#C Channel Roll Forming Line

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 75

Yellowpaw, Sandpaw, and Stormpaw are apprenticed to Asterblaze, Spikecrash, and Clammask.

[Image ID: Yellowpaw, Sandpaw, and Stormpaw are apprentices. Sandpaw says, "Do you think Thunderpaw is impressed?" Under Yellowpaw, it says LEVEL UP! YELLOWKIT → YELLOWPAW, NOISY → COLD. Under Sandpaw, it says LEVEL UP! SANDKIT → SANDPAW, SELF-CONSCIOUS → LOYAL. Under Stormpaw, it says LEVEL UP! STORMKIT → STORMPAW, KNOW-IT-ALL → CHARISMATIC.]

(Yellowpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, cold, quick to make peace)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

Honeybuzz helps the three star-blessed apprentices.

[Image ID: Honeybuzz, Weevilpaw, Wolfpaw, and Anchovypaw watch Estherfern talk with a Dark Forest spirit. Under Honeybuzz, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD TEACHER.]

---

Honeybuzz cupped his paw around one of the many plucked mushrooms that formed the unholy circle. He sniffed at the herbal mixture that sealed the pickings together. A few strands of black and red fur clung to the wet earth that lined the edges of the muddy den. The constant rain of the last four days made the ground slick and sent water dripping from the root-lined ceiling. Anchovypaw, Wolfpaw, and Weevilpaw stood outside the den, heads close together as they peered inside. The rain glued their pelts to their skin.

“And you’ve known about this for how long, Anchovypaw?” Honeybuzz asked. He absently batted at his wooden necklace, the freshly plucked cicada wing glistening with raindrops. He pointedly sat outside of the circle, mud sinking into his thin fur.

“Only a few days,” Anchovypaw admitted. “I didn’t want to say anything until I could come back here, but there’s even more ichor here than there was when I first found the den.”

“You should have told us sooner,” Weevilpaw huffed with a glare so sharp that, had she had her sister’s ability, Anchovypaw would have frozen stiff.

“I wasn’t going to scare anyone if I didn’t have to!” Anchovypaw huffed. A sharp flick of his tail sent a stream of water flying over Weevilpaw and Wolfpaw’s backs. “It could have just been where the beast that killed Weedfoot went to die. I only waited a few days! It took me that long to get away from Halibutdusk!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Honeybuzz promised. He squeezed around the apprentices, squinting as the rain splashed his eyes.

“Now we know someone else has been here,” Wolfpaw pointed out. 

“What is it, Honeybuzz?” Weevilpaw asked. She moved further into the den, eyes locked on the circle.

“You remember my lessons on channeling StarClan?” Honeybuzz said, shivering. “It exhausts power StarClan wasn’t planning to use, but the immediate and physical communication can justify an absence of subtle signs and assistance.”

“But we don’t use mushrooms,” Weevilpaw said. She poked at a mushroom, making it roll out of its spot. “We form a circle of cats, not plants.”

“But do you remember when you met Terracottafoot?” Honeybuzz sighed. “I asked them to tell you about last Harvest Moon, and some of their knowledge of the Dark Forest. Newtstream, their mentor, taught them about channeling Dark Forest spirits using a circle of mushrooms.”

“Someone’s summoning Spirits of Shadow,” Wolfpaw gulped.

“Who would be that mouse-brained?” Anchovypaw growled. His claws left gouges in the mud. “We all remember the Shardling. Who would want to bring something like that back?” Anchovypaw looked like he was going to be sick. Wolfpaw rubbed against Anchovypaw’s side. “You were right, Weevilpaw. I should have destroyed this den as soon as I found it.”

“Then they would have made another one,” Honeybuzz pointed out. “No, we need to find a trusted warrior to watch this den. They can wait until the culprit visits again. Waspdawn or Puddlewhisper would do well. I trust them.” Weevilpaw’s soaked fur prickled. Her eyes widened, locked on something Honeybuzz couldn’t see. Her mouth dropped slightly, breath catching. 

“Out, out!” Weevilpaw hissed, lunging past Wolfpaw. She scrambled into a thick bush, still bursting with summer life. Wolfpaw and Anchovypaw were instantly at her side, following her into the shadows. Honeybuzz stumbled in after them, sharp branches poking his ribs.

“Who did you see?” Anchovypaw whispered just as the shrubbery on the other side of the dark den shifted. Bicolored eyes glimmered through the mid-morning haze.

“Estherfern?” Honeybuzz gasped as the older cleric stepped into full view. Estherfern carried a ball of fur in her jaws, the same red and black colors Honeybuzz found in the strange den. Her fur on her cheeks drooped like heavy leaves. She strolled into the shadows, ignorant to her spies.

“The Shardling almost killed her kits,” Anchovypaw growled, his rage making the leaves shake. “Why would she deal with the Dark Forest?”

“Keep listening,” Wolfpaw whispered. “We might find out.” Estherfern placed the furballs in the center of the circle. Her cool gaze settled on Weevilpaw’s disturbed mushroom. Honeybuzz grit his teeth. Estherfern carefully nudged the mushroom back into its original position. She sat in the den’s entrance, back to Honeybuzz and the apprentices.

Estherfern declared, “I call upon the spirit of Hawthornstealer, banished from StarClan for murder in the name of his kits. Despite your sins, your assistance is required. Return to the Clans, if only for a moment. Speak to us.”

“Do you see that?” Anchovypaw whispered, pressing into Weevilpaw. “Do you see that?” Honeybuzz squinted. The circle was still. Suddenly, Weevilpaw gasped. She bit into her paw to muffle her shock. Honeybuzz braced his heart for whatever the star-blessed apprentices saw.

It began as a shift in the mud, like water in a pot at the first stages of boiling. The ground around the fur offering darkened. Black sludge bubbled out of the mud and lapped up the fur balls like medicine. The sound of its formation reminded Honeybuzz of paws trapped in thick gunk, pulling out of the mess with a sucking slurp. It leaked from under the mushrooms and collected in the circle’s center. The ichor pulled itself upward like drops of water falling from the ceiling, perverting the pull of the earth. A subtle red glow illuminated the den.

“It’s finally working,” Estherfern gasped as the ichor took shape. It lifted itself high like a cat arching their back. It clung to the ground at four points that slowly took on the details of paws. A claw-like tail sprouted from its back. The ichor bubbled and bulged into a muzzle. Two glowing red eyes erupted from the spirit’s face. StarClan help them all.

“So you are Estherfern,” the spirit said. Its voice was as sticky as the mud from which it was born, dissolving into the sound of the tumbling rain.

“Hawthornstealer?” Estherfern asked. The spirit blinked slowly, its eyelids like a mudslide. 

“Why do you call?” the spirit groaned.

“Oilstripe and Lavendertwist told me your story,” Estherfern explained. She inched closer, back still stuck in the rain. “You killed an elder to ensure more food for your kits in a famine. You would have done anything for them. StarClan doesn’t seem to have the power I need. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Explain.”

“My kits are sick, and RippleClan can do nothing to help them. One of my daughters is going deaf, the other is half-blind. And now my only son has issues of the head, issues the mediators are simply bandaging, not fixing.” Was she talking about Brightpaw? Spikecrash had asked Honeybuzz and Troutpool about any relaxing herbs the young tom could take before the Gathering, something to ease the panic that overtook him when too many cats surrounded him. It was manageable. There was no need to resort to such extremes.

“You are searching for a cure.”

“I can’t let them struggle like this. How can I fix them?” The spirit stared at Estherfern silently, the rainfall burning into the background of Honeybuzz’s mind. The only sign of un-life in the spirit rested in its long, slow blinking. Even Estherfern, collected as she was, twitched under the spirit’s unending, blank stare.

“I…,” Anchovypaw whispered, “I don’t think that’s the ghost of Hawthornstealer.”

“Why not?” Wolfpaw whimpered.

“It’s too empty,” Anchovypaw groaned, struggling to find the right word. “Weedfoot’s stories said Dark Forest ghosts looked like themselves. Even the Shardling looked a little like Autumnstar, isn’t that what Downstar told us? This thing doesn’t look like anyone. It looks like a shadow."

“We may have the power,” the spirit finally coughed through its thick ichor. “We need help.”

“That’s what I expected,” Estherfern sighed. “What sort of ritual do I need to perform? Is there another spirit I should talk to?”

“Your children were destined to develop these afflictions,” the spirit gurgled. “Their destinies must be replaced. Replaced with another’s.”

“Elaborate.” 

“The eyes of the clear sighted.” The spirit’s red eyes shone like a flickering fire. “The ears of the cautious listener.” Its pointed ears flicked, their first movement since the spirit’s arrival. “The tongue of the charmed.” Its black teeth peered out from muddy lips. “Three sacrifices. Three kits.” Estherfern stilled. Honeybuzz’s heart sank. Despite her standoffishness, despite her argumentativeness, Estherfern was part of the Clan, her kits were part of the Clan. How could she throw that away to fix what didn’t, what couldn’t be fixed?

“We’ll stop her before she begins,” Anchovypaw growled, inching a paw out of hiding. StarClan asked for Estherfern. Why would they send for her if she could be swayed like this?

“Offer the dead—”

“No.” All four hidden cats perked their ears high. Estherfern stood, tail rippling slowly as she stared the spirit down. The spirit, to Honeybuzz’s continued shock, flinched.

“No?” the spirit spat.

“What do you take me for?” Estherfern scoffed. “You think I’m so blindly devoted to a cure that you can turn me into a murderer? A sadist for the sake of my children?”

“You want them cured,” the spirit growled. Its paw lingered at the edge of the circle. “This is how you cure them.”

“And what happens when I do?” Estherfern asked, tilting one ear in a shocking taunt. “I know how your land works, the rules of your afterlife. They will go to StarClan some day and learn what I did for them, if they do not find out in life. They will despise me for what I have done.”

“But they will be cured.”

“Furthermore, I know the creatures that inhabit your Dark Forest.” Estherfern walked around the circle like a hunter. The spirit never turned its head, face stuck in a sneer. “It is the home of murderers and scoundrels. I would surely arrive there after my own death were I to kill three innocents for you. You would condemn me to eternity without my children.”

“You’ve already been damned, Estherfern. You brought forth the Skin N’ Bones that slew your deputy. You are the cause of your Clan’s suffering. Do you believe StarClan will forgive you for that?” A Skin N’ Bones. Of course. Nothing else would have injured Downstar like that. Nothing else would have devoured Weedfoot alive. Estherfern stopped. The calculated and callous look that always hung in her eyes cracked. Honeybuzz could almost see Estherfern’s soul drop. “Why give up now? You’re too far gone. Your children are not. Why summon us if you were not willing to do whatever it took to fix your kits?”

“I will not have them hate me!” Estherfern rounded on the spirit, lips curled tight. “I will not have them curse my name!” She shook her head low. “I will find a different cure for them. I will find another way. I send you back, spirit, back to your dark wanderings, where StarClan’s light does not reach.” Estherfern reached for one of the mushrooms. Her paw breached the circle.

“No!” The spirit dug its fangs into Estherfern’s paw. Ichor dripped into her fresh wound. She pulled back, ripping more of her skin in the process. 

“I respect what you did for your kits, Hawthornstealer,” Estherfern hissed, licking her paw. “I realize now, however, that where you could put aside your kits’ emotions for their futures, I cannot.”

“We,” the spirit growled, voice dissolving, “are not Hawthornstealer.” 

The spirit’s legs melted like snow. Its form dissolved and splashed about in a massive sticky pool. One by one, the mushrooms rolled into the ichor and vanished under the writhing mass as though falling into a great black hole. The ichor bubbled and squirmed as though in a death rattle. It leaked from the confines of the circle and coated the den floor. Estherfern backed up, back paws slipping on the soaked grass.

Weevilpaw raced out of the bush before Honeybuzz could react. She threw her full weight into Estherfern’s side. The two clerics tumbled into the shrubs. In that moment, the ichor exploded. It sprayed the walls of the dirt den and shot into the rain in an endless cascade. More ichor escaped the den than could have possibly made up the spirit in the circle. As it flew into the forest, large clumps tumbled to the side like wayward drops from a massive wave. The glops tumbled and sloshed against the wet ground before launching through the trees and out of sight. More and more of these glops scrambled away until finally, finally, the spray slowed. A long black trail led out of the den, which was now nothing but ichor and goop. 

Honeybuzz, Anchovypaw, and Wolfpaw crept out of hiding as Weevilpaw got off Estherfern. Mud coated half of her brown pelt. The ichor stunk like rotting flesh and mushrooms.

“How long have you been there?” Estherfern asked, slow to her paws.

“Wolfpaw, you might have to freeze me,” Anchovypaw growled, claws out. “I’m a whisker’s length from killing her.”

“Anchovypaw, no!” Weevilpaw stood in front of Estherfern, paws skidding. “She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She was trying to help her kits. We can’t blame her for that!”

“But the Dark Forest…” Wolfpaw gulped. With the puff in her fur dissolved in the rain, she seemed half her size.

“It is full of dead cats, not unlike StarClan,” Estherfern huffed. She stepped around Weevilpaw and faced down the furious crowd. “All I wanted was a way to cure my kits, something you’ve shown you cannot do.”

“Estherfern, you weren’t talking to a dead warrior,” Honeybuzz groaned, almost stepping on the ichor trail. “That was a Herald. Their entire purpose is to trick the living into allowing Spirits of Shadow into the territories.” His gaze lingered on the forest. He could almost hear the half-formed monsters slurping across the grass, taking their true, cursed forms.

“You heard her!” Weevilpaw huffed. “She wasn’t going to listen to the spirit. She was going to destroy the circle.”

“She didn’t commit murder,” Anchovypaw scoffed. “You did well, Estherfern. You did the bare minimum.”

“Is it your fault?” Wolfpaw muttered, voice almost lost in the rain. “Did you get Weedfoot killed?” Estherfern stared into the ichor-soaked den. 

“I didn’t know,” she said softly. 

“She didn’t know, Anchovypaw,” Weevilpaw snapped. “She’s a good cat!”

“She didn’t care about killing anyone, she cared about what her kits would think,” Anchovypaw growled. “How can we trust a cleric who doesn’t care if you live or die?”

“I trust her,” Weevilpaw huffed, pressing into Estherfern. “Even though she’s strange.”

“Weevilpaw,” Honeybuzz sighed, jumping over the ichor, “take Anchovypaw and Wolfpaw and go back to camp. Just go to the medicine den and wait for us.” 

“What are we going to do with her?” Anchovypaw asked.

“Leave that to me,” Honeybuzz said, shaking his head. “Now go. Stick together, and hurry. We’ll follow you soon.” The apprentices hesitated, all glancing at one another. Weevilpaw was the first to break; she joined Wolfpaw and nudged her onward. The sisters ran toward the coast. Anchovypaw followed, his burning eyes digging into Estherfern as he vanished into the foggy trees.

“It seems I underestimated the vigor of the Dark Forest’s supernatural entities,” Estherfern hummed, cleaning the mud off her injured paw.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Honeybuzz hissed softly.

“Of course I do,” Estherfern snapped, curling her lips. “You love to tell the story of the Rippling Ashes. They ventured into the Dark Forest, they had Newtstream’s advice. What made my own approach so wicked?”

“Because it’s dangerous!” Honeybuzz groaned. “Because channeling Dark Forest souls, even when they want to help, clears a path for Spirits of Shadow, and they don’t care about any of us. They’re born to hunt. This isn’t worth it.”

“If your kits were sick, wouldn’t you do what you could for them?” Estherfern growled with a large thrash of her tail. “You can’t fix them. I thought the Dark Forest could.”

“They don’t need to be fixed!” Honeybuzz yowled, throwing his whole height up to glare down at Estherfern (who, unlike Rapidleaf, would not cower). “They aren’t dying, Estherfern! They can adapt! I’m sorry I can’t cure Thunderkit or stop Brightpaw’s anxiety, but they’ll be fine!” As Honeybuzz yowled, the first crack appeared in the sky, striking through the gray clouds. Thunder echoed far overhead. Estherfern stared at the growing storm.

“What’s out there now, do you think?” Estherfern sighed.

“Dog-cats, forsaken prey, honeybites…” Honeybuzz muttered, spine itching. “There may even be monsters we rarely see, ones we don’t have names for. We don’t want to know everything that’s out there now.”

“This is something we can fix,” Estherfern huffed. She marched around Honeybuzz and stood on the roof of the wicked den. Jaw tight as her bit paw moved, Estherfern dug at the soaked grass. Her pelt was more mud than fur. Chunks of earth tumbled into the den. The sopping ground folded in on itself like a wave. Estherfern rolled away as the roof of the den fell and covered the sticky, stinking ichor. Grass stuck to Estherfern’s underside. Honeybuzz hurried to her, helping her away from the crumbled remains of her sins.

“We can,” Honeybuzz gulped. “We can fix this.”

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Anchovypaw: 10, male, warrior apprentice, playful, curious about StarClan)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Wolfpaw: 10, female, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, curious about StarClan, confident with words)

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

Sandpaw and Spikecrash arrange time for Estherfern to see the kits she worked so hard to “fix”.

[Image ID: Estherfern faces Thunderpaw, Wolverinepaw, and Brightpaw.]

---

Estherfern didn’t belong at such a lively celebration. The sumptuous food, the well-rehearsed performances… Harvest Moon was as grand as RippleClan claimed it to be. Every Clan gathered as the sunrise poked through the trees, preparing their stews and games and performances. But it was a holiday to drive off Spirits of Shadow. What good would it do to have their herald nestled in the safety of the firelight?

“Spirits of Shadow hate charms,” Troutpool explained as she tucked a cat’s wood-carved face into the boughs of a low-hanging pine. “AshClan spends a lot of time carving these trinkets, and all that care under StarClan’s protections makes them especially useful in warding off danger.” All the clerics roamed the edge’s of the great clearing with baskets of charms and other concoctions to protect the five Clans. Estherfern carried RippleClan’s heavy basket as Honeybuzz, Troutpool, and Weevilpaw prepared the defenses to Troutpool’s instruction.

“How many do we have to place?” Weevilpaw asked, shoving a charm as far into a bush as she could reach.

“We’re covering this entire corner,” Troutpool explained. “We don’t want to leave any openings for spirits.” Estherfern nearly broke the charm in her jaws with how tightly she grit her teeth. She quickly passed it to Honeybuzz.

“Estherfern!” Two figures slipped through the massive crowd. Spikecrash and Sandpaw walked side by side, mentor and apprentice in sync. Sandpaw’s gaze wandered throughout the clearing, taking in the sights of all five Clans for the first time.

“You want to speak to me?” Estherfern asked. While her tone made her question sound casual, the brown priestess hid her surprise deep. She didn’t talk to many cats outside of the medicine den. Why would two of the Clan’s mediators want her? Did they know the real reason why Honeybuzz reported a surge of spirits in the Clan? The reason it was too dangerous to leave camp alone? Why all five Clans, not just RippleClan, now had a newfound fear for their lives? Had Honeybuzz not lied for her, Estherfern would have told the truth and accepted the consequences, yet why he kept it secret, Estherfern didn’t know She glanced at Honeybuzz, but the young gold and white cleric focused on his charms.

“I’m hoping we can borrow you,” Spikecrash explained. “Troutpool, do you still need Estherfern’s help?”

“We’re just placing our wards at the moment,” Troutpool explained, reaching into Estherfern’s basket. “We could finish without her if you really need her.” Estherfern carefully slipped the basket off her neck.

“Thank you, Troutpool,” Spikecrash sighed. She flicked her tail for Estherfern to follow. It seemed no one cared if Estherfern actually wanted to speak with Spikecrash, but who was she to refuse? She trailed after Spikecrash and Sandpaw, heading over to the ovens. Clammask and Stormpaw worked with Drumtooth and Thunderpaw, laughing over an unheard joke as they tended the fire under a massive pot of stew.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an invasion of privacy,” Spikecrash began, her scarred flank lifted high in a long stretch. “Honeybuzz and Weevilpaw spoke with me a few days ago and said you were having some difficulties with your kits.” Estherfern narrowed her eyes.

“If we’re going to discuss my kits,” she sighed, “maybe you could tell me why no one told me about Brightpaw’s meetings with you?”

“So you do know about that,” Spikecrash sighed. “Brightpaw is an apprentice now, Estherfern. We aren’t pressured to tell you anything he didn’t want you to know.” 

“If he’s sick, I want to help him,” Estherfern huffed.

“Why do you think he didn’t want you to know?” Sandpaw scoffed. “Look how you acted with Wolverinepaw and Thunderpaw.” Oh if only he knew just what Estherfern had done for them. What the Dark Forest wanted her to do.

“I’ve only ever tried to help them overcome their own limitations,” Estherfern said, her sharp stare ricocheting off Sandpaw and muting his confident words.

“That’s why we wanted to show you a few things,” Spikecrash explained. She waved a paw toward the oven where Thunderpaw and the other RippleClan cats gathered.

“The only goal of tonight is to have a better stew than WheatClan,” Drumtooth explained, shooting a friendly sneer at WheatClan’s oven and their large pot. He licked the surface of the stew and smacked his jaws. “It’s good, but it’s missing something.” Thunderpaw copied her mentor. Her face squirmed, thinking hard. She then made a strange motion with her paws; balancing on her back legs, she brought her paws close to her mouth and wiggled them as they moved away.

“I know this one,” Stormpaw chirped, completely focused on Thunderpaw. “If the wiggles are the sea… seaweed! That’s seaweed!”

“Yes!” Thunderpaw squealed. The two young apprentices cheered and giggled at their success, bunting one another

“AshClan borrowed our basket of seaweed,” Clammask explained, nudging Thunderpaw. “Grab some for us.”

“Grab seaweed,” Thunderpaw laughed. She quickly swiped the air like she was dragging a mouse out of hiding, then made the ‘seaweed’ motion again. Stormpaw mimicked the dragging motion as Thunderpaw hurried to AshClan’s oven.

“Why is Stormpaw learning Clan-sign?” Estherfern asked her mediator companions.

“Because Thunderpaw’s teaching her,” Sandpaw chirped. “Whenever Thunderpaw gets back from her sign lessons with Mummichogleap, she practices with us apprentices. Most of us are learning a few words so Thunderpaw isn’t left out.”

“And you want to learn?” 

“Thunderpaw makes it fun!”

“You can’t expect the whole Clan to learn this second language.”

“No one does.” Spikecrash touched her tail to Estherfern’s shoulder.. “But there are cats who want to make the effort. They can translate for those who don’t know. It puts pressure off Thunderpaw. She can miss what someone said, but she’ll have friends and family who can let her know.” Thunderpaw trotted back to the oven with a few long strips of seaweed. Clammask tore the seaweed into stew-sized chunks, showing the apprentices how to curl their paws just right. Thunderpaw seemed… happy.

“Now if you’ll follow us over here…” Sandpaw purred, strolling around the Leader’s Stone. Estherfern followed, tail a bit higher than before.

Brightpaw, Ravenpaw, and Vervainpaw sat with a gaggle of apprentices from the other Clans. They lounged about, chatting and laughing. Brightpaw nodded along to an apprentice’s story, his flank stretched out like frog legs. Ravenpaw relaxed on top of him, oohing and awing over the tale.

“I don’t know what your birth place thought of disorders of the mind,” Spikecrash whispered, brushing against Estherfern once more, “but like most disabilities, you can learn to live with them. There was a great gathering of warriors and codekeepers here at the new moon, do you remember? Brightpaw managed to befriend these apprentices during the visit. They invited their friends and littermates to chat today, and Brightpaw is happy to spend time with them. His mind is likely lying to him right now, but he knows ways to manage that. He could overcome his anxiety naturally some day, but that’s a minor part of who he is.”

“I know that,” Estherfern huffed. “He loves to play with Rabbitjoy’s paint supplies. He’s sensitive, and loves his sisters with all his heart. I’ve only ever wanted to help those traits shine.”

“That’s not how Brightpaw sees it,” Sandpaw scoffed under his breath. The comment hollowed out Estherfern’s chest. Before she could respond, two brown blurs shot past the Leader’s Stone with a horde of apprentices and young warriors at their tails. Wolverinepaw and Yarrowpaw led the crowd to an open spot within the festivities. They studied their followers like leader and deputy, the sunrise framing their profiles.

“We’ve got until after sunhigh to prepare!” Wolverinepaw cheered. 

“Are we going to let some dusty old bones beat us?” Yarrowpaw cried.

“No!” the young crowd yowled joyfully, already shoving and jumping over each other.

“Let’s show them what the new generation can do!” Wolverinepaw called. Her followers cheered, yowling to the high branches. They scattered throughout the clearing and split into sparring groups. They steadied their stances and wiggled their flanks. With sheathed paws, the youth of the Clans launched into training, trading blows and careful bites. Slushpaw lingered near the edge of the training grounds, cheering the others on.

“Slushpaw!” Sandpaw yowled to the older mediator apprentice. “What are they doing?”

“Well,” Slushpaw laughed, trotting up to Sandpaw, Spikecrash, and Estherfern, “Yarrowpaw and Wolverinepaw were arguing with Darkkick and another old warrior about what was a better trait in a fight; youth or experience. Suddenly all these other cats started joining in, and now the senior warriors are going to have a big mock-battle with the apprentices, plus some warriors who haven’t attended a Harvest Moon before.”

“And Wolverinepaw’s participating in this?” Estherfern huffed. She searched for her daughter in the crowd. She found Wolverinepaw rolling about with Yarrowpaw in the middle of the mess. Yarrowpaw shoved Wolverinepaw’s head into the dirt. Wolverinepaw snapped her jaw around Yarrowpaw’s leg and pulled her onto her shoulder. Yarrowpaw laughed as Wolverinepaw took her place on top of the older apprentice.

"She's as capable as any apprentice her age," Spikecrash assured Estherfern.

"She seemed so insecure during her ceremony…" Estherfern muttered.

"Wolverinepaw?" Spikecrash chuckled. "I don't think so. From what I've heard, she thinks she's strong enough to take on an actual wolverine."

"She didn't choose a role in time, though," Estherfern pointed out.

"Because she wanted to do everything!" Slushpaw laughed. "I talked with her right up to her ceremony. She had a new role in mind every day!" Oh. Had Wolverinepaw's sight not come up at all? Surely her decaying vision would make it hard for her to fight. Yet she kept up with Yarrowpaw, tumbling across the clearing with abandon. Had Estherfern's kits always been so sure of themselves? Surely they wanted cures. How else could they survive in a world that showed no mercy to the weak? In the cat-minded human's den, if you couldn't match up to the others, you wouldn't eat. Three of Estherfern's brilliant kits would have died in that awful place. Except…they weren't there anymore, were they?

"Can I guess what's been going on?" Spikecrash asked. "You've been so focused on a cure in their future, you've ignored how they are in the present. When's the last time you talked to them about something, anything but their health? Have you talked to Foampaw or Boughpaw at all?" Estherfern glanced from one kit to another. Their faces glowed with holiday glee. Did they ever glow around Estherfern anymore? When was the last time she shared a meal with them?

"Spikecrash," Estherfern muttered, her pride burning her words, "I need you to teach me something."

A short time later, Estherfern approached Thunderpaw and the RippleClan stew. The bounties of the ocean danced in the broth, specially prepared for that oh so exciting celebration. Thunderpaw stared eagerly into the stew while Stormpaw and their mentors talked with other caretakers. She spotted her mother and her eyes grew big and calm, mimicking Estherfern's eternally serene expression. Estherfern's heart did not carry that serenity as she approached her bold daughter.

"Do you need…" Estherfern said hesitantly. She awkwardly sat on her hind legs. She held out one paw, pads down, and angled the other on top of it, claws out. Thunderpaw's eyes sparkled at the sign.

"Help," she whispered as Estherfern quickly returned to a natural position. Thunderpaw made the sign with ease, quickly hopping from her hind legs and back. She ogled Estherfern, her thoughts not caught up to reality.

"I want to spend time with you," Estherfern explained. It felt like someone carved her pelt off, leaving her exposed. "I want to share your stew with you and your littermates." Thunderpaw blinked slowly. It took her so long to reply, Estherfern was about to repeat herself, just in case her pounding heart muffled her words.

"Do you want to learn the sign for littermates while the stew finishes cooking?" Thunderpaw gulped. The tip of her tail twitched wildly as her earlier joy bloomed across her face once more.

"If it means time with you," Estherfern sighed.

(Estherfern: 109, female, cleric, bloodthirsty, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Troutpool: 36, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sense)

(Weevilpaw: 10, female, cleric apprentice, adventurous, curious about StarClan)

(Honeybuzz: 23, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Spikecrash: 50, female, mediator, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

(Sandpaw: 6, male, mediator apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Drumtooth: 23, trans male, caretaker, loyal, great hunter, clever)

(Thunderpaw: 7, female, caretaker apprentice,

(Stormpaw: 6, female, caretaker apprentice, charismatic, loves to eat)

(Clammask: 69, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)

(Brightpaw: 7, male, warrior apprentice, lonesome, lover of art)

(Wolverinepaw: 7, female, warrior apprentice, compassionate, always asking questions)

(Yarrowpaw: 10, female, warrior apprentice, thoughtful, stares at fire)

(Slushpaw: 11, female, mediator apprentice, wise, quick witted, bats at string)

[greekcookingmadeeasy]

Savoury Tart With Pumpkin And Katiki Cheese

🥧

Savoury Tart with Pumpkin and Katiki cheese - Almyri Tarta me Kolokytha kai Katiki

BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy                          

SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL: https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy

                                                 

Check My YouTube Video: HERE

 

Κοιτάξτε Επίσης Την Συνταγή Μου Σε YouTube Βίντεο, Το Λίνκ Είναι: ΕΔΩ

 SERVES  🍴⃒     PREP. TIME 🕔⃒    

4-6 pers.               25 min + 1 hour wait        

COOK. TIME ♨   DIFFIC. LEVEL 👩‍🍳⃒

Pumpkin: 30 min.  

Tart: 45-50 min.                   Easy

Tarts are meant to be an easy dish that can be batched up quickly and feed a whole family without a lot of fuss.

This one has a really seasonal feel, being prepared with bright orange pumpkin combined with tangy cheeses and "mixed spices", for that cherished, light, sweet/salty pairing with a delicate fragrance.

It brings a ray of Autumn sunshine at your dinner table.

I hope you will enjoy it.

Suitable for lacto-ovo Vegetarians.

 

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 sheet (roll) / 300 gr. / 10.5 oz Short crust pastry or Kourou pastry, thawed

• 450-500 gr. / 1 lb-1 lb 2 oz Orange Pumpkin, in cubes of 1.5 cm / 0.6 in. thick

• 2 large Eggs 

• 250 gr. / 9 oz Katiki cheese (from Domokos), whipped (alter: Ricotta cheese)

• 1/4 cup / 50 gr. / 1.75 oz Graviera, Gouda or Kaseri cheese, grated

• 1 tsp. "Mixed Spice"

• 3 tbsp. / 45 ml Olive Oil

• Ground Salt and Pepper

NOTE:

Make your own "mixed spices" that are used to flavor this Pumpkin Tart, if you can not find them ready in the supermarkets. You can also add them to your Pumpkin Bread, Christmas Turkey Stuffing or hot Cappuccino or to other sweets or foods, to make them slightly spicy.

🎃 The recipe is to mix together and homogenize:

✔︎  9 parts ground Cinnamon

  ✔︎  2 parts ground Nutmeg

  ✔︎  2 parts ground Ginger

  ✔︎  1.5 parts ground All-Spice

  ✔︎  1.5 parts ground Cloves

🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃

METHOD:

A.    Precook the pumpkin:

1.     Line a Pyrex dish with parchment paper. Scatter the pumpkin cubes all around the dish.

2.     Place them in a preheated oven FAN @180 ℃ / 350 ℉ and bake them for 30' (depends on the oven).

3.     Remove from the oven and let pumpkin cubes cool down.

 

B.    Prepare the tart base:

4.     Brush 1 tbsp. Olive oil at the bottom and sides of a round tart dish of 22 cm / 8.7 in.

5.     Place the pastry sheet at the bottom of the dish.

6.     Press and raise the pastry edges, forming a lip around the sides to help hold the filling. Cut any overhanging pastry.

7.     Now with a small fork, make little holes all around the pastry sheet.

8.     Cover the dish with pastry using plastic wrap and place in the fridge for 1 hour to chill.

 

C.     Prepare the filling and finish the tart:

9.    Sprinkle half of the mixed spice on top of the cooked pumpkin cubes and with a spoon toss to cover them well.

10.  Use a sharp knife to cut the pumpkin cubes to even smaller pieces.

11.  In a large bowl, crack and whisk the 2 eggs.

12.  Next season with a bit ground salt (not too much) and ground pepper followed by the rest of mixed spice, the grated cheese and whipped Katiki cheese.

13.  Blend all ingredients very well.

14.  Add the pumpkin cubes in the thick liquid mix and stir to blend them well.

15.  Bring the dish with pastry from the fridge and pour the filling on top.

16.  Level its surface and then drizzle 2 tbsp. Olive oil followed by some more ground pepper.

17.  If you like, you could decorate the tart by pressing the edges with a small fork. Tart is now ready for the oven.

 

D.    Baking instructions:

18.  Bake the Pumpkin Tart in a preheated oven FAN @180 ℃ / 350 ℉ for about 45'-50' or until the tart is crisp and golden (depends on the oven).

19.  When ready, remove from the oven.

 

E. Serving instructions:

This tart should be served warm for lunch or as 1st course with a fresh green salad.

A great contradicting combo of the sweet pumpkin with the tangy cheeses, wrapped in a crispy tart.

Light, delicately sweet, tangy and slightly salty and look at these warm, deep, fall colors! A pure ray of Autumn sunshine at your dinner table.

 

F. Storage info:

Leftover tart can be stored in plastic wrap in the fridge for up to a week. Reheat quickly in the oven.

 

G. Info about Pumpkin-The Superfood 🎃:

Pumpkin is undoubtedly considered the Queen of Autumn and we identify it with the fall months.

So don't just carve the pumpkin to make a Jack-o'-Lantern, eat it as well. It is a Great Superfood!!

A pumpkin is a cultivar of a squash plant, that is round, with smooth, slightly ribbed skin, and deep yellow to orange coloration. The thick shell contains the seeds and pulp. Pumpkin has an exceptional versatile character, hence it can be used for savory and sweet concoctions. 

 

🎃 The origin of pumpkin:

The origin of pumpkin is American and/or African. The oldest evidence of pumpkin fragments are found in Mexico, dated between 7,000 and 5,500 BC. Pumpkins and other squash species, alongside maize and beans, feature in the Three Sisters method of companion planting practiced by many North American indigenous societies.

In general, it likes temperate climates with few winds and can easily cope with drought conditions due to its high water content.

There are indications that it was also known in ancient Greece. Nowadays, they are not systematically cultivated, but you will be able to find pumpkins in various regions of mainland Greece. They are sown outdoors around April and the earliest ones are on the market as early as August.

As Pumpkins are native mainly to North America, they are widely grown for commercial use and are used both in food and recreation. Pumpkin pie, for instance, is a traditional part of Thanksgiving meals in Canada and the United States, and pumpkins are frequently carved as jack-o'-lanterns for decoration around Halloween.

There are even local competitions being held in the US for the most elaborate jack-o'-lantern or the largest pumpkin cultivated.

 

🎃 Nutritional value:

Pumpkin is a highly nutrient-dense food. It is rich in vitamins, Beta carotene and minerals but low in calories. Pumpkin seeds, leaves, and juices all pack a powerful nutritional punch.

The fiber, potassium, and vitamin C content in pumpkin all support heart health. Studies suggest that consuming enough potassium may be almost as important as decreasing sodium intake for the treatment of hypertension, or high blood pressure.

Also did you know that Pumpkin puree can be used as a replacement for butter or oil in baking recipes? (with excerpts from Wikipedia and medicalnewstoday.com)

 

Check my YouTube Video: HERE

Αλμυρή Τάρτα με Κολοκύθα και Κατίκι

BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy                          

SUBSCRIBE TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL: https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy

 

ΜΕΡΙΔΕΣ🍴⃒   ΠΡΟΕΤΟΙΜΑΣΙΑ 🕔⃒

     4-6                   25 min + 1 ώρα αναμονή

ΜΑΓΕΙΡΕΜΑ ♨      ΒΑΘΜ. ΔΥΣΚΟΛΙΑΣ 👩‍🍳⃒

Κολοκύθα: 30 min.

Τάρτα: 45-50 min.                Εύκολη

Οι τάρτες είναι ένα εύκολο πιάτο που μπορεί να παρασκευαστεί γρήγορα και να ταΐσει μια ολόκληρη οικογένεια χωρίς πολλή φασαρία.

Αυτή η τάρτα έχει μια πραγματικά εποχιακή αίσθηση, μιας και ετοιμάζεται με έντονα πορτοκαλί κολοκύθα σε συνδυασμό με πικάντικα τυριά και "ανάμεικτα μπαχαρικά", για αυτό το αγαπημένο, γλυκό/αλμυρό ζευγάρωμα με λεπτό άρωμα.

Φέρνει μια αχτίδα φθινοπωρινού ήλιου στο τραπέζι σας.

Ελπίζω να την απολαύσετε.

Κατάλληλη για χορτοφάγους.

 

ΥΛΙΚΑ:

• 1 φύλλο / 300 γρ. / 10,5 oz Τριφτή Ζύμη ή ζύμη Κουρού, ξεπαγωμένη

• 450-500 γρ. / 1 lb-1 lb 2 oz πορτοκαλί Κολοκύθα, σε κύβους πάχους 1,5 εκ. / 0,6 ίντσες

• 2 μεγάλα Αυγά

• 250 γρ. / 9 oz Κατίκι Δομοκού, χτυπημένο (εναλλακ: τυρί Ricotta)

• 1/4 φλ. / 50 γρ. / 1,75 oz Γραβιέρα, Γκούντα ή Κασέρι, τριμμένο

• 1 κ.γ. "Ανάμεικτα μπαχαρικά"

• 3 κ.σ. / 45 ml Ελαιόλαδο

• Φρεσκοαλεσμένο αλάτι και πιπέρι

ΣΗΜΕΙΩΣΗ:

Φτιάξτε τα δικά σας «ανάμεικτα μπαχαρικά» που χρησιμοποιούνται για να αρωματίσουν τη τάρτα κολοκύθας, αν δεν τα βρείτε έτοιμα στα σούπερμαρκετ. Μπορείτε επίσης να τα προσθέσετε στο ψωμί κολοκύθας, στη χριστουγεννιάτικη γέμιση γαλοπούλας ή στον ζεστό καπουτσίνο σας ή σε άλλα γλυκά ή φαγητά, για να γίνουν ελαφρώς πιπεράτα.

🎃 Η συνταγή είναι να ανακατέψετε μαζί για να ομογενοποιηθούν:

  ✔︎  9 μέρη Κανέλα σκόνη

  ✔︎  2 μέρη Μοσχοκάρυδο σκόνη

  ✔︎  2 μέρη Τζίντζερ (πιπερόριζα) σκόνη

  ✔︎  1.5 μέρη Μπαχάρι σκόνη 

  ✔︎  1.5 μέρη Γαρύφαλο σκόνη

🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃

ΜΕΘΟΔΟΣ:

Α. Προψήστε την κολοκύθα:

1. Στρώστε ένα ταψί Pyrex με λαδόκολλα. Σκορπίστε τους κύβους κολοκύθας μέσα στο ταψί.

2. Βάλτε σε προθερμασμένο φούρνο στον αέρα @180 ℃ / 350 ℉ και ψήστε τους κύβους για 30' (εξαρτάται από τον φούρνο).

3. Βγάλτε από το φούρνο και αφήστε τους κύβους κολοκύθας να κρυώσουν.

 

Β. Ετοιμάστε τη βάση της τάρτας:

4. Βουρτσίστε 1 κ.σ. Ελαιόλαδο στο κάτω μέρος και στις πλευρές μιας στρογγυλής ταρτιέρας των 22 εκ. / 8,7 ίντσες.

5. Βάλτε το φύλλο τριφτής ζύμης στον πάτο του σκεύους.

6. Πιέστε και ανασηκώστε τις άκρες της ζύμης, σχηματίζοντας ένα χείλος στα πλαϊνά για να κρατηθεί η γέμιση. Κόψτε την επιπλέον ζύμη που προεξέχει.

7. Τώρα με ένα μικρό πιρούνι κάντε τρυπούλες στην επιφάνεια της ζύμης.

8. Σκεπάστε το ταψί με τη ζύμη με πλαστική μεμβράνη και βάλτε στο ψυγείο για 1 ώρα να παγώσει.

 

Γ. Ετοιμάστε τη γέμιση και τελειώστε την τάρτα:

9. Πασπαλίστε το μισό από τα "ανάμεικτα μπαχαρικά" πάνω από τους κύβους της ψημένης κολοκύθας και με ένα κουτάλι ανακατέψτε ώστε να καλυφθούν καλ��.

10. Χρησιμοποιήστε ένα κοφτερό μαχαίρι για να κόψετε τους κύβους της κολοκύθας σε ακόμη μικρότερα κομμάτια.

11. Σε ένα μεγάλο μπολ, σπάστε και χτυπήστε τα 2 αυγά με αυγοδάρτη.

12. Προσθέστε φρεσκοαλεσμένο αλάτι (όχι πολύ) και αλεσμένο πιπέρι και μετά τα υπόλοιπα "ανάμεικτα μπαχαρικά", το τριμμένο τυρί και το χτυπημένο κατίκι.

13. Ανακατέψτε πολύ καλά όλα τα υλικά.

14. Προσθέστε τους κύβους κολοκύθας στο παχύρρευστο υγρό μείγμα και ανακατέψτε να ενωθούν καλά.

15. Βγάλτε τη ταρτιέρα με τη ζύμη από το ψυγείο και ρίξτε από πάνω τη γέμιση.

16. Ισιώστε την επιφάνειά της τάρτας και στη συνέχεια περιχύστε 2 κ.σ. Ελαιόλαδο και μετά λίγο ακόμα φρεσκοαλεσμένο πιπέρι.

17. Αν θέλετε, μπορείτε να διακοσμήσετε την τάρτα πιέζοντας τις άκρες της ζύμης με ένα μικρό πιρούνι. Η τάρτα είναι τώρα έτοιμη για το φούρνο.

 

Δ. Οδηγίες ψησίματος:

18. Ψήστε την τάρτα κολοκύθας σε προθερμασμένο φούρνο στον αέρα @180 ℃ / 350 ℉ για περίπου 45'-50' ή μέχρι η τάρτα να γίνει τραγανή και χρυσαφιά (εξαρτάται από τον φούρνο).

19. Μόλις είναι έτοιμη, βγάλτε τη από το φούρνο.

 

Ε. Οδηγίες σερβιρίσματος:

Αυτή η τάρτα πρέπει να σερβίρεται ζεστή για μεσημεριανό γεύμα ή σα 1ο πιάτο με μια φρέσκια πράσινη σαλάτα.

Υπέροχος συνδυασμός-κόντρα της γλυκιάς κολοκύθας με τα πικάντικα τυριά, τυλιγμένα σε τραγανή τάρτα.

Ελαφριά, με υπόγεια, φινετσάτη γλύκα, πικάντικη και υφάλμυρη και δείτε αυτά τα ζεστά, βαθιά, φθινοπωρινά χρώματα! Μια ζεστή αχτίδα φθινοπωρινού ήλιου στο τραπέζι σας.

 

Ζ. Πληροφορίες φύλαξης:

Η τάρτα που έχει απομείνει μπορεί να φυλαχτεί σε πλαστική μεμβράνη στο ψυγείο για έως και μια εβδομάδα. Ξαναζεσταίνετε γρήγορα στο φούρνο.

 

Η. Πληροφορίες για την Κολοκύθα-Το superfood 🎃:

Η Κολοκύθα θεωρείται η αδιαμφησβήτητη βασίλισσα του φθινοπώρου και την ταυτίζουμε με τους φθινοπωρινούς μήνες. Γι' αυτό μην χαράζετε την κολοκύθα μόνο για να φτιάξετε το φανάρι Jack-o'-Lantern για το Χάλογουιν, αλλά να την φάτε κιόλας μιας και είναι Superfood! Η κολοκύθα ανήκει σε μια ποικιλία φυτών σκουός, που είναι στρογγυλά, με λείο, ελαφρώς ραβδωτό δέρμα και βαθύ κίτρινο έως πορτοκαλί χρώμα. Το παχύ σκληρό κέλυφος περιέχει τους σπόρους και τον πολτό-τη σάρκα. Η κολοκύθα έχει έναν εξαιρετικά ευπροσάρμοστο χαρακτήρα, επομένως μπορεί να χρησιμοποιηθεί σε μεγάλη ποικιλία από αλμυρά αλλά και γλυκά παρασκευάσματ��.

 

🎃 Καταγωγή/προέλευση της Κολοκύθας:

Η προέλευση της κολοκύθας είναι από την Αμερική ή και την Αφρική. Τα παλαιότερα στοιχεία για θραύσματα κολοκύθας βρίσκονται στο Μεξικό, που χρονολογούνται μεταξύ 7.000 και 5.500 π.Χ. Οι κολοκύθες και άλλα παρόμοια είδη, μαζί με τον αραβόσιτο και τα φασόλια, περιλαμβάνονται στη μέθοδο φύτευσης συντρόφων των Τριών Αδελφών που εφαρμόζουν πολλές αυτόχθονες κοινωνίες της Βόρειας Αμερικής.

Γενικά, οι κολοκύθες προτιμούν τα εύκρατα κλίματα με λίγους ανέμους και μπορούν εύκολα να αντιμετωπίσουν συνθήκες ξηρασίας λόγω της υψηλής περιεκτικότητάς τους σε νερό.

Υπάρχουν ενδείξεις ότι ήταν γνωστή και στην αρχαία Ελλάδα. Σήμερα η κολοκύθα δεν καλλιεργείται συστηματικά, αλλά θα συναντήσετε καλλιέργειες τους σε διάφορες περιοχές της ηπειρωτικής Ελλάδας. Σπέρνονται γύρω στον Απρίλιο και οι πιο πρώιμες κυκλοφορούν ήδη από τον Αύγουστο στην αγορά.

Καθώς οι κολοκύθες είναι εγγενείς κυρίως στη Βόρεια Αμερική, καλλιεργούνται ευρέως για εμπορική χρήση και χρησιμοποιούνται τόσο για βρώση όσο και για αναψυχή. 

Η κολοκυθόπιτα, για παράδειγμα, είναι ένα παραδοσιακό μέρος του γεύματος της Ημέρας των Ευχαριστιών στον Καναδά και τις Ηνωμένες Πολιτείες, και οι κολοκύθες είναι συχνά χαραγμένες ως jack-o'-lantern για διακόσμηση στο Χάλογουιν-Halloween.

Υπάρχουν μέχρι και τοπικοί διαγωνισμοί που διεξάγονται στις ΗΠΑ για το πιο περίτεχνο jack-o'-lantern ή τη μεγαλύτερη καλλιεργημένη κολοκύθα.

 

🎃 Διατροφική αξία:

Η κολοκύθα είναι ένα εξαιρετικά θρεπτικό και υγιεινό φυτό. Είναι πλούσιο σε βιταμίνες, βήτα καροτίνη και μέταλλα αλλά χαμηλή σε θερμίδες. Οι σπόροι κολοκύθας, τα φύλλα και ο χυμός τους έχουν ισχυρή διατροφική αξία.

Η περιεκτικότητα σε φυτικές ίνες, κάλιο και βιταμίνη C στην κολοκύθα βοηθάει στην καλή υγεία της καρδιάς. Μελέτες υποδεικνύουν ότι η κατανάλωση επαρκούς ποσότητας καλίου μπορεί να είναι σχεδόν εξίσου σημαντική με τη μείωση της πρόσληψης νατρίου για τη θεραπεία της υπέρτασης ή της υψηλής αρτηριακής πίεσης.

Επίσης, γνωρίζατε ότι ο πουρές κολοκύθας μπορεί να χρησιμοποιηθεί ως αντικατάσταση του βουτύρου ή του λαδιού στις συνταγές ζαχαροπλαστικής;!!

(με αποσπάσματα από την Βικιπαίδεια και medicalnewstoday.com)

Κοιτάξτε επίσης την συνταγή μου σε YouTube βίντεο, το λίνκ είναι: ΕΔΩ

[nostalgiachan]

Bullseye

Prompt Twenty-Seven: Injured Vier or Companions

C/W: spiders

Summary: The Phase Spider Matriarch says "shoot the medic first" and gets the jump on Vier. Astarion has to think fast to save her, but will it work? (1,130 words)

---

Why were they down here in this spider den? What had they hoped to find? What even drove Vier to drag everyone down to the bottom of the well - and more importantly, what drove the rest of them to follow? Had the tadpoles in their brains chewed through their common sense, or had some other madness compelled them so?

They should’ve turned around when they saw the webs. They certainly should’ve turned around after the first spider attack. And yet, there they were, facing down an absolutely massive Phase Spider matriarch and her brood and cocking things up in just about every way imaginable. Lae’zel had been flanked by two of the blue behemoths, and though she had nearly carved through her twin assailants, she was quickly running out of steam. Gale was surrounded by hatchlings, fresh from the one cache of eggs they hadn’t managed to find and smash, and was struggling to clear them out without setting everyone around him on fire.

Vier, meanwhile, had the misfortune of coming face to face with the matriarch herself. Her natural resistance to poisons did little to avail her against the spider’s gnashing fangs and its venom-filled spit, and it struck so quickly and so viciously, she’d never have a chance to channel her healing magics. Within moments, she was on her knees in a puddle of bile, toxin burning through her veins as she struggled to keep the world around her in focus.

And then, there was Astarion, tucked away in the shadows, bow drawn, waiting for the right time to strike. Vier had made for an excellent distraction - while the spider queen was busy trying to taste drow meat, he’d slipped from her many-eyed sight and was lining up a deadly little something for her. But as Vier dropped to all fours, he froze.

Shit! If she goes down, the rest of us won’t be far behind!

Quickly, he retracted his arrow and dug into his belt for the only healing potion he had on him. With the distance between them, he’d likely not make it to her in time to hand it over, and if the matriarch could take down a woman in heavy armor, she would make even shorter work of him should he get in range.

There was only one option.

Fly true, you beautiful bottle!

Summoning up every last ounce of strength, he launched the vial directly at Vier’s almost-prone form with a mighty volley. From the corner of her eye, Vier witnessed something small and red rapidly approaching her, before suddenly, there was a sharp crack against the side of her head and her world went black. The potion bottle shattered spectacularly as it smashed Vier directly in the skull, and she slumped over in the puddle of poison. 

Astarion’s gut sank as he watched her fall. Had he just killed Vier? With a healing potion? In his utter shock, he couldn’t keep from exclaiming, “Shit!” Immediately, the matriarch’s attention turned to him, and in the blink of an eye, it phased directly in front of him, reeling back for a nasty bite. Swiftly, he rolled out of the way of the first strike, and dove away from the follow-up spit of venom. But he was quickly running out of room on the narrow stone pathways, and one false move would send him careening to the rocks below - or worse, into one of the yawning chasms beyond.

But just beyond the matriarch’s eight-legged frame, there was movement. Vier came to, face halfway in the puddle of toxin, mouth full of wretched spider bile and skull absolutely throbbing with pain. Though it was by the slimmest of threads, she was hanging on, and she picked herself up on shaking legs. She wasn’t going to die down there; none of them were. With one hand raised to the sky and the other gripping the talisman of Lathander around her neck, she channeled the healing glow of the dawn’s light. “Te curo!” the words rose from her burning throat, and a soothing breeze enveloped the party, reinvigorating them completely and turning the tide at last against the spider horde.

As Lae’zel finally cut down the two phase spiders surrounding her, and Gale set the last of the hatchlings to the torch, all attention turned to the matriarch. In haste, she phased away to one of the many spiderweb bridges stretched across the rocks, hoping to envenomate her prey from a distance; but they were to no avail, as one good fireball set the web burning and the matriarch tumbling to the earth. Vier, Lae’zel, and Astarion quickly followed up, hurling Guiding Bolts and well-aimed arrows before she ever had a chance to recover.

As the matriarch’s massive legs finally curled up, they knew they had won.

The moment her adrenaline finally wore off, Vier’s head was set to agonizingly throbbing once more. Gingerly, she reached for the spot just behind her ear where the potion bottle had connected, and audibly winced as her fingers touched the bruised, swiftly swelling flesh. She would live, but man was she going to have a nasty goose egg for the rest of the day, at least.

As Lae’zel and Gale took stock of the various spoils found about the den - including a rather ominous looking amethyst - Vier approached Astarion, who looked rather pleased with himself, all things considered.

“Well, hello,” he chirped in his insufferably smug fashion. “Come to thank me for saving the day?”

Immediately, the throbbing worsened as Vier’s blood was set to racing with annoyance. “I am thankful for your help, truly,” she seethed. “I very well may have died without it. But next time, could you perhaps aim for center mass instead?”

“Well!” Astarion huffed, lips pouting and hands standing proudly on his hips. “You must not be that thankful if you feel the need to complain!”

“Alright, how about I lob a potion at you next time you need the healing? I’ll chuck it right at your face. I’m sure you’ll be whining for days.”

As though he could sense there was violence a-brewing, Gale stepped forth, presenting Vier with a piece of conjured-up ice wrapped in a rag. “While I’m all for spirited debates about the merits of projectile healing, how about we do such well away from the spider nest, hmm? While we seem to have thoroughly cleared the area, as they say, ‘If there’s one in your house, there’s four in your walls.’”

Vier tenderly placed the ice rag against her swelling head as Gale ferried the party out of the spider’s den and back to camp. She couldn’t tell what pissed her off more: the fact Astarion had saved her at all, or the fact he’d surely be gloating about it forever.

[twistedsanctuaryvow]

Shape with Confidence – Advanced C Channel Roll Forming by Jugmug

In today’s age of industrial precision and structural performance, C channel profiles are more than just pieces of metal—they are the backbone of strong, dependable frameworks. At the heart of these robust profiles lies the C Post Channel Roll Forming Machine, and no one understands this better than Jugmug RollForming. With years of engineering expertise, Jugmug has become a name synonymous with precision forming, durability, and customer-focused innovation.

What Is a C Channel Roll Forming Machine?

A C Channel Roll Forming Machine, also known as a C Post Roll Former, is used to manufacture C-shaped steel sections from metal coils. These profiles are widely used in:

Construction (purlins, wall studs)

Industrial shelving

Cable tray supports

Solar panel mounting structures

Automotive and transportation frames

The forming process ensures accurate dimensions, clean edges, and consistent shapes, which are critical for structural stability and assembly efficiency.

Why Jugmug RollForming?

With a heritage of craftsmanship and a passion for innovation, Jugmug RollForming has revolutionized how industries view roll forming. Here's why Jugmug leads the pack in C Channel Roll Forming:

1. Precision Engineering

Jugmug’s machines are designed using advanced CAD/CAM systems and assembled with CNC-manufactured components. The result is ultra-precise forming even at high speeds, with tolerance control up to ±0.5mm.

2. Heavy-Duty Build Quality

Built with rugged structural frames, hardened rollers, and wear-resistant shafts, these machines are engineered for long-term, high-volume performance without breakdowns.

3. High-Speed Automation

Equipped with PLC control systems, servo motors, and hydraulic punching/cutting, Jugmug’s C Post machines reduce human error and improve productivity. The touchscreen HMI makes operation simple and intuitive.

4. Customization on Demand

Every business has unique needs. Jugmug provides tailor-made C channel forming machines, whether you require:

Variable sizes and gauges (1.2 mm to 3 mm)

Manual or fully automatic operation

In-line punching, embossing, or logo marking

Quick-change cassette design for multiple profiles

Applications of C Channel Profiles

The C profiles manufactured using Jugmug’s machines find applications in:

Construction

Used as wall studs, roof purlins, girts, and base plates due to their load-bearing capacity and resistance to warping.

Solar Panel Mounting

C channels are widely used to fabricate the structural framework for solar PV systems.

Automotive Chassis & Framework

Because of their strength-to-weight ratio, C channels are ideal for reinforcing vehicle bodies and cargo enclosures.

Racking & Storage Systems

Industrial shelving systems often rely on C profiles for their modular, load-bearing structure.

Customer Success Stories

Jugmug RollForming has delivered its C channel machines across India and globally. Many manufacturers in the solar, automotive, construction, and logistics sectors report:

30% increased output

Reduced material wastage

Quick ROI (within 12-18 months)

Minimal downtime

After-Sales Support & Training

Jugmug doesn’t stop at selling the machine—it partners with you throughout the journey. Their post-sale support includes:

Installation & operator training

Preventive maintenance plans

Spare parts availability

Remote troubleshooting support

Annual servicing packages

Their team of qualified engineers is just a call away, offering pan-India coverage and global service reach.

Green Manufacturing with Jugmug

In alignment with sustainability goals, Jugmug machines are designed to optimize energy usage and reduce raw material waste. The machines feature:

Servo-driven motors for low energy consumption

Smart sensors for real-time quality control

Eco-friendly hydraulic systems

By adopting Jugmug’s forming systems, manufacturers not only boost output but also reduce their carbon footprint.

Conclusion: Shape with Confidence

When strength, accuracy, and speed matter, Jugmug RollForming’s C Channel Roll Forming Machine delivers with unmatched precision. Whether you are scaling up production or entering new markets, Jugmug ensures your foundation is strong—both literally and technically.

Shape your future with confidence—partner with Jugmug RollForming.

[ekintop]

Fixed Base Office Chairs: Silent Guardians of Professional Spaces

At NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, engineers are using fixed-base chairs to calibrate Mars rover parts, where even a 0.01-degree angle deviation could lead to catastrophic consequences. This extreme demand for absolute stability has made fixed-base office chairs irreplaceable in professional fields. The non-rotating design is not just a physical limitation, but also a biomechanical safeguard for precise work.

1. Precise Control of Mechanical Structure

The aerospace-grade aluminum alloy frame, optimized through topology, reduces structural stress concentration by 62%. The four-point contact base design achieves 98% uniformity in force distribution, improving by 23% compared to traditional five-legged bases. Vibration tests at MIT’s Mechanical Laboratory show that fixed-base chairs have only 0.13mm displacement under a 6-point earthquake simulation, providing a stable platform for precision tasks.

The ergonomic locking mechanism includes three layers of safety redundancy: electromagnetic latch (response time 0.2 seconds), mechanical buckle (weight capacity of 500kg), and hydraulic damping (displacement ≤0.05mm). Boeing’s application data shows this design reduces assembly errors to one-seventh of rotating chairs.

The fine-tuning system allows for millimeter-level positioning, with a footrest integrated with a digital angle gauge (precision ±0.1°) and a backrest adjustment gear track (0.5mm per tooth). This creates a fully personalized mechanical support system. Clinical tests show a 41% reduction in muscle fatigue when maintaining a fixed posture.

2. Breakthrough Innovations in Material Science

Carbon Fiber-Kevlar Composite Seat Cushion This combination of aerospace materials ensures surface modulus reaches 120GPa for rigidity and features a honeycomb structure that absorbs 70% of vibration energy. In semiconductor cleanroom tests, the material dust emission is only 0.03μg/m³, meeting ISO Class 3 standards.

Bionic Coating Innovation The self-healing polyurethane layer developed by Germany’s Covestro contains 5 million microcapsules/cm². Scratches larger than 3μm are repaired at a molecular level within 40 seconds, and the surface friction coefficient remains stable between 0.35-0.55, extending the product lifespan to 15 years.

Bio-Based Composite Materials DSM’s EcoPaXX seat base material, made from 51% castor oil extract, has reduced its carbon footprint by 68% compared to traditional plastics, while its impact resistance has increased to 42kJ/m², certified by UL ECVP 2809’s closed-loop standards.

3. Professional Adaptation in Specialized Designs

In Rolls-Royce’s aircraft engine assembly line, fixed-base chairs and workbenches form a golden triangle of support: the seat angle is locked at 5°, and the armrest height tolerance is ±1.5mm. This configuration improves assembly efficiency by 37%, and reduces repetitive strain injuries to one-fourth of the industry average.

Medical Surgery Chairs Integrated with a sterile control system, the base is made from 316L stainless steel, and the surface is electro-polished to Ra≤0.8μm. The gas lift system allows micro-adjustments down to 0.01mm, and the temperature-sensing seat maintains a consistent 36.5-37°C temperature range, speeding up wound healing by 19%.

Esports Training Chairs Equipped with a neurofeedback system, the seat features 32-channel electromyography sensors to monitor posture stability. When muscle tremor frequency exceeds the threshold, the armrest’s tactile feedback module provides an immediate warning, enhancing the precision of professional players' operations by 28%.

4. Technology-Driven Health Management

Dynamic Pressure Distribution Monitoring System This system includes 2048 sensor units that map the pressure distribution between the ischium and femur. When localized pressure exceeds 32kPa, the air cushions automatically adjust support, reducing the risk of sciatic nerve compression by 63%, according to clinical trials.

Biological Rhythm Lighting System The ActiveLight technology from Philips is integrated into the chair’s backrest with full-spectrum LEDs. The system automatically adjusts color temperature based on circadian rhythms—6500K blue light in the morning to boost cognition, and 3000K amber light in the evening to promote melatonin secretion, reducing work efficiency fluctuations by 41%.

Aerodynamic Design for Local Microclimate Optimization A laminar airflow channel is set beneath the seat (airflow speed of 0.25m/s ±5%) and is coupled with a HEPA 13-level filtration system. Air quality monitoring shows that the PM0.3 concentration in the breathing zone remains below 12μg/m³, increasing brain oxygen levels by 18%.

At the University of Tokyo’s ultra-precision machining laboratory, quantum-level stable chairs are creating miracles: using superconducting magnetic levitation technology, 99.97% of ground vibration is neutralized, achieving a nanometer-level processing precision of 0.5nm Ra. This shows that fixed-base chairs have evolved from physical limitations into technology enablers, releasing the maximum potential of human creativity through absolute stability. When biomechanics, material science, and environmental control deeply integrate, fixed-base chairs no longer restrict but become the solid foundation of professional excellence.

Choose Ekintop Furniture, and we will provide you with the best solutions for your professional workspace needs.

[onlineshopping-123]

Does the Derma Roller Actually Work for Hair Growth in Qatar?

Does the Derma Roller Actually Work for Hair Growth in Qatar?

Many human beings in Qatar worry about hair loss, which may be added on by using environmental causes, stress, or genetics. Although there are numerous one-of-a-kind hair care merchandise on the market, the derma roller is a well-appreciated and efficient alternative. This cutting-edge tool is frequently used to promote hair increase and decorate scalp fitness. Is it worthwhile to strive, despite the fact that, and how does it perform? Let's cross over all you need to recognise approximately derma curler hair treatment in Qatar.

A Derma Roller: What is it ?

A tiny, transportable tool with tiny microneedles that gently pierce the scalp is known as a derma curler. This system, known as microneedling, encourages the formation of collagen, which is essential for appropriate hair development, and facilitates the growth of blood movement. The derma curler will increase the effectiveness of hair boom remedies like serums, oils, and minoxidil through generating microscopic punctures in the scalp that improve absorption.

Advantages of Derma Roller for Hair Treatment: Promotes Hair Growth

A derma curler's microneedling motion will increase blood glide to the hair follicles by inducing the frame's natural healing reaction. This stimulates hair follicles that have been dormant to emerge as active and generate new hair strands.

Enhances Hair Product Absorption

Oils and serums for hair development are simplest when they deeply penetrate the scalp. By forming micro-channels, a derma curler improves the absorption of these chemical compounds and yields advanced results.

Stronger and Denser Hair

Using a derma roller on a normal foundation will increase the creation of collagen, strengthening hair strands. This promotes thicker, healthier hair and lessens hair breakage.

Minimises Hair Loss

A derma roller allows lessen hair loss delivered on by using weak follicles or insufficient blood glide through promoting new hair growth and increasing scalp circulate.

An less expensive and non-intrusive solution

A derma roller is a less invasive and extra low-priced option for hair regrowth than luxurious hair treatments and transplants. It calls for no downtime and is straightforward to apply at home.

In what approaches might a Derma Roller sell hair increase?

For surest effects, derma curler use should be accomplished successfully. Take those movements :

Select the Appropriate Needle Size

zero.Five to one.5 mm: Perfect for exciting the scalp and promoting hair growth.

Longer needles must be used underneath a doctor's supervision.

Wash your scalp.

Before using the derma roller, wash your hair and scalp with a gentle shampoo to do away with oil and debris.

Make the Derma Roller sterile .

To avoid infections, usually clean the curler with heat water or alcohol.

Gently roll.

Avoid making use of an excessive amount of strain as you circulate the derma roller throughout the scalp in vertical, horizontal, and diagonal directions.

Use a Hair Growth Serum.

For higher absorption and results, use a hair growth oil or serum after the use of the derma curler.

Use three instances every week.

Use should be restricted to 2 or three instances every week to keep away from irritating the scalp.

Where in Qatar Can I Purchase a Derma Roller?

Derma rollers are normally reachable in Qatar through neighbourhood pharmacies and beauty stores, in addition to on-line retailers such as Amazon Qatar, Noon, and Jazp. For safety and efficacy, get a top class curler with titanium or stainless-steel needles.

Concluding feedback

If you need to boom hair obviously and efficiently, a derma curler is an extremely good addition to your hair care routine. You can get thicker, more healthy, and more potent hair with normal use of the right hair care merchandise. A derma curler is a less expensive and easy remedy that is to be had in Qatar, irrespective of whether you are combating hair thinning or sincerely want to boost the health of your scalp.

[supriya--askdigital9]

Combined bearings for material handling applications

What is Combined Bearing Technology?

Combined bearings are wave bearings that can transmit together radial and axial loads. The configuration of combined bearing is in such a method that the axial and radial bearing operates at 900. The main load is approved by the radial bearing whereas the axial bearing takes the side thrust. The combined bearing is used with outline rails or channels. There are two key forms of profiles, I and C profiles. The combined bearing transparencies into the profile rail resulting in the required linear motion. The combined bearing is welded with flange plate for the mounting necessary as per the essential of the use. This assembly is majorly used for weighty duty vertical and horizontal movement with precision. 

How combined bearings are diverse from other linear motion technologies?

Combined bearings are used ordinarily for high load applications. For sure claims like dusty atmosphere or high temperature environment linear guides or ball screws can be replaced by combined bearings. The overall valuation of dissimilar linear motion systems is given in the below table.

Application

Lead Screws

Ball Screws

Chain & Sprocket

Rack & Pinion

Actuators

Linear Guides

Combined Bearings

Precision

High

V High

Good

High

V High

V High

Good

Load Capacity

Good

High

Good

High

Good

Good

V High

High Temp. Environment

Good

Good

High

High

Good

Good

High

Speed

High

V High

Good

Good

High

High

Good

What are the selection parameters for combined bearings?

The following are the basic selection parameters.

Load Volume – This is the load to be carried and the dead load (weight)

Load Expanse – The distance of load from the suspension point

Bearing Distance – The distance between the combined bearings in the assembly. (the recommended distance is 500-1000 mm)

Size Series – The combined bearings can be selected based on the O.D. The O.D. typically ranges from 52.5 mm to 153.8. The O.D. of large bearings series from 180 mm to 320 mm. Apart from these basic parameters, other considerations such as in-situ use obligation, workplace environment and temperature etc. also need to be measured.

What are the applications of combined bearings?

Combined bearings can be professionally used in dissimilar trades. Specific of the leading applications are as follows:

Steel: combined bearings are used in Pickling Lines & Edge Wiper Machines in Cold Rolling Mill (CRM), billet conveyor, furnace trolley and transmission car in Bar and Structure Mill (BSM), Wire Rod Mill and Hot Strip Mill.

Aluminium: Combined bearings are used in Stack Loader and Sow Casting Machine in Cast House, PTM Machine (Hydraulic Type) in Aluminum Smelting – Pot Room and in Billet Casting Plant.

Automobile: It is used by Line Builders and in Power Electrical Regions.

Others: The Combined bearing associations are used in numerous additional manufacturing uses like transmission units, mechanization for diverse orders, packaging machines, wood and paper business and general machine building etc.

Who are the leading manufacturers of combined bearings?

Kavitsu Bearing is the top Combined Bearing supplier, Manufacturer, Exporter, Dealer in ABUDHABI, Algeria, Australia, Bhutan, Canada, Czech Republic, Egypt, Germany, Indonesia, Italy, Netherland, New Jersey, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Spain, Thailand, Turkey, UAE, UK, USA, Vietnam ,Port de Bejaia Algerie, Melbourne, Phuentsholing, Toronto, Ontario, Montreal, Joliette, Port of PRAGUE, Cairo, HAMBURG, Eschweiler, Surabaya, Milano, Genoa, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Riyad, Dammam, Barcelona, Bangkok, Istanbul, Heathrow, Cleveland, Oklahoma, Houston, Pittsburgh, NEWYork, Hare Apt, Seattle, Minneapolis, HCMC Port.

[writersblockedx]

The Exception

Requested: ‘Hello! If you are taking requests I was wondering if you would be willing to/ want to write a fic! I was thinking dean X reader where they both like each other (but they are not wanting to tell the other/ don’t realize kinda thing) and Dean let’s reader pick music when he is driving and/or let’s reader steal some of his french fries! Thank you!!’ - Anon

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary - Y/n and Dean have been silently pining for one another since they first met. Though, things suddenly start to come out when the two venture on a hunt on their own. Warnings - Mentions of death, general violence, mainly fluff Words - 2K

A/n - The request didn’t specfiy gender of reader so, as I mainly write for fem reader, I made an assumption!

Visit my Masterlist

It wasn't often Y/n and Dean went on hunts without the youngest (yet taller) Winchester, but, when they did, the dynamic constantly changed. Dean was flirtier, Y/n less focused on research and more centered around the time she was spending with the boy. Somewhere along the slaughtering of monsters and exterminating of ghosts, feelings developed - which made their duo hunts all the more...different.

"So why are we driving to Iowa exactly?" The girl had finally asked once they were getting close to this certain state.

Dean shuffled around in his seat a little, retrieving a newspaper that he passed over to Y/n, "Here." He said as he took it for herself, beginning to skim over the words. "Second line down." Dean directed.

She followed his instruction, "Husband dies tragically, leaving wife looking like she'd just seen a ghost." It sounded like a stretch. Y/n glanced back over at Dean, "You do know 'like she'd just seen a ghost' is just an expression? Doesn't actually mean there's a case here." She joked, earning herself an eye roll from the green-eyed boy.

"Keep reading." He told her and she did so.

It didn't take her long to realize: "He entered a new construction site with work, never to leave again. Co-workers found him, deemed it death from a heart attack. A strange incident when considering he won the town's marathon the week prior." So maybe this was something ghostly.

Y/n looked back to Dean, folding the paper up once more, "See?" He was holding an 'I told you so' expression that led Y/n to look away.

Her hands found the radio. She almost franticly began to switch through the channels, giving her mind a form of entertainment. "What are you doing?" Questioned the oldest Winchester as his gaze flickered between the road and the girl.

Her eyes never pulled from the radio, determined to locate a song that she would enjoy. "Dean while I love your obsession with classic rock music, I don't want to listen to the same three albums on repeat every drive." She told him while Dean kept his lips sealed. She pushed and shoved at several buttons before some acoustic guitar music started to lull through the impala.

Had it been anyone else, even Sam, Dean would have been throwing a childish fit right now. He would be lashing out about how his favorite three albums were iconic and not meant to be replaced by some hippy guitar music. But as it were Y/n in the passenger seat, Y/n having her hands all over the radio, then Dean kept quiet and excused such actions because, "We're almost there anyway."

She raised a brow, "And exactly where is there?"

As if answering that question, Dean pulled into the town's nearest motel. "It's a ten-minute walk from where the construction site was." He informed, parking the car.

Y/n was already getting out of the impala, Dean following as they went to grab their bags. "One of us should probably head to the library, find some archives on the property." She suggested while the boy popped the trunk and handed the girl her bag.

He sighed, slamming it shut as they turned to one another. "You mean to do research?" He clarified. To which, she nodded. Neither of them wanted to take part in said research. Usually, they left that to Sam. But on these certain hunts, where research was heavily involved and one of them had to do it, there was only one way to decide between them who got assigned which job.

Their palms conducted into fists, their eyes going narrow as they stared at one another. They patted against their other hand three times before revealing their move.

Y/n played paper; Dean played scissors.

The boy's lips twisted up into a cheerful grin that seemed to taunt Y/n. "Have fun at the library!" He gleamed walking into the motel. All while she did nothing but let her eyes roll.

Once having booked their room, Dean changed into his suit and tie, fit for one attempting to pass as an FBI agent, and headed for the site. All while Y/n stayed as she was and got dropped off at the town's library. She found a desk that she would make her own for the next hours and shuffled through a variety of books before piling them onto the desk. In that moment, she cursed Dean for winning at such a childish game they still decided to play.

But as an hour or so passed, she finally came across something that may help. In the towns history book (which dated back to the 1600s) Y/n came across the fact that before the previous property (an insurance company) had been built, a small cemetery had stood there. She was willing to bet that whatever was haunting the town, was a ghost whose bones were still buried below the dirt and stone.

She had kept reading in an attempt to find anything about there still being bodies buried on the site. Which was when her phone started to ring, and Dean's contact stared back at her. "And how is research going?" He was quick to taunt, prompting an eye roll from Y/n as many books stared back at her (them too seeming to taunt her).

"Fine, actually." She lied right through her teeth; it was still torturous. "Just found that the site, many many years ago, was in fact a small cemetery. I just need to find out which of the bodies buried there is still the one haunting the site." The girl informed, scanning over the paper in front of her. "What about you? Find anything?"

The boy hummed in response, taking a moment to answer as he chewed on something. "A load of EMF" He finally answered.

Y/n's eyebrow quirked as she slowly relaxed back into her chair. "You found a load of EMF in a diner? Because that's where it sounds like you are." She paused and Dean said nothing to his defense. "Please tell me you did actually visit the site?"

"Of course I went to the site. Spoke to a few people, spoke to the guy who had found him too." Another chewing sound blared through the phone, making Y/n squirm at the sound. "Said that it was definitely strange and that he could have sworn he saw a white cloud of smoke over the body before he rushed in." The boy went on before shoving more grease into his mouth. "Then I went around - found loads on EMF."

Y/n followed along, his words assuring them in that they were dealing with a ghost. "Okay and then what, decided to get food?"

"I was hungry!" He argued, probably loud enough that the whole restaurant on the other sound had heard it.

"And you didn't think that maybe I might too be hungry?"

Dean was silent for a moment or two, Y/n picking up on the sound of his knife and forking hitting the plate. "There's an empty seat across from me and I'm sending you the address now."

And not a second later, her phone pinged again with said location. "Hey, Dean?" He hummed as to acknowledge her words. "Any more research or anything that even remotely required something to read; it's your job."

He sighed but accept his fate, "Fine." And then he hung up.

Y/n packed every historic book she had once taken back away and walked towards the diner Dean had messaged to her. It was their stereotypical place to eat: Burgers, fries, and a warning for a heart attack. And sure enough, sat with an empty seat across from him, was Dean and a slice of pie staring at him.

"You look like you're falling in love." Y/n observed sitting in the empty chair.

Dean looked up, a great grin on his lips and glistening awe in his eyes. "I am." Then he slowly pushed his fork into the luscious desert, practically drooling.

Next to that plate, was a portion of fries. And, with Dean so infatuated with the pie, Y/n took a couple of fries, throwing them into her mouth. Dean dropped his fork before it could even brush against the cream of the pie. "What are you doing." The awe in his eyes dissipated, replaced with a stern expression that glared Y/n's way.

The girl, however, could barely keep a straight face, taking another fry. "Eating. It's what most people do in places like these." Then she ate that fry, watching as Dean's jaw clenched.

"But they're mine." He whined like a toddler would have done.

"And the least you can do for leaving me to do research while you sat here and ate fast food, is let me eat some of said fast food." She responded with the quirk of a smile.

Dean's eyes were narrow, debating in his head whether to let this one slide. And, similarly to in the car, he did, because it was her. "Fine. Go right ahead." She returned to the fries; he returned to his pie; everything was well.

"So what do we do next?" Y/n inquired. "It's not like we find a name and look for the gravestone."

Dean shrugged with a mouthful of pie. "Guess we'll just have to torch them all."

Her brows raised in surprise, "You're joking right? All of them?"

"You said it was a small cemetery."

And so, with greasy full well and truly digested, they returned to the motel and waited for it to get dark. Once it was night, the two made their way towards the construction site with two shovels, salt and a lighter. And they started digging. Luckily, the site was far from any curious neighbors so they didn't have much to worry about. It was just a rather tedious job to dig for hours, finding the many bones and having to burn every single one.

It was 3am, and they were covered in dirt, tired, and threw themselves into the front of the impala with a much needed huff. Y/n believed she couldn't have looked worse in that moment: her hair tied and an utter mess, her clothes so muddy they felt as if they were glued to her body. Yet in that silent moment, Dean glanced over to her and could have swore she was ever so beautiful. So much so in fact, it just, sort of, slipped out.

"You're beautiful."

He hadn't meant for it to happen. And when it did, they were both caught by surprise at his words. Her head snapped to him, eyes wide. She laughed awkwardly as if she must have heard him wrong. "What?"

Dean wasn't sure how he was meant to play this off - or even if he should. "I don't know what it is about you." He paused and budged closer. Now or never. "You are one of the closest people to me and I can't help but think that, whenever we're alone, about how we would be...together." This wasn't like Dean. He wasn't one for big confessions. He never needed to be. "I know maybe that's stupid to think but I can't help it. Whether you change my music or fight over who should do the research or steal my food, it just makes me think that I must see you as more than just a friend to let you do that. I mean I don't even let Sam do that and-"

"Dean-"

He kept talking. "And he's my brother. I suppose what I'm trying to say-"

The only way she found to stop the boy's rambles was to lean in herself until her lips grazed his own in one kiss - and shut him up for good.

--

Supernatural Taglist -   @desimarie12​ Dean Winchester Taglist -  @lyarr24​

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[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 3. frogger

Previous | Next

[warnings: cursing, smoking, light violence, blood]

"i don't want to be friends. i want all of you."

—

"Can I get your number?"

You and Larry both whip around to face Sal, the person who'd spoken that sentence. You're stood at the foot of Addison's Apartments.

"What?" You blink. "Me? My what?"

You assume Sal mirrors your nonplussed expression because he bats his eyes just as startled as you did. "Uh- your phone number. So we can be in touch easier. You know, for school and stuff."

Eager anxiousness in the form of butterflies batted their wings in your gut and your ribs. You reached into your back pocket, flipped your flip-phone open, and handed it toward the blue-haired boy. "Here," you blurted. "Put it in there." You gloss your eyes toward Larry. For some apparent reason, he's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin.

"You can put yours in too if you want."

He waves a tan hand. Your attention is on Larry, but it somehow drifts and you're glancing toward Sal. His veiny hands are jerking which each movement of his thumbs as he presses numbers on the keypad.

"No, that's okay," Larry replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll get it off of Sal."

"Here," Sal holds the flip phone out to you. It's small in his hand.

He has long fingers, you thought.

"Oh, thanks." Your fingers brush his as you reclaim your phone and return it to it's place in your back pocket.

Your heart is beating unnecessarily loud by the time they've walked you to your apartment. Your hands are in your coat pockets to conceal the mild trembling in your hands. You're almost nervous that they can hear the rushing of your blood as your heart rapidly pumps it through your body—because you know you certainly can.

"I had fun today," you smiled, your expression nothing but sincerity. "Thanks for everything. I appreciate it."

Larry grins. "That's cute. No need to thank us, alright?"

You twitch the corner of your lips upward and nod towards him.

Sal tucks a strand of blue hair behind his ear—you'll never get used to the color. In a good way. You could look at it for hours—and fiddles with his backpack strap. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," you respond, your teeth making an appearance. "Goodnight, you guys."

With that, you're inside of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. You hear their muffled voices and unintelligible words through the wall as they retreat from your door and towards the elevator.

You drop your bag at the door and make haste to your room. You sit on the side of your bed and hurriedly open your phone.

The first phone number you'd ever had—save your mother, which doesn't count— was "c you tomorrow :)", sitting right beneath "Mom" on the contact list. After changing his name to "Sal :)" you breathed out shakily, and slowly pushed enter on his contact.

Should you send him something? Isn't that a bit weird? You'd just seen him a few minutes ago. Should you wait a little longer? What if he's still with Larry, and they see what you'd sent a message so quickly and make fun of you?

You shake your head. That was unlikely. All they'd been was great to you.

"c you tmrw."

You inwardly linger over the thought of pressing the send button.

Why the fuck were you so nervous, anyway? Because a boy with nice hands and a pretty laugh said he'd see you tomorrow?

Yeah.. okay, maybe that was it.

"c you tmrw." The message was sent.

You slapped a hand over your face. Should you have said something else? Should you just have not texted him at all? You fell back into the mattress, draping your arm over your face and blinking into your wrist. The feeling of exhilarated dread churned in your gut.

A subtle vibration reverberated on the comforter. It buzzed in your ears momentarily. You paused, before lurching upward and snatching the phone back into your grasp.

"you too. let's try not to rouse mrs. packerton's suspicions tomorrow like we did today lol."

You grinned, and replied before you could stop yourself. "might not be possible. you may need to answer another math question for me."

Sal replied after a pause. "can't say no to that. goodnight, y/n"

You breathed out slowly, typed out a goodnight message, and slowly dropped your hands back down to the comforter.

Your fingers shook and your heart was beating itself against your rib cage. Not long after, you dozed off into sleep thinking of the way your body felt when the warmth of his palm was flush against the nape of your neck.

Getting up the next day is a bit harder than getting up the previous one. You couldn't seem to rub the sleep away from your eyes, and, for some reason or another—you'd waken up in a cold sweat, and your sheets stuck to your body. Not only that, when you'd went to shower, the water was freezing, for no apparent reason. You'd come to terms with the fact that this building had multiple personalities.

Standing beneath the shower head felt like being pricked with itty-bitty pitchforks. Topped with miniature ice cubes.

You'd gotten dressed in an oversized black sweater (over a long-sleeved, black top for added warmth), along with an a-lined plaid emerald green and blue skirt on top of your sheer black tights. The skirt was not short—not amongst your standards, it was mid-thigh—but nowadays teachers were weird about how girls dressed so you'd have to keep an eye out about that.

Also, surprisingly—instead of the usual beat up and raggedy sneakers you usually wore you decided on some of your chunky Mary Janes you'd thrifted not long back. You'd never given them a go outside before. The only time they'd been worn was in your room and by yourself.

When you were fully dressed, you let yourself examine your outfit in the mirror. While doing so, your phone chimes in your hand. You snap it open hastily and read the notification.

"it's larry. sal gave me your number :P meet us outside when ur ready"

You grinned and walked out of your room. You grabbed your bag and made for the door. When you'd gotten outside, what greeted you there was not exactly what you'd expected.

"Oh! Ashley, is this yours?" You inquired, gazing over the pale silver Ford Fiesta that sat in the driveway. It was a cute car. Ash sat in the driver's seat with the window down and her forest green eyes attentive and on you.

"Yeah! My little brother had an allergic reaction while eating out at some big corporate food chain and we got it in compensation. We already have a family car so it was given to me."

What a nice story, you thought, making sure you maintained your pleasant expression.

"Oh," you passed your gaze over the vehicle again. "Cool!"

You noted Todd's place in the passenger seat. You met his eye and gently waved. He returned the wave, with that neutral look on his face he always seemed to have.

"You're going to be cold," a voice behind you says rather abruptly. You jump, whirling around.

"You scared me," you laughed, your face burning as you made eye contact with none other than Sal Fisher. "What do you mean?"

"Your skirt," he replies, glancing away momentarily. Your eyebrows raise comically.

"You don't like it?"

"No-" he rushes out, a bit too fast. "Uh, no. It's g- it's nice. I meant you're going to be cold in it."

He was right. It was nearing the end of August.

You pass your eyes over your legs, from the a-lined skirt, the sheer black tights, and the chunky Mary Janes. You return your gaze to his—not before catching a glinting glimpse of what seemed to be rings adorning his fingers—and shrugged.

"Oh well. All I'm worried about is being dress coded," you look to Larry, who's near Sal. "Good morning."

"You too," he grins. "Let's get in the car. It's chilly."

You all clamber into the backseat. You're in between Sal and Larry. Hot air blew from the car vents and hit you in the face as Ashley turned the temperature up further. While doing that, she turns on the radio and channel surfs until she's found some sort of soft rock station. She turns it up to a moderate volume.

A car freshener in the shape of a red tree dangled from the rearview mirror and swayed as Ashley put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. It had a charming illustration of what resembled two strawberries on the front.

The car smelled nostalgic—like the smell of the hair on one of those Strawberry Shortcake dolls you owned as a child.

The wistful scent is abruptly overpowered by the smell of smoke and the autumn air. Larry had rolled a window down and had just lit a cigarette to your left. On your right, Sal has pulled out his flip phone and is playing some sort of shit quality version of Frogger.

Interested, you lean over.

"How'd you get that on there?"

He looks over at you. He's close. You can hear him slowly inhaling and exhaling through his nose. "Todd did it for me," Sal replies. He gestures toward you with the phone. The phone makes a sound. The digital frog had fallen into the water. "Wanna play?"

"Oh," you pause, and smile. "I like watching you."

His eyes flicker over your face. "Okay."

He returned to the game. Finally, you had an excuse to stare down at his hands. Multiple silver and black rings adorned his hands. They fit him perfectly—snug on his pretty fingers and accenting his veiny hands perfectly.

During your examination, you hadn't exactly realized it but your cheek was now flush against his shoulder and your hair was tickling his neck.

No, you weren't smelling him, but it was hard not to scent it when you inhaled through your nose. He smelled of delicate laundry detergent—fresh, clean—and of minty vanilla. Breathing that in made you feel what was probably the most at home you'd felt in months.

You glanced up from his hands, to his Adam's apple, to his prosthetic face—his gaze remained attentive on the flip phone, dark lashes moving along to accommodate his flickering eyes. You looked away before he'd noticed, and paid attention to the game.

"You're good," you commented.

He didn't reply immediately, almost as if he'd looked over at you. The side of your face remained on his shoulder and your hair still brushed against the skin on his neck.

"Well, it's only Frogger," he remarked. "I bet you're better. Try it."

The sudden scent of ashy smoke consumed your senses. Larry must have exhaled halfway inside of the car. The vapor floated for a moment before dissipating into nothing.

You took the phone from Sal's hands and shifted in your seat to sit straight up. You pressed play on the game, and within seconds your frog had fallen into the water.

"I suck."

"No, you don't. You're just not trying hard enough."

"Potato, Potahto," you reply, shortly laughing at yourself and pressing play again nonetheless.

Suddenly, the vehicle slammed to a halt. You held onto the phone tight in one hand and steadied yourself on the passenger seat in front of you with your other one.

Sal seemed to have the same idea, except he seemed to panic and had braced yourself on your knee instead. You could have sworn you saw white for a split second, your insides jumping and chills fluttering down your spine. He quickly retracted his touch, catching your eye immediately.

"Sorry," Sal uttered.

"That's okay," you'd done a fine job gathering yourself together. "Perfectly fine."

"Jesus Christ, Ash! What the hell was that?" Larry calls from your left, the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. He was halfway through exhaling his smoke when he spoke again. Vapor spilled from his lips as he stared at the front of the vehicle. "Trying to kill us?"

"Whoops! Sorry guys, I almost missed the red light."

"That wasn't very wise," Todd remarked from the passenger seat, turning his head to look at Ash. You couldn't help but shortly giggle, looking back down at Sal's phone.

You heard Sal slowly exhale a breath of relief beside you.

"Yeah, anything but fucking wise," Larry scoffed. "Thought I was about to die, dude."

"I said I was sorry," you could hear the roll of Ashley's eyes in her voice. "My parents would kill me if I got a ticket. Also, who told you that you could smoke in my car?"

"I did." In your peripheral vision, he was staring blankly. "What're you going to do about it?"

In the rearview mirror, Ashley squinted her eyes but said nothing.

"This is a shit show," Sal murmured, looking back to his phone in your hands. You'd returned to the game, still attempting at getting past the first level. The digital frog continuously leaped over lily pads and logs. It was almost therapeutic.

"Sorry you don't want me back here, Sal." Larry's tone had transformed from mildly annoyed to slightly bitter. His cigarette had been held unattended for a decent amount of time so it had begun to burn out. "I didn't ask to third wheel."

You blinked and convinced yourself you'd heard him wrong.

You weren't looking at Sal's face. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Just chill out, alright?"

"I'll say what I want."

"It's too early for this, Larry," Sal bit out. "Cut it the fuck out."

Your heart pumped furiously.

"Where do you want to take this, Sal?"

Ashley jumped in incredibly quick, the car jerking as she turned the wheel abruptly, pulling the vehicle into the school's parking lot. "Fuck no. What the fuck are you thinking, Larry? Going to fight Sal because you're in a pissy mood?"

"I'm not going to fucking fight him, Ashley," He shook his head. "It's just- apparently he's got some kind of vendetta against me today so I guess we could talk somewhere else-"

"That's in your head, Larry," Sal said honestly. "I don't know what makes you think I have something against you today, but I don't. I don't know how you want me to prove that to you."

Larry settles into silence as Ashley pulls the Ford Fiesta into a parking space.

"Just- put the cigarette out and calm down, okay?"

It didn't look like the smoke had much left in it, but Larry still drew one last hit out of it before he stepped out of the car and crushed it beneath his shoe. He throws his bag over his shoulder and slams the car door behind him.

You look over at Sal, who was reaching for the door handle. Ashley and Todd had already exited the vehicle, and Ashley was standing by and waiting for you both to get out so she could lock the car.

"Hey," you murmured before he could leave. The blue-haired boy turned his head and inquired you with raised eyebrows. "Try to be patient with him, when you two talk it out. I haven't known him long—but I can tell he's the sort of person that wouldn't act like that unless something's bothering him."

Sal looks down at you thoughtfully, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. You hear him swallow thickly. "Yeah," he muttered. "He is that type of person. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

With that, you both exit the vehicle and Ashley locks the car. Todd and Larry had already walked up a measured distance ahead of the three of you.

"Do you know what that might have been about?" Ashley asks, directing the question toward Sal by holding eye contact with him. You walk to Sal's left, looking ahead as to not be intrusive on the conversation.

"Uh.." he trails off. A cool breeze filters past your face and legs and it makes you shiver. "Not really. Usually, it's about his mom. Whenever they've argued about something, it puts him in a bad mood."

Ashley seems to give herself a moment to reply.

"Anything else?"

Sal does the same.

"Not that I know of."

Your eyebrows twitch downward.

Ashley walks slightly ahead of the two of you. She calls your name, and you look up from the ground, startled. "How are you liking the apartments? Anytime I've been there, they're kind of creepy."

You giggle. "Yeah. You could say that. I'd say they're alright—it gets kind of cold. The water was fucking ice cold today. Could barely shower."

Ashley mirrors your laughter. "Anything else?"

You pause. "Larry has this really great treehouse. I don't know if you've been, but it's honestly pretty cool. It's homey."

She looks up to Sal in surprise. "She's already been? When did you guys show her?"

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Uh, well, we didn't necessarily show her.."

Ashley looks at you curiously. You sarcastically pout towards Sal, finding his eyes to be twinkling with amusement. "I may have broken into it."

"Oh, you didn't break into it," Sal protests, exhaling sharply through his nose in a gentle chuckle. "You just didn't realize it was inhabited."

You look towards Ashley. "Long story short—I found a cool treehouse. Thought it was abandoned. Climbed into it. Coincidentally, Sal and Larry climbed into the treehouse while I was in it. It was embarrassing."

"It wasn't. It was funny," You could hear Sal's grin. "She smoked for the first time that day."

Ashley's jaw dropped in faux-astonishment. "You've tainted her innocence."

You smile. "It was honestly kind of horrible at first."

Before you knew it, the three of you had entered the school. After a few more minutes of banter and friendly conversation, you and Sal parted ways from Ashley to head towards your first class of the day: math.

Once again, Mrs. Packerton had given the class a math sheet. For god knows why she expected you to know all of these things off of the bat and get all of the questions right with barely any assistance. You were stuck on one problem like it always went.

Someone nudged your arm. You looked to your left and smiled at who was looking at you. He glanced down at your paper. "The answer's-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Fisher?"

Fuck, you thought, slowly looking up to your elderly teacher. Glancing over to Sal, his eyebrows were raised and he peered up at the woman at the front of the classroom with something akin to surprise in his eyes. "Uh-"

Before he could explain himself, Mrs. Packerton's entire facade did a 180 and her eyebrows were suddenly furrowed and her frown was deep-set. It was almost comical, and you strained to keep the laugh in. You weren't looking to break a rib, so you unfortunately giggled beneath your breath.

Her dark brown eyes slid over to you. After a moment of being examined and feeling extremely uncomfortable, she sighed.

"I'm administering detention for both of you, after school. I will let you finish the test, but next time this happens it'll be an immediate fail for both of you. Understood?”

You and Sal exchange both equally supposed expressions, before nodding together.

Before class is over, you see Travis giving Sal another sour look. Oh my god, you thought, twirling your pencil around in between your fingers. Is this going to have to be another talk, Travis?

The bell rang. You and Sal jumped up and fled the class as quickly as you could.

"Oh my god," he breathed, as you both stepped into the hallway and began maneuvering through the countless amount of students flooding the halls. "She's super fucking scary. I was so wrong."

You abruptly laugh. "Yeah. She's got that look in her eye." You pause. "I'm sorry, Sal. You wouldn't be getting a detention if it wasn't for me."

Sal tilts his head just slightly. "It's no big deal. It was my fault, anyway. It's not like you asked for my help either times I helped you out. It's not like my dad's going to be mad, anyway—he'll probably be relieved. I've never really got detention for anything, especially involving talking to another person. Probably'll be glad I'm being more social, haha."

You frown. "I'm still sorry."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to be-"

"If only your friend wasn't so dumb, Sally Face. It's a shame that your perfect record is all tarnished."

Sal appears as though he knew who was talking a few words in. He inhales, turns around to face the blond boy behind him, and backs up a step. "What do you want, Travis?"

Your fingernails sink into your palms. It stings. You told him yesterday!

"Nothing. Just wanna know why she's so stupid."

Sal's eyes flicker. "Mm, think you're forgetting about how close you were to failing mid-terms last year. You're not very bright yourself."

Travis grows a bit red but he looks as though he's trying to ignore his growing frustration. It boggled you—the fact he was so easy to anger because of the fact Sal was defending himself. Defending.. you?

"Whatever. Why am I fucking arguing with a fucking satan worshipper, anyway?"

That genuinely surprised you. What kind of insult was that? And where did it come from?

"Whatever, Travis. God doesn't like bullies, either. I hope you don't kiss your daddy with that mouth-"

You're glad the hall is relatively empty because the crack you hear when Travis' fist meets Sal's prosthetic face is loud and startling. Your heart is in your throat. You place your hands on Travis' chest and push him into the lockers. The metal cages rattle beneath the sudden weight.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?" You shout, red hot anger coursing through your body and pumping through your veins. "Get the fuck away. I swear to god, I'll-"

Sal murmurs your name, gripping your wrist. "Stop. Don't push him."

You give Travis the bitchiest expression you can muster. He scoffs and walks away. You're surprised he didn't throw one last insult into the air—but he instead walked down the hall with heavy footing, turned around the corner, and disappeared.

As soon as you're done watching him down the hall, you whip around to Sal with wide eyes. He was cupping the place where the mask cut off, collecting blood that dripped down.

"He's got a mean right hook," Sal breathily laughed.

The rage you currently felt made your head hurt. You quickly grabbed him by the wrist and hurried him towards the restrooms at the opposite side of the hall. On your way, the bell rings. You couldn't care less whether or not you were going to miss your class—it's not like you didn't have detention already.

"Hey, what're you-"

You pull him into the girl's bathroom, which was empty. You make sure to turn him away from the entrance. His eyes are as wide as two dinner plates.

"Huh. Smells nice in here," he comments. The fact that's the first thing he says tells you he's clearly in shock from being clocked in the face.

You grab some paper towels and look him in the eye.

"I'm going to clean you up now,"

You reach around his head.

"Hey, I- wait, you don't-"

You unbuckle the clasps at the back of his prosthetic and pull the prosthetic off of his face. You set it aside, and set it on the edge of the sink.

He slowly meets your gaze. The amount of internal fear that's held inside of those eyes—fear you know that's been held in for so long—is astonishing to you. Your eyes soften. You slide your gaze over his face, and all you can feel is an unbelievable amount of happiness and satisfaction.

Butterflies swarm your insides and beat against your ribs at the sight of his mouth.

It's just as kissable as you'd imagined.

Shut the fuck up, you snap back at yourself. Not the time.

You're unable to hold in the large smile that grows on your lips as you bring the paper towels toward his face and wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose, down his mouth, and fell down his chin—there was so much of it that it had made its way down to the collar of his shirt, staining the material scarlet red.

"You can give that to me later," you uttered. "I know a thing or two about getting blood out of clothes, haha."

His lips twitched, but he remained silent and let you do your thing.

After thoroughly cleaning his face off, you return the prosthetic to him, handling it with care.

"Here you go."

After he'd put it on, you met his eyes.

"Hey, Sal, I'm-"

"It's okay." He peered at you sincerely. "That went.. better than I thought it would. I just hope you don't think of me differently."

The thought appalled you.

"No!" You exclaimed, a bit too forceful. You gathered your composure and tried it again. "No. Um- I could never. Seriously. Your face doesn't change who you are, Sal. It doesn't make me think of you any different. You're still you. Besides, I- um... I liked it."

His eyebrows jump and he jerks his head upward. "What?"

"I liked it. I liked your face."

He was silent like it was taking him a little bit to process that. Your eyes wandered during this time, and they landed on the collar of his shirt, again. You cursed.

"Shit. Hold on."

Suddenly, you'd crossed your arms around your midriff and began pulling the sweater upward. The noise Sal made was almost comical.

"No, uh, you don't have to! It's fine, I can-"

Before he could stop you, the shirt was up and over your chest and it was off of your head. Thank god that you'd remembered the black top beneath, or else you'd feel really bad that you couldn't give him the sweater—it wasn't like you could walk around in just a bra (as much as you'd like to sometimes.)

He grabbed the article of clothing from you, hesitant. "You're sure?"

"Yep!"

"Alright," he murmured, cautious, pulling your sweater over his head and pulling it down his torso. Once he'd done so, he looked back to your eyes and inquired you with his own. "So? What do you think?"

Heart beating so loudly it thrummed in your ears, you replied: "You've never looked better," and grinned wider than you ever have before.

[booklindworm]

A rant against Karen Traviss' understanding of history and her FAQ answers

Did you base the Mandalorians on the Spartans?

<cite> No. I didn't. </cite> Fair enough.

<cite> I really wish history was taught properly - okay, taught at all - in schools these days, because history is the big storehouse that I plunder for fiction. It breaks my heart to hear from young readers who have no concept even of recent history - the last fifty years - and so can't see the parallels in my books. You don't have to be a historian to read my novels, but you'll get a lot more out of them if you explore history just a little more. Watch a history channel. Read a few books. Visit some museums. Because history is not "then" - it's "now." Everything we experience today is the product of what's happened before. </cite> Yeah, I do to. Please, Ms Traviss, go on, read some books. Might do you some good. And don't just trust the history channels. Their ideas about fact-checking differ wildly.

<cite> But back to Mandos. Not every military society is based on Sparta, strange as that may seem. In fact, the Mandos don't have much in common with the real Spartans at all. </cite> You mean apart from the absolute obsession with the military ["Agoge" by Stephen Hodkinson], fearsome reputation ["A Historical Commentary on Thucydides" by David Cartwright], their general-king ["Sparta" by Marcus Niebuhr Tod], the fact that they practically acted as mercenaries (like Clearch/Κλέαρχος), or the hyper-confidence ("the city is well-fortified that has a wall of men instead of brick" [Plutarch, Life of Lycurgus])...

<cite> A slightly anarchic, non-centralized, fightin' people? Sounded pretty Celtic to me. Since I went down that path, I've learned more about the Celts (especially the Picts), and the more I learn, the more I realise what a dead ringer for Mandos they are. But more of how that happened later... </cite>

The Celtic people are more than one people, more than one culture. Celtic is a language-family! In the last millennium BC nearly every European ethnic group was in some ways Celtic, and they were not one. Later, after the Germanic tribes (also not one people, or a singular group) moved westwards, the Celtic cultures were still counted in the hundreds. Not only Scotland was Celtic! Nearly all of Western Europe was (apart from the Greek and Phoenician settlers on the Mediterranean coasts). The word “Celts” was written down for the first time by Greek authors who later also used the word “Galatians”. The Romans called these people “Gauls”, and this word was used to describe a specific area, bordered by the Atlantic Ocean, the Cévennes and the Rhine: “Gaul”. So the Celts, the Galatians and the Gauls were all part of the same Celtic civilisation. "Celts, a name applied by ancient writers to a population group occupying lands mainly north of the Mediterranean region from Galicia in the west to Galatia in the east [] Their unity is recognizable by common speech and common artistic traditions" [Waldman & Mason 2006] Mirobrigenses qui Celtici cognominantur. Pliny the Elder, The Natural History; example: C(AIUS) PORCIUS SEVERUS MIROBRIGEN(SIS) CELT(ICUS) -> not just one culture "Their tribes and groups eventually ranged from the British Isles and northern Spain to as far east as Transylvania, the Black Sea coasts, and Galatia in Anatolia and were in part absorbed into the Roman Empire as Britons, Gauls, Boii, Galatians, and Celtiberians. Linguistically they survive in the modern Celtic speakers of Ireland, Highland Scotland, the Isle of Man, Wales, and Brittany." [Celtic Culture: a historical encyclopedia. by John Koch] "[] the individual CELTIC COUNTRIES and their languages, []" James, Simon (1999). The Atlantic Celts – Ancient People Or Modern Invention. University of Wisconsin Press. "All Gaul is divided into three parts, one of which the Belgae live, another in which the Aquitani live, and the third are those who in their own tongue are called Celtae, in our language Galli." [Julius Caesar, De Bello Gallico] <= I had to translate that in school. It's tedious political propaganda. Read also the Comentarii and maybe the paper "Caesar's perception of Gallic social structures" that can be found in "Celtic Chiefdom, Celtic State," Cambridge University Press. The Celtic tribes and nations were diverse. They were pretty organized, with an academic system, roads, trade, and laws. They were not anarchic in any way. They were not warriors - they were mostly farmers. The Celts were first and foremost farmers and livestock breeders

The basic economy of the Celts was mixed farming, and, except in times of unrest, single farmsteads were usual. Owing to the wide variations in terrain and climate, cattle raising was more important than cereal cultivation in some regions.

Suetonius addressing his legionaries said "They are not soldiers—they're not even properly equipped. We've beaten them before." [not entirely sure, but I think that was in Tacitus' Annals]

Regarding the Picts, in particular, which part of their history is "anarchic"? Dál Riata? the Kingdom of Alba? Or are you referring to the warriors that inspired the Hadrian's Wall? Because no one really knows in our days who the fuck they were. The Picts’ name first appears in 297 AD. That is later. <cite> Celts are a good fit with the kind of indomitable, you-can't-kill-'em-off vibe of the Mandos. Reviled by Rome as ignorant savages with no culture or science, and only fit for slaughter or conquest, the Celts were in fact much more civilized than Rome even by modern standards. </cite> That's how the Romans looked at pretty much every culture that wasn't Greek, Roman, Phoenician, Egyptian, or from Mesopotamia (read, if you want, anything Roman or Greek about the Skyths, the Huns, Vandals, Garamantes...).

<cite> They also kicked Roman arse on the battlefield, and were very hard to keep in line, so Rome did what all lying, greedy superpowers do when challenged: they demonized and dehumanized the enemy. (They still used them in their army, of course, but that's only to be expected.) </cite> They were hard to keep in line, but they most definitely did not kick Roman arse on the battlefield. Roman arse was kicked along the borders of the Roman Empire, such as the Rhine, the Danube, the Atlas mountains, etc. And mostly by actually badly organized, slightly anarchic groups, such as the Goths or the Huns (BTW the Huns were not a Germanic people, even though early 20th century British propaganda likes to say so). Though they were also decisively stopped by the Parthians. Who were very organized. Ah well. <cite> While Rome was still leaving its unwanted babies to die on rubbish dumps - a perfectly acceptable form of family planning to this "civilisation" - and keeping women as chattels devoid of rights, the barbarian Celts had a long-standing legal system that not only gave women what we would think of as equal rights, but also protected the rights of the elderly, children, and the disabled. They had a road network across Europe and worldwide trade long before the Romans ever got their act together. And their science - well, their astronomical calculations were so sophisticated that it takes computers to do the same stuff today. </cite> See? You even say yourself that they weren't actually anarchic. Also you're not completely right: 1. women (of most Celtic cultures, with one notable exception being the Irish) were not allowed to become druids, e.g. scientists, physicians, priests, or any other kind of academics, so they did not have equal rights. Also, as in other Indo-European systems, the family was patriarchal. 2. the roads they had were more like paths, and did not span the entirety of Europe; the old roads that are still in use are nearly all of them Roman. Had the Celtic inhabitants of Gallia or Britannia built comparable roads, why would the Romans have invested in building a new system on top? 3. world-wide? Yeah, right. They traded with those who traded with others and so were able to trade with most of southern Eurasia and northern Africa, as well as few northern parts (Balticum, Rus), but that's (surprise) not the whole world. 4. most people use computers for those calculations you mention because its easier. It's not necessary. I can do those calculations - give me some time to study astronomy (I'm a math major, not physics) and some pencils and paper. 5. and - I nearly forgot - the kids didn't die. That was a polite fiction. The harsh truth is that most Roman slaves were Romans... <cite> So - not barbarians. Just a threat to the empire, a culture that wouldn't let the Pax Romana roll over it without a fight. (Except the French tribes, who did roll over, and were regarded by the Germanic Celts [...]) </cite> WTF Germanic Celts? What are you smoking, woman? Isn't it enough that you put every culture speaking a language from the Celtic family in one pot and act as if they were one people, now you have to mix in a different language-family as well? Shall we continue that trend? What about the Mongolian Celts, are they, too, proof that the Celts were badass warriors? I think at this point I just lost all leftover trust in your so-called knowledge. <cite> [...] as being as bad as the Romans. Suck on that, Asterix... </cite> Asterix was definitely a Celt, and unlike the British Celts, he was not a citizen of the Roman Empire.

<cite> Broad brush-stroke time; Celts were not a centralized society but more a network of townships and tribes, a loose alliance of clans who had their own internal spats, but when faced with some uppity outsider would come together to drive off the common threat. </cite> They might have tried, but they didn't. The first and only time a Celtic people really managed to drive off some uppity outsider would be 1922 following the Anglo-Irish Treaty of 1921*. The fact that France, Spain, Portugal speak Romance languages and the British (or Irish) Isles nearly uniformly speak English should be proof enough.

*Unless you count Asterix. <cite> You couldn't defeat them by cutting off the head. There was no head to cut off. </cite> You mean unlike Boudica and Vercingetorix. Oh wait. Tacitus, in his Annals, said that Boudica's last fight cost 80,000 Britons and 400 Romans their lives. He was probably exaggerating. But it definitely stopped much of the British resistance in its tracks. <cite> To the centralized, formal, rather bureaucratic Romans, for whom the city of Rome was the focus of the whole empire, this was a big does-not-compute. The Celts were everything they didn't understand. And we fear what we don't understand, and we kill what we fear. </cite> While that is totally true, it's also completely off the mark. The Romans demonized the druids, not every Celt, and they were afraid of what was basically an academic network. That had nothing to do with war. <cite> Anyway, Mandos....once I took a single concept - in this case, the idea of clans that operated on a loose alliance system, like the Celts - the rest grew organically. I didn't plan it out in detail from the start. </cite> That's really obvious. Maybe looking at some numbers and remembering that you weren't planning a small, local, rural, medieval community would have helped, too. I mean lets have a look at, say, Scotland (since you specifically mentioned the Picts): they still have less than 6 mio. people all together, and that's today. Mandalore is a sector. A sector of Outer Space with at least 2000 inhabited planets. How do you think that translates? It doesn't. <cite> I just asked myself what a culture of nomadic warriors would value, how they would need to operate to survive, and it all grew inexorably by logical steps. The fact that Mandos ended up as very much like the Celts is proof that the technique of evolving a character or species - find the niche, then work out what fits it - works every time. It creates something very realistic, because that's how real people and real societies develop. </cite> Celtic people were usually not nomadic! And, once again, non of them were predominantly warriors! It's really hard to be a nomadic farmer. I believe the biggest mistake you made, Ms Traviss, is mixing up the Iron Age (and earlier) tribes that did indeed sack Rome and parts of Greece, and that one day would become the people the Romans conquered. And apart from the Picts they really were conquered. <cite> So all I can say about Mandos and Spartans is that the average Mando would probably tell a Spartan to go and put some clothes on, and stop looking like such a big jessie. </cite>

I'd really like to see a Mando – or anyone – wearing full plate without modern or Star Wars technology in Greece. Happy heatstroke. There is a reason they didn't wear a lot (look up the Battle of Hattîn, where crusaders who didn't wear full helmets and wore chainmail* still suffered badly from heat exhaustion). [Nicolle, David (1993), Hattin 1187: Saladin's Greatest Victory] *chainmail apparently can work like a heatsink CONCLUSION You're wrong. And I felt offended by your FAQ answers. QUESTION You're English. You're from England. A group - a nation - that was historically so warlike and so successful that by now we all speak English. A nation that definitely kicked arse against any Celtic nation trying to go against them (until 1921, and they really tried anyway). A nation that had arguably the largest Empire in history. A nation that still is barbaric and warlike enough that a lost football game has people honestly fearing for their lives.

Also, a Germanic group, since you seem to have trouble keeping language-families and cultures apart. If we were to talk about the family, we could add on the current most aggressively attacking nation (USA) plus the former most aggressively attacking nations (the second and third German Reich), also the people who killed off the Roman Empire for good (the Goths and Visigoth), the original berserkers (the Vikings) and claim at the very least the start of BOTH WORLD WARS. Why did you look further?

Some other sources:

Histoire de la vie privée by Georges Duby and Philippe Ariès, the first book  (about the antiquity) I read it translated, my French is ... bad to non-existent

The Day of the Barbarians: The Battle That Led to the Fall of the Roman Empire  (about the Huns) by Alessandro Barbero

If you speak Dutch or German, you might try

Helmut Birkhan: Kelten. Versuch einer Gesamtdarstellung ihrer Kultur, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Wien

Janssens, Ugo, De Oude Belgen. Geschiedenis, leefgewoontes, mythe en werkelijkheid van de Keltische stammen. Uitgeverij The House of Books

DISCLAIMER

I’m angry and I wrote this down in one session and thus probably made some mistakes. I’m sorry. Or maybe I’m not sorry. I’m still angry. She can’t know who reads her FAQ and at least two of her answers (on her professional website) were offensive to the reader.

[afictionalwhore]

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

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Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

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The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

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[h2bakugou]

Hawks with a sassy s/o but soft in private

a/n: hawks time!! my sister got the new animal crossing game and it is so much fun omg. 

headcanon: them with a sassy s/o who’s soft in private

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

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Hawks can be quite sassy himself. So it’s no surprise when you send him a witty remark or sarcastic comment.

But he’s totally turned around when you’re soft in private. He was confused at first because whenever the two of you are out doing patrols, pr saving the day doing hero work, you’re almost always sassy.

If you’re not making witty remarks, then you’re focused. While you can still be serious and sassy, you’d rather make remarks after you’re done with your mission.

So when Hawks returns form his shower, dressed in some comfy pj’s for the first time, he’s surprised to see you curled up on his couch, a soft smile on your lips as you flipped through channels on the tv.

“Hey, babe.” You acknowledge his presence, moving your ‘nest’ of blankets for him to come and cuddle.

Hawks doesn’t expect you to want to cuddle. But love is full of surprises isn’t it.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” You question, pulling Hawks from his thoughts. There was your usual snarky tone. But it was still different. It was softer and calm.

Hawks doesn’t hesitate any longer, joining you under the pile of blankets, cuddling closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

From then on out, he’s a little more used to you. It’s funny to see you go from telling villains to eat shit to begging him for cuddles because he’s quote “warmer than you are.”

Your sassy personality has proven to be extremely useful when it comes to interrogating villains or criminals. And Hawks always loves to see you in action. 

“You did amazing out there today babe.” Hawks pressed a kiss to your lips, his hands resting on your hips.

“You really think so?” You tilt your head to the side.

If he were to have told you that in public your response would’ve been along the lines of “yeah no shit sherlock.” or “of course I did.”

But you were so relaxed in private. And Hawks didn’t mind. He was sort of the same.

The only time Hawks ever saw you act as soft as you did in public as you did in private was when you dealt with young fans. Hawks was surprised yet again.

“Hi!!” The little girl smiled up at you, holding her arms out.

“Hi, there!” You smiled, bending down to pick her up. You held her in your arms, listening to her talk.

“You’re so cool! I love you so much!” She was excited, and you could tell her mother was happy that they’d run into you. 

“I bet you’re pretty cool too. Here.” You decided to give her a little something to hold onto.

“Do you think you could hold onto this for me?” You set her back down on the ground and hand her a bracelet. 

It was something you’d made the other day, and you hadn’t taken it off. You liked giving things to fans, especially young ones like these. It was nice to see them chasing their dreams as you had done.

Hawks was admiring from the side, a huge smile on his lips. You were so sweet.

“R-really?!” The girl asked, her hand out, holding the bracelet in her palm.

“Yup! You’ve got to take really good care of it. Think you can do that?” You fold her fingers down around the bracelet.

“Yes! I’ll take real good care of it, I promise!” She eagerly puts the bracelet on her wrist, smiling at it.

“Thank you.” Her mother thanks you. You nod and stand back up, shaking the woman’s hand, waving bye to the little girl.

“Look at you being a good role model.” Hawks retorts.

“Oh shut up.” You retort, rolling your eyes.

Hawks pinches your cheek and you quickly grab his wrist, twisting it around.

“Ass!” You laugh, watching as he lifts off the ground, you holding onto his wrist being the only form of holding on. Hawks moves his arm, so his hand is now holding onto your wrist.

“Put me down you chicken!” You call out to him.

“That wasn’t very nice!” He calls back, his wings lifting the two of you higher and higher. He readjusts so that you’re resting against him now, your arms slung over his shoulders and the two of you flew through the sky.

“Eat a dick!” You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Oh hush, we’ll be back on land in a few seconds.”

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masterlist

[florencwrites]

all is fair in love〚dreamwastaken〛

in which clay cannot help but desperately promise himself that she will remember him

part 2

"She doesn't know my name, George." A frustrated sigh escaped his lips, almost closer to a huff than a sigh, honestly. His left hand ran over his face, a slight tremble detectable in his movements. His other hand held his phone close to his cheek, both the other sides of the line staying silent.

Hesitation on his breath, George spoke up again, leaving a few seconds for his response, just offering some time for his friend to calm down. "She will, Dream."

"You don't know that." The blonde immediately retorted, rolling his eyes at his friend's pathetic attempt of making him feel better. "Doctor said it could take years."

"Dude, you've been in love with this girl for years, when she didn't even know you existed at all," Sapnap interjected, somehow trying to relieve the tension by cracking a light joke. "I'm sure it'll work out again."

"Took her years to like me back." Clay chuckled, "I was obsessed." His mind was clouded by pictures of her, of them together. When they were just little kids, littering the streets for hours trying to find an agenda. Their teen years, how he hadn't been able to muster up the courage to ask her to prom, for years in a row. Her cheeky smile, expressive eyebrows, and those eyes he loved that much, those eyes that had been shut closed for days now. Fuck, he ran another hand over his face, up through his locks, he would never let her out of his sight again. Not when shit like this happened when he wasn't around. He'd never forgive himself for it, never let himself live it down. His eyebrows folded in agony, once again entirely overtaken by the idea of her not getting better, never becoming her old self anymore.

"Oh, we know, Dream." A slight chuckle breathed through his words, "She's so cute, Nick, AH! She let me hold her hand!" He mimicked his friend with a higher tone of voice, the brit quickly joining in, "GEORGE! She added me back! I'm so pathetically in love with her, George."

"I hate you guys." His voice sounded meek, soft, vulnerable. He loved them with all his heart, always knowing how to lift his mood, how to comfort him when he needed them to. "Thank you, for -uh- everything."

"Yeah dude, of course." Nick's smile was shining through his voice, audible even through the wacky discord call. George kept silent, but it was clear; they'd always be there to help him get through whatever it was, for however long it was needed.

It took three months, two weeks and several days for him to get her to smile again, a few more days after that for a laugh, God knows he could use it. The glint that once occupied her gaze had now retaken its deserved place in her eyes again after all, her eyebrows finally dancing with her expressions once again. A few days ago, she'd even let him hold her hand while they watched TLC on the tiny little television in her hospital room. He'd bugged her about buying her a bigger one every time he came by, which was practically every day, now that he thought about it.

His friends understood that he couldn't join their streams as often as before, they still offered him a spot in their Jackbox lobby every time, and Wilbur took it to himself to make sure he was never left out of the script, even if he bailed on them more often than not. It killed George especially, to see his friend like this, barely eating, sleeping all the time he wasn't spending sitting by her bed. He realized he'd never worried more about anyone than he did about Clay those hazy months. His own channels were suffering greatly, too, but that wasn't even close to being on his mind.

"Hi there." Clay waved slightly, wiggling his fingers nervously as he opened the door to her room. His eyes glanced to hers, a faint smile on her features as she muttered out a greeting. His gaze flickered through the room. He remembered first coming here those weeks ago, the deadly white walls that caged him into his own mind, the panic that wouldn't leave his veins, no matter what he did. He'd sat there for hours, the nurses having to send him home every single day. The lack of personal items making him greatly uncomfortable. Gradually he would take more and more decorations into her room, starting with some flowers, bringing in several stacks of plushies a little later. George, Nick, and Darryl had decided to get together and get her a Switch, naturally, Darryl had convinced them to get the new Animal Crossing for her. Clay decided to throw in some Mario Kart, more for himself than his comatose girlfriend. Then, the news broke on Twitter, and the drawings flooded his PO box, the one he now apparently shared with her. Pictures upon pictures hung on her walls, he even went as far as getting her Christmas lights above her bed, some photos of their childhood, too. At this moment, her eyes had yet to see the light of day since her accident, he did it all in complete silence, perhaps a small part of him didn't just do it for her, but to calm his own nerves a little, too.

But now, she was back. She played his dumb games with him, joked about his awful stubble, and thus, let him hold her hand, too. God, how he had missed the warmth of her fingers with his, anytime she'd let him touch her, shivers ran through his body; goosebumps covering the entirety of his skin. She'd loved the games they had collected for her over the course of these months, playing them daily. And even though she had no idea who these incredibly attentive people were, she knew she cared about them greatly. She'd asked Clay about them several times, even going as far as recording a short voice memo, thanking them for everything they'd done for her and Clay together.

"How've you been?" His mellow voice made her senses tingle, familiarity had settled for a few days now, anytime he spoke she'd get flashes of warmth, radiating through her abdomen. He didn't know this, of course, because what if it was nothing? What if she just set him up for heartbreak once again?

But he, he didn't care. His heart ached for her when they were together, but even more so when they were not. He couldn't help but feel pity for himself some of these days, realizing how pathetic it must look for everyone around him, how often he had sat beside her bed without a single affirmation of recognition, of progress. How often he had interrupted his friends' calls, absolutely heaving with sobs, weeping for it to end, for it all to end. How often he had sat down on the freezing tiles of his shower, trying to drown out his thoughts, especially after the days he wasn't able to drag himself out of bed. The days he had wanted anything but to stay confined to his fucking sheets, the days all he wanted was for her to softly whisper his name, exactly in the way she used to do. The way she'd done when he was playing with her, fucking around, she'd whisper his name in the most loving way he had ever heard a woman do. Her voice was a song he couldn't get out of his head, no matter what melody was playing in the background; she was all that was ever on his mind. All he wanted was for it to fucking end.

That changed, of course, the day she'd finally awoken from her outrageous slumber, the day her pupils met his. Nothing but confusion and utter fear laced in them, he was so thankful for any form of life, he hadn't even noticed what her eyes were really telling him. Her melodic voice filled his ears, bound to echo through his head for the rest of the day, the least. "I've been better."

"That's good, that's good." His toothy smile subconsciously earned her one, too. "You, uh, you watched that show I mentioned?"

"I did!" Her fucking smile made all of it worth it, all his pain and suffering, all he had endured. It had always been just about her and her fucking smile, all along. Since they were children, he reckoned, he hadn't cared about anything as much as he cared about being the one to tug up the corners of her lips.

A hearty chuckle left his lips, his hand slowly hovering over the side of the bed as he finally wrapped her hand in his again, this time her being the one to interlock their fingers. He smiled. "You said," He dropped his head as a giggle escaped him, "You always used to say how you'd give your life to be able to watch it again, like -uh- like it was the first time."

A low hum vibrated through her chest as she tried to hold in her snickers. "You're telling me I almost went braindead for fucking Teen Wolf?" She burst out in hiccuped laughs, trashing her legs around imperceptibly under the scratchy hospital covers. "I need to get my priorities right this time around."

His stomach tightened at her words, she'd always told him about how much she hated that stupid show, but for some reason he always caught her coming back to it any time she felt even the slightest nudge of sadness. Braindead. She was minutes away from being braindead, unsalvageable. His eyebrows furrowed, and he was sure to be subconsciously squeezing her hand a little too much. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to break the unspoken barrier he had set for himself; don't let her see you cry. "Hey, hey, hey. I'm still here."

She tugged at his hand, offering him her other one as well. He took it, obviously unable to refuse any contact she offered him. He hung over her body a little as he held both of her hands, she pulled his far most one delicately, silently asking for him to stand. And as soon as he did, she pulled him down in a hug, completely engulfing the entirety of his body in hers, only their clothes and the uncomfortable sheets separating them. She wrapped her arms as tightly around him as she could as his soft sobs slowly started filling up the room. The silence was overwhelming, only his whimpers there to break through. Her eyes welled up, too, she'd lie if she said they didn't. He was holding her, wrapping his arms underneath her back, not planning on letting go anytime soon. "I'm still here, Clay."

"Are you?" He muttered against the hoodie she was wearing, his hoodie he had given to her when she'd first woken up and complained about feeling like a lab rat in her stupid gown. He had stupidly told her he would marry her even in her blue-ish hospital gown, which was the most adoring, beautiful thing a man had ever told her, especially would she have recognized him at that time. Alas, he was just a man in her room, nothing more nothing less. "Are you really?"

"I-" She stumbled on her line, completely sure of what it was he was fronting at. "I will be." She decided, "I will be soon."

"I'll wait for however long it takes." His shuddered breath made the hairs in her neck stand up straight against her skin. She closed her eyes, her face still plastered in the crook of his neck, his cologne taking over her senses, his warmth being able to make her feel safer than she had ever felt before. Her voice hadn't ever sounded as painfully vulnerable as it did that second, "It wouldn't be fair -you, for me.." A heavy breath. "It wouldn't be fair for me to expect that from you."

He hushed her gently, another sniffle leaving his nose immediately after. "All is fair in love."

[ventoren-legacy]

The Lab Incident

“Start it up again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Akirris’ commands were never met with hesitation or question. He walked a fine line between employer and Sith Lord, operating labs on neutral planets. He had no compunction about hiring the best minds and using them to their full extent, no matter where they placed their allegiance. Eilissa was no exception. The young female Nautolan was a star pupil and a legendary assistant, by Akirris’ way of thinking. Pulled from his intern pool after she signed up for self-defense classes, Eilissa had proven invaluable as a personal assistant and lab tech. When she proved Force-sensitive, it was only natural for him to take her on as an apprentice.

She keyed the necessary commands into her datapad as Akirris kept his eyes on the monitors, watching the data readouts. He was attempting to reconcile the magnetic polarization of the hyperdrive test module with a relic from one of the ancient ruins on Dromund Kaas - a simple test, designed to explore the physical ramifications of Force manifestation. The power from the relic leaked out into the room, he could feel it and he knew Eilissa could too, like a living thing, oppressive and overbearing. As a Sith, wrestling with such things and bending them to his will was a skill he had learned - and he attempted to impart those skills to others, including his assistant. Now it was just a matter of measuring and recording its effects on the hyperspatial anomaly created by a hyperdrive.

As the hyperdrive spun to life, the readouts began to fluctuate. Reaching out with the Force, Akirris turned dials and pressed keys on the harmonizing actuator’s control panel, attempting to regulate the frequency of the hyperdrive’s magnetic resonance with that of the relic. Soon, both were humming firmly, their resonances bound at the same frequency through polarization.

It was a breakthrough, but Akirris had no time to revel in it. Suddenly, despite his care, the readings spiked, sending the indicators into the red. “Shut it down,” he yelled over the noise, as the hyperdrive test module spun faster, whipping the air in the lab into a circular breeze. As it ripped flimsiplast and styluses from desks, shifted tools on shelves, and roared ever louder, Eilissa’s dark eyes grew wide with concern. “It’s not shutting down, sir,” she said, tapping keys on her datapad with growing frequency.

Akirris glanced at her, glanced at her datapad, then reached for the power cables with the Force. He was too slow.

Orrana looked up from her outdated copy of Sith Socialites Magazine in the waiting room. She felt the pressure building in the Force, and she felt another pressure building, a tension that warped her sense of reality. Used to the effects of unshielded hyperdrive experimentation, she almost went back to her reading, waiting for Akirris to begin his lunch break, but a spike of alarm, first from her husband, then from his new apprentice, sent her to her feet. She felt a new wave of imminent danger, and began to run, not away from it, but toward, reaching deep into the Force to lend wings to her feet.

The explosion rocked the entire facility. As it began, Akirris felt time stretch and slow as his adrenaline spiked and he reflexively poured his awareness into the Force. Shifting his focus, he reached for Eilissa, wrapping her in the fist of the dark side and yanking her to him. Twisting, he covered her with his body - and armored lab coat - as flames began to lick up the inside of the hyperdrive casing. He pushed downward with the Force and upward with his legs, leaping for the doorway with all the power of both he could muster.

The blast followed milliseconds after. The door’s automatic sensors were too slow to open, and Akirris and Eilissa were thrown against the heavy durasteel, slamming into it hard enough to leave a dent. Heat and light rushed toward them, flames licking through the igniting oxygen in the air, threatening to put an end to all their experimentation, forever.

Suddenly, the heavy security door was ripped free of its frame, shooting outward, and a wall of Force energy imposed itself between the groaning scientists and the gout of flame, a purple crackling brilliance holding certain fiery death at bay. Physics strained as the fire pressed outward, but slowly, inexorably, it was forced back, held by the will of a powerful Sith Lord.

Orrana strained to hold an explosion that would rip any capital ship apart, reaching deep through the Force and hissing through her teeth as she pulled against the Force itself, bending more and more to her will, channeling enough that it threatened to burn her from the inside out. She fed the hungry maw of the Dark with her own rage and fear, the thought of what she had almost allowed to happen filling her with a profusion of both. Akirris was not allowed to die until she was done with him. Akirris was not allowed to die in the arms of another woman. Akirris was not allowed to die. She would not allow it. She. Would. Not.

Even cushioned by the Force as he was, the impact was enough to stun him. Barely aware of what he was seeing, Akirris slid forward, pulling himself with one hand, pulling the unconscious form of his apprentice along the floor with the other. Orrana stood above him, her face twisted in a seething expression of fury, both hands outstretched as she held the flames at bay. He watched in awe as they began to recede, forced into a roiling ball of heat and death by Orrana’s will.

Orrana strained to pull the Force to her, but it hurt, oh stars, how it hurt. She screamed, fury and pain ripping from her throat as she held the explosion in the Force, crushing it with her will to see Akirris live. When her own pain and fear were not enough, she turned to other sources. She pulled the fear of the other employees - fear of the explosion, fear of their sith lord employer, fear of herself - into her, amplifying it with sorcery skills long practiced. When that still was not enough to contain and direct the dizzying torrent of fire and ice the Force poured into her, she reached for the only other source of the Dark Side. Gripping the energy from the recovered relic in the fist of her will, she tore it free from the hyperdrive resonance, funneling it toward herself. With a final surge of effort, she clenched the explosion in the Force, smothering it with the Dark Side, and suddenly it was gone, wiped from existence by her rage, winking out to leave only the smoldering wreck of the hyperdrive test module and the melting, charred relic, bereft entirely of what Force energy it had once contained.

She turned her attention immediately to Akirris and Eilissa, delving each of them with the Force and flooding them with the leftover energy she held. Flesh and sinew, cloven by shrapnel from the exploding hyperdrive casing, knit itself back together. Burns soothed themselves and healed without a mark, and with a final blast of energy they both shot awake, sitting up with gasps as Orrana wiped the effects of the concussive blasts from their brains, returning them to alertness.

She rounded on them as soon as they were able to understand her. “What were you thinking? A blast like that could have leveled the facility, not only yourselves. I’ve told you time and again that you need to do the research on which relics you’re using, not only on how they interact. Just because it resonates with the Force doesn’t mean it’s safe to use. How could you have almost let this happen? How could you…” She broke off, trying unsuccessfully to strangle sobs as the Force and her adrenaline both drained, leaving her gasping and empty. “H-how c-could you alm-most l-leave m-me…”

Akirris shot to his feet, moving with alacrity to catch the pureblood Sith Lord as her knees buckled. He sat down with her as she collapsed, winded from the ordeal and Orrana’s display of power. “It’s a mistake I’m not likely to make again. You saved us both, mon chere,” he said, his thick accent from the Mirialis River Delta made thicker by emotion. “I’m so proud of you.”

Eilissa knelt close by, scanning them both to check their vitals before centering herself. “Thank you both, my lords,” she said, humbly. “I’d have died if not for you.” Orrana and Akirris nodded as the fire suppressant system in Akirris’ office laboratory kicked on, dousing the smoldering wreckage and putting an end to the danger.

When they were finally all recovered enough to stand, Akirris spoke first. “We’re going to need to order a new test module.” Orrana rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. “You’re going to keep trying until you get it, aren’t you,” she asked. He nodded. “Stubborn swamp donkey,” she said, lovingly.

                         Fin

[paperanddice]

Image ID: Two pictures of game stat blocks for the bluespawn stormlizard. The first is for 5th Edition D&D and the second is for 13th Age. Full text is available below the read more. End ID.

Mucking with dragon eggs to cause them to hatch creatures besides dragons is a long running tradition among many powerful people and beings. Those who want servants generally wish to capture the power and might of a dragon, just in a more controllable and directable form. Dragonspawn are the result of this, and there are many kinds that have gone on to become independently breeding species after their creation, often outliving their creator eventually.

Formed from blue dragon eggs, stormlizards are the size of a horse but significantly wider and more muscular, with a single jagged horn protruding from its forehead. It looks like a wingless blue dragon, and channels the lightning that blue dragons are famous for through its horn rather than exhaling it the way true dragons do. They have animal levels of intelligence and awareness, though nearly all can understand basic words in Draconic. This doesn’t mean they’ll listen to or obey such words without a lot of training, but they can at least be communicated with in some way.

Stormlizards are always born as twins, and these twins are deeply bonded for the entire rest of their lives. While they can channel their electric link with any stormlizard, they prefer doing so with their twin whenever possible, and anyone who wishes to train and raise stormlizards must do so in these pairs. If separated they become first exceptionally violent, then eventually listless and depressed. The only way to split a twin pair is immediately after birth before they’ve imprinted on each other, and doing so properly can shift this imprint onto the trainer or an intended future rider, but it’s a risky act. The stormlizard may not properly learn how to harness its innate lightning and unless the bonded creature is immune to lightning they will be bombarded with bursts as the stormlizard seeks to share the energy within it with its bonded “twin.”

Originally from the 3.5 Monster Manual IV. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as a spot on the Paper and Dice Discord server, consider backing me there!

5th Edition

Dragon worshipping cults tend to create dragonspawn, and stormlizards are used as war mounts by such groups on rare occasion. Tiamat herself passes down the method of creating these dragonspawn, as they have such great use for her humanoid followers, and some blue dragons will give up eggs for such a purpose.

Bluespawn Stormlizard Large dragon, unaligned Armor Class 16 (natural armor) Hit Points 149 (13d10 + 78) Speed 40 ft. Str 19 (+4) Dex 9 (-1) Con 22 (+6) Int 2 (-4) Wis 14 (+2) Cha 8 (-1) Damage Immunities lightning Damage Resistances thunder Senses darkvision 60 ft. passive Perception 12 Languages understands Draconic but can't speak Challenge 6 (2300 XP) Blue Dragon’s Blessing. Each creature of the stormlizard's choice within 15 feet of it gains resistance to lightning damage. Charge. If the stormlizard moves at least 20 feet straight toward a target and then hits it with a gore attack on the same turn, the target takes an extra 18 (4d8) piercing damage. If the target is a creature, it must succeed on a DC 15 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. Actions Multiattack. The stormlizard makes one gore attack and uses Electric Link if possible. Gore. Melee Weapon Attack: +7 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 13 (2d8+4) piercing damage. Electric Arc (Recharge 5-6). The stormlizard fires a bolt of lightning from its horn in a 100-foot long line that is 5 feet wide. Each creature in that line must make a DC 17 Dexterity saving throw, taking 21 (6d6) lightning damage on a failed save, or half as much damage on a successful one. Electric Link. The stormlizard forms a line of lightning between itself and another stormlizard it can see within 100 feet. The line is 5 feet wide.. Each creature in that line must succeed on a DC 17 Dexterity saving throw or take 10 (3d6) lightning damage.

13th Age

The Blue created the first stormlizards, and has integrated them into the defenses of Drakenhall. Pairs of stormlizard riders patrol the city, threatening sparks of lightning reminding what happens to those who displease the city’s ruler.

Bluespawn Stormlizard Large 3rd-level leader [dragon] Initiative: +5 Vulnerability: Force Heavy Gore +7 vs. AC - 10 damage Furious Charge: This attack instead deals 25 damage if the stormlizard first moves before attacking an enemy it was not engaged with at the start of its turn. The stormlizard cannot make a lightning link attack if it deals this increased damage. Natural Even Hit or Miss: The stormlizard can make a lightning link attack as a free action. [Special Trigger] C: Lightning Link +7 vs. PD (1d3 nearby enemies between the stormlizard and another stormlizard) - 8 lightning damage Blue Dragon’s Blessing: 1/turn the stormlizard can give one nearby ally resist lightning 12+ until the end of the stormlizard’s next turn. Occasional Escalator: At the start of the battle, roll a d6 for each stormlizard in the battle. All stormlizards in the battle can add the escalation die to their attack rolls when it is at each of the numbers rolled. Doubles give no additional benefit. Resist Lightning 14+. AC 18 PD 17 MD 13 HP 110

[volkswagonblues]

I wish you would write a fic about piandao and jeong jeong, like just anything about them but i'd read the SHIT out of the modern au you told me about where they bicker about politics

SO. This is the WORST time to be writing 1.5k of fiction about a modern (well, 90′s) AU starring two dudes who have never even spoken to each other in canon, but uh, the world is awful and I consider creating rarepair content a form of self-care, so here we go.

The context for this is of course, JJ is second-generation Korean-American from LA, Piandao is a foreign student from Taiwan pursuing a doctorate in the US. The year is 1993 and ideas about race, activism, the term “Asian-American” are all up in the air. We are one year post the ‘92 L.A. race riots and four years away from antiretroviral therapy becoming the new treatment standard for HIV. The AIDS crisis is in full swing, as it has been since the 80′s. Welcome to America.

--

“Jujube”

The week after his appendectomy, Piandao is up and moving around by the end of the third day, a full four days ahead of schedule. His shoulder aches, the scar on his stomach hurts, but still, he is up and moving, even though Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes when he catches him walking up and down the length of his bedroom, working the muscles that are suffering more from being bed-bound than from surgery. 

Jeong Jeong, underneath the surly exterior, is a surprisingly maternal caretaker. Piandao has no appetite for anything flavourful in the first few days, which the nurses said was normal. So for every meal since he’s back from the hospital, Jeong Jeong cooks him a bowl of porridge and does it with a degree of care that Piandao honestly did not know he possessed. Piandao wouldn’t have minded just plain white rice and water, but Jeong Jeong, in his typical Jeong Jeong-fashion, disagreed. He spends a long time in Piandao’s kitchen every morning, making what he claims is the superior (ie, Korean) juk that his mother makes, but is really exactly similar to the zhou Piandao is used to back home, only it’s made by an angry Korean man swearing at the morning cable news, taking only occasional breaks to bemoan the sad state of Asian grocery stores in Midwest college towns.

“I’m feeling well enough to cook,” Piandao says on the morning of his fourth day home. “JJ, relax. You don’t have to do everything around here.”

Jeong Jeong looks up from his work: crushing sesame seeds in a plastic bag with the back of a soup spoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he says easily.

“I can at least wash the dishes—“

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bill Ritter.”

Piandao looks at the television in the corner. A news show was on, some Sunday morning thing he doesn’t remember seeing before. Currently, it was showing them three glossy-looking American hosts sitting on glossy-looking American couches. A man in a beige suit was saying something very earnest about the President and Haiti and also taxes. Piandao guesses that he’s Bill Ritter.

“Fucking Clinton already retracting on his fucking word,” Jeong Jeong mutters, then smashes the spoon down with ferocious force; in their plastic bag, the sesame seeds die and ascend to paste in an instant.

Piandao bites back a smile. He switches the channel: ads now, more glossy Americans driving glossy American cars, big and square. The ad changes: a family of four arriving at a motel, everything even bigger and squarer than the previous one. The mother in a big square jacket; the father smile with big square teeth. The kids chatter in excited tones: We’re so happy to be at Holiday Inn Express! Then Piandao hits the off button, and the American family disappears; the screen puckers up into dark silence again.

He slowly feels his way into the kitchen instead. He rather watch Jeong Jeong cook.

On the stove, the porridge bubbles. Jeong Jeong adds the pounded sesame and gives it a stir, then adds more sugar, then milk. He ladles it into two bowls and brings it over to the kitchen table, which is also the living room table, which is also Piandao’s desk where he grades students’ lab reports and corrects exams. There were a few back issues of various astrophysics journals still stacked there; Jeong Jeong puts them to use as coasters. Volume 10, issue 4 of Space Science Review goes to Piandao’s bowl; the special Winter 1992 edition of Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics to Jeong Jeong. Piandao, trailing behind him, brings the spoons. They sit down, knees almost touching.

“How is it?” asks Jeong Jeong.

Piandao blows on his spoon and takes in a mouthful. “Not bad,” he says. “Although it’ll be better with some – I don’t know the word – but those little red fruits.”

“Jujubes,” says Jeong Jeong, and then: “Fuck off, be grateful for what you’ve got. You know how long it took me to even locate some sesame seeds in a Salt Lake City grocery store?”

Sunday morning slants in from between the slats of the crooked window blinds. In the sharp angle of the light, his features look different: the sun picks out the bronze-ish tint in his dark hair, makes the shell of his ear glow pink and red. In front of him, the steam from the porridge unfurls in delicate, thin grey spirals.

Piandao put his spoon down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You really didn’t have to. The plane ticket from Los Angeles must have been expensive.”

A shrug. “Couldn’t let you die alone in Utah, of all places.”

“It was just an appendectomy. How much did you pay for the flight? I can…I can pay you back, the university gives me a stipend, I can afford it.”

Jeong Jeong sets his spoon down too, picks up the bowls and takes them over to rinse in the sink.

“When I got the call from the secretary,” he says, not looking up from the dish sponge. “She didn’t say what happened. She just said, please can you be informed that Mr. Liu has been taken to the hospital for a medical emergency, she had just gone down the list of his emergency contact numbers and you happened to be the first one who picked up, and then she hung up. I barely got the name of the hospital out of her before she did. Nothing more. I called back and got a busy line. And then I thought – I started thinking – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I got scared. I just came back from SF that day – I went to see Johnny and Gene at the General, and when I got back in and the phone rang and the woman said you were sick too…I don’t know.”

The bowls, scrubbed to death, are getting beyond clean. Jeong Jeong throws the sponge down, where it lands with a wet smack.

“I know you’re not like me,“ he adds wretchedly. “I mean, I know you’re not a homosexual. And besides: fucking Utah? Of all places? I knew it was probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Piandao says.

Jeong Jeong stabs a finger in his direction. “But don’t you dare pay me back though. Don’t you even try that shit on me. I will actually punch you if you try.”

Piandao says nothing. He pictures the cramped kitchenette of Jeong Jeong’s apartment off Hoover Street, with its ugly green plastic phone duct-taped to the wall, opposite to the grimy stove and the eternal stacks of takeout containers and the Proud Berkley Grad of ’87 fridge magnet that Piandao had bought him as a joke, when Jeong Jeong finally carried through on his threats and really dropped out, for good this time. He pictures Jeong Jeong stumbling back in fron the hospital, exhausted, and then accepting a long-distance call from Utah anyways.

Jeong Jeong had taken the call and flew out the very next morning. He had came in such a hurry that he brought nothing with him other than the clothes he was wearing and a backpack full of California oranges, because he had some idea that vitamin C was vital to every patient’s recovery, no matter the ailment. He had come to Piandao.

Times like this, Piandao wishes his English is better. Even now, after five years in this country, he has no way to express how he feels, right now, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Jeong Jeong slams dishes and utensils back into their drawers, shoulders hunched over. Something hot and formless is coursing through his chest, but Piandao can’t shape it. He can’t forge the thing into words.

Perhaps there’s no words at all for this in English. Not in Chinese, either, and not in Korean. There are no words for this in any language in the world.

So Piandao reaches out instead. He touches a hand to the curve of Jeong Jeong’s back, and when Jeong Jeong looks over, questioning, he clears his throat and says:

“I liked it. The zhou.”

“You mean juk,” Jeong Jeong corrects him, as contrary as ever.

“Alright, the juk. It was very good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not shitting me?”

“No. I should call your mother, tell her what a good chef her son is becoming.”

“Fuck off,” Jeong Jeong says, but he smiles anyways.

Piandao smiles back. His hand is still where he put it, resting on Jeong Jeong’s back, and he does not move it away. This, also – this is an unspoken message, but not for forever. Already Piandao can see the shape of it in his future. Something was unfurling between them, as delicate as steam, as marvellous as light.