. It is strange to be thrown from place to place, without knowing what you are supposed to do, or how to act. You...you are a new factor in this world turned upside down. I am hesitant to become close to you, or to believe you. It is hard to trust anyone.” The boy sat himself among the tall grasses and wet earth. A shiver worked its way down his body, tears welling up in his eyes. The dragon stared at him, a mixture of worry and disgust written on it’s handsome snout.

“You are admitting weakness young one, not a wise course of action, especially in the presence of a dragon. My kind is not as forgiving as I tend to be. Nor are we very merciful. Your concern over your situation is warranted. The suddenness of the changes in your life are not easy to deal with. Trust is hard to gain for anyone, but rest assured that I am your appointed guardian at least in this realm.”

The dragon sat down, it’s tail curling neatly across it’s talons. Benjamin would not look up at the creature, face burning with both shame and gratitude. Airell had been right, he should never have admitted weakness, but it made him feel better to know that this fire breathing beast was on his side.

“Thanks.” he mumbled a yawn escaping his mouth.

“Do not thank me quite yet young prince.” the dragon warned, wings spreading as he took off. It was then that Benjamin noticed the rays of red and orange light illuminating the hillside, setting the water aglow. The sun was rising in the sky, the dark night ebbing away, melting into red and orange and light blue. The dragon was already high above him.

“Wait!” Benjamin cried, leaping upwards.

The dragon shook his head. “Shhh little son of man, it is time for you to go back.” He paused as if considering it’s next words. “Do not fret, for we will meet again.”

The boy watched as the blue scales disappeared into the mass of sunshine soaked clouds. Dark black dots lined his vision and dizziness dropped him to his knees. He blinked once, twice, before collapsing to the ground and sinking into sleep.  

-Aela Krubsack

[that-buckley-gal]

Powerless - Chapter Eleven

November 4, 1943

The first thing that came to mind when I woke up the next morning was that I feel bad. I felt this way because I enjoyed last night’s fondue adventure in Lucerne; the bread and cheese went so well together, but I felt bad because Steve wasn’t with us. Bucky wasn’t with us.

I was guilty because I was having fun in Switzerland, trying something new while Steve and Bucky – who are my only living family left – were either prisoners of war or dead. James. Bucky. Steve. Captain America. Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way? It’s okay. Peggy and Howard said it was okay. They, like me, knew that Steve would be all right and that he would come back. This is what he was made for. As my thoughts resolve, I move into a sitting position and look around the room. My and Steve’s room that we were supposed to have vacated yesterday, but seeing as how my brother disappeared behind enemy lines, and I was still here, I got the room for another day. The colonel wasn’t too happy with this, but I paid him no mind. I would disrupt his camp until Steve returned, or until he kicked me off base. I was hoping for the former though. I rub the sleep from my eyes as I rescan the room looking for a clock or a window or whatever could tell me the time. I grunt out stupidly when I find nothing but an empty space and closed curtains. Did I shut those last night? I don’t remember. The serum. My goodness, it’s still in Brooklyn. I should probably tell someone about them. Should I? No, no, no. Wait until Steve comes back. Nervous, I skitter over to the window and peel a curtain open to see the sun just starting to rise over the horizon. I guestimate it to be around six or seven and I open the window, feeling a crisp breeze flow over me. As I bask in the fresh air, I notice that grey clouds are in the distance and I frown at the sun. Today wasn’t going to be a good day. Eventually I grow tired of the cool breeze and shut the window. I pace for a few minutes, thinking. I think too much or too little? No, definitely too much. Steve was fine. He promised he would be. The serum is still hidden I hope. Oh, why did I leave it there? I stop my pacing and peer out the window again. The sun was still making its rise, and I could see the grey clouds starting to come around. I wondered if I should take a bath. I close the curtain once more and walk over to my suitcase and dig around in it for a robe. When I find it, I pull it on and move to my other suitcase and dig around for a clean outfit. I eventually settle for a green dress that went down to just under the kneecaps with long sleeves since it was going to be cloudy today. I move to the bathroom silently, locking the door before running the water. When the water is to my liking, I strip and climb in, quickly washing my hair and body. Raspberries. My soap was the one thing I refused to leave in Brooklyn. I get out of the tub and dry myself off before putting on my clothes and standing in front of the mirror to brush my teeth and comb my hair. Instead of pinning it back, I pulled it to one side and made a loose braid. I put on my face and smile at myself. Everything is gonna be okay. I drop off my dirty clothes in my room before searching for the heels that matched the dress. When we first started on the tour, I’d brought along a giant suitcase filled with a few outfits and shoes like Steve said to. Over the course of three months touring the world, I’d turned into a little spendthrift and bought more outfits and shoes, requiring a second suitcase, which slightly annoyed my brother, but him laugh all the same. We’d bonded here and there, laughing about how Bucky would react to my spending. When I find the heels, I slip them on and leave my room. I go downstairs and am not surprised to see Howard sitting at a table, drinking coffee and reading a paper. “Good morning, Howard.” He didn’t start like I expected him to, instead only turning to grin at me for a second. “Good morning, Ms. Rogers. Sleep well?” “As well as can be expected.” Howard only nodded. “Do you have the time?” Howard silently pulled out a pocket watch and looked at it. “It is currently 10:24.” “Oh, thank you.” “Would you like some breakfast? There’s still some oatmeal in that pot over there.” I wander over to it silently and help myself to the last portion of it. I take a seat next to Howard and eat. My eyes read over the exposed part of the paper to see that both Allies and Axis powers were both being wiped out by HYDRA forces, which was slightly concerning. When I put my empty bowl away, Howard announced that it was now 10:52 and said we should head out to the lab. Since Peggy was already at the base, I stuck with Howard until we got there. The two of us got into his car and drove ten minutes from the housing unit to the base. As soon as the car is parked, Peggy walks by and asks if I would like to accompany her for a short while and I agreed. We said “later” to Howard who continued on his own way before we started walking. My friend was pretty quiet, and I could see her brown eyes flicking to the files in her hand. I don’t want to know what they’re for though, so I remain quiet. We eventually come across the colonel’s tent and Peggy leads us in. The colonel’s back is facing us as we enter, and my heart slowly stops as my brain processes his words. “As a result I must presume Captain Rogers killed in action. Period.” I see Peggy eye me, but I wave her off. She instead fixed a neutral expression on her face and turned to the colonel, speaking of a surveillance flight and how there was no sign of Steve. I close my eyes, forcing away the tears. Steve wouldn’t appreciate my crying at a time like this. I swallow the lump in my throat, and blink rapidly, trying to rid myself of the tears that were burning my eyes. I heard the colonel dismiss the typewriter before he and Peggy began speaking of god-knows-what. It didn’t matter to me what they were saying. In fact, I don’t think the conversation mattered to anyone because there was growing chatter just outside the tent, and the colonel excused himself to see what was going on. “Madison…” “Peggy, don’t. Steve…he knew what he doing. This is what he wanted.” “I know.” We were left in a not so silent silence, and Peggy excused herself to see what was going on while I took this time to recollect myself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’ll be okay. The noise of the soldiers seems to increase, which irritates me because all I want is to be alone at the moment. However, I can’t feel sorry for myself when I hear a loud cheer ring out. I scoff slightly at my curiosity before walking out of the tent. At first, the only things I see are all the soldiers crowded around in a circle. I gently push my way to the center of the ring, men politely moving out of my way as I progressed forward until I could see who was in the middle. I recognized Steve’s costume and stopped short, breath catching in my throat. He’s alive! Oh… “Bucky!” I yell. My fiancé turned around instantly and I pushed past the soldiers in front of me – some of them politely moved out of the way. “Madi!” He yelled back, almost in disbelief. One moment, we were twenty feet apart. The next moment, I was in his arms, being spun around. His arms remain secured around me as his lips crash against my own. I don’t shy away from it though, and cheers erupt at public display of affection. I pulled away from Bucky first, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing my forehead and hair as well. “Oh, I missed you,” I tell him, my voice cracking. “When I got your last letter, I just about lost my mind, and then they stopped, I thought that…” “Shh, it’s okay, Madi. I’m here.” “I love you,” I say and look at him. “I love you. I love you. I just…I feel like I haven’t said it enough.” “You don’t have to say it,” Bucky said. “Because I know.” I bury myself in my boyfriend’s chest while Steve tells the crowd that it’s okay to disperse now, and I hear him approaching us along with another person. I’m not letting Steve have him yet, though. Bucky is mine. We break away from our embrace, but that doesn’t mean that we let go of each other. Bucky’s arm drapes around my shoulders whilst my arm wraps around his waist. Peggy grins widely at me while slightly pink cheeks accompany Steve’s smile. PDA makes him uncomfortable, a fact I’ve known since before I started school. “Peggy Carter, this is my good friend James Barnes,” Steve introduced them. Bucky politely shook Peggy’s hand and alerted her that he preferred to be called Bucky, and Peggy nodded her head. After making Bucky promise to meet him at the infirmary in five minutes, Steve led Peggy away from us. Bucky didn’t say anything, but neither did I. It was just so surreal to have him standing in front of me and twenty-four hours ago I thought he was dead. “I really missed you,” he said quietly. I bit my lip slightly. “I thought… When we got to Azzano, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. When they took us to the factory, the only thing that kept me sane was you. Everyday I was there, I was just praying you were okay, and that if I died, that you would move on.” “Bucky…” “Shh…But none of that matters now, okay? Because I’m here, and I’m gonna be with you ‘til the end of time.” “’Til the end of time,” I whispered. He gives me a quick peck, and rests his forehead on mine. “You know I’ve been thinkin’…” “Oh yeah?” “We should get married.” “We will.” “Right now.” “Now?” “Why not?” He asked. “Why not,” I ponder this. We were in Italy. Steve was here. The war was still waging. “Why not? Let’s get married!” Bucky laughed and we shared another kiss. “We’re gonna get married. You’re gonna be Mrs. Barnes.” “No,” I said. Bucky raised a brow. “You’re gonna be Bucky Rogers.” Bucky laughed and I laughed along with him, so overpowered by the happiness I felt. There wasn’t any place I’d rather be than right here with my soldier. “Buck! Let’s go, doc’s waiting for you!” Steve yelled. Bucky looked at his best friend and looked back at me. “Guess I can go see what that punk wants,” he mused, his hand taking mine. “C’mon, doll. I think if we get this done right away, we can go find a church by the end of the night.”

[chinchystextdoodles]

100 One-shot challenge - Exploit

Pricklestorm charged through the grass towering over her head, so high that even the biggest cat could possibly fail to see over the top. The sun was high up, sending beams of light and warmth down onto the dark brown tabby's pelt. She was out to stretch her legs and to get out of having to do any patrols. The deputy may be upset with her once she returns, but was she ever happy with anyone in the first place. She hasn't seen it and honestly, she despised her attitude. What had Brightstar seen in her in the first place. Thoughts occupied her thoughts and led her other senses to fade temporarily, though suddenly she found a scent. The scent of a rogue for sure and she definitely was not at the border either. The scent was fresh so that must mean whoever dared to trespass definitely had something nasty coming their way. She hissed loudly, pouncing when she saw a sandy-brown tom with a bird in his jaws, only to miss him by a whisker. The tom gave her a smug look briefly before charging off. She chased after him, not letting him out of her sight until he was well over the border. Good. While the look he had given her made her boil with rage and embarrassment, she still had a sense of happiness. Now Dawnsong couldn't be angry with her. She had gotten rid of a rogue so that should make up for her sneaking out at least a little. Little had she known, that same tom would keep on appearing again and again, sneaking around their territory. She was getting tired of having to chase him off so one day, she asked, her fur bristling and claws unsheathed as the tom stood his ground bravely as well. "Why do you keep coming back? You are not welcome here!" The tom puffed out his chest, looking the she-cat in the eye. "I come here only to see you. You may have an attitude, but I can see beauty in your tough nature. I ask, have you yet a mate?" He spoke, his eyes sparkling as he looked Pricklestorm over like a piece of prey. She believed what this tom was saying, taking him as some lovestruck fool. But she must admit, she wasn't very liked among her clanmates and she didn't quite mind the affections of the tom even if he was a loner. "Listen here, lovebird, like me if you wish, but you have no place here. Get out of our territory and stay out." "Oh, but can you not spare me even a single meeting? I can stay over the border, but you are free to come and meet me even if it is just at the edge, are you not? We could make a deal, meet me at moonhigh this night and I will not place even a claw over the border ever again." The she-cat hissed, but the tom didn't even flinch, merely twitching his ear and waiting for an answer. "Fine. But only because you're becoming such a nuisance." She growled, flinching as she sensed her clanmates not far. The tom was satisfied, running off and she chased, the patrol that had been passing by charging after upon noticing the nearby rogue scent. That night as the moon shone bright above, she snuck out of camp, heading for the border of the clan's territory where the sandy tom was indeed waiting for her. "So, what do you even want with me anyway?" She hissed, staying on her side of the border, the rogue letting out a soft purr as he spoke. "Ah, only your sweet voice and your lovely presence. I apologize that we have yet to get a decent introduction. I am Julian. And you are?" "Pricklestorm. And stop with that, you're not fooling everyone, you mousebrain." "Ah, you think this is but a kit's game? Woe is me, rejected by such a magnificent creature such as yourself. The she-cat was honestly getting annoyed by this point, claws out and a huge burning urge to slash this tom's eyes out. "Okay, listen here. If you don't start talking normal, you're not leaving here with your tail attached. Understood?" "Oh, very much so. My apologies. So...I am sure you don't live in this territory on your own. So would you be willing to take a tom such as myself in." "I live in a clan. And we do not accept kittypets here." And with the war currently going on, no reasonable cat would jump in. Nor did the clan have the time to train some lost kittypet to fight when there were enough deaths of fully trained and even talented warriors. Julian seemed disappointed, proposing that the two should at least meet every now and again now. In all honesty, Pricklestorm was caught, she agreed to meet every so often, always at the border. At first, with a desire to keep this loner in his place, away from the territory. Although eventually she ended up finding some affections for Julian. It seemed as if he was the only one who appreciated her, really. One night she came to meet, tired and with scars from a battle from that same day, one of her ears nearly shredded off entirely, clumps of fur missing and still healing shallow and deep slashes adorning her tough body. Julian genuinely looked worried and for once the warrior wasn't even against his affectionate attempts to get close to her. Too bad that as time went on and on and the young warrior saw the war slowly beginning to move towards peace, she would find only betrayal awaiting her. She was tired. Tired of all the constant fighting. Tired of feeling as if she was not a member of the clan, but rather an outsider who had forced her way into her home. It seemed some of her clanmates figured out her 'secret' meetings and word spread like wildfire, sparking distrust and even getting Brightstar to consider exiling her at one point, yet the clan needed all the warriors it had. "Pricklestorm." Julian addressed the snoozing brown tabby who had curled up on the grass right by the border, not having intended to fall asleep. But dawn still seemed far as the moon was only starting to set. She growled with irritation, muttering a "What do you want?" which got a little chuckle out of the sandy tom. "I was meaning to ask you...would you like to have kits with me?" A rough Leaf-bare had just passed and Featherclan hardly had any kits around at the time so of course it would be a good idea to add some to keep the clan going, but...she had her doubts. Regardless of this, she accepted. The next time the two met up was when they agreed to try for such. Yet once Pricklestorm realized it had worked and she was expecting kits, she had told Julian who seemed overjoyed. Despite a promise to meet more often now...Julian seemed to have disappeared. She never saw or even scented him again. She had been used by this tom. She had seen it from the beginning, it was coming. Yet she went blind to it and this is what it ended up leading her to.