#Never Speak About Warrior Cats Again if it means i have a better chance of getting a long with ppl and Being Normal

[meadow-brook]

FinClan Tales - Chapter 2 The Starstone - part 2/3

“A cat with nine lives,” Leapshock breathed. “Who would’ve thought?”

Olivepelt didn’t reply as Finstar led the way out of camp and towards the Starstone. Olivepelt had remembered that the strange warrior had remarked on her “excellent fighting skills” when the warriors talked about their skills, to see who was best suited for what. Olivepelt figured that if they did run into trouble, such skills would come in handy. Firebird had commented on similar skills, even challenging Leapshock to a sparring match to see who was better, but Olivepelt didn’t want to take him away from Currentkit, who had so recently been lost from his mother and needed the company. He had started to warm up around the other cats, but had stuck so closely to Firebird that Olivepelt worried about him.

Aside from Leapshock’s occasional chittering at StarClan knows what, the patrol was relatively quiet. Occasionally, Olivepelt glanced at the sky as they walked. The first warriors of StarClan were beginning to make themselves known amongst the dark pelt of dusk.

A sudden fear gripped Olivepelt’s fur. What if StarClan truly doesn’t exist? Is this a lie after all? A tale for kits?

Olivepelt shook herself. It couldn’t be. Even though the mysterious starry warrior hadn’t visited her since her first night in camp, she knew it was more than just a dream. She had spoken with a real warrior from long ago. Perhaps she would have the chance to speak to him again tonight.

“Who are you?”

The sudden hiss broke Olivepelt from her thoughts. In front of Finstar were two cats, a dark brown tabby tom, and grey smoke she-cat. Both cats had some light scarring, suggesting they have been on their own for a while, perhaps since birth, and the grey she-cat was carrying a fish in her jaws.

“What are you doing on our territory?” the brown tabby continued, his fur beginning to bristle.

Olivepelt stepped forward confidently. “What constitutes your territory?” she asked politely. “I don’t smell any markers.”

“Markers?” the grey she-cat spat, having set down her fish. “We’ve never needed markers. Cats know well enough to keep away,” she growled, unsheathing her claws. 

Leapshock was padding forward, her neck fur bristling, but Olivepelt held her back with her tail. She didn’t worry about Finstar, who was taking a couple paces back, as if ready to retreat already.

“You might need to,” Olivepelt suggested gently. “We mean no harm, but we’re forming a Clan over there.” She gestured with a twitch of her ears back towards their camp and the rest of their territory. “We’ll be setting our own markers, but it’d be polite for us to know where your territory starts first, before we set ours. We don’t want to intrude.”

Olivepelt watched as the two cats shared a confused glance. Their claws were still unsheathed, but they seemed to relax slightly. They clearly weren’t expecting politeness, or the sudden news of new neighbors.

“We’ll think about it,” the brown tabby answered carefully. “But you still haven’t answered why you’re on our territory. Not many cats come this way anymore.”

Olivepelt looked past them. She could see the rocky hill a lot closer now, though she still couldn’t quite tell where the Starstone might be. A sudden fear gripped her. What if it had been so long it had eroded away, or disappeared? She prayed it was still there, forcing her mind back to the topic at hand.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind, we were traveling up there.” She pointed with her tail. “We need to speak with our warrior ancestors through the Starstone. Have you heard of it?”

Olivepelt’s words had sent the grey she-cat’s neck fur bristling again.

“You stay far away from there,” she growled with such ferocity, Olivepelt took a step back. The grey she-cat’s muzzle was curled in such a snarl, the scar at the bridge of her nose threatened to reopen. If she was always like this, no wonder it never healed.

Before Olivepelt could speak, the brown tabby held up his tail, as if holding his companion back. “Warrior ancestors, you say?”

Olivepelt nodded, hesitant about how much she should tell these cats. Surely they had a right to know the history of their territory?

“Long ago, there used to be Clans here,” Olivepelt began carefully. “They lived by a set of rules they called the warrior code, met every full moon to share news with each other, and every half-moon the Clan healers would go to the Starstone to talk with their ancestors.” She didn’t want to bring up Finstar getting his nine lives, worried that these cats would see that as them becoming more powerful and therefore a potential threat.

“It’s not the half-moon, though,” the brown tabby meowed suspiciously.

“Yes, well, er—”

“We wanted to make sure it was still available for us,” Finstar spoke for the first time, padding up beside Olivepelt. “And make sure we were on the right track forming our Clan, FinClan, by speaking with our ancestors. Surely you wouldn’t keep us from doing so peacefully, when it has nothing to do with you?”

“It has everything to do with us! It’s our territory!” The grey she-cat’s tail was lashing, but the brown tabby looked thoughtful. He turned towards his companion.

“Salt, could you take the prey back to the dens and let Stout know? If I don’t let these loners pass, they’ll try to find another way up and be more of a threat. I’d rather escort them.”

The grey she-cat, presumably Salt, opened her mouth as if to argue, but seemed to think better of it. She nodded, picking up the fish and padding off, towards the tumble of rocks.

Olivepelt was too relieved to worry about being called loners. They’ll know who we are soon enough, she decided. This is a good start.

With a flick of his tail, the brown tom ushered the group of them forward.

“I’ll watch from the back,” he decided. “I presume you know where you’re going.”

He doesn’t want us to wander off while he isn’t looking, Olivepelt thought. I can’t say I blame him.

Leapshock padded beside Olivepelt. “I’ll watch him while he watches us,” Leapshock hissed in her ear, and before she could respond, she was skipping ahead.

The walk to the Starstone was somehow even more silent than the walk to the stream where they had met the two rogues, and eventually the group found themselves walking up the hill of boulders. Olivepelt noted that there were a couple cats hanging around the side adjacent to where they climbed, though they did not bother them. She guessed they were guarding the entrance to their camp after Salt altered them.

All thoughts about the strange group of rogues vanished when Olivepelt climbed over the crest of the hill. Night had fallen, and plenty more stars scattered across the sky. What drew Olivepelt’s attention to them was not the beauty of Silverpelt itself, but their reflection in the large stone in front of her. Glittering in the moonlight, Olivepelt almost had to squint at the brightness, as billions of stars reflected off its surface. She could spot even the faintest twinkle on the stone’s surface,

“This is it,” Olivepelt whispered. “This is the Starstone.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Funny Little Ups and Downs

Summary: Loki is having a bad day. The love of his life is being sent away to marry some ridiculous Vanir prince, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Then her little sister shows up to give him a pep talk.

Word Count: 3,824

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Sound the alarms! Alert the media! Cozy wrote something happy! I actually wrote the majority of this over three months ago, then got stuck on the ending and forgot all about it until a few days ago. It’s inspired by “I Love Melvin,” a silly little musical from 1953 starring Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor that employs my favorite trope of all time: the main character’s little sibling bonding with the romantic interest. It’s fun, it’s cute, and I just had to write it. Consider it an apology for all the angst I’ve been throwing your way XD

Warnings: None

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Spring in Asgard was truly something to behold. The last dredges of winter melted into memory, leaving behind a crispness in the air and a radiance in the land as vibrant life bloomed across the planet. It was a kind of brilliance that one could hardly resist, and so it was no surprise that the palace gardens were alive with activity— novice warriors sparring in the field, strolling couples engaged in lively conversation, giggling children chasing each other through the labyrinth of brick and shrubbery.

It seemed the very universe was mocking him.

Loki held his head in his hands, huddled in a despondent heap at the edge of the garden bench. It was truly amazing how quickly the sweet spring air turned foul. The day had started with such promise, and now …

“Hi your Highness!” Loki jumped when the little girl plopped down next to him without a warning, crumbs spilling into her braids as she munched on a cookie.

He sighed. “Oh, hello Milla.” He couldn’t say he particularly cared for company at the moment, but he couldn’t find the energy to shoo her off.

Milla studied him, chewing intently. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not!” Loki bristled. Was he now so pathetic that he was garnering the pity of a child? He huffed in indignation.

She patted his arm as if in consolation. “It’s okay to cry, Prince Loki. I cry all the time.”

Norns.

He swallowed the temptation to shove her away and abandon the bench, electing instead to change the subject. “Did Sigyn send you?”

It wouldn’t have been the first time she delegated her little sister to the position of messenger. Perhaps Milla was here with some kind of news, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding and Sigyn wasn’t getting married after all. But deep down, Loki knew that was nothing but wishful thinking. If that were the case, Sigyn would have come herself.

“No,” Milla said, dashing what little hope he had against the brick walkway. “I saw you leaving from my window. You looked sad.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Was Sigyn mean to you?”

It was such a childish question that Loki laughed, although there was no humor in the sound. Sigyn didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It was something of which he was in perpetual awe. It didn’t matter how badly her day had gone, how grievously she had been wronged—she always had a kind word or a sweet gesture and an eagerness to help. There was a grace about her, a grace that Loki had never seen from anyone else in court.

The way she had broke the news to him, pushing him into the hallway outside her apartment before he even had the chance to knock … it was cruel, but it wasn’t a cruelty she had chosen. He understood that at least.

Loki heaved another sigh. “It wasn’t her fault.”

For a moment, Milla was quiet. He turned away from her. It seemed he really was that pathetic.

“Sigyn got all upset after you left,” she finally said. “She went running upstairs and hid in her room. Now Daddy’s mad because Prince Sverrir is coming over and she’s not ready.” Sverrir. Loki dug his fingernails into his palms. Milla didn’t seem to notice his tension.

“Do you know Prince Sverrir?” she asked.

Loki grit his teeth. “I’ve met him.” It was astonishing how his opinion of the Vanir Crown Prince had changed from aloof indifference to outright hatred within a matter of words. Loki had known Sverrir since they were both children, when Vanaheim’s royal family had come to Asgard for a few weeks to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the end of the Aesir-Vanir War. He had found him to be tiresome as a boy, a trait that did not improve upon adulthood. Loki had avoided him when he could.

Sverrir had only become relevant to him within the last few years, when after one royal visit he began to express an interest in Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir. At this point, Sigyn and Loki had been seeing each other in secret for quite some time, and while a public courtship was still out of the question, Loki had no intention of allowing the foreign prince to pursue what he already called his own.

The court was appalled when it discovered that Sverrir had been hiring harlots and bringing them into his chambers—his guest chambers, the very rooms in which the Asgardian royal family had so kindly allowed him to stay! His insistence that he had never even interacted with the ladies of the night, let alone allowed one on to palace grounds, fell upon deaf ears and Sverrir was forced to return home to avoid further scandal. Loki remembered watching him cross the Bifrost, with his unnatural posture and his idiotic attempt at regality, certain that they’d seen the last of him.

But now here he was again, back with a few years distance and an ailing father, and suddenly every woman in Asgard was ready to fall at his feet. Which would’ve been fine, except for the fact that he decided upon the only woman who didn’t want him in return.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temples. Besides him, Milla prattled on.

“He’s very dull, isn’t he?” she was saying, brushing the cookie crumbs off the front of her dress. “The last time he came over he just sat in the parlor and talked about how much Sigyn would like Vanaheim. I don’t think she was all that interested. And he kept calling me Mina!” She scowled at the ground, as if Sverrir was there, sitting at her feet, before turning back to Loki. “I like you better. You’re nice to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yeah!” she grinned, tapping his shoulder enthusiastically. “You know my name, at least. And you gave me my good-luck charm!”

She pulled the charm out from under her top, fastened to her neck by thin strip of leather. It was nothing special, just a simple wooden carving of a cat’s head that he had whittled himself during his time serving as diplomat in Alfheim. He didn’t have near the talent for woodworking of the Elven carvers, but he was patient in his practice. By the end of the trip, he had spent hours upon hours working on the carving of a wolf’s head, Sigyn’s favorite animal, to give to her upon his return. Milla’s cat had been something of an afterthought. Still, he hadn’t been able to hide his smile at the way she squealed in delight when he presented it to her, and Sigyn had seemed more touched by the fact that he thought of her sister than at her own gift.

“Has it worked for you?” he asked.

“I think so,” Milla said, running her finger across the cat’s ear. “Good things happen when I wear it.”

Loki laughed bitterly. He could use a bit of that now. “Have good things happened today?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m still waiting to find out.”

A silence fell over the two of them, heavy and stiff. He wondered what Sigyn was doing, if she was still hiding in her room as her sister claimed. She had been waiting for him that morning, ready to push him out into the hall with shaking hands the moment he arrived at her doorstep. He knew immediately that she had been crying—if her swollen eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the little hiccupping gasps that peppered her words certainly were.

“You can’t be here right now,” she had hissed. “If Father sees you, he’ll lose his mind!”

“What happened?”

“Sverrir made an offer for my hand. My father—Loki, he accepted.”

It had taken a moment for those words to sink in. When they had, he had demanded to speak with her father.

“Loki—”

“He can’t do this! He can’t sell you off like cattle—”

Only he could, and they both knew it.

“Prince Loki?” He turned away from his thoughts and back to Milla. She was looking up at him with wide eyes, her voice suddenly very small. “Is Sigyn going to marry Sverrir?”

Loki found he couldn’t answer. There was a threatening lump in the back of his throat, making him unwilling to trust his voice. Sigyn … she was always supposed to marry him. He had been sure of it from the moment he met her, back when they were taking their lessons together. He had pretended to trip when walking by her desk and spilled his potion all over the floor just to have an excuse to talk to her. Thor had rolled his eyes when he heard of it (“could you not just speak to her like a normal person?”), but Sigyn had laughed and offered to help him clean it up, just like the angel she was. And when class ended, he offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Sigyn had smiled, that shy little smile she seemed to reserve for only him. “I’d be honored, my prince.”

Loki was smitten.

And now he was heartbroken.

“You know she doesn’t want to marry him, right?” Milla asked, tugging at his sleeve. “She doesn’t even like him.”

Loki inhaled. “Marriage isn’t just about who you like.” Sigyn had explained this to him just now in the hallway. Her family may have been prestigious in her great-grandfather’s heyday, but a series of poor investments and bad choices had set them on a steady decline. Her marriage to Sverrir would secure their position permanently. Her father would condemn her to a life of loneliness to maintain their status. And Sigyn would accept it, because she was far too good a person to refuse. “You have to think about your future, and your family, and Sverrir is a prince—”

“But you’re a prince too!”

“I don’t have a throne.” Loki sighed. He had never been jealous of Thor’s position as Crown Prince, not really—kingship came with hundreds of little hinderances and headaches that Loki was perfectly content to live without. But if he could stand before Sigyn’s father, not as Odin’s forgotten son but as Asgard’s future ruler … well, he wouldn’t be having to stomach discussion about some Vanir prince, that was for sure.

Milla yanked on his sleeve even harder. “But Sigyn loves you.”                        

Loki’s eyes widened. “She told you that?”

“No.” She said. “But I know she does. She reads your poems every night before she goes to bed.”

He flushed crimson. “Does she?” Oh, those poems. He had never considered himself to be much of a poet, but there was a soft sense of familiarity in words that he had never found anywhere else. And Sigyn … how could one not write about Sigyn?

He never had the courage to read them to her in person, silly, romantic things that they were. Instead he kept to leaving them hidden in spots where only she would find them—wrapped up in her napkin at dinner, buried in her bag at the healing ward, slipped into her dress pocket as they danced. She never said anything about them to him, but he lived for the way she’d squeeze his hand after he passed one to her.

Milla nodded, grinning. “She has them all in a little book, and she keeps it under her pillow.” Loki smiled too at the image, just for a moment, but then reality came crashing back down. She could hold on to as many poems as he could write—it still wouldn’t change anything. He buried his face in his hands once more.

He felt another tug at his sleeve, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with a creased brow. “You love her too, don’t you?” Milla asked. “That’s why you’re so upset.”

Loki huffed. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It has too!” she insisted, shaking his arm. “You can make it matter.”

“Make it matter?” Suddenly, looking at her there, with her braids and her “good luck” charms and her childish hope was too much to bear. “What would you have me do?” he snapped. “Kidnap your sister?”

Milla flinched. “No … But—”

“There isn’t any ‘but.’ Your father will never allow her to settle for me when there’s a superior option. My father will never care enough to intervene on my behalf.” Norns knew he had tried. But Odin had nothing to gain from a marriage between Loki and Sigyn, and if Odin had nothing to gain, he saw no reason to act. “It’s useless to pretend otherwise. Now are you just going to sit here and bother me all day or do you have somewhere else to be?”

She gulped, abandoning her place besides him on the bench. “I’m sorry, your Highness. I’ll go.” Loki watched her slink off back towards the palace, head down like a whipped pup. Somehow, he felt even worse.

…

Dinner was miserable.

Loki picked at his food out of a sense of courtesy, with no real appetite to be found. How could he eat, when four seats to his right Sverrir was regaling his audience with descriptions of his perfect bride-to-be? The prince hadn’t yet mentioned Sigyn by name, but he didn’t have to. Loki could see the way his gaze lingered on her table as he described her “perfect form.”

It made him sick.

He had still barely touched his meal by the time many of the merrymakers had moved to the dance floor. Sverrir had gone, too—Loki watched him practically slither across the room to Sigyn’s side to ask her for a dance, watched Sigyn’s nearly imperceptible nod in assent. Now, they commanded the whole of the floor, gliding through the steps as flawlessly as a couple could, Sverrir grinning ear to ear and Sigyn the epitome of quiet repose.

Loki wished he could return to his rooms. He didn’t want to sit there, watching his heart spin and twirl in the hands of another man. But he couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her. Her sea-blue skirt matched Sverrir’s cape as it twisted about her, giving her the appearance of some sort of oceanic goddess. He wanted to hate the color, but of course it was beautiful on her. Everything was beautiful on her.

“Prince Loki!”

He was startled out of his despondent silence by the child shrieking his name. Loki barely had the chance to turn around before Milla was upon him, grabbing at his arm and trying to pull him to his feet.

He frowned. “What are you doing up here?”

“Come on!” She yanked at his cape. “You have to dance with Sigyn.”

Wary of making a scene, and too flustered to push her away, Loki stood. “Milla, I—”

“You have to,” she insisted, giving him a push towards the dance floor. “Go! Dance with her!”

He stumbled forward, but the little girl kept corralling him down the podium stairs, towards Sigyn and her aggravating prince.

“Milla!” he hissed. “Can’t you see she’s already dancing with someone?”

“Who cares?” she hissed back, shoving him again. “Dance with her!”

And so Loki made his way down to the dance floor, cheeks burning, holding himself with as much dignity as one could after a literal child herded them like a sheep away from their meal. Luckily, few in the the ballroom seemed to be paying him any mind.

One of the positives of being the forgotten son, he supposed.

Sverrir and Sigyn were in the middle of the floor, still wrapped up in the music. At least, Sverrir was. Sigyn was holding herself as if someone had strapped a wooden board down her back. He couldn’t remember a time where he had seen her so tense. The sight made Loki stiffen.

With a sudden burst of confidence, he tapped on the Vanir prince’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, not bothering to hide the tightness in his voice. “Would you mind if I cut in?”

Sverrir started. “Oh. Uh—” he glanced back at Sigyn. “Do you mind, darling?”

She shook her head, features still perfectly neutral. Only then did Loki notice that, while she was wearing blue, the ribbons weaved through her braids were emerald green.

“Oh!” Sverrir seemed surprised, but quickly shook it off. “Well, then, of course not!” He stepped aside, making a grand gesture towards Sigyn as Loki took his place in her arms with a rigid nod.

For a moment, they only stared at each other, slowly swaying to the notes of the waltz in silence. Sigyn looked away first, turning to watch her feet on floor as if she were a girl in pigtails still learning to dance.

Loki swallowed the desert on his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Well enough, I suppose,” she murmured. When she looked up again, her eyes were glossy, her features twisted in an attempt to hold back the tears. “Loki—I’m sorry.”

There was a lump in the back of his throat. He wished he could hold her to his chest, cup her cheek and promise her that everything was fine. Instead, he only shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just …” She inhaled. “I wish things were different.”

Don’t we both?

“Is he kind to you at least?” he asked. He would at least be able to rest easier knowing that Sigyn was well cared for, and as irritating as Sverrir was, Loki had never seen anything to suggest that he was cruel. Although … he almost wished Sverrir was a beast of a man—horrible, vicious, barbarous— just so he could have another reason to despise him.

Sigyn shrugged. “He talks a lot.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Absolutely nothing!” she cried. “I’ve never heard of a man who could go on so long without a single thing to say. It makes my head ache.” Sigyn sighed. “But Father finds him interesting.”

Loki scoffed. “Your father would be fascinated by grass growing.”

She laughed. “Probably.”

They danced in silence for a while longer. He liked the silence—the soft, soothing movement was almost enough to make him forget why this night was different from every other he had spent dancing with her. But soon enough, the song came to an end, and he made ready to bid her farewell.

A familiar voice cleared his throat, rasping across the hall. The hum of conversation stopped as everyone turned to face the royal podium, where Prince Sverrir stood, smiling over the masses.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention!” he called. “I would like to make an announcement.”

“Here we go,” whispered Sigyn. She reached out to grasp Loki’s hand.

When the crowd thronged around the podium had appeared to reach a size to his liking, Sverrir continued.

“As many of you know,” he said. “My father’s health has been failing for the past several months, and he has voiced that it is his greatest wish to see me married before he passes. Therefore, I am overjoyed to announce my engagement to one of your very own Asgardian ladies—” He stretched his hand out towards Sigyn, grinning widely as the rest of the nobles whipped around to follow his gaze. “The lovely Lady Sigyn Yngvarrdóttir!”

The ballroom erupted into applause. Sigyn sighed, but quickly masked it with a gracious smile, letting go of Loki’s hand in order to make her way to the podium.

To her fiancé.

Loki didn’t even think. When he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to his side, he was acting off pure instinct.

“That’s impossible!” he cried to the crowd, to Sverrir. “Completely impossible, your Highness. She can’t marry you.”

The applause fizzled out as quickly as it begun. Confused whispers began skating through the onlookers.

“Loki!” Sigyn hissed. “What are you doing?”

Above them all, Sverrir frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Prince Loki,” he said. “Lord Yngvarr had given me his permission, and Lady Sigyn has accepted. Why can I not marry her?”

Loki didn’t blink. “Because she’s already married to me.”

The crowd exploded into outraged gasps.

Besides him, a wicked grin was blooming across Sigyn’s face.

Sverrir seemed to have been rendered incapable of response. He stood stuttering on the podium, any words he did manage drowned out by the commotion of the entire court processing what was turning out to be even more of a scandal than the last time the Vanir prince came to visit.

Until finally one voice cut through the chaos.

“Liar!” yelled Yngvarr, pushing his way through the crowd. “My daughter would not betray her family in such a manner.” He turned back to Sverrir, fuming. “Your Highness, I’m afraid Prince Loki seems to be playing a prank, and a decidedly unfunny one at that, at the expense of my daughter’s reputation.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest his offense, but before he could find the words, yet another voice joined the foray of madness.

“It’s not a prank, Daddy!” Milla grinned, materializing seemingly out of thin air to pull at her father’s sleeve. “It’s real! I heard them talking about it a week ago.”

Yngvarr whipped around so quickly that one of his whiskers caught on his shoulder plate. “What?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Prince Loki came through the window! They were talking about how they were going to get married as soon as possible, because they love each other so much and they’re soulmates and … and …” she trailed off, seeming to only just be realizing that every pair of eyes in the ballroom was on her.

“And what?” snapped Yngvarr.

Sigyn stepped forward. “And I’m pregnant!”

The roar was deafening.

She turned back towards Loki with a smirk. He could only gape at her.

“What?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Loki didn’t bother trying to find words. He just planted his lips on to hers. “I love you,” he whispered when he pulled away. He had never meant anything more in his life.

She laughed. “What now?”

“Well,” he said, grinning as he offered her his arm. “It seems we have to get married. After that—” he stopped abruptly. There was something in his pocket, something that he knew hadn’t been there before, bulky and solid. Frowning, he pulled it out to find the rough carving of a cat’s head tied to a loop of worn leather.

He looked up again in confusion. His eyes landed on Milla, beaming at him from across the room. She winked.

Good things happen when I wear it.

Loki smiled, slipping the charm back into his pocket. Next to him, Sigyn tugged at his arm.

“After that?” she repeated.

“After that?” he shrugged, smirking. “We improvise.”

[mallowstep]

I'd love to hear some ✨StarClan Slander✨ from you

starclan fucking sucks and i'm not afraid to say it.

ugh. where to begin.

okay, starclan sucks in a lot of different ways. like, a lot. it sucks from a narrative perspective, it sucks from a lives-of-cats perpsective, and it sucks from a worldbuilding perspective.

like: starclan is incredibly inconsistent as worldbuilding. it. gah. that part is most in my control when i write, so i try to really like. maximize said control. but if you compare the description of fireheart getting his nine lives to any modern starclan scene, it pisses me off. starclan is so fucking Cool, and now it's not.

i could go on for a while, but it's more of the same.

and then from a narrative perspective like. it causes so many problems. and i don't mean starclan causes problems for the characters, i mean starclan is simultaneously the cause of a lot of problems while the narrative wants us to believe they are the good guys. starclan causing problems? interesting. starclan causing problems but they're Very Good Actually? lazy.

this is a small thing but like it bothered in tbc? okay so. the fact that the clans' relationship to starclan has changed doesn't bother me. it's really interesting. they've been through this time of massive upheaval, something which often correlates with this uptick in spirituality.

i do not need convincing to believe that as the clans have gone through these past ten or fifteen years, with an exodus and the whole great battle (even setting aside the religious implications and just focusing on: big battle, lots of betrayal, lots of death), and everything with skyclan and darktail, yeah!

like, there was a spiritualism wave in the us after the civil war because that's what people/humanized cats do in those times. they latch on to spirituality and religion. why do you think witchcraft is on an uptick again in modern times?

however the problem is the Narrative never acknowledges this, which makes it feel not like an intentional culture change but authors being lazy. i'm not sure what's worse: authors just leaning on starclan because it's interesting and easy, or authors simply failing to convey the nuances of culture change.

whichever makes the erins sound better, pick that one. i have no lost love for them, but i try to keep my criticisms factual.

anyway, i digress, here's my favourite example:

in tbc, it's this Big Deal how the moonpool is the place of the medicine cats, and other cats cannot enter, Nope No Sir, which, like, really fucking confused me.

what?

do leaders not speak with starclan anymore? is that. is that not a thing?

i mean, in tpb, leaders visit the moonstone all the time. apprentices visit it before coming warriors. it's pretty normal.

and i'm fine with the culture of the clans changing for the moonpool to be a medicine cat exclusive: that does not fundamentally bother me. there's even the smallest nod to this idea in po3, during outcast, when they mention that the tradition of going to the moonstone/pool has fallen out of favour, and maybe that's bad.

and like, yeah, okay: i don't really understand Why it fell out of favour, especially in thunderclan. thunderclan had the Longest journey to the moonstone, and now they have either the shortest journey or one of the shortest, so there's really no excuse, but like. that's diaspora, you lose things, i'm okay with that.

what i'm not okay with is the sudden transformation of the moonpool to a Holy Place only Medicine Cats can touch. like, mothwing has been to the moonstone: she knows this isn't how it was. the others are young enough to not know, but then, when did this idea get started? who put it in their heads? why?

jayfeather has had so much pov, it wouldn't be hard to explain. he could've even taught alderpaw about it. or something could've been slipped into an early shadowpaw chapter. it really would not have taken much: a single line in outcast or something was all i needed to accept the moonstone/pool visitation tradition was dead (even if i think it should've continued), but unless i've forgotten, this is just. never explained.

this is how it Always Was (even though it wasn't, and there are cats who should Know it wasn't).

heck! heck! mistystar shared tongues with starclan in her novella. i don't remember where riverclan was during this scene in tbc, but my point is more. someone should've been able to say something. anything.

probably before the actual scene, given how few cats would know about this: bramblestar should since he was made a warrior in the forest territory, but i'll give the other leaders a pass. all i need is like. one line. from one cat. that's it. that's all i need.

finally, starclan obviously is uhhh. evil? it's evil, right, we can all agree? there is no evil starclan au we're In the evil starclan au, i should write a good starclan au.

the thing about this one is like. it's a product of the others. if starclan wasn't Real and Tangible, then like. then like. it wouldn't matter that they gave shitty advice and did terrible things, because now you just have cats dreaming of others, searching for answers in the Strict Code, and that would all make sense.

(did that paragraph like. read? i can't tell. basically, if starclan wasn't confirmed as a real thing with real dead cats, i would be fine with starclan cats being shitty and ooc, because now it's not actual cats we know and love, it's other cats' perceptions, memories, and inferences of them as they search their ancestors for guidance from the warrior code.

so of course their advice is going to be terrible and inconsistent and leafpool is going to decide spottedleaf said she should have kits and then starclan is going to backflip when the kits are born: all of that makes complete sense as long as starclan isn't an actual place. as long as it's just religion, just dreams and omens, there is no problem with that.)

and then if starclan like. if their role in the clans had been covered more thoroughly by the narrative. if how they gave shitty advice a lot was covered. i would also be okay with it.

but the best we get is mothwing's whole "yo uh. starclan doesn't save cats. i save fucking cats. give me my god damn credit for saving your fucking life." like that's a bad thing no. mothwing. queen. please continue ur so right.

and just as a cherry on top, the ableism in starclan is exhausting. it's its own thing, really, but like. i was talking with @foxstride about this. and like. how disabled cats will just have their disabilities erased.

personally, i'm okay with briarlight not being disabled in starclan. i think that makes sense for her character. i think it is Bad that the narrative's response to that was "now that she's dead she's finally happy again!", it should have been "thunderclan failed to give briarlight the actual support she needed to be happy", but the fact that she's not disabled in starclan doesn't actually bother me.

she was sick basically 100% of the time after her accident, and thunderclan was really shitty to her. do you remember how happy she was to "get" to sleep in the warriors' den? she was a fucking warrior that was her right.

thunderclan failed her, but the takeaway is "she couldn't be happy until she was dead and her disability was magicked away." that's bad. that's. i'm not okay with that part of it.

(briarlight deserves so much better than thunderclan.)

but for pretty much every other instance of it, there's none of that. maybe, maybe, you could make a similar argument for cinderpelt, but i would disagree with it.

my cinderpelt opinion is and always has been: she would never have chosen the path of being a medicine cat for herself, but she ultimately finds happiness and fulfillment with it. like, it wasn't right that she was forced to become a medicine cat because of her accident, but it was something she did ultimately enjoy and was happy to dedicate her life to. if she was given the chance to become a warrior after she had been a medicine cat for a while, she wouldn't have taken it.

it's part of why when i'm doing like. big time aus for warriors i still make her a medicine cat. because i like her growing to love it. i like that it's not right, how it happens, but she still loves it eventually. it's a very interesting idea to me that there aren't many characters to explore it through. jayfeather and alderheart are similar, but not in the same way. anyway i'm rambling because these are all the things i thought about when writing stolag, back on topic.

so i don't think cinderpelt should have her disability poofed by starclan, i think she should keep it. i also think that cats who are injured and then aren't disabiled in starclan should be representitve of that. they should be the age before they got injured.

briarlight should be apprentice aged, a hypo-cinderpelt should also be apprentice aged. this is something i'm fine with. i make hollyleaf apprentice aged in starclan because i think she was happiest before the ending of po3.

moving on: snowkit? can apparently hear? wtf?

and y'all already know how much i hate that jayfeather can see in his dreams. i said No that's Not Canon anymore and no one (no one) can stop me.

in conclusion: starclan is bad in a lot of ways, and if it weren't so damn inconsistently bad, i think i wouldn't hate it half as much.

<3

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 47

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Heatherstar had given him permission to speak at the meeting, and told him what to be discreet about. Talltail wasn’t confident whether Cedarstar would accept his word, but maybe if Ratfang had managed to convince him of her own suspicions, there was a better chance. The large patrol cautiously approached the shadowy treeline before the Thunderpath. Talltail smelled them before he saw anything under the now thickly dark cover of night. They were indeed a patrol large enough to be a threat, lined up in front of the Thunderpath tunnel, and who knew how many more were hidden.

Cedarstar stepped forward, only his pale white belly fur and glinting yellow eyes visible in the shadows.

“I hope this will be brief,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Our situation seems simple from my end. The cleanest solution is ShadowClan will forgive and forget everything in exchange for extra territory rights as compensation.“

Heathertstar growled deep in her throat. Talltail’s flinched, feeling his confidence already slipping away. That’s not a great start to fair negotiations at all.

“Do not propose such an insulting thing as reasonable when you know very well it’s not. And I can tell you once more, my clan has done nothing to warrant your behavior this past season.” her neck fur flattened ever so slightly “If you proposed this meeting to actually give reason a chance, then I will tell you that I suspect I know why this has happened.”

“I’m always ready to listen to reason.” Cedarstar said coolly.

Talltail took a small step forward to explain what he had discovered, as Heatherstar allowed him. The deputy Stonetooth sat beside his leader, and Talltail felt his narrowed glare through his scarred and squinted eye.

“I have found evidence cats purposely disguised scents to make WindClan and ShadowClan suspect each other of trespassing and insult. There were...cats working outside the warrior code trying to pit our clans against each other for their own gain.”

Heatherstar told him it was for the best for him not to directly accuse ShadowClan cats of pushing the rogue’s actions, and remain vague about the culprits at first. Their loyalty and desire to save face may be too strong. She would bring it up herself if necessary.

“It wouldn’t be completely unheard of for other cats to want us to weaken each other before the harsh season starts.” A ShadowClan warrior muttered after several silent heart-beats.

 Talltail bit his tongue, wishing he could accuse Darkpaw by name.

 Cedarstar paused as if considering his thoughts, but he looked, strangely, not fully surprised. Talltail wondered if he already knew his young warriors were working behind his back or not. Would he deny it? Talltail really was risking a lot on Ratfang’s assurance that Cedarstar didn’t truly want this fight. Either way, he certainly wouldn't want to look like he was backing off too easily after coming this far.

Stonetooth growled. “Why would we take the word of a deserter? Are you not a rogue yourself?” 

“If this was a rogue, I would not have brought him, nor would I have let him speak.” Heatherstar said firmly. Talltail knew she was saving face in front of ShadowClan, but the defense warmed him all the same. 

“‘I left my clan to pursue the rogues that I thought had wronged us. That’s how I found out.” Talltail said. That was at least true enough 

“Even so, this doesn’t change the fact that WindClan broke clan law in the first place by hiring rogue mercenaries,” Stonetooth shot back.

Heatherstar glared back steadily. “We did no such thing. We had a peaceful private arrangement with a small band of loners whom we only offered medicine to, until you provoked them unjustly. Between us, I have been given information that suggests it seems you were the only one that sought their help for means of war. We know ShadowClan tried to explore our tunneling system, it is too late to deny that. One of my warriors was killed because of it.”

 “And one of ours is permanently injured from it.” Cedarstar spat. “We sought information from a rogue we reasonably assumed had ill intent. There’s no cause within clan law to have outsiders living on clan territory after all. But we did not make him attack.”

 “Perhaps not directly. And yet, the rogue could only have gone so far to set us at each other's throats with help from inside. Seeking to provoke an attack could easily be seen as ‘usage in times of war,’ could it not?”

Talltail held his breath while Cedarstar glared for a long tense moment, his lip curling slightly. “I have not confirmed any clan cats from my end acting on their own in this way, but I do know for certain that one of yours did! If he is WindClan again as you claim, then you are responsible for his past actions when some time ago, your runaway was caught trespassing and nearly half-blinded my deputy, and could have done much worse! That alone could be grounds for us to retaliate.” 

Stonetooth had not lost his eye after all, but it was perhaps not as good as it had once been. Talltail felt hot with shame and Heatherstar bristled furiously. Unfortunately, it was true. He’d almost forgotten about his furious desperate attack on the deputy when he accidentally crossed him and Raggedpelt. Talltail was going to pay for his rashness. Of course ShadowClan would use that to deflect the accusation.

Stonetooth was bristling beside his leader. “Yes, you have no business insulting our honor when we have only ever responded to threats. Any blood spilled will be justified, and we are within our rights to defend ourselves here and now when a warrior violently invades. What's more, you clearly were making plans to invade further through unprecedented means. These tunnels you have been hiding were meant for that, will you deny that claim?” Stonetooth looked like he would have gone on, but Cedarstar raised a tail to silence him.

Heatherstar did not step back. “ShadowClan began this by trying to push boundary lines without need or cause. That particular tunneling project never reached your territory and it never will. As your unwarranted trespassing discovered.” 

“I still think we are taking a lot on the word of a deserter.” Stonetooth glared daggers at Talltail. “How do we really know that all the stolen prey with WindClan scent markings on our land was because of this rogue you speak of? We had reports from several cats who say they saw WindClan with their own eyes.”

To Talltail’s surprise, a small ShadowClan apprentice made a barely audible squeaking sound. She looked afraid when eyes turned to her. She surely wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting. “Sorry...I-I was one of the ones who reported those signs, But...but it's possible we...misunderstood them. It could have been a rogue and not WindClan after all now that I think of it. We...We never saw them up close, it was a skinny cat after all.”

 Talltail recognized Tanglepaw, the apprentice he’d help save from the fox. He willed her to tell the truth about Darkpaw so he could back it up, but she didn’t continue. In ShadowClan’s warrior patrol present for the talk, he caught sight of Ashheart, who stiffened and glared daggers at the back of the apprentice.

Cedarstar shifted uncomfortably, his tail lashing at the interruption. His eyes flicked to Ashheart. “Do you think that as well?”

One apprentice's word was only so good. Ashheart looked at Talltail, then down at her paws and only said, “I’m...not sure, now that I think of it. We didn’t get a good enough look.”

What, is she afraid of telling the full truth!? Talltail thought furiously. He wondered if Tanglepaw was going to take the fall all by herself to prevent the scheme Darkpaw had set up. Darkpaw can get away with a lot, Ratfang had said. It wasn’t fair, but it was better than saying nothing at all. Talltail couldn’t be the one to convince them of treachery within their clan.

“The bottom line is, we can’t give that cat what they want,” Talltail said loudly. All eyes turned to him, and he hoped Heatherstar would forgive his boldness. “I know I acted wrongly, I accidentally crossed your territory alone and had no grounds to attack, and I intend to atone for it however I can. Likewise, whoever has tried to set us up, they shouldn’t be rewarded for seeking bloodshed. Isn’t that reasonable to agree on? Do we let cats who don’t obey the warrior code guide our claws?” 

Talltail met the ShadowClan leader's eyes steadily. He could deny everything, Talltail didn’t have physical proof for his claims after all. But he saw in the old leader's gaze that Cedarstar did know he was telling the truth. And Talltail hoped his narrowed gaze suggested that he knew exactly what had happened with ShadowClan’s rebellious young cats, even if Cedarstar didn’t want to admit it here.  The leader glared at him, but he seemed uncomfortable. Talltail had been through too much these past moons to flinch away. You must see now your medicine cat's suspicions have merit. You know you aren’t in the right to push this invasion any further. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Cedarstar was still a clan leader, and for all the dreadful tales of ShadowClan there must be some hope that a sense of honor would shine through. If only he would allow that. Talltail looked to Heatherstar, desperate for her to be willing to give him an out to back off with his pride intact. Cedarstar was hesitant, his ears back. Perhaps all the two leaders needed was an opportunity to back away on equal terms. He didn’t think it was fair that his lashing out at Stonetooth was treated as an equal wrong to purposely trying to spiral their clans in a bloody war, but he was willing to take that hit if it would lead to a better outcome. Every cat present was rigid waiting for the leaders to speak, and Talltail swore he could feel the tension wafting off of the larger patrols of battle-ready warriors hiding somewhere out of sight on either side of the woodland strip.

 But right when he thought maybe, just maybe, things could be ok after all, he heard a caterwaul from further down ranks. Everyone bristled. Someone attacked, and he had no idea who it was. The tension in the air was so thick, anything could have set a cat off.

Heatherstar hissed “You gave the signal, didn’t you? I knew this talk was a pointless distraction!”

“I did no such thing!” Cedarstar spat.

Talltail’s stomach dropped, he didn’t hear the rest of their argument as a loud yowl split the air. He’d been too hopeful. The insults were real even if their cause was false. In the dark, he saw several cats chasing each other through the trees, Stonetooth was on his paws running down the line after them, snarling that he’d sort it out himself. From the hidden lines, Talltail saw a sleek brown shape start after the deputy, as Shrewclaw needed no further motive to take off. 

Talltail had no choice but to take off after the sprinting shape of Shrewclaw before he ruined everything, calling for him to wait while Heatherstar and Cedarstar snarled behind him. In the dark of night, Talltail saw feline shapes bristling in the undergrowth. He couldn’t see who they were, split off members of the battle patrols waiting and watching. Had some cats gotten too close to each other and lashed out? He heard confused snarling, saw flashing teeth, half-crouched warriors fox-lengths apart with eyes darting around in confusion. No one had been called to attack officially, and they were unsure of what to do. It was impossible to tell which side the yowling came from, or if a real fight had started or not.

A dark cat was tusseling over Hareflight, who was snapping at the little shape on his back. Hareflight would never have broken rank, this cat was just attacking on their own. Stonetooth barreled into the battle and they broke apart, but Stonetooth, still bristling and snarling, swiped at Hareflight’s whiskers as the senior warrior tried to back away. Talltail realized he’d lost sight of Shrewclaw until the furious tom was barreling past him. That swipe from Stonetooth was all the signal he needed. 

“Stop!” Talltail gasped, but Shrewclaw wasn’t listening, and had piled into the wiry gray warrior before the word had left his mouth.

Stonetooth kicked away from Shrewclaw. “I knew you lot couldn’t be trusted!” he snarled, spitting blood from a cut on his lip. Talltail tried to explain, but Stonetooth was lunging at him before he could open his jaws. Shrewclaw was ready before Talltail was. He was latched onto Stonetooth’s chest and knocking him backwards in a heartbeat. 

ShadowClan’s deputy being attacked was sure to catch attention. Talltail barely dodged a lunging ShadowClan warrior, who wheeled about on him again as soon as they landed. I’ve failed, this is all falling apart!

“You have to stop Shrewclaw, Heatherstar didn’t call for this!” he cried out.

If Shrewclaw heard him, he showed no sign of it. He wouldn’t stop until Stonetooth slipped in the dirt, writhing under Shrewclaw’s bite as jaws tore into his neck. Before Talltail could get closer to break them apart, the dark cat that had attacked first knocked him to the ground. It didn’t take long to realize who it was. 

“You're going to pay for ruining this for me!” the cat hissed. 

Darkpaw was going to start a fight whether their leaders wanted to or not, and he wasn’t going to wait around for Tanglepaw or any other cat to risk blaming him by name. He was wild and furious, and clearly had no better plan at all. Now he was just angry. Talltail kicked him back and sent him flying. Talltail was plenty angry too. Stonetooth and Shrewclaw tumbled down a gravely slope out of view, temporarily distracting Darkpaw long enough for Talltail to whack the apprentice and sending him reeling.

Talltail prepared to defend again, but it seemed that some cat else was blocking Darkpaw’s way, one of his lackeys that Talltail didn’t know by name. “Stonetooth looks bad, this isn’t going well, let's just get out of here while we can!” 

Talltail looked around wildly for Shrewclaw and Stonetooth, panic rising with every breath. Chaos had kicked up. Seeing their deputy in battle sent several ShadowClan warriors out of the undergrowth and the ruckus brought WindClan down to meet them. Sliding clumsily down the gravely slope, Talltail saw Stonetooth was up again and tearing at Shrewclaw as he came down. It was vicious and frenzied and there were bloody wounds around their necks. They're going to kill each other, Talltail realized. Shrewclaw was battered, almost swaying and painfully holding up a leg that he seemed to have landed on wrong, and blood ran down his chest. Any warrior should retreat in that state,  but he was seeing too much red to stay down. As Shrewclaw leaped, Stonetooth twisted around to meet him, red stained teeth barred. Talltail let out a furious yowl and caught Shrewclaw midair before he could come down on Stonetooth’s outstretched claws. Shrewclaw thudded to the ground and Talltail had to pin his foreleg to the ground as Shrewclaw, despite his injuries, tried to wrench himself free. They were outnumbered. If Stonetooth fell, he saw the warriors waiting to tear them apart in retaliation.

“Get--off!” Shrewclaw screeched

“You're going to get yourself killed! There was no call!”

 “I don’t care, I won’t let you take this from me now!” 

Shrewclaw kicked at him and wormed his way around Talltail as Stonetooth took a wobbly step forward. They’d barely met for a moment before Talltail thrust himself between them, wincing at the sting from two pairs of claws at once, but he wouldn’t let Stonetooth get at Shrewclaw again.

Talltail snarled, refusing to flinch away as he knocked Shrewclaw back again. Shrewclaw tried to shove him off but fell short, wheezing, spitting out blood. He was bleeding badly. So was his opponent. Stonetooth tried to scramble away but fell sideways and lay panting on the ground. Talltail stiffened, wondering if he really had been too late. Cedarstar and Heatherstar were finally there, rushing to the source of the clamor, both looking ready to leap into a fight if necessary. But the state of Stonetooth made Cedarstar stumble.

“Enough!” he yowled, his voice echoed around the trees as Cedarstar skidded to a stop over his deputy, who managed to sit upright but still couldn’t quite get to his paws, The leader turned snarling at the WindClan cats. His warriors had frozen, and WindClan hesitated, looking to their own leader, waiting for real instruction. 

In the dark, an angry pair of orange eyes stared wide at the heavily bleeding deputy and ducked away. Darkpaw was of course still watching. Talltail couldn’t help wondering if he was more upset about how much trouble he could get in if their deputy died then he was about the injury itself. Talltail felt his lip curl and he shook with fury, but held his tongue.

Cedarstar’s attention was dragged from his deputy to meet a white molly and a familiar grizzled gray shape. Ratfang and her mentor Sagewhisker were there among ShadowClans ranks.

“You shouldn’t be this far,” Cedarstar hissed quietly.

Their voices were hushed among the continuing warning snarls from warriors of both clans, Talltail could only just barely hear them.

“I came at blood scent. Look at him!” The pale medicine cat gestured to the limp deputy. “Is this sign enough for you? My apprentice was right. This night has been chaotic, cats lashing out without orders. This will never end here. It will burn us out. The signs were already clear to us, and are even more so now. We warned you against this.” Cedarstar gave his medicine cat a long look. He bristled, but the ShadowClan leader did not call for further attack. Please listen to your medicine cat! Talltail willed.

Ratfang stepped closer to place a paw at Stonetooth’s wounds. “Stonetooth was more strongly in favor of this fight then most. Now he may very well die for it.” She glanced at Shrewclaw with a hopeless look that made Talltail’s heart clench up. “This is enough blood, let there be no more. The stars are not shining favorably on this night.”

He gritted his teeth and stood, whipping around to where Heatherstar stood and the rest of ShadowClan was bristling and growling. 

“Do we want to end up no better than ThunderClan and RiverClan? Nearly every gathering, more reports of cats slain over the pile of rocks on their border! We’ve seen the damage it does to them!”

Cedarstar didn’t move, just stood staring at Stonetooth while Ratfang tried to help him.

Heatherstar spoke stiffly “My warrior speaks sense. I don’t want that kind of blood and rivalry to be my legacy as leader. Do you?”

“Damn the woods, then.” He heard the ShadowClan leader rasp. “I’m taking my deputy home.”

 He caught Ratfang’s eye briefly as she followed her clan, trailing Stonetooth’s body between the warriors that carried him. He might make it, but only if they hurried. Her gaze was somber and she only gave him the briefest of nods. It was the best I could do, he thought. 

Talltail didn’t have it in him to look back down at Shrewclaw, hearing his ragged gasps, his claws still tensed and fastened into Talltail’s legs. 

“You shouldn’t have stopped me--” he managed to spit. 

“Too bad.” Talltail spat back through gritted teeth.

 Hareflight had already bounded to his former apprentice's side. “Stars-” the old tom hissed as he pushed his muzzle under Shrewclaw, trying to get him up. Talltail stiffened as he saw Shrewclaw couldn’t stand on his own. Too much blood, was all he could think

The bloody warrior rasped to Hareflight “Sorry for ignoring you. But I’m not sorry enough to regret it.”

“Don’t try to talk right now,” Hareflight said sternly. His stoic voice was weak.

“Of course you're not sorry, you mouse-brain.” Talltail whispered. Of course Shrewclaw would have that resolve. Talltail rushed to help Hareflight, but despair was fighting it’s way up his throat. He’d seen for the first time in moons a glimmer of hope that the two of them could come to better terms after everything. There was a possibility for so many things. Talltail couldn’t have another reconciliation stolen from him. Stonetooth was not more important than that. He had promised Briarface, and he had promised Fallowspring. He couldn’t accept this loss. He wouldn’t. Shrewclaw could spit fury for the rest of their days at Talltail for taking this fight from him, but Talltail hadn’t come back to start breaking promises now.

Shrewclaw, you can’t die like this. I’m not letting you. He willed it, and focused on that will, as if it alone could stop his bleeding. But mere will had never worked for him before. As they limped back carrying Shrewclaw between them, Talltail was preparing himself for that old familiar jolt of pain, of hollowness, that came with loss. He focused all his senses on listening to Shrewclaw’s breathing, tensing with worry that each one would be his last. He didn’t hear Heatherstar’s words to the rest of the patrol, about marking borders, sending scouts to ensure they all left. None of it mattered. Only getting his clanmate home alive mattered. 

A worse battle had been avoided for now, but he knew in his heart it couldn’t last. He would face that pain. He would face hardship. That possibility was always waiting for him here. Briarface was already at their side before his brother was laid down in the medicine den. Talltail remained close by. Whatever pain would come from this, or from future battles, the only thing more painful than that reality of clan life was the thought of being too far away to help.

 After a long, agonizing night of waiting, Hawkehart and Briarface rushing for their supplies, Talltail released a breath as Shrewclaw, bloody and haggard, slowly, opened his eyes and glared deep into Talltail. 

“You know how important this was to me,” he hissed weakly, when no one else was close enough to hear.

 Talltail stared back, impassive. “I do,” he said quietly. “And I will not apologize for not letting you die today. No matter how angry you are for it.” He angrily gestured to Briarface, anxiously sorting cobweb, Fallowspring pushing her way through the crowd with her brother, waiting to see him. “They are more important than Stonetooth. You useless mouse-brain. And you’re going to have to deal with it.”

Shrewclaw said nothing more, but as Briarface leaned over him and Talltail was forced to back out of the den, he saw Shrewclaw let out a weak sigh as his brother paused his clumsy cobweb application long enough to press his forehead against Shrewclaw’s, exasperated and heavy with relief.

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[sims2bellaswan]

Fascinating [Childe | Tartaglia x Reader]

[TW: STALKING, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE] [SFW]

AO3 VERSION

After a monumental loss, Tartaglia becomes fascinated with you. [AFAB reader]

Here, you stood before the 11th Harbinger, Tartaglia. In a cold, stone chamber, echoing the gentle sound of water and scented with the smells of soft moss and rotting wood. Your shoes clicked on the cobble almost hesitantly.

“Oh, no! Please, don’t hesitate for my sake, you were doing so well.” The smile he wore was laced into his voice. “You killed the fatui agents, yes?”

All you could manage was a nod, then a thick swallow. Your nerves ran wild. You weren’t prepared to fight him. Trying to relax, you moved from your ready position to a casual stand, the grip on your weapon loosening ever so slightly. You’ve learnt on more than one occasion that frayed nerves lead to a loss.

“Good, good! Then, you’ll be quite the challenge.” Beyond the cheery voice was something different. Something malicious that knew you’d fail.

He knew he’d prove victorious. If the mighty beasts and monsters of the underground couldn’t kill him, what made you think you could? You were weak, it was humorous to even attempt.

No, he wanted to prove to you, specifically, that he was the superior warrior. This game of cat and mouse the two of you had been playing grew boring at this point. He let you catch him here. He wanted to see if you had it in you. To see if you had the guts to give your all.

The battle ended unceremoniously. Routinely boring. You had given it your all, clearly that wasn’t enough. It certainly wasn’t enough for him.

Enough time had passed where you had eventually gotten over your complete defeat. Your bruises faded from a deep purple to yellow, the gashes in your muscles healed well, which you thanked medicinal herbs for. You had new scars, blooming red holes from the arrows that pierced the little armor you had then. But, you knew they would fade with time too. Thankfully, you remained emotionally unaffected from the battle. Sure, it sucked to lose but you knew that if you kept up your hard work, it wouldn’t happen again.

The same could not be said for Tartaglia or rather, Childe, as he was known outside of ‘business’ related circles. He won; normally, he’d move on and find bigger baddies to bully.

Normally, he wouldn’t feel a need to keep an eye on you.

In the first week following your battle, it began as scientific curiosity. He was far more interested in who you trained with than what you did in your free time. Until, he reasoned with himself, it became necessary to look out for you in your free time.

Weeks grew into months of simply studying. Learning your go-to moves by watching you train, knowing how you’d respond by eavesdropping on your conversations. Your group was nothing to bat an eye at, not nearly as interesting as you proved to be.

Waiting for the perfect moment to approach you was probably one of the most stressful moments of his life. You were always with someone, whether it be that levitating, little woman or one of your teammates. They all seemed fiercely protective of you and despite his need to lord himself over you again, he didn’t need their heat as well.

The sun filtered down through the clouds, offering little warmth in the cooling day. You weren’t training or off doing quests for the Knights. Nor, were you with your damned team or that little lady. Now was perfect. Leaving his hiding spot, where he had quietly noted every movement of yours, he dashed to catch up to you.

“You know, wolves run around all over this area.” His arm snaked over your shoulder. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You froze for a moment before breaking away from his grip and readying your weapon. There was a silent moment of growing tension between the two of you.

He laughed, not even bothering to match your energy. “I only came to offer a rematch!” He held up his hands in defense. “I beat you so mercilessly, I felt bad afterwards.”

You relaxed, standing back up and sheathing your sword. “What are the terms?” You were nothing if not careful, he liked that about you.

“You’re on your way to Snezhnaya, yes?” He began walking, which you had to scramble to keep up with. “I’ll meet you there, we rematch then.” Turning on his heel, he walked backwards to get a good look at your reaction. “My turf, my rules.”

Your face fell, annoyed that you’d have to follow along with whatever dirty tricks Tartaglia had planned for you. “Fine.” You gripped the strap of your bag as you walked. “But, I reserve the right to decline if I don’t like your rules.”

“Don’t be a spoil sport.” He grinned, waving to you. “See you there!” And, off he went.

The journey to Snezhnaya was cold, which was the only word you could come up with to match how you felt. Snow fluttered down and stuck in piles around the path. Little wildflowers, shining with a blue sheen in the winter sun, frame the signposts and fences. Your fingers felt like they were going to fall off.

Meeting with Tartaglia wasn’t as cold, in fact, the inn was pleasantly warm. The two of you held a comfortable silence for a moment before beginning your discussion, quietly drinking your tea while he took a quick shot of some clear wine. He said it would warm you up but you declined.

The terms of your rematch were as follows, this is what you agreed to: The two of you would rematch exactly as you did the first time, weapons and all. No teammates, no tag-ins, which was good because your team didn’t accompany you to Snezhnaya. No dirty moves, but hand to hand was permitted. Unlike your first fight, it wasn’t life or death.

“What happens when one of us loses?” You stir honey into your tea.

He grinned, he had been waiting for you to ask after all. “If you win, I will beg you to be gracious enough to train me.”

“And if I lose?”

“If you lose, I want to train you.” Which essentially means, he will get to be by your side either way. And, he knows he won’t lose. While the fight itself is fair in every sense of the word, Tartaglia has done his homework. He’s studied you since you lost the first time, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Train me in your dirty fighting style? I think not.” You sneered slightly, not worried about how rude you came off.

“Dirty?” He acted mock-offended. “I won fair and square.” He found himself enthralled in your bitterness.

Beyond the agreement, you two continued in light banter. He found it delightful to get to actually speak with you. Watching you pour yourself glass after glass to give yourself a reason to ignore his prying questions. You powered through until you retired for the night, the real battle would be the next morning.

Here, you stood before the 11th Harbinger. Tartaglia’s cockiness became almost tangible as he strut about the arena, awaiting your ready.

The cold cobblestone would shiver beneath you if it could. You did shiver, painful tears pricking at your eyes when the wind picked up. Your knuckles whitened as your grip on your sword tightened. Knees bent, you readied.

You were able to dodge the first few arrows, much to Tartaglia’s discontent. “You’ve gotten better, girlie!” You lunge forward and he uses it as a chance to pull you in.

Inches from your nose, his breath warms your cheeks. He opens his mouth to say something but you pull away before he can put it together.

Running a hand through his hair, he readies another arrow. Pulling, letting go, hitting you in the arm. It lodged itself in your muscle, right in the gap between your armors. You pull in a tight breath, then continue with your stance.

Swallowing the pain is the hardest part. His arrows feel barbed when they rip through your skin and plant themselves in your flesh. You break the arrow at the base, if you pulled it out, you’d bleed out sooner.

Tartaglia sees this as another window of opportunity. “Nevermind, I think you’ve gotten worse.” He taunts you. He doesn’t actually think this. If he hadn’t done his homework so well, you would’ve taken him by surprise. That’s something that doesn’t happen often. “Though, I’ve seen you train.” He has the upper hand here.

“Do you hold yourself back when we fight?” You break his train of thought. “Because you’re doing an awful lot of chatting.” He didn’t chat nearly this much the first time you two met. You grimaced. Your arm hurt.

“Not anymore.” He smiled, dashing towards you. His elbow rips through the air and hits square on your shoulder, opposite the arrow wound. Breath escapes you. “You know, I wondered if you were holding back.” His foot keeps you to the ground, you think you might puke. “But, when I saw you train, you were sloppy.”

“Saw me train?” You gasped out, chest heaving. The cold air felt too thin to breath.

“Among other things.”

“I win.” His foot removed, he held out his hand. Waiting, patiently, for you to take it, hoist yourself up. You never took it. He wasn’t offended.

In fact, it invigorated him. He takes a knee over you. “I can’t quite figure out why I do the things I do.” He grabs your jaw. “You cast some spell on me. All I can think about is you.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 16)

(Gif credit HERE)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I’m sorry I uploaded a bit later than usual today, I’m just idk, I think I’m nearing a burnout on this. But anyways, I’m sorry, you’re not here to hear me whine lol. Today as promised there’s a second chapter (17), and schedule will stay as is for now. Thank you, and hope you like it.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​

You can certainly say the people of Kattegat have surprised you. A few days since the King’s announcement that you are to be his wife, their queen, and yet the whispers, the curious eyes; they don’t seem to be any louder or more insistent than before they knew of who you’ll become once their King returns.

You are grateful, you cannot pretend otherwise. To be normal, or as normal as can be in these strange times, it is a luxury you do not take for granted.

So, as it is your new normal, you help the women at the apothecary every day, learning more and more, and yet also having opportunities to teach them better ways. The Gods made you smart, and they also made you arrogant, you are not one to deny it, which is why you and a warrior-like woman have been arguing on how to treat a simple but deep wound for quite a while now.

“We have always done it this way.” The blonde woman argues, but you shake your head.

“That doesn’t mean it is the best way,” You stir the boiling water, pour it over the wine mixed with vinegar and offer it to the woman. “Trust me, I was a healer all over the Mediterranean and the Silk Roads. I know what works best.”

“Arrogant little witch, aren’t you?”

You cock your head to the side and curve your mouth downwards, doubtful, “Is it truly arrogance if it’s founded on actual skill?”

She blinks but then softens her expression, and with a rueful smile on her lips she says, “If your tongue is just as wicked when you face the King, I pity the poor fool.”

“Are any of you going to clean this or sho-…” The warrior sitting in the ground grumbles, but the blonde woman silences him with a hit to the top of his head.

“Shush,” Her eyes remain on you and after a breath she extends a hand, “Fine, give me that water.”

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“He’s Viking, he can take it.” She offers with a sly smile, that quickly falls at your mocking glare when the man squirms and groans as the hot mixture is used to clean the wound on his shoulder.

When the man leaves with a dressed wound that will remain clean thanks to your help, the woman brings the big bowl of fresh water so you can both wash your hands.

As you do, she concedes, “Your ways are proving to be useful, witch.”

“I have a name.” You quip quietly, your voice a grumble. The Viking woman chuckles.

“I know. But ‘witch’ is not an insult, at least to us. It’s a title. You wage war, you sit next to the King, you are welcomed in any hearth.”

“I am no Völva.” You argue calmly, recognizing the traits and benefits she lists as those of a traveling Viking Völva.

“What would you be, back in your home?”

“Dead.” You reply dryly, to which the woman laughs. Clasping a heavy hand on your shoulder, she says,

“I’m Valdís, witch.”

You roll your eyes, but accept the title and her offered seat on the table near the hearth. She passes you an apple and a knife, and you start quietly cutting little sticks for you to eat.

Lifting your gaze to her and watching her toy with a pear and a knife in her own hands, you ask, “Fine, I’m a witch. What are you?”

“A mother. I used to be a shieldmaiden, but…”

“You got married?” You supply when her words die, but the blonde shakes her head with another low, raspy laugh.

“As if a cock could keep a Viking woman from her shield,” She boasts crudely, strikingly reminding you of Sieghild for a moment. The doors to the shop open again, and Freydis walks in, empty basket on one arm and coin pouches on the other. You greet her with a smile, and she returns it as she shrugs off the cloak and takes a seat by your side. Valdís continues her explanation quietly, “No, I did not lay down my shield for marriage. I was…captured during a raid in Wessex. They injured my sword arm badly, and I cannot fight anymore.”

“And your child…” You start, but the words die out, like saying it out loud would make her pain real, like you need to let her decide if she voices this.

Valdís squares her shoulders, strong and unmoving as she says, “He is mine, he is Viking. But…yes, he was…the Saxons forced themselves upon me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

“You Varangians are so strange. It’s not an insult to be offered compassion.” You tell her. She narrows her eyes, chewing in silence.

“What about you? You weren’t here last winter.” Valdís asks instead of answering, turning sharp focus to Freydis.

The blond girl shuffles in her seat before giving her answer. You eye her with concern and curiosity.

“I’m-…I used to be a thrall. I was freed by a son of Ragnar.”

Why doesn’t she say it was Ivar?

“Surprising he didn’t ask you to marry him,” Valdís huffs, and at your look shrugs and explains, “Those brothers have always had a thing for blonde thralls.”

“Slaves don’t get their hands asked for, Valdís.” Freydis quips, and you catch sight of her fingers playing with one another nervously where they rest on her lap.

“My personal thrall has a husband I have met, and children of her own. What are you on about, girl?”

Even if Valdís sounds gruff, you catch a genuine silver of concern, of care, in the woman’s eyes when she regards the frail girl that seems unbreakable and fragile at the same time.

You remain silent, and wait for Freydis to speak again. She does so, quietly, cautiously.

“We are not-…Slaves don’t fall in love, we just get husbands, slaves don’t have…families, we just birth children. Like animals.”

You do not try to stop your hand from finding hers, stopping the maddening twisting of her fingers and bringing her blue eyes to you. With certainty, you say, “First of all, you are not a slave anymore. And you were never, and never will be, an animal, Freydis.”

But she shakes her head, resolute like that day she tried convincing you the Gods marked you favorites for having endured a world of pain, “You don’t understand, witch. Slaves are not people, you cannot love them, you cannot trust them.”

“Says who? Men in power?” Valdís spits out, bitter chuckle on her lips, “Just because of the Gods we follow we are not people if you ask the Christians. Will you let them say if you are a person or not?”

“No.” The blonde girl bites out, voice wavering even in such a short vocalization. You squeeze her hand, but don’t know what to say.

 “Then don’t let others, even our own, tell you that because of capture or birth you are not a woman like any other,” She sounds so motherly you have to bite back a smile. With certainty, the woman continues, “We are all children of the Gods, you are a child of Freyja. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m-…If Freyja looks over me, why…why did I suffer like I did?”

“Because suffering is what makes us human, and who we are,” You supply without hesitation, offering her a sad smile at the truth you had a hard time accepting as well, “How else would you be able to stand tall today and heal your own wounds, fight for what you want, enjoy what you have; without knowing what it’s like to hurt without remedy, to want and be left wanting, to lack and have nothing?”

The mangy black cat that belongs to the shop by now jumps swiftly into Freydis’ lap, and she absent-mindedly starts petting it as she talks,

“So the Gods mark us for pain? You said-…”

You interrupt her words, not wanting to argue this again even if you know now that the deluded notion of pain being a badge of pride is not so certain in her mind.

With another squeeze of her hand, you offer, “Suffering is not preordained, no. Pain, scars, misfortune, they are not proof of the favor of the Gods.”

“Then why-…You were born under the sigil of your Goddess, and you told me you almost burned alive,” You flinch slightly at the reminder, the soft touch of the linens of your dress against the scars burning like the Christian’s fire for a moment. You steal a nervous glance to Valdís, who watches you with wide eyes, and return shameful eyes to Freydis. The blonde girl continues, “You should have died then, but your Gods kept you alive, gave you their favor, their love.”

“The scars I bear are not proof of my Goddess’ love.”

“Your Goddess’ love carried you here!” The girl insists, eyes wide, “You stood in chains in front of Ivar the Boneless and had him release you. You stand at his side, you whisper in his ear, you have power.”

Her words make you pause for a moment, feeling you are witness to the darker side of the blonde girl for the first time since you arrived. She talked with you about lying to get your freedom, she asked about you seducing Ivar in exchange for what he gave you, and now she boasts about you being by his side like a conquest, as if nothing but a crown and power make up the Viking King.

You decide not to dwell on it, but you still release her hand and straighten in your seat. She notices, you know she does, but says nothing.

“No one’s love carried me here, Freydis,” Your voice may sound colder than before, and on the edge of your vision you catch Valdis raising her eyebrows and looking away. Still, you continue, “Sometimes pain is just pain. I don’t know about your Gods, but mine are-…In my home wise men said it takes strength greater than that of believing the Gods guide our every step to accept the Gods sometimes look away from their creations.”

“So they let us suffer?” Freydis asks, frowning.

A loud groan interrupts you, and you both turn to see Valdís throwing her head back where she sits, dragging rough hands over her face.

“Enough with this. Leave it to old and boring men to discuss the wills of the Gods.” She grumbles, earning a small laugh from you.

The days moves on slowly, though you notice the elders in the apothecary start ordering all of you to work more and more on healing salves and presses, making you wonder what the aftermath of a raid or a battle is like for the healers of Kattegat.

After a few days since meeting the former shieldmaiden, you are invited to join the women of the apothecary on the baths, and curiosity as to how similar these could be to roman public baths wins over your modesty, and you accept.

As you walk there, hearing Freydis hum a strange tune behind you, you catch Valdís, the dark-haired shieldmaiden stretching her stride to walk at your side as the group approaches the baths.

“So, witch.”

“So, shieldmaiden.” You reply, to which she offers a small smile as she meets your eyes.

“King Ivar said Sieghild Vorsdottir is the woman who raised you, who claims you as her daughter,” You nod slowly, not sure where she is going with this, “But she isn’t here, and you are to be a new bride soon.”

Your eyes narrow, and you steal a glance to Freydis as she moves closer to your side, very obviously wanting to hear this conversation.

“What are you on about?”

“You have no one to help you…shed the title of maiden,” Valdís explains, smirk devilish, “To prepare you to be a wife.”

“Not that any of us can prepare her to be the wife of Ivar the Boneless.” A woman quips from behind you, earning a chuckle from a few others in the group.

“My point is, we could use this time to teach you.”

“Teach me.” You repeat, and her smile only turns much more mischievous.

“Of course!” She turns to one of the elders, gesturing with a muscular arm, “Isn’t that tradition? Aren’t we to share our wisdom?”

The woman considers her in silence, though you could swear there’s a small smile betraying at her lips.

“I’m too old for this.” She mutters in response, but Valdís only laughs.

The baths are warm, warmer than any room you’ve been in, and though your hair hates the humidity, you sigh in pleasure at the almost-suffocating warmth.

You undress with ease, and it is only when you are readying to enter the bath turning your back to them that you realize what they may have seen.

The scars. Burn scars, not as bad as they could have been but still there, still present and marring.

They run over the outside of your right thigh, climbing over your hip into part of your back, almost up to your ribs. A gift from the Byzantines, so that you remember what happens to pagans.

“Are those burn scars, witch?” One of the women asks, and you turn around with gritted teeth.

Offering only a nod in response, but you cannot bring yourself to say anything more.

“Burnt alive for refusing to worship the Christian God, or so they say.” Valdís offers in your place, no hesitation in her voice, and no shame either, you notice, as she sheds her clothing as well and bares her strong yet scarred and marked body for everyone to see as she approaches the large stone tub as well.

It makes you feel much more at ease, even if it wasn’t her intention, seeing she has scars too, she has marks too. Not that the women that traveled with you are without their marks and badges of honor, but…the mark of war on a woman is something to be ashamed of, at least where you come from.

“No different than a scar from a sword or an axe,” She states confidently, bowing her head in recognition with a small smile on her face, “Glory to you, Greek.”

You offer her a small smile of your own, and get into the hot water.

“Thank you.” You offer sincerely, and go under the water to get your hair wet, silently pleading with them that the conversation finds an end. It does.

Conversation diffuses between the women soon enough, and the loud laugh of the shieldmaiden echoes in the walls, but you find yourself…comfortable, safe, even if the weight of what kind of failure this comfort, this ease you feel in this land means sets on your chest and almost keeps you from breathing if you think about it too much.

“So, about what we ought to teach you.” Valdís presses, drawing a groan from you.

“Would you leave the poor girl be?” Someone quips, but she dismisses them with a gesture.

“Witch,” Valdís -who you are noticing more and more has no qualms about keeping her mouth shut, reminding you strikingly of Sieghild- asks, moving closer to you in the large tub, “Do you know how to please a man?”

Oh, Gods.

“Yes.” You bite out, resisting the urge to close your eyes in mortification and hoping to everything there is on this earth, let it be Persephone or Freyja, that she doesn’t push this.

“But do you know how to please a Viking?”

“No matter what I say, you will talk anyways, won’t you?”

She only gives you a look that says you should know the answer already, before laughing. You groan, and lower your face further into the waters, igniting a laugh out of the other women.

_____

The routines of spending the days at the apothecary, exchanging secrets and tales with Freydis and loud laughs with Valdís, sharing short conversations with the other women, watching and learning and teaching; they quickly become a source of warmth and familiarity in this cold and strange land.

Even more now that Ivar is gone. You have no shame in admitting you have…grown used to him. Maybe that’s what hurts the most, what feels the most like failure; the fact that you have grown to enjoy his company, to hope for something more than resentment, to see him not quite as you did in Aneridge, but differently all the same. And the Gods made you too arrogant and proud to admit it to anyone but yourself, but you do miss him while he is gone. His curious eyes, his endless questions, his taunts and his infuriating stubbornness.

Prince Hvitserk has kept you company, and you offer murmured greetings each time you cross paths and maybe exchange a few words during dinner. It is more than you could ask for, and you think is all you should want. You have always had a soft heart, and not even Kattegat’s cold or its cruel King could harden it; and…a soft heart brings forth familiarity, care, affection. You have no use for neither, for you cannot forget the chains set upon you.

If you forget the chains, it will feel like a choice to remain here. And this is not a choice you can make.

You keep reminding yourself not to forget what brought you here, not to forget the chains set upon you, not to forget that you do not belong here; even as you occupy your day with a foolish and sentimental project.

You run into Hvitserk as you are carrying an armful of wooden planks -that you may or may not have exchanged a necklace for- to your rooms.

“What are you doing, woman?” He asks, and when he offers you, not demands, to take the heavy wood and carry it for you, you accept with a smile.

“I’m…making planters in my rooms,” The Prince still looks at you like you grew a second head, so you add, “I like plants. Herbs and flowers.” You offer as your sole answer, shrugging your shoulders.

When you reach the doors to your rooms, you hesitate, and the Prince offers you a smile.

“I can help you make them.”

“Is that…proper? For a man to be in a woman’s rooms?” You ask lowly, but the laugh you startle out of the young man takes away any secrecy you expected to get.

He pushes open the door with his shoulder and walks in, you trailing behind him.

“‘Proper’. You spent too much time with Christians, witch,” He chuckles, and drops the planks where you point him to. Crossing his legs underneath him as he sits on your floor, he motions for you to do the same. “If it’s my brother you are worried about, I’ll handle him.”

You thank him with a smile, tremulous as it is, and help him as you both work in amicable company, exchanging snippets of stories, quiet laughs and easy smiles.

“The King,” You start cautiously, and the Prince nods, giving you permission to talk, “Has he always been so…?”

“Usually worse,” He bites out when your words die, hitting particularly harder than needed at a nail as he does so. “You keep him preoccupied.”

“Should I be worried?” You say with a smile, scooting as you reach your favorite window and measuring for the perfect length of a planter to set there.

“He listens to you more than me, witch, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“You don’t get along?” You ask even if you already know the answer, readying a few nails to start forming an angle for a planter.

“My brother and I…we are bound to kill each other, I think.” He says, and you lift your gaze in surprise as your hand already moves the hammer down.

The hammer falls down on your finger with all your strength.

“No! Why would you say that!?” You say, sticking the hurt digit into your mouth as you frown at the Prince.

He laughs in response to your clumsiness, but there’s a burden in his eyes. Hvitserk shrugs,

“I risked it all to stand by his side when Ubbe almost turned his back on him, Odin knows if there’s a reason why our brother is not with Lagertha wherever she has run off to now is because of me,” He mutters, and you stay silent, thinking to yourself it seems like it has been too long since someone sat to hear him speak, “Ivar wouldn’t have held on to Kattegat for this long if it wasn’t for me.”

“But you do not want to take Kattegat from him.” You offer quietly, not even a question. Hvitserk presses his lips into a line, seemingly overwhelmed.

“I never wanted to be King. Neither does Ubbe, the throne…Even if you don’t agree and he doesn’t believe I think so, I know Ivar is the best choice to be King of Kattegat,” The young man shakes his head, and he looks much more fragile than you ever thought he could look. You get closer and lay a hand on his arm, as comforting you can be without feeling like you are being ‘too touchy’ like Sieghild used to chastise you for. Hvitserk furrows his lips with no little anger, and continues, “Ivar is my brother and I will always stand with him, I just want the arrogant little fuck to acknowledge what I have done and continue to do for him.”

You have no idea what happened between the three brothers, you assume whatever it was caused the breach and struggle for dominance that permeates the air every time Ubbe and Ivar discuss battle or matters of the city; but you listen to Hvitserk with a compassionate smile on your lips and offer the best you can.

“If you want to talk, my Prince, I am always here.”

Surprisingly enough, he does.

He tells you of their allegiance with Bjorn Ironside and others to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok. You needn’t be told of the Great Heathen Army and the fear and awe it inspired in its enemies and allies, for the words reached all the way to Carthage when the Vikings moved against Aelle. But Hvitserk tells you, and he tells you of the struggles of the men at the helm of the forces and how as the eldest son of Ragnar sailed South, their brother Sigurd married to warrant a degree of peace, and King Harald moved back to Norway with a new Queen; the three sons of Aslaug where left to be the leaders.

He tells you of Ivar pushing to take control from his brothers, of Ubbe being at the brink of breaking away from Ivar and turn against him if needed. He tells you of facing both of his brothers and reminding them of their blood shared, even if vows made, if ambitions clashing, if old pain and rancor, threatened to pull them apart.

He tells you of the marches for York, of many cities raided and pillaged. He tells you of the land granted for a settlement, of the funding of Dublin and the struggles for power that took place there. He tells you of the battles and blood that got Ivar to be King of Kattegat, and he confides that even if he appreciates and sees the change in his younger brother and how he is trying to appease him with by making both his and Ubbe’s voices heard when it comes to matters of war and the Kingdom; Ivar still treats him like nothing more than a dog, always mistrusting and always cold towards him.

“I’m sure he loves you.” You offer quietly, but the Prince does not look at you, instead toying with a piece of wood between his fingers.

“Ivar loves nothing.” He corrects quickly.

You shake your head, the hand on his arm squeezing to call for his attention. When he looks up at you he looks young and open, but his expression speaks of tiredness and resentment.

“You don’t believe that.” You promise quietly, to which he answers with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

Soon enough you both finish the planters, and you both bring the earth and branches needed to make the layers. Whispering prayers you carry in your heart alongside the secrets of the Thesmophoria, you water the earth and promise it care and seeds for growth.

The seeds will have to wait until you can get some, but the knowledge that fertile earth surrounds you fills you with a certain degree of peace. Even if this cold city kills you, you will force life and spring upon it. If you have to feed the flowers with your blood then so be it.

Hvitserk calls for your attention telling you he thinks he knows a little bit of Greek, and as you start getting horrified by his attempts at your language while he butchers it unwillingly, you both walk outside side by side.

Conversation starts on other topics soon after, and he tells you of the strange people he has met while handling Kattegat’s commerce influx and trade deals, which, paired with the way he recalls the stories with gestures and voices and expressions, makes your laugh louder than you have released it in so long.

Your giggles die down as you take a sip from your tea, and the Prince leans forward on the balcony railing, sighing.

“For all your strange ways, you seem…honest, witch.” He says, eyes on the horizon. You join him quietly, overlooking the cold city.

“If you were to ask the woman who raised me, she would say it is due to my arrogance that keeps me from being able to shut up,” You offer with a smile, “But thank you, my Prince.”

___

I know this chapter was kinda filler and kinda boring, I’m sorry. I promise the next one is hopefully more exciting. As I said last saturday, I’ll be uploading two chapters instead of one today. Chapter 17 will be up shortly after this one. :)

Thank you for reading <3

[suite43]

"Shadow Striker! C’mon, get a move on!" Flamewar called, promptly jumping off the roof as she finished speaking.

Shadow Striker smirked, standing over the blue and white autobot, who in turn was staring up at her with a little bit of fear and a little bit of awe in her wide blue eyes. Shadow Striker leaned down close to the autobots audial fin, whispering.

"Better luck next time, I suppose."

Strongarm did not have time to process a response as the back end of the Riser's massive gun slammed into the side of her head and left her unconcious on the rooftop.

She woke up to Sideswipe kicking her in the side, not hard enough to break anything that wasn't already broken but hard enough to hurt goddamnit. She rolled over with a groan, finding one wrist cuffed to some structure or other, and her weapon missing, almost definetly taken by those brutes from the night before. Damn.

"-ngarm! Primus, Strongarm, did they knock your brain out or something? Helloooooooo?" Sideswipes annoying-ass voice faded in as her audial systems rebooted and she pulled herself up as much as she could.

"When did you get here?" She grumbled.

"Oh, like an hour or so ago."

"And I'm still cuffed because?"

"I thought it'd be funny," he said. "Got bored of waiting for you to wake up, though."

"Right. Where's Prowl?"

"Had, uh, 'more important concerns'. Bumper's with him, they're trying to track these Rise chicks. Javelin's downstairs, though, taking stock."

"And you're on babysitting? Figures."

"I know, right? When is that asshole gonna let me do something cool?"

"'Cool' isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Wanna trade? I'd love to get my ass kicked by some Risers."

"Tell that to my broken ribs," Strongarm muttered. "Now untie me, idiot."

///

Strongarm did not leave her shift early on account of any injuries. She would never dream of it. No, she was dismissed by her senior officer after giving an adequate description of the prior evening's events, and sent to a medic for minor repairs, who in turn insisted that she spend the next few days on bedrest. It was orders. She didn't have a choice.

That didn't make the hours upon hours of sitting around with nothing to do any less agonizing. Playing with her cat and idly switching between the three TV channels she got could only keep her busy for so long, and her mind kept drifting back to the night before.

It was circumstance that Strongarm had been there at all, really. She'd been in the area following up on something or other when alarms started blaring and the call was made. She pursued, and found a group of (presumably) Risers bickering over which of them was stupid enough to trip the alarm (Strongarm's money is on the two-wheeler. She seemed twitchy.). Among them was the known Riser and scary as hell Shadow Striker, brandishing a massive blaster, presumably from the weapons cache that had been broken into a few weeks prior.

Strongarm had no intentions to engage with a group of four incredibly well-armed and dangerous criminals, with only her small, non-lethal pistol, her lacking hand-to-hand combat skills and absolutely no knowledge of what backup, if any, was coming.

Unfortunately, Strongarm is not built for stealth, and Shadow Striker was very perceptive.

Strongarm plays the fight in her mind over and over. Shadow Striker had notoriously impressive marksmanship. She could've just shot Strongarm and been done with it. But she didn't. The more she replayed it, the wide shots and simple mockery, drawing Strongarm closer and closer, an incredibly powerful kick to the side of the chest, the shoving and running and chasing drawing them up to the roof where Shadow Striker finally seemed to stop playing with her food and go for the kill, it all seemed like it had been a game.

She had had Strongarm disarmed and completely overwhelmed. She had dug her heel into the plating of her chest, pointed the barrel of the gun right between her eyes, a small, satisfied smile on the stoic brute's face. Strongarm felt absolutely certain she was going to die.

And yet, she hadn't pulled the trigger. Non-lethal head injury only.

Better luck next time, I suppose.

Better luck next time.

Strongarm couldn't get the sound of it out of her head. The low rumble, almost like a purr. The slight brush of the exhaled breath against her fins. The absolute satisfaction that dripped from Shadow Striker's every word.

What the hell did that mean?

///

"You left her alive?" Flamewar said incredously.

"Killing Autobots in the city streets isn't exactly low-profile," Shadow Striker responded flatly.

"Yeah, neither is tripping the alarms," Hyperdrive chimed in. Flamewar shoved him.

"It wasn't my fault!"

Shadow Striker rolled her eyes and let them get to their bickering, sitting back in her usual spot to get to work dissasembling, cleaning, and reassembling her favourite gun.

She took a deep breath, letting herself fall into the familiar rythm of her work, the soft shuffling sounds of moving parts. She could do this with her eyes closed. She often did, in fact. Gathers the mind.

That Autobot. She could've killed her. Wouldn't have felt too bad about it. But when was the last time anyone had put up such a fight? Shadow's reputation preceded her, just a mention of her name got most rational 'bots running the other direction. Absolutely nobody smart would try to fight Shadow Striker alone, much less with three others there. And absolutely nobody landed a punch.

It wasn't for any skill the Autobot had had. It was wild, determined flailing that got her one good, solid hit across the jaw and a trickle of blood from Shadow Striker's nose. She'd laughed, despite herself. Knowing what the autobot was capable of made the rest of it much more fun. And she supposed that meant she owed the bot something of a reward. If, y'know, not killing someone counted as a suitable reward for... well, for anything, really.

Shadow wasn't quite sure about that. But she was certain, if the dull ache in her jaw was any indication, that she was looking forward to next time.

///

Strongarm found herself leaping at every mention of Rise activity for the next few weeks. She spent all of her downtime sparring with Sideswipe (who talked a big game but whined like a newlyforged at every dent he got) or Javelin (who never tried all that hard and usually lost within five seconds). She was determined that she would not be outmatched again.

Sideswipe told her it was a case of bruised ego. Strongarm told herself it was a desire to bring the Riser to justice. But she couldn't help but wonder if it was something else that made her stomach flip and her spark skip a beat every time she thought about her.

Perhaps it was fear? Disgust? Anger? Frustration?

Something like that. Surely.

Regardless, despite her best efforts, Shadow Striker always managed to outpace her. Always one step ahead, whip-smart, adaptable, experienced, and all around incredibly skilled. Strongarm had no chance.

She was stubborn, though, and she didn't quit. And, every time she saw Shadow Striker, she got her ass royally kicked.

Something was different this time, though. For starters, Shadow Striker was alone. The big warehouse out on the fringes of the city only had the one life sign, and a quick scan confirmed that there were no other visible mechs. Shadow sat casually atop a big metal crate of goods, idly examing her weapon, miming shooting it at things with a bored expression. Strongarm kept close to the shadows, behind a stack of boxes, determined to get the element of surprise.

"Oh, good, I was beginning to think you hadn't found the little clues I left you." That was different, too.

"Oh, come on!" Strongarm rolled her eyes. "You can't tell me your hearing is just that good. It's not possible."

"I set a tripwire around the perimeter. I was pinged as soon as you came in. You should pay more attention, Autobot."

"Pay attention to this!" Strongarm chucked the blade in her hand at Shadow Striker, who smirked as it grazed just past the side of her helmet, clattering to the ground. She set the gun aside and cracked her knuckles, getting ready.

"Right to it then?"

"Why, you have somewhere you'd rather be?" Strongarm threw a punch, Shadow sidestepping her without even trying.

"Mmm, no, I don't think so." She slammed her elbow into Strongarm's back. "Trust me, this is the most exciting part of my week."

"I could say the same," Strongarm said. "Can't take too long, though, I'm going to have a lot of paperwork to fill out when I bring you in."

Shadow Striker huffed out a laugh as she stepped out of the way of another blow. "You'll have to catch me, first."

The two continued in their fight, until Strongarm was on her back, pinned by Shadow Striker's weight holding her arms above her head.

"You're getting better," Shadow Striker muttered between breaths, voice low and close to Strongarm's audial. "You're strong. You have potential. Why not use it for something worthwhile? You'd make such a pretty Riser, you know."

Strongarm paused for a moment, her processer stalling on that last bit. Had she just been called pretty?

She shoved it out of her mind and jerked her head up as hard as she could, crashing her forehead into Shadow Striker's nose, the purple mech pulling away with a hiss of pain as a small trickle of energon dripped out, and Strongarm used the moment of weakness to flip the two of them over, pinning the slender warrior under her own weight.

"Don't get too comfortable. Arrogance makes you stupid," Strongarm grinned, just a little smug.

"Agreed." Before Strongarm could even blink Shadow Striker had pulled her arms free from Strongarm's grip and shoved the autobot off of her, stepping on Strongarm's chest to jump back up on her crate, grab her weapon, and climb up the pile of crates and shelves to one of the large windows near the top of the wall. "See you next time."

And then she was gone. Strongarm cursed, slamming one fist against the ground, hand clutching her side. God damn.

///

They saw each other again a few times, the banter and routine becoming familiar, Strongarm getting better and better at predicting where Shadow Striker would be and what she would do.

She did not ever predict that she'd see the Riser climbing through the window into her kitchen in the middle of the night.

"What the hell?! What are you doing here?"

"Didn't know where else to go," Shadow Striker muttered through clenched teeth. "Couldn't make it back. Too many eyes."

It was then that Strongarm noticed Shadow was clutching at a wound on her side, a cloth pressed up against it, absolutely soaked with energon. Her eyes widened as she tried to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to do. This was a criminal, in her apartment, where she had no right to be and how had she even found it in the first place and how long had she known the address? But it was also an injured Cybertronian, in need of help, and Strongarm felt like she had a duty. Shadow Striker needed to go to a hospital. Strongarm wasn't a doctor. But if she went to a hospital, well, she'd almost certainly be arrested. Which was... Strongarm wasn't sure how she felt about that. That was a bad sign.

"Do you have a clean towel?" Shadow Striker asked, snapping Strongarm out of her dumbstruck silence. "And a first aid kit. I can do the rest."

"I... Yeah. Yeah, I do." She went and gathered supplies, bringing them back to the kitchen, where Shadow Striker was peeling the old rag off of the wound, revealing a huge gash on the side of her stomach.

Shadow waved her over, taking the first aid kit from her hands. She was giving herself something of a patch job, but Strongarm couldn't take her eyes off the way her hands shook and the way her face twisted in a wince at every motion, jerky movements doing a rather shit job of fixing anything.

"Give it to me," Strongarm said. Shadow Striker gave her whatever passed for a skeptical look at the moment. "Just tell me what I need to do. I'm a quick learner."

Shadow sighed, handed over the tool she'd been using, and talked Strongarm through getting her to a point where she wasn't dripping blood and everything seemed more or less stable.

"This'll do. We have medics, when I get back they can do something properly."

"Where's 'back', exactly?"

"Ha, you're not getting anything out of me that easily," Shadow Striker muttered, still holding her side, voice exhausted.

"Well, it was worth a try." Shadow hummed in agreement, eyes closed, leaning back against the wall, still sitting on Strongarm's countertop. "Are... when are you leaving?" Strongarm asked.

"Whenever the heat dies down a bit."

"You know I'm technically 'the heat', right?" Shadow shrugged.

"Go ahead. Call your boss. I'll be halfway out of the city faster than Prowl can flip a table." Strongarm rolled her eyes.

"Eat something before you go, you sound exhausted."

"No. M'not taking your rations. Sentinel keeps you low enough on fuel as it is."

"You lost a lot of blood. If you leave like this, now, you'll probably pass out before you can get anywhere." Shadow Striker just huffed.

"Suppose I'm staying the night, then."

"What?"

"Kidding," Shadow laughed weakly. "My boss'd kill me if I spent the evening at an autobot's. Unneccessary risk and all."

"And I'd almost certainly be fired, or worse, if anyone found out about this."

"So it's our little secret then."

"So it is. And so's this," Strongarm said, handing her a small cube of energon. Shadow looked like she was going to protest, but evidently thought better of it, and took the cube.

They stayed there, talked for a bit, and eventually Strongarm was able to coax Shadow Striker into moving to the couch, which honestly wasn't a huge improvement from the countertop but it's the thought that counts, she supposed. Strongarm didn't intend for Shadow Striker to fall asleep there, and she guessed Shadow didn't intend for it either, but she looked strangely serene and Strongarm couldn't bring herself to disturb her. She left the lean purple mech there, trying not to stare too much at the way her strong features looked so delicate like this, her lips parted just so as puffs of breath slipped in and out, her red eyes shut softly, twitching and muttering as she dreamt.

Strongarm tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in her chest, and went to bed. Sleep was fitful, but when she heard the soft tread of someone sliding through her bedroom door quietly, she did her best to pretend to be deep in recharge. A hand traced delicately over the plating of her arm, across her inner wrist, tracing delicate cableing up her forearm and to the bulky armor of her shoulders, and she tried to stay still, even when that hand reached back down and intertwined slender fingers with Strongarm's own and a figure bent down to press a kiss to Strongarm's cheek, the ridge of her nose nuzzling softly against the warm plating as Strongarm tried so, so hard not to move and scare Shadow away, even as her spark was beating out of her chest.

After a long moment, Shadow Striker pulled away, letting out a long sigh, muttering a quiet what have I gotten myself into? under her breath, and Strongarm couldn't help but feel the same as Shadow Striker walked away.

When Strongarm got up for work, Shadow was long gone. When she came home from her shift, there was a cube of energon on the coffee table, labelled with a note.

Let's call it even. - SS

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Five

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Brilliant turnout, isn’t it?”

Greyleaf forced a smile and looked at the massive dark brown tom beside him. “I didn’t know Coteries could get this large.”

“You saying you’ve never been to one of these?” Pebblestar, a tall grey tom was on Greyleaf’s other side. He tilted his head a little, ears slightly hanging instead of standing straight.

Greyleaf turned to him now. “Not yet. This is my first.”

“Well, you’ll have a grand time, lad.” Sealstar gave him what would be a gently pat on the back among the Plage; for Greyleaf, he barely managed to stay upright. “Go on and find your family. I’m going to see what the Magpies have this time. Even the warriors I’ve brought with me haven’t seen their wares before.”

“You do that,” Pebblestar said, careless as anything.

Sealstar immediately trotted off, his pawsteps audible over the chatter of the collected cats.

Greyleaf stood as straight as he could without lifting his front feet off of the ground, searching. The crowd was thick and multicolored. Finding a red-brown molly was not going to be easy, it seemed. He could see his brother talking to a huge white cat, which amazed him, given Mistface’s constant dismissal of anyone outside of his family. He started forward, but Pebblestar cleared his throat.

“You really think Cedarstar will be alright without you?” he said. “She was rather…loopy, when we left.”

“Oh-“ Greyleaf made some noise that was supposed to be a confident chuckle and failed miserably at its job. “Fever can do that. That medicine will keep her steady until I return. I won’t be staying long, anyway.”

Not if I don’t find her first.

Pebblestar’s mournful face looked even more troubled than usual. “I just worry for the girl. She’s a bit of a fool sometimes.” He offered a faint smile. “But I trust your intuition. You’re brighter than half of my comrades, and we all know it. StarClan gave you a gift.”

Greyleaf’s stomach heaved. He tried to look grateful for the compliment. “Thank you. I’m going to find my brother.”

Pebblestar dismissed him with a nod and Greyleaf managed to not hurry away from the conversation. He carefully made his way through the crowd, always watching for that telltale roan, but he met with no one except Mistface. He was more stressed than usual when a Hillock molly named Morningsky tried to push her very uncomfortable daughter on him as a seer for the leaders – not just because someone was talking to him, but because he was still no closer to finding that ‘her’. Relief rushed through his body as a story was announced and the crowd gathered around to watch the performers. He climbed into a tree with his brother, the apprentice and white tom, scanning the crowd as he could see them.

The story of the Runagate troubled him, truthfully. He couldn’t place a word on why, but as the white molly slithered out her words with a devil’s charisma, something nagged at the back of his head. He thought of the shadows.

Then his eyes roamed, reached the far side of the crowd. They landed on her.

A tall red-brown molly. Thin and with exhausted eyes.

Greyleaf did not hear the rest of the story. He stared at her as if looking away would make her vanish (and he was secretly afraid it would). He barely even registered the applause when the story concluded, hardly noticed climbing down the tree. He left his brother without a word, paws pulled straight to her. He pushed past cats without a second thought.

When he emerged from the crowd, he expected to be nervous to be right in front of her, anxious when she looked his way. He wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said.

The molly blinked. Then she almost flinched and her mouth dropped a little.

“…It’s you,” she nearly whispered.

A grin, shaky with relief, spread across Greyleaf’s face. “It’s me.”

The molly looked around, then motioned with her head and stood up. Greyleaf followed her to a shaded spot, thankful that no one else was close by.

“They told me about you,” she said, sitting down. “You’re…”

“Greyleaf.” He mirrored her. “And you’re…”

“Redheart.”

“I thought so.” Greyleaf exhaled the tension out of his body, and though he wasn’t grinning anymore, he felt that joy all the same. “I heard you were coming here. I had to see you. We never got to talk, but-“

“I know.” Redheart was taller than him, but she was sitting in a way that their eyes met at the same level. Respectful. Friendly. “You’ve seen them, then. They spoke with you. The…” She trailed off, tail pointing at the white molly who had played the Runagate.

Greyleaf blinked. “I was told by the leaders about you. But I…I saw that shadow. When we first met. Only once, though, if that’s who you mean.”

“That’s them.” Redheart wasn’t precisely smiling, but glee radiated off of her. “Greyleaf, you have no idea what this means to me. I haven’t been able to talk about this with anyone.”

“Neither have I.” Greyleaf’s tail tapped the ground, releasing a little bit of his own colorful swirl of emotions. “It’s- I don’t even know what to do with it. With this knowledge. I’ve had it all my life.”

Redheart leaned a little closer, dropping her voice low. “I’ve had it since I was an apprentice. I have nightmares, all the time. I always see it.”

“Same here.” Greyleaf felt that familiar nighttime horror clutch his heart, but his paws kneaded eagerly and he felt himself sit with something akin to confidence. He wouldn’t know if it was for sure, but it felt like it. “It’s just always been that way. I don’t know why.”

“Do you know what it is?” That conspiratorial tone did not quite fit her regal appearance.

Greyleaf looked around himself, just to be sure, and whispered, “They said it was StarClan. Or something pretending to be it. It’s eaten in front of me, I know that much.” A bubble of entirely inappropriate, kitlike excitement swelled in his chest. “What do you know?”

“Everything. It’s been here for generations. It’s got control over the entire Territory and all its inhabitants.” Redheart’s eyes were large enough that he could barely see a ring of white around them. “I’ve heard all of it. It’s…”

She spoke quickly, stare intense and almost wild, like everything was trying to force itself out of her throat at once and it was causing her pain. The more Greyleaf heard, the more he sat back a little, straightened, felt his expression go numb. He had felt the horror when he saw the thing himself; the actual knowledge of its workings made it so much worse that a part of him was shutting down so he could absorb it without fleeing or crying out.

“I don’t know what we can do about it on its own,” Redheart said at last, “but I have a plan. I want to get everyone out of the Territory as fast as possible. I need your help to do it. I can’t do this alone. You can quit with the leaders and come to Clast with me, and we can spread the word and get cats out in groups. If we all go, if we separate, it won’t have anything to eat. It might die.” Her gaze burned like fire. “We can let it starve, and then our home is safe again, and we can all come back.”

Greyleaf didn’t say anything. Multiple voices in his head were shouting over each other, trying to make themselves heard. One screamed that they had it so good now, that taking everyone away from this paradise would guarantee death, and maybe it would get them anyway. Another begged him to agree, to abandon his post and start collecting cats to bring out of this cursed place. Yet more demanded a promise that everything she said was true and that she wasn’t just saying all of this out of a demented mind. There was an overhead declaration, speaking over all the others, that she didn't need his help. He would be useless. He was a healer, not a deputy, not someone with charisma. He wouldn't be able to do anything.

He knew it wasn't that kind of help she needed. She couldn't go back to living life with all of this weight alone. 

Neither could he, really. 

He shut his eyes and took a breath, barely able to look back at that intense stare. “I don’t know if it can be done. If there’s a chance, I…”

A sudden feeling of being watched pinpricked the back of his head. He looked sidelong and saw Mistface observing him with a very curious, puzzled expression.

“I better go,” he said, finally speaking at a normal volume. “My brother’s…”

Redheart immediately corrected her posture. Instantly, her face was calm and stern, like a proper deputy. Greyleaf knew those tired eyes were just barely containing her own terror and desperation.

“Consider it,” she said. “Just consider it.”

She got up and walked away before Greyleaf could say anything.

 ---

 “Mama’s dyin’.”

That was all Greyleaf needed to hear.

 ---

 “You’ve got a visitor, Redheart.” The black-and-white molly he thought was called Peregrinefang stepped away from the house and trotted off, giving Greyleaf room to stand in the entrance and be observed.

Redheart, half asleep, cracked one eye. Then both shot wide open and she got to her feet.

Greyleaf weakly smiled. “So when do we start?”

[yeonchi]

Kisekae Insights #17: Angelina Ballerina

It’s about time I started the second run of Kisekae Insights after taking a break for the past few months. My objective is to hopefully cover Gokaiger, Decade and Soulbound this year, but there are some things that I need to cover before that because they are needed in order to understand certain aspects.

Like Fifi and Roary, Angelina Ballerina was implemented early on in my personal project and the characters continue to play big roles to this day. At the time, I was playing Warriors Orochi 2 on the PSP, which introduced me to the characters of the Samurai Warriors series. As a result, some of these guys got Japanese warrior names whereas the rest got Chinese warrior names.

In case you haven’t noticed, yes, I have (predominately) used the CGI-animated sequel, The Next Steps, in this project. Watching the sequel was how I got into this series a decade ago; while I have heard about the original 2D-animated series, it never really appealed to me, which is why I prefer this version over that. And look, I know there are people who don’t like the sequel for various reasons, but you are free to have your opinion as long as you respect the opinions of others. Don’t worry, characters from the original series have been implemented as well.

Setting the record straight (voice actors)

I’m putting this list before the break because this is really important. Here are the characters’ voice actors for the UK and US versions of The Next Steps:

Angelina Mouseling: Charlotte Spencer (UK/US)

Alice Nimbletoes: Rachael Louise Miller (UK)/Naomi McDonald (US)

Marco Quesillo: Louis Williams (UK)/Jules de Jongh (US)

Gracie: Charlie Cameron (UK)/Jo Wyatt (US)

Viki/Vici: Emily Dormer (UK)/Jules de Jongh (US)

AJ/AZ: Lizzie Waterworth (UK)/Larissa Murray (US)

Ms Mimi: Larissa Murray (US)

Maurice Mouseling: Simon Mattacks (UK/US)

Matilda Mouseling: Emma Tate (UK/US)

Polly Mouseling: Leah Zabari (UK/US)

Mrs Thimble: Beverly Klein (UK/US)

Alright, time to rant about the English dubs of this series. See, because the characters of this series are not credited under their voice actors, it can be hard to exactly determine who voiced who (a pain I know all too well in regards to Sea Princesses). On top of that, because there are different English voices for the US and the UK (because they don’t want American kids to end up speaking with British accents or vice versa), it can be easy to miss things or mess them up. Some US voice actors are based in the UK, which can throw things off as well.

Just as there are UK-produced children’s shows that get redubbed for the US, there are US-produced children’s shows that get redubbed for the UK (particularly on Nick Jr). In Australia, we tend to get the “original” version of the dub depending on where the show (or its source materials) originated – if it originally came from the UK, then we get the UK dub, but if it originally came from the US, we get the US dub. In the case of Angelina Ballerina, we get the UK dub and as such, I implemented the series with the assumption that the characters would speak as they did in the UK dub. As such, Marco and Gracie don’t speak in Hispanic or French accents.

Due to my initial ignorance and lack of information, I ended up crediting the characters’ US voice actors for Marco, Gracie and Ms Mimi instead of their UK voice actors. Even worse, I thought Naomi Wilkinson voiced Angelina until a friend of mine tweeted her years ago and confirmed that she didn’t voice Angelina. Also, the really funny thing is that there are people who unironically believed that Hilary Duff and Justin Bieber voiced Viki and AZ in the series. If only we all knew this one simple rule: If an actor isn’t credited in the series/episode, then they didn’t have a role in the series/episode. I did manage to work out the UK voice actors for the other characters, but why Alice’s voice actor was different in both versions despite her voice sounding similar I’ll never understand.

For some reason, I have been unable to find out who Ms Mimi’s UK voice actor is because nobody in the credits has owned up to voicing her. However, if I really had to guess, I would say that Emma Tate voiced her because even though the Scottish accent threw me off, she sounds a bit like Matilda (Angelina’s mum). As for Marco and Gracie’s UK voice actors, Louis Williams and Charlie Cameron, trying to find resumes or records of their past work has been impossible so I wasn’t able to find any proof, but I eventually did. Louis William’s LinkedIn profile mentions that he voiced Marco (he’s an English teacher in Japan now, shock of all shocks) and while Charlie Cameron doesn’t have a site or official profile of her own (why), I managed to link her roles for Dark Souls and Poppy Cat on IMDb to BTVA.

In the Moushouden Series, I ended up “recasting” Marco and Ms Mimi while keeping Gracie’s voice actor the same. Marco and Ms Mimi played major roles in my stories and I needed credits for them. “Getting” Louis Williams to “reprise” his role would have been impossible because he’s not an actor anymore, though it wouldn’t have been a big problem if I had found out earlier that he voiced Marco. Likewise, if I had managed to guess Ms Mimi’s UK voice actor earlier, then maybe I wouldn’t have needed to keep scratching my head all these years.

What’s in a name?

There has been quite a bit of speculation regarding the characters’ middle and last names, and I say “speculation” because there don’t seem to be any official sources that confirm it or the only official sources available can’t be accessed from the Wayback Archive because Adobe Flash is dead. Though the names were on the Wikipedia page at some stage, the only place where they exist now is on a poorly-maintained wiki of the series on Fandom. It is possible that Angelina and Alice’s middle and last names can be backed up because they were in the original series, but even then, I’m unable to do that due to lack of information (seriously, even the official website redirects to Mattel’s website, the absolute sellouts). So please take these names with a grain of salt:

Angelina Jeanette Mouseling

Alice Bridgette Nimbletoes

Marco Fernando Quesillo

Grace Madeleine “Gracie” le Chateau

Viktoria Andrea “Viki” Whiskerson

Adrian Zander James “A.Z.” Smithers (even though an official PDF from PBS WNET13 states that A.Z. stands for “Adam Zachariah”)

Mimi Jane Squigglytail

Maurice Rupert Mouseling

Matilda Felicity Mouseling

Polly Anne Mouseling

Harriet Cecily Thimble

Other stuff before I begin

In late 2015, there was talk of Angelina Ballerina getting relaunched in 2017 by Mattel and 9 Story Media Group. By 2017, however, nothing really came of it, or at least nothing significant that we could see. 9 Story currently have the distribution rights to both the 2D and CGI series, clips and episodes have been uploaded on the official Angelina Ballerina YouTube channel (a mix of UK and US versions, with Brazilian Portuguese and Latin American Spanish dubs on other channels) and the original books created by Katharine Holabird have been republished in the past two years.

Not seeing anything in 2017 has allowed Angelina Ballerina’s involvement in my personal project to flourish, but only time will tell whether anything else will come of this so-called relaunch. This series would probably have gone down the path of Fabio Yabu and Sea Princesses if it wasn’t so well-known all around the world.

The 9 Story pages show that there are some specials for the series. While the 2D series does have three specials, I could only find two movies in the CGI series that are fully original stories and not just episode compilations, namely The Shining Star Trophy and Dreams Do Come True. They don’t seem to be available on YouTube and the only online versions I could find use the US voices, meaning that a UK dub of these movies is unknown.

If you follow Gail Chord Schuler/Gabrielle Chana/The Church of Gail online, you might know that there is a Satanic Jesuit villain named Angelina Ballerina, depicted as a woman modelling a ballerina costume with wings. Rest assured that she is NOT the Angelina we all know and love, as Gail confirms in the comments of one of her videos (though there is a chance that trolls could have fed her that information).

All About Angelina

As I stated in #12, Maurice and the Takeda Army of Mouseland were in conflict with the Salacians before the Dimensional Merge. Because the time in their world, AB-561, was running faster compared to other worlds, they ended up on our Earth in 2009. In both timelines, Angelina and her family and friends became Hiroki and Parker’s comrades. In the first timeline, Angelina had an adventure with the Third Doctor. The second timeline is where things get detailed.

Before the Archangel Tunnel System was activated, there was no other way to get to Chipping Cheddar from Hong Kong, so when the Takeda Army were brought to this world, they had to do what they could to survive. Eventually, they ended up being controlled by another local army and used as their mascots. When Parker went to them to seek an alliance, he discovered this and helped the Takeda Army escape, which led them to pledge their allegiance to Parker.

Over the next two years, Parker and Hiroki became great friends with the Takeda Army’s officers. In 2010, Ms Mimi became disillusioned with Parker when she realised that he only seemed to care about fighting and enjoying himself on the battlefield. When the JIMPS were formed, Ms Mimi began to side with them as she saw Minnie and the others as the better strategists, but she had a newfound respect for Parker when he made peace with Minnie following their battle against each other.

When Squid Girl turns Minnie against Parker, however, Ms Mimi sides with the former again and a split occurs within the Takeda. Ms Mimi became one of the Sanada Army’s commanders while Gracie, AJ and Viki surrendered to the Sanada. Angelina was the first officer Parker found after being separated from Hiroki. Her family was being guarded by Alice and Marco before Parker arrives with reinforcements from the Date Army.

Months after Parker’s death and resurrection, the Sanada Army finally fell. Ms Mimi and the Takeda defectors rejoin their former comrades; Ms Mimi finally admits that she was a fool who never really understood Parker because she believed in loyalty and discipline.

With Parker’s army disbanded and the Flowertots returning home, the Takeda became the only close friends Hiroki had left. They supported him in his fight against Girl Power and the Teiro Army, so much so that they were willing to accept him in their ranks if he decided to leave his secondary school army. Ultimately, Hiroki declined their offer and became a ronin.

The Next Step

The Takeda Army eventually managed to resettle in Mouseland which was transported to Shizuoka Prefecture between the Archangel Tunnels to the Shikoku region and Cardiff. The Takeda Army had no significant relevance in 2013, but Angelina and her family attended Hiroki and Akari’s wedding, which was held in Chipping Cheddar (Kikugawa).

In 2014, the Takeda Army rose back to significance again as a result of events in real life (see #16). Following the Battle of Mikatagahara and Akari’s betrayal of Hiroki, Angelina joined the Doctor (again) as his companion. Later that year, Maurice would attempt another expedition to Kyōto when Girl Power forces stationed around Nagashino Castle in Nagoya would block his army’s path. When the Doctor arrives with Hiroki and Angelina, Hiroki gathers up some reinforcements before the Takeda Army splits up into three groups; one group defending the main camp, one group laying siege to the castle and one group attacking Girl Power forces stationed in nearby Shitaragahara. Despite the Takeda suffering severe casualties at the hands of the superior Girl Power army, Hiroki charges into Nagashino Castle alone and fights the enemy commanders before leaving his drones to crash into the castle keep.

Soon after, Angelina would participate in prototype testing for the Superhero Project, becoming the Pink Samurai Ranger alongside the Doctor and his other companions as they fought Girl Power in a parallel world. Following that adventure, Angelina would be summoned back by her father upon hearing word that Girl Power were preparing for an all-out siege on Yokohama. The Takeda Army allied with their old enemies, the Salacian (Uesugi) Army as they fought at Sekigahara and Ōsaka Castle. After the world was destroyed and restored, the Takeda were one of the armies that helped UNIT defend Yokohama from Girl Power.

Though Angelina stopped being the Doctor’s companion after 2014, she would regain that role again in 2017 when she and Alice officially joined the Superhero Project. Angelina and Marco make a cameo appearance in the Series 10 premiere as a couple and that’s the only time their relationship is brought up (I think that ship was hinted at in the series but not explicitly shown).

Having been selected, Angelina and Alice joined the Gokaigers as GokaiPink and GokaiGreen respectively. Their fighting styles were adapted to fit with their characters and the original Gokaiger footage; on top of predominately wielding guns, GokaiPink incorporates ballet into her fighting while GokaiGreen clumsily incorporates gymnastics which she makes up for with stealth and trickery.

As for the rest of the mouselings, they were hired by BOARD to become Kamen Riders as follows:

Kamen Rider Blade – Marco

Kamen Rider Garren – AJ

Kamen Rider Leangle – Viki

Kamen Rider Glaive – Ms Mimi

Kamen Rider Larc – Gracie

Kamen Rider Lance – Polly

Although not as significant compared to Fifi and Roary, the mouselings do play a significant role in the project. As with many obscure series I’ve encountered, finding accurate information is a daunting task. Though I have managed to find information that I haven’t been able to find in the past, there are times where I am still unable to do so, which results in me having to speculate missing information (usually by observation) that may or may not be correct. This is not so much a problem in Angelina Ballerina compared to Sea Princesses, but regardless, it’s better to have every piece of information confirmed than have even one piece of speculated information.

[the--highlanders]

Trapped

Trapped in a cell, Jamie has to decide whether to trust someone he would usually consider an enemy. 

on ao3.

He tumbled into the cell to land on his knees, though the cold masked most of the sting of the stone floor scraping against his skin. There was nothing but darkness around him, so thick and viscous it could have been liquid, like the inky depths of a loch in winter. Full of nasty, teethy things with greedy eyes. It was so dark, he realised with a shudder, that he had no way of telling where the walls were. For all he knew, they were right by his sides, pressing in on him, and he wrapped his arms around himself. If he did not reach out, then he could not touch the walls and have all his fears confirmed.

But the clang of the door closing behind him echoed too long and too loud for the cell to be so small. Stumbling to his feet, he reached down to brush at his knees, wincing when the raw skin burned at his touch and his fingers came back sticky and wet. Not the worst thing that could have happened, he supposed. He had put up with far worse than this before. And the Doctor would come soon, he told himself with as much conviction as he could muster – which was not particularly much, if he was honest with himself. Even so, the Doctor had to come. As soon as he heard Jamie had been locked up, he would be storming into the place, demanding to know why.

That was a question Jamie himself was quite keen to know the answer to. There had been no warning, nothing out of the ordinary. He had simply bent to help up a child that had been knocked to the ground – a perfectly ordinary gesture, he would have imagined. Perhaps shouting at the man who had pushed her over had been unwise. But the next thing he had known, guards had been swarming around him, dragging him off to the prison without so much as a chance to speak with the Doctor. And the Doctor himself had been terribly cagey about just why the Time Lords had sent them here in the first place, vanishing almost as soon as he had managed to convince the Emperor’s attendants that he was some important diplomat. Whatever he was planning, he had given Jamie no clues that might help him work out exactly why he had been arrested.

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and he took a careful step forward. No rough stone wall shot out of the darkness for him to hit his head against, so he took another step, leaning forward like it might help him see better. He could just make out the seam where the floor met the walls, a blacker line against the shades of grey that marked out the dips and cracks on every surface. The cell was not as small as he had feared, but not as large as he might have wished, either, and for the first time he was glad of the dark. If he tilted his head and half-closed his eyes, he could pretend that it was bigger than it really was, and fend off that nasty lump in his throat a little better.

Which worked quite well until he heard it.

A great, rattling, gasping sound, wheezing out from the other side of the cell.

And then, if he looked closely, there was a shape, too, an enormous mound perched on a little shelf carved out of the wall. He squinted at it, bobbing his head from side to side as he tried to get the measure of it. Whoever – whatever – was there, it would have been twice his height if it stood up like a human. Some kind of trap? he wondered, his heart thundering in his throat with such determination that he was almost sickened by it. A way of getting rid of him? Or another prisoner?

Well, it looked calm enough, and he had already given it ample opportunity to strike. Stretching out one hand, he crept forward. “Hello?” His voice was more hoarse than he would have liked, barely more than a whisper. “Is someone there?”

The thing was still for a moment, and he wondered if it was not a living thing after all, just some strange outcrop of rock. But then it shifted, as slowly and jerkily as if it was breaking itself away from the wall – and sat up, revealing a hulking silhouette that was somehow both human and inhuman in all the worst ways.

“Yes.” Its voice was less of a whisper and more of a long, drawn-out hiss, and Jamie’s blood ran cold. Colder even than whatever liquid ran through the veins of the creature itself, he was sure. “I am here.”

Ice Warrior, Jamie thought, every inch of his skin prickling with terror. It had been a trap after all. And there he was, a complete and utter fool, waking the thing up. Wheeling around, he fumbled first for the door, then its handle, intending to shake it and scream at the top of his lungs and hope that the Doctor would come soon enough to save him. But there was no handle on the inside, no bars to seize hold of, and he was left scrabbling against it instead, his nails scraping horribly on the door’s smooth metal surface. The Doctor will come, he told himself, with more desperation than ever. The Doctor will come, the Doctor will come.

“It’s no use trying to escape,” the Ice Warrior hissed. “If I couldn’t break the door down, I doubt your small body could.”

Gritting his teeth, Jamie fought the urge to spin back around and snap out some clever retort. But none sprung to mind – and exactly what the Ice Warrior had said was settling into his mind, anyway. If I couldn’t break the door down. Turning around more slowly, he stared over at where the thing still sat. It was quite peaceful, as far as he could see, just sitting there with its strange hands clasped in its lap.

“Ice Warrior,” he gasped out, like everything in his mind had been drained away and replaced with those two words.

“Yes,” it said again. Had it been human, he would have said that there was something like amusement in its voice. But it was not human – was about as far as it could get from being human while still being roughly shaped like one – and he did not even know if Ice Warriors could be amused. For all he knew, it could have been hatred. “You are human.”

“Yes.” Well, whatever the thing was planning on doing to him, it was taking its time. He might as well relax while he waited for it to kill him. The shelf poking out of the wall was bumping against the side of his leg, and he perched himself on the edge of it, hands clasped in his lap to mirror the Ice Warrior. “I didnae know there were any of you – of your people here.”

“There are but few.” The Ice Warrior hung its head. “I am -” It dropped its voice, like it was unsure whether it should be telling him this. “Songar.”

“Songar, aye.” Jamie nodded just a little too emphatically. “Well, I’m Jamie.”

“Ja-mie.” It drawled out his name, batting it around like a cat would a mouse, and a shiver ran through Jamie. Briefly, he wondered whether they were really called Ice Warriors for their love of the cold, or whether it had more to do with the chills they could send through someone’s spine.

“That’s right,” he said cautiously. “What’re you in here for, then?”

A deep, guttural sound emanated out from the other side of the room, all but rumbling the floors in its intensity, and Jamie reached out instinctively to steady himself against the wall. Only after a moment did he realise that it was not an earthquake, but Songar, growling out its disappointment. Their disappointment. “For pointing out injustice,” they said. “My brethren are here to keep the peace at the ambassadors’ meeting. When my peacekeeping required me to criticise an Imperial guard, I was arrested.”

“So...” Jamie frowed. “You’re no’ here tae – conquer the planet or somethin’, then?”

“No.”

Songar ought to have been lying, Jamie thought. It ought to have been some elaborate trick, or another layer to the backstabbing that was going on around them. A crumbling empire trying to shore up its own power, all to be usurped by another empire, one with far greater might. But the note in Songar’s voice could not be anything but genuine disdain. Whatever else was going on, they were telling the truth.

“What happened?” he asked slowly. “When ye were arrested, I mean?”

Another wordless hiss, this time surely in displeasure rather than amusement. “The guards took it upon themselves to disperse the people of the town before the ambassadors arrived. I was not aware that keeping peace meant only forbidding violence to those the empire wishes to keep quiet.”

The town had seemed odd, Jamie thought. He had expected it to be full of life and colour, with banners strung from every window and people leaning out from balconies and rooftops to catch a glimpse of the alien visitors. But it had been quiet, deserted even, and it had been there that the Doctor had first started acting funny. Whatever he had realised, he had realised it in those empty streets.

And then -

The child. The one he had helped up. How had the soldiers been so close at hand? Why had they taken the side of the man who had shoved her down, the one he had shouted at? And why should they have stopped him from making sure she was alright?

There was only one answer to that. The girl had wandered away from home, perhaps – and the guards had come first for her, not for him. Which meant, he supposed, that he and Songar had been thrown into the cell together because they had been arrested for the same reason.

He let himself relax a little, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve just never met a – well, I’ve never met an Ice Warrior that didn’t want to kill me.”

Songar spat out a laugh. “Not all humans are the same. Why should we be?”

Jamie was quiet for a moment. “Aye,” he said slowly. “’Spose you’re right.”

“My brethren and I have turned our minds to peace. Our empire has grown enough.”

“Ri-ight.” Jamie bit his lip. Songar’s brute strength might be enough to break them out, he could not deny that. Given time and encouragement, at least. But what then? He still had no idea what the Doctor was planning, even if he thought he knew the wrongs he was trying to fix. What if the Ice Warriors decided that whatever he was doing was against their so-called peacekeeping, too?

But then – the Doctor may not yet know that the Ice Warriors were there, either. Someone would have to warn him.

“If ye broke out,” Jamie began, then faltered. There was nothing to stop Songar from lying through their teeth. “What would ye do then?”

“Return to my people.”

“An’ what would they do?”

“Imperial law prevents our mission. We cannot allow this obstacle to stand.”

No, Jamie thought. It would not be the Ice Warriors trying to stop the Doctor from being too extreme in his measures. It would be the Doctor who would not approve of the Ice Warriors and their undoubtedly brutal methods. “So ye destroy the empire, is that it?”

He had spoken under his breath, and the tilt of Songar’s head was just slight enough that it could almost have been an accident. A pure coincidence of movement, not an admission that Jamie was right. But they both knew what Jamie had said, and both knew what Songar had meant by the motion, and that shared knowledge sat between them, a heavy and oppressive silence.

There was every possibility, of course, that the Doctor had the same objective. In fact, Jamie was almost sure of it. The Time Lords had asked them to oversee the conference, most likely, and then the Doctor had seen the way the Emperor treated the townspeople. Jamie could not imagine that he would be content to leave things the way they were. But whatever he had in mind, it would be nowhere near as violent as the Ice Warriorst. Having the Ice Warriors on their side might be of some use to him. And having the Doctor around to see that the Ice Warriors did not cause too much damage might save a few lives, at least. So perhaps the thing to do was to let Songar try and break them out, to let them rile up the Ice Warriors a bit, and then warn the Doctor what would happen.

And yet there was still the matter of whether or not he could trust an Ice Warrior. Of all the creatures he could have been stuck with, it had to have been one of them. One of the most ruthless species he knew. To trust an Ice Warrior – it was impossible. No matter what Songar said, there was always the possibility that they would kill him as soon as their people had no further use for him. Worse still, there was an even larger possibility that they would do the same to the Doctor, if they found him. Every muscle in his body screaming out its wish to turn away. To wait for the Doctor, and do nothing until he had arrived, and had explained everything.

But the Doctor had not come.

Besides, what would the Doctor do, if he were in the same position? The answer was an obvious one. He would be first in line to imagine that the Ice Warriors were not entirely evil. Perhaps Jamie was close-minded, not to share his optimism.

And whatever else he thought, Songar had been right about one thing. Humans were not all the same. Maybe there was the tiniest of chances that there really were good Ice Warriors.

Slapping his hands against his thighs, he pushed himself to his feet. If the Doctor really was on his way, then he could meet him in the middle. “Come on, then,” he said, as bracingly as he could. “Give us a hand.”

Songar whistled to themselves, something that might have been confusion or amusement or thoughtfulness. “What are you doing?”

Running his fingertips over the door, Jamie paused when he felt a small dip in the metal. It was tiny, invisible to anything but close investigation. Had it been there all along, or had Songar made the dent without noticing? Either way, he thought, it was a weak point. A way out.

“I’m gonnae break out of here,” he said, pounding his fist against his other palm absently. “An’ you’re gonnae help me. Look here.” Heaving themselves to their feet, Songar ambled over, bending down to see what he was pointing at. “I want ye tae hit that dent as hard as ye can, alright?”

Songar nodded, one brief, firm bend of their head before they swung their arm out behind them. The wide arc of their hand narrowly missed Jamie, and he took a hurried step back, waiting with bated breath for the first blow. When it came, it came with a thud, a great hammering of scaly armour against metal. The impact sent sparks skittering out to fade away into the darkness, and Jamie dodged between them to kneel by the door and inspect Songar’s work, his breath catching in his throat when he found the dent again.

A tiny piece of metal had been knocked through to the other side, leaving in its place a gap that was so small he almost missed it – and a single pinprick of light.

[the-scooby-gang]

Changing the game Chapter 1

The crossover that came to me at 5 in the morning.

Leave a comment. Tell me what you guys think of this plot bunny.

Summary: Petyr Baelish is dead i killed him and now Shaggy Rogers inhabites his body.

Word count: 3015

Catelyn I

The Royal entourage made its way across the gates of the castle like a river of gold and silver and polished steel. Above their heads, standards of gold and crimson of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister flew high above the columns of anointed knights. Wandering knights, sworn soldiers, and vassals followed not too far behind.

Catelyn recognized many faces. Sandor Clegane, by far one of the  tallest men in attendance, was the first to capture her eyes thanks to the ruin that was the right side of his face. The tall golden boy by his side must have to be the Crown Prince, following the giant that was his father, the King Robert Baratheon, that was right in the front of the columns flanked by two white knights. An equally tall and golden man, adorned in golden armor with the helm in the form of a roaring lion followed close by, the white cloak of the King’s Guard bellowing against the cold wind.

The Kingslayer, thought Cat, giving a more thoughtful look to the twin of Her Majesty. Giving a side glance towards her Lord husband, Cat sent a silent prayer to the seven gods, asking that Ned’s dislike of the queen’s family would not bring any animosity while the royal family was under her roof.

Turning her eyes once again towards the gates, Cat could not contain the happy smile that came to her lips. Petyr Baelish, her brother in all but blood, was entering the gates just behind Ser Jaime, a polite smile in his face. He had changed little; his hair was grayer in the temples them when she last saw him, an earring made of gold with a teardrop-shaped emerald lay dangling from his left ear, but besides that, his frame was still small and lanky, with his observing green-grey eyes and his always easy smile.

When his eyes found hers, his already polite smile turned into something more genuine. He dismounted his stead, just as the king was doing the same and followed on the large shadow of Robert Baratheon, to await his time to greet the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

On his right, the dog Scoobert Doo stayed loyal and vigilant over his master, like he had done as he was riding through the gates, and just like in the day Petyr found him in the forest near Riverrun and claimed the dog as his own. Cat never saw a dog as big as Doo and believed she never would. Petyr called him “A Great Dane” and said that he would probably grow to surpass even Uncle Brynden in high if he stood in his hind legs. When Edmure, not more them a babe at the time, asked how could he possibly know that, a smile that Catelyn would come to know well graced Petyr’s face.

“I saw it in a dream, Eddy,” he said with far more wisdom in his voice than any boy of ten had any right to have. Then, he messed her brother’s red hair with his free hand while the other held the puppy with the care one would expect someone to cradle a newborn baby.

That would be the answer to many of the things that he just seemed to know. Petyr and his dreams were one of the greatest talks of the realm sometimes. The Master of Coin was known to go to sleep when faced with a particularly difficult conundrum and come back to the land of the awaken with a solution on the tip of his fingers. Sometimes, if the ambient was calm enough, he just needed to close his eyes to be momentarily taken to whatever plane of reality his answers lied.

She remembers asking him once what exactly he saw when in one of his trances.

“It depends on what I have to ask,” he said with the utmost sincerity. Sometimes Cat asked herself if he was capable of lying “If I need some deep knowledge about how something works I may ask The Wise Lady, with her kind eyes, dressed in reds and oranges like the morning sun. If I need to think strategically, in combat or in holding court, The Lovely Warrior will have a ready answer…”

In here he made a pause as his face had assumed a look of longing, of warning. He looked at his feet and Catelyn could swear that his face was as bright and red as the sunsets that she and her sister saw atop the towers of Riverrun “if my need is to create, be it a stronghold, a weapon, a speech or, be made of rope or words, a trap, The Blue-eyed Lord is the one I seek.”

After a small pause, Petyr smiled, looked at the sky, and said with a soft voice, as if he was remembering something long gone. Happy memories of a life already liven “But they don’t have fixed roles most of the time. Both the Warrior and the Lord can be just as wise as the Lady, as can the Lady and the Lord be as cunning and resourceful as the Warrior, and the Warrior and the Lady can just as easily create wonders as the Lord can.”

That was the answer he always gave when asked. Cat and half of her household believed that Petyr was being blessed by the gods. The Wise Lady was clearly the Crone, giving him advice. The Warrior was in the name, giving him strength.

The only one no one was quite sure of was The Blue-eyed Lord.

Some said it was The Father, giving him the means to work his justice. Some supposed that The Smith was the most likely since the weapons and plans that came to Petyr in the dead of the night were above anything anyone was ever seen. A small group thought it was The Maiden in disguise, solemnly because Petyr was the most flustered when speaking of them.

Cat would laugh every time that particular hypothesis was broth up. She knew Petyr better them she knew herself, and she was not blind to his long glances to any blond knight that trained at the yard every morning when they were growing up. It was always blond men. These were the favored ones in her brother’s eyes: Blond, blue eyed, with deep knowledge about one expecific thing and, as Petyr once told her one summer night, “Good of heart, dumb of ass”.

She never laught so loudly as she did that night. 

“Your Grace. Winterfell is yours” she heard her husband say, lying on his knees like the rest of her household.

“You grow fat.” Said a bumming voice.

The sound of the King’s remark of her husband’s weight pulled her right back into the present. She turned her head just in time to see Ned go back on his feet, look with disbelief to Robert’s own protuberant belly them back at him with a clearly “And you are one to talk?” look.

The king burst out laughing. Clapping him in his shoulders, Robert turned to her next. Everyone had followed in Ned’s steps and rising to their feet.

“Cat!” roared the Baratheon.

Robert enveloped her in his arms as if she was a long-lost sister and kissed both her cheeks, making her once again lose her brother from sight.

By that time, the others were dismounting, and stable boys ran to collect their horses. The Queen, Cersei Lannister, walked in with her youngest children. The caravan in which they had traveled, a huge two-story carriage made of greased oak and gilded metal, pulled by forty horses with heavy traction, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert hugged her.

Many stable boys, knights, and servents that have come with the entourage stayed a wide berth away from Scoobert, the sheer size of the dog enough to scare any men. Catelyn wanted to laugh and she could see by Petyr’s face, so did he. Unless you tried to stab Petyr or her or any of their family, Scooby was as threatening as a pillow and just as cuddly.

The servants of Winterfell were already used to the Great Dane from the many visits that Petyr made over the years, the dog aways by his side. She could already see both Bran and Arya dreaming of mounting the dog as if he was a steed, and she had no doubt that Rickon would be introduced to the unofficial tradition.

She remembers when this rite of passage was born, many years ago, when Robb was newly born and the rebellion was coming to an end. Petyr was as always with Scoob by his side, like the gods intended.

When Ned was explaining that the boy that he was bringing with him, a babe that he had named Jon, one of Brandon’s bastards, was going to be living with them, Petyr and the baby Robb were playing with Scoob. The babe was carefully laid over the back of the dog, green-gray eyes focused like an eagle on the redhead of his nephew with ready hands for the chance that they had to move quickly to grab a falling babe.

Robb giggled happily, without a single care in the world. Jon soon followed him on his furry mount. That afternoon was full of the giggles of babes and the soft trot of Scooby paws against pillows.

Ever since then, all the Stark children would have their first ride, not in a pony as it was common, but on the might back of Scoobert Doo.

 Petyr and Ned had just come back from the war, Petyr under Lord Arryn banner and Ned as the new Lord of Winterfell. Petyr may not have the body expected of a knight, but what he didn’t have in muscle he compensated with speed. Ned would tell her how Petyr was in the field,  looking  like he was dancing in mid his enemies, with the sword that he long ago had made per his instructions cutting through armor and flesh like it was cutting the air while Scoobert shredded the arms of anyone that got to close off his master.

She told her husband the story of that blade. The blacksmith of Riverrun recognized the design as one of the blades of Yi-Ti and Ser Desmond Grell, the master-at-arms asked the then boy of eight were he found such a thing.

“I saw it in a dream, Ser Desmond” answered Petyr “An old warrior was training me. He told me to climb the earth, walk on air, pass through the fire, and brave my way through the water. When I did it,  a Green Dragon gave me a sword just like this one” them he pointed to the newly made blade, one he called katana and later on would name Loyalty. “The Dragon told me that I would never fight like a knight. I will always be too small and light for that. He told me ‘Fight like the wind, like the flowing waters of the rivers. Fight like a samurai”

Ser Desmond had no idea what a Samurai was, but he would find out that to know was not necessary. The boy, like almost anything in his life apparently, was learning his routines in dreams. He was only necessary to fix his stances, give him targets, and look after him and anyone that was going to be his opponent for the day.

Cat shook herself out of her memories. This was not the place or time for her attention to be so dispersed. With a small sigh of relief, she noticed that the king was still going down the line of her children. At the moment he was complimenting Bran’s muscles, telling him that he would make a fine knight.

When the king finished with his inspection and spirited her husband away to the crypts to the Queen’s displeasure, Petyr finally approached her and her children.

“Uncle Shaggy!” screamed Arya, throwing herself in his open arms.

The nickname was born years ago when Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure, and Petyr went riding by the river, looking for a perfect place for an afternoon picnic. Petyr rode like he was born to do so and his hair by the end of the day was so messy that Edmure started calling him “Shaggy Hair” and later on only “Shaggy”. Petyr seemed to love it and it had indeed fitted him like a second skin.

Somehow that particular nickname seemed more personal them any nickname that Edmure had ever given him. In public, Eddy called him “Littlefinger”, since it was the first name he had ever given him and so was the one everyone knew. But when it was just them, between close doors and the seclusion of the sacred forest, the name “Shaggy” was the one to fall from his lips.

Robb had been the first one to call him that. Followed by Jon, Arya, Bran, even Ned could be caught from time to time calling him by the name. Sansa, on the other hand, rarely called him anything that was not “Uncle Petyr”, “Uncle” and “Lord Baelish”. Petyr used to bribe Sansa with lemon cakes when she was younger to call him by his family nickname, but now at thirteen the bribes rarely work like they used to. Sansa was worried about what would be proper to call a member of the Small Council and found it  demeaning for a man in such a position.

She remembers the look Shaggy gave her after Sansa told him this, the day he had come to Winterfell to celebrate her oldest daughter name day. She also remembers how she lost her composure and snorted like a fool when she saw the incredulous expression in his face.

“But look at that! The Hurricane of Winterfell has grown once more” He held Arya as if she weighed nothing. The years of running around carrying a hundred and seventy-five pounds of dog in his arms as if it was a babe had given him great strength. “ At this rate, you will be taller than me in no time”

Arya blushed. Shaggy was by far her favorite uncle and she always shined under his compliments.

Scooby was already licking Bran’s face, not after having sent the boy straight up to the ground. Bran laughed happily and without care. Rickon was looking at the dog in awe and Jon, Robb, and Theon Greyjoy, the protege of Winterfell, burst with laughter.

“Scooby, stop it. He’s going to get all dirty” said Catelyn, but she could not take the small smile of her face.

Scoob followed her orders. Robb helped Bran to get up and cleaned the dirt that covered his back. Shaggy put Arya back on the ground, kissed Sansa’s hand with a small bow with the proper “My Lady” and then turned to Cat, a mischievous smile on his face.

Without warning, Shaggy hugged her, held her out of the ground, and spun her around laughing like a mad man. His laughter as always was infectious and, caring little for the onlookers (something she would severely chastise herself and Shaggy later when she had recovered her wits) she laughed with him.

He put her back on the ground and kissed both her cheeks.

“Big sister, you’re  as radiant as ever,” he said looking her over “I hope that Lord Eddard remains treating you well?” his voice jested, but she saw that his eyes were deadly serious.

Shaggy was loyal to a fault, and since the day he came to live with her family he internalized her house words as if they were his own, just like they had come to see him as one of their own. Family, Duty, Honor. The family was above all else in his eyes, be it blood or chosen family. If her answer had been anything but positive, she knew that Ned would find himself with the angry entity that was Shaggy in a protective fury.

“My Lord husband remains the best thing that the gods could have blessed me,” said Cat with sincerity.

Shaggy smiled and took her by the arm and together they started to walk towards the great hall, her children not too far behind petting Scooby-Doo with love and little Rickon perched on his back.

“If you say so, my lady. But always remember, if you need me in any shape or form I’m just one raven away.” here his voice turned into a whisper “Gods know I would take any excuse to leave that nest of vipers”

They both giggle like they were children again and walked through the immense doors of the keep.

Petyr’s father, before he died, said once that in the way to Riverrun Petyr had fallen asleep one  night and awaked the next morning completely different. He said he was sweeter, more gentle, and caring. He believed that his son’s dreams started that night and that it has changed him.

If that was so, Catelyn sang many  blessings to that day. She would never know how their life would have gone had Shaggy never started dreaming, but she knew what this life had given her.

It has given her a brother.  An eccentric and beloved brother.

“Come along, my dear. We have many things to discuss” he said still in whispers “About propositions that are going to be made and marrieges that, if we play our cards right, will never come to be.”

Her smile soured. She knew what proposition he was talking about. Since the death of Jon Arryn and the letter from Lysa, she had been on edge with the uncoming visity from the king,  bringing the Lannisters to her home. Regarding marriege, she had know about the possibility of Robert wanting to join their houses, but the look on Shaggy’s face told her a deeper rabbit hole that she was not seeing.

Giving him a calculated smile that was easily reciprocated, arm in arm, they entered the hall. 

[thesunnyshow]

Name: Juliet

Writing Blog URL(s): @wonderlustlucas

Nationality: American

Languages: English, beginner level French, teeny tiny bit of Korean

Star Sign: Virgo

MBTI: ISFJ-T

Favorite color: Pastel yellow

Favorite food: My mom’s Sunday gravy

Favorite movie: Howl’s Moving Castle (The Lion King is a close second though)

Favorite ice cream flavor: Specifically Turkey Hill’s Double Dunker (get it— it’s so good)

Favorite animal: Humpback whale

Go-to karaoke song: She’s Kinda Hot by 5 Seconds of Summer

Dream job (whether you have a job or not): Neurosurgeon! Or a Twitch streamer HAHA

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering?  Ahhh probably coffee, I love tea but I need my coffee </3

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? Shapeshifting! Clearly the superior superpower I don’t take constructive criticism.

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? This is weirdly specific, but I would love to be in Scotland during the 1700’s. Alternatively, the 1980’s.

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you? 100%. I know everything happens for a reason but getting a redo and being able to fix all the big mistakes I made would be pretty nice.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? One horse-sized chicken! 100 tiny horses would be crazy tiring.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? I would probably be the gay side character that gives good emotional advice but is hella lonely LMAO

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? Yes, both!

What are some small things that make your day better? Driving with the windows down and music blasting, picking up coffee, playing video games, & talking to my internet friends on Discord.

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? I discovered my love for writing through Warrior Cats roleplay😭

What fandom(s) do you write for? Right now, only Kpop, but I wouldn’t mind writing for 5SOS or some of my other fandoms!

When did you post your first piece? On WattPad, December 2015. On Tumblr, April 2018 :)

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? I write everything! Fluff/smut/crack is my favorite and slight angst (usually just slow burn though cus I’m soft).

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? Again, I write anything and everything! Currently, second or third person reader inserts are my main style, but I also do ships and would love to write more OCs.

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? Before Tumblr, I was on WattPad for different fandoms but eventually fell off. Then, when I got into Kpop in 2017, I found that urge to write again and decided to move to Tumblr since WattPad was becoming… weird. Plus Tumblr was a better fit for me!

What inspires you to write? To be completely honest, it’s the little things throughout the day that inspire me. For example, “Honey” was inspired by me not being able to open my locker in high school. “I Hemoglobin You” was based off my friend giving me a head rub while I was donating blood. Kpop idols just so happen to be my muses that I like to put into random moments of inspiration!

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? High school or college AUs are my favorite, along with some good ol’ friends to lovers slow burn. Angst isn’t my forte so I usually just stick to fluff, smut, and some crack. I haven’t written any but fantasy AUs are some of my favorites too! (RIP to my League of Legends AU that I started and haven’t touched in months.)

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? Just like other fanfiction authors inspire me, I hope some of my work inspires others. Considering fanfiction is free, there is so much out there to read and when I find a good story that inspires ME to write better, I’d love for my writing to do the same.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? 3 options: 1) Skip that scene and jump ahead to one I’m excited to write; 2) Erase what part I’m on and completely redo it; or 3) Drop it. The majority of my works usually take a few months to write as I will completely stop working on it until I find the right inspiration again. 

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? “Four” is definitely my favorite work. It’s one of my longer pieces and there was a lot of raw emotion in there on my end. I love the relationship between Hyunjin and the reader and especially love the ending. “Greatest Gift” for Chanyeol is my most successful, and one of my other favorites!

Who is your favorite person to write about? Easily Hwang Hyunjin. It’s so easy to place him in any of my works, and sometimes it’s a struggle to NOT write him. It sounds stupid but sometimes I really feel like I “know” him so being able to describe him physically and mentally is easy for me.

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? Yes and no. Yes, because most of the time, fanfiction is totally original as well and requires just as much thought as a 400,000 word novel. No, because fanfiction uses a specific person as a muse.

What do you think makes a good story? Detail and realistic dialogue! Of course, everyone has their own style of writing, but detail is especially important to me. Sure, you can have a great plot, but having concise, detailed writing to get immersed into makes a story so much better. I also find realistic dialogue to be a big deal— I hate when teenage characters are speaking in deep analogies because, if we’re being honest, my daily language is 95% just “Bruh.” If you’re like me, I’d actually prefer realistic dialogue over anything else.

What is your writing process like? Process… yikes. Sometimes… I have a random thought and then I’m like… hell yeah let’s write that. I actually have no process. I don’t outline, I just start writing and keep writing until I’m finished. Then I’ll read it all over to make edits, then I’ll use the Read Aloud feature to catch any mistakes I missed, then I’ll run it through Grammarly before posting!

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? Hm, maybe? In the future, possibly, but as of right now I wouldn’t use any of my fics to do so.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? Oh, gosh, tropes. Gotta love them. Friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, stuck together (AKA forced to share a bed), and fake relationships are my favorites. They may be corny, but I also love truth or dare or 7 minutes in heaven games in fics cus… they’re just classics. Also love fics with a popular x shy pairing. I can’t say I dislike many tropes, but I definitely have a love/hate relationship with vampire and werewolf tropes because of how romanticized they are.

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? Hm, to be completely honest, only a little bit? I mainly write for myself, it’s like a guilty pleasure to just get all my thoughts and desires out, and then I just so happen to make it public on Tumblr. Nevertheless, receiving comments and asks actually make my day, and sometimes I still struggle to wrap my mind around people enjoying my writing! So, thank you to everyone who has ever left me a kind message, I truly appreciate it ♥

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? Getting involved! I think one of the best ways to grow is to join networks, which not only gives you the opportunity to share your work on a greater scale, but also allows you to make connections. Like real life, making connections and making friendships with other writers can play a huge role in growing as a writer and growing your account.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? Yes :( As someone who’s involved with other fandoms, I’ve heard the way some people think of fanfiction and it’s really sad. People do not know how much goes into writing and just see it as cringey and disgusting when it’s just… not.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? Yes! In all its forms, art is something a creator can use to influence their audience (in a good way, hopefully).

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? Like I said in #40, I mainly write for myself. Even when I’m writing a request, chances are if I like the request enough I’m going to create a story out of it that fits my personal desires the most.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times?  No! However, I’d still consider myself a small account and do not have TOO many works posted. But so far, I don’t think I’ve faced this problem :)

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? Only a few! My best friend Maggie is on Tumblr with me and only 2 of my other pals know I write fanfiction.

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? How much I love each and every one of them for supporting me and sticking around even when I won’t post for months🥺❤️

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? Don’t psych yourself out! In the time I’ve spent on Tumblr, I’ve never received any substantial hate. My main advice is don’t write fanfiction to get popular on the app, write fanfiction because you love to write and love your muses!

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? No, as much as Tumblr can be annoying at times, I love the people I’ve met and the content I’ve found and wouldn’t have wanted to use any other platform.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? @pinktea99 — Mo, you’ve been around since the beginning honestly, and without you I wouldn’t have been able to come out of my shell! Thank you for all your love & support & for being my SF9 buddy❤️

Pick a quote to end your interview with: 

“Like mate, stop procrastinating.” — 3RACHA

BONUS ROUND: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL 

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 44

The full moon shone overhead, battling with the clouds for the right to show off it's brilliance. Swiftcloud stared up at it as she followed the line of her clanmates to the Gathering clearing. She felt a bit wary; painfully conscious that tonight may very well be the night Grassclan and Treeclan become enemies once more.

"This is so exciting!!" Tabitha whispered from behind Swiftcloud, a tremble in her mew. "I'm really interested in meeting all these different kinds of clan cats."

"I know, Tabitha," Swiftcloud purred a little, though her expression stayed serious. "Hopefully this gathering will be a good one. But with Leafbare fading, I have doubts that tonight will be very peaceful."

"How come?" The former kittypet tilted her head when Swiftcloud glanced back at her.

"Remember how I told you some of the other clans can be vicious? Well, Treeclan's had a problem with Grassclan for the past several moons. In fact... we've been at war."

"War?" Tabitha sounded surprised. "Why would another clan fight with ours when everyone's been sick?"

"They haven't. Whitestar managed to get Treeclan's leader to agree to a temporary truce. But that was to last until the worst of Leafbare passed..."

"Which means things might start getting heated again, I'm guessing?"

Swiftcloud nodded slightly.

Tabitha gulped. "Does.. does that mean I'll have to fight?"

"No, Tabitha. You've only been with Grassclan for a day now. You haven't been taught how to fight yet. Whitestar wouldn't send a new apprentice into battle," Swiftcloud assured, which made her friend sigh with relief.

Up ahead, Whitestar's pace began to slow. The familiar hedges of the Gathering clearing came into view, marking the end of their long journey. Whitestar and Chicorynose led the clan into the open space, holding the line's formation long enough for the other clans to take notice of Grassclan's presence. Whitestar had insisted upon bringing a large group of cats to this Gathering. She wanted to prove to everyone that her clan was strong again. Swiftcloud hadn't known Whitestar to be a showoff. But Swiftcloud supposed it made sense to do so every once in a while. It was still Leafbare after all. Cats were hungrier than usual. Grassclan had to prove that they had enough cats left to defend their borders, in case anyone tried sneaking across to steal prey.

After the higher-ups were sure the rest of the Land's Star had gotten a good view of their clan. Grassclan's warriors were permitted to run off and mingle with the crowd. Swiftcloud did so eagerly, calling Tabitha and Tulippaw to her side. The apprentices excitedly followed her every pawstep, eager to meet new warriors they'd never met before.

"Swiftcloud!" That was Moonface who called from across the way. Swiftcloud turned and padded over to her friend, her apprentices at her heels. Moonface was looking much more well fed today, her belly starting to grow plump. Beside her stood a younger cat with a brilliant ginger pelt.

"Hey, Moonface." Swiftcloud touched noses with the other she-cat. "How are you? You're looking well."

"I'm great, thank you for asking. Life is turning out pretty swell! Blazestar recently made me a mentor," answered Moonface.

"Congratulations. I'm guessing this eager molly beside you is the lucky apprentice, hm?" Swiftcloud assumed, glancing at the ginger she-cat. She looked similar to Moonface's mate, Sunflower. Swiftcloud wondered if the two ginger cats were kin.

Moonface nodded, resting her tail on the young cat's shoulders. "This is Scarletpaw. Scarletpaw meet Swiftcloud of Grassclan. And her apprentice. And..friend? I don't recall ever seeing you before, stranger. You don't smell much like any of the clans."

"Both are my apprentices," Swiftcloud answered. "The younger is Tulippaw. I forgot the two of you haven't met before. And the older molly is Tabitha. We've just taken her into our ranks. I'm teaching her about clan life, while Chicorynose handles the typical training stuff."

"Ooh, I see," Moonface responded. "You were a kittypet, then?" She asked Tabitha.

"Mhm. But now I'm apprentice! And a queen!!"

"That means you're expecting? What a coincidence. I'm expecting, too!" Moonface beamed, letting out an excited trill.

Swiftcloud ears perked instantly. "Wait, you're pregnant? That's amazing! No wonder why you look so good. I'm sure Sunflower's proud, huh?"

Moonface purred, love glowing in her eyes. "Oh he's ecstatic. He can't wait to meet our little ones. And honestly, neither can I. Motherhood is going to be wonderful. And I'm already getting good practice by taking care of Scarletpaw. She can be a pawful at times. But she listens when I tell her things, and picks up on lessons quickly."

"That's because Moonface is the best mentor ever!" Scarletpaw proclaimed with her head held high.

"No way, my mentor's the best. Swiftcloud saved the whole clan! She's a hero. She's the greatest warrior in the Land's Star," boasted Tulippaw. Swiftcloud ducked her head bashfully. She was honored that Tulippaw regarded her so highly. She hadn't acted that way with Ambereye. In some way, Swiftcloud felt pride in that. But in another, she felt bad. Tulippaw had always wanted Swiftcloud as her mentor. The circumstances which led them to become a learning pair were unideal, and grim. Ambereye hadn't even gotten the chance to earn Tulippaw's full respect. Meanwhile, Swiftcloud gained it immediately.

"Prove it!" Scarletpaw's mew cut into Swiftcloud's thoughts.

"I'll show you what Swiftcloud taught me!" Tulippaw declared, throwing herself at the other molly. The apprentices tussled playfully on the ground, kicking and swiping at each other with claws sheathed. The older she-cats let out a collective mrrow of laughter at the sight.

At once, the leaders began to yowl from Split Rock, signaling the start of the Gathering. The apprentices paused in their playfight, sitting upright together. Tulippaw prodded Scarletpaw in the side, leading her over to a group of other apprentices from the Land's Star who sat nearby.

"Let's sit over here," Moonface suggested, leading the other cats a bit closer to where a collection of queens had gathered. Jaybird was here, along with Moonface's mother, Brightsky. There was also Breezeheart of Mountainclain, Richfur of Oceanclan, and Littlebird of Marshclan. Swiftcloud mewed a soft hello to each of the queens, settling herself between Moonface and Tabitha. Around them, more cats filled in closer to the Split Rock, their voices silent and their attentions drawn to the leaders above them.

"Let the Gathering begin!" Brightstar declared, her high pitched voice echoing through the clearing.  "Blazestar, would you like to make tonight's first announcements?" She offered. Blazestar grunted in approval, tipping his head to the other leader in thanks. He stepped forward, raising his muzzle so his voice would carry clearly.

"Treeclan thrives this moon. Slowly, prey is returning to the forest. Our medicine cats expect an early Newleaf this year, which we are most excited about. In other news; Nightshade, Moonface, and Tigerlily are expecting. Moonface has decided to join the nursery as an official queen, while the others continue their warrior duties as normal. Finally; this evening we bring with us two new apprentices. Our warrior apprentice, Scarletpaw, and our new medicine cat apprentice, Sugarpaw."

Cats from all of the clans broke out into a crescendo of congratulatory mews. Swiftcloud joined in, yowling loud to show her friend her support. Moonface looked away, flustered, giggling softly. Swiftcloud nudged her to gain back her attention. The two mollies smiled at one another then turned their gaze back onto the leaders.

Fogstar was the next cat to step up. "Mountainclan was blessed last moon, with new kits and new apprentices. I wish there was better news for me to share this night as well... But Starclan must keep balance. We cannot have the good, without the bad. And-- well, to stop beating around the bush; sadly, I must announce the passing of Bearclaw this past quarter moon. Hawkfern says it was peaceful. He was almost as old as I am, and so it was to be expected. Bearclaw was an excellent deputy, he shall be missed for many moons. As his successor, I have chosen Galecall. She's level headed and capable. I trust she will do a great job from here on out. That is all I have to report."

And with that, the old gray tom stepped back, leaving the floor open for the next leader.

Whitestar took this opportunity to speak. "Grassclan fares well this moon. Thanks to the quick thinking of one of our warriors, our clan was at last able to beat greencough. We are strong once more, and ready to take on any and all challenges. Furthermore, to strengthen our ranks--and our bloodlines--I have accepted an expecting kittypet into Grassclan. Chicorynose has been assigned as her mentor, along with Swiftcloud, who will be helping her adapt to our way of life as quickly as possible before her kits come."

"I'm glad to hear your clan has recovered, Whitestar," Blazestar cut in. "Treeclan once again thanks you for the aid you provided us a few moons back, when we were suffering from our own greencough outbreak. But that time has passed. Leafbare's hold on the Land's Star weakens, and so, our truce has come to an end. Expect hostility the next time one of your patrols comes along the Treeclan border."

"Can we not live in peace?" Whitestar prompted, swaying her tail. She seemed annoyed to have her turn interrupted. "Must we continue to fight over complicated situations which happened so long ago?"

"Border crossing is a long-standing issue, Whitestar. That will never change. Not unless those who commit this crime are properly punished. Treeclan still intends on taking back the Forest Patch. Perhaps, if there is a distinct border, Grassclan will understand where not to tread."

"If you are so determined to create a distinct border, then why not surrender the forest past the Thunder Path entirely? Why fight so hard for territory your clan clearly does not need to survive? Does that area not also pose a threat to your warriors? I recall several instances of your clanmates dying due to crossing into the Forest Patch. Your son Flamepaw, for instance. Or your deputy's son, Skunkpaw, who was kitnapped by Twolegs. And what about you? I seem to recall a time when you had fallen victim to a monster on the Thunder Path yourself. Surely all this loss is not worth one small piece of forest."

Blazestar grit his teeth, his claws scraping against the boulder beneath him. The fur along his spine rose, and his tail lashed violently. "Don't you dare talk about those kits!" He spat. "Flamepaw's death was because of the negligence of his mentor. And Skunkpaw's disappeance was your clan's doing!"

"No it was not!" Swiftcloud yowled suddenly, jumping to her paws. She was sick of feeling guilty for something that was not her fault. She had warned Skunkpaw and his littermates to flee. It was his choice to ignore her, and wind up kitnapped. Swiftcloud lived through that shame, and had finally made peace with it. She couldn't bare to sit by idle and allow herself or her clan to be blamed for another cat's decisions.

"Swiftcloud's right!" Moonface suddenly called out. Her expression was serious, tail wagging anxiously. "Skunkpaw's disappearance is not Grassclan's fault!"

Swiftcloud looked at her friend in astonishment. She hadn't expected her to speak up. But she had been there when her brother was taken. Moonface knew the truth, just as her littermates did; just as Swiftcloud did. Swiftcloud wondered if Moonface or her littermates had ever told their clan what had occurred that day. Where they had been, how things escalated the way they had.

Blazestar looked angry at Moonface's outburst. He glared down at her coldly before returning his attention to his colleague. "I'm through with these games, Whitestar. I will not argue over this any longer. Anymore persuading that can be done will be considered on the battlefield. And any decisions made will come as a conclusion of the war. Treeclan will no longer show you mercy."

"If that is your wish, then so be it," Whitestar declared.

"Yeah, let's fight!" Cheered one of Treeclan's young warriors, launching themselves at the nearest Grassclan cat. The cat this warrior had chosen to pounce on was Pansypaw, who was in no mood to be messed with. With the fury of a Lionclan warrior, the little spotted she-cat threw her opponent off herself then jumped on them in return. She pummeled the cat with her front paws, yowling.

Swiftcloud saw Frostfeather watching on in horror. She must have been shocked that her usually well behaved apprentice was acting so violently. But Swiftcloud wasn't. She understood how the young molly must feel. She'd lost her father, Ryestep, in a border battle before she was even born. And now her mother and littermates were dead thanks to the greencough which Rosebloom had caught from Treeclan. Treeclan was responsible for taking all of her kin away. Pansypaw must not have been able to contain her hatred for them any longer.

Frostfeather soon grew tired of seeing her apprentice fight. She jumped in to pull her back, getting caught up in the crossfire. Another Treeclan warrior jumped into the fight, encouraging a few others to join.

Cats from around the clearing watched in outrage as Treeclan and Grassclan began to fight on this sacred night. And Starclan was not at all pleased.

Overhead, the clouds had won their clash with the moon, covering it's light and shrouding the Gathering clearing in darkness. At once, cats began to cry out, and those who fought froze, terrified of their ancestor's anger.

"This Gathering is over! Everyone return home," Wavestar caterwauled with a huff. "Can't even get a chance to speak at one of these cursed Gatherings anymore with you two around. It's lucky any cat's gotten to speak at all. For everyone's sake, settle your petty feud already," he growled to Whitestar and Blazestar before jumping from the Split Rock. Oceanclan gathered around him, their judgemental eyes landing on the offending clans. Swiftcloud saw Moonface stare at one particular warrior. It was Hazestorm, a mutual friend of theirs. He was looking towards the silver and white molly with longing. Moonface held his gaze for a heartbeat then turned away from him. She excused herself to Swiftcloud and Tabitha then stood, disappearing into the crowd. What was that all about? Swiftcloud wondered as she rose to her paws.

"Come on, Tabitha. Let's go collect Tulippaw and head out of here."

"I must confess, I'm a little confused. What just happened..?" Tabitha asked.

"Our warrior ancestors are mad at us for fighting under the full moon. The Land's Star has a peaceful truce for this one night. We've broken it. So, we have to leave."

"I see," Tabitha mewed quietly, following her mentor towards the rest of the Grassclan patrol. Tulippaw came to meet them halfway. She had a few speckles of blood on one of her white paws. Swiftcloud shot her a questioning look, nubby tail wiggling.

"Scarletpaw attacked me. So, I ripped her ear!" Tulippaw grinned proudly. Swiftcloud simply shook her head and herded her apprentice over to join their clanmates for the journey home.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hey, my 20 year old cat is getting kind sick with his age. Could you maybe write a little something about Duck and his cat to cheer me up? I adore your writing

Of course!

Which means we interrupt our current schedule of superhero AUs to bring you: KITTY!

Duck’s been in the apartment a little over a year. As childish as it may sound, he takes pride in the fact it’s a place he can afford to pay for himself, and that he gets to furnish and decorate in whatever way he chooses (minus things that would lose him his deposit). 

There’s still something missing, however, and that something is why he’s currently standing in the cat room of the Kepler animal shelter.

“Anyone catchin your eye, hon?” The volunteer asks a she gathers stray, jingling toys from the floor. 

“Just kinda gettin a feel for all of ‘em.” He scritches a white and black kitten through the slats in the cage, gives the white fluffy one that hisses at him a wide berth (he doesn’t take it personally). 

When he gets to the cage at the end of one wall, he finds a medium sized, scruddy tabby cat watching him carefully. Her left ear is missing a chunk, and she has the bearing of someone who can’t figure out why existence is a thing she has to deal with.

But when Duck steps closer, she stands, stretching like a black cat halloween decoration, and bumps her head into the bars. He does his best to pet her through them, and when he stops she levels him with a glare. 

“Mrow.” 

Duck had been expecting a charming “mew” not a deep, twenty-year smoker rasp, and doubles over with a surprised laugh. 

“I see you’ve met Winnifred.” The volunteer smiles at him, “she’s quite the little warrior. She was part of a feral litter that was found without a mother last year. They were found because someones dog saw them, started investigating, and Winnifred launched herself at him. His owner was more than a little amused to find his dog running back with his tail between his legs and a cat latched on his muzzle”

“That why she’s missin part of her ear?”

“Yep. Rest of the litter got adopted easily, as kittens do, but she never seemed to find the right person.”

Duck hunches down, finds yellow eyes watching him and gets an emphatic “mrow” when he scratches her behind her wounded ear.

“Hey there, Winnie. How do you feel about comin home with me?”

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

“Okay, gonna put your bed right here, that way you won’t get too nervous at night by bein too far away from me, got you this real fluffy blanket too, aw, hey, it’s okay, no need to be scared by a blank-”

“DUCK NEWTON!”

“JEsus Minerva, you just scared her under the bed.”

“Who is this her of which you speak?”

“Mrow?”

“Ah, you have acquired an animal companion. She appears to have the makings of a mighty huntress.”

“Yeah, sure, now do you mind? I’m tryin to get her settled in.”

“Apologies Duck Newton, I was merely checking to see if you’d given more thought to-”

“No.”

“Very well. I shall leave you to your furry companion. Perhaps she can convince you of the importance of destiny.”

Minerva disappears, and Winnie blinks at Duck.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah, that’s about how I feel.”

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

It’s the first serious raise he’s gotten since joining the forestry service. Bills are all paid, food and everything else is budgeted for the month with cash to spare. 

So he’s currently got his computer and LAN cable out to do some very important shopping. 

“What do you think? Three story cat condo?”

Winnie hops up on the table, chasing his hand as he moves it on the trackpad.

“You could use some new catnip toys too. Heh, these ones are shaped like little ducks. Hmmm, no these mice ones are bigger, better bargain. Two packs enough?”

“Mrow.” A sandpapery tongue licks his hand.

“You’re right, I’ll get four just to be safe.”

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

“I dunno Juno, things have just gone kinda south with him lately but, I just-”

“Duck, you know I feel about him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I oughta dump him. But I can’t help feelin, I dunno, like I ain’t givin him a chance.”

“....this is gonna sound weird, but how does Winnie get along with him?”

“She don’t, really. She was okay with him at first, kinda shy like she gets sometimes. Now if he’s over she won’t come anywhere near us.”

“Do I really gotta say that ain’t like her? That cat’d play with a bear if she thought that’d get you to pay attention to her.”

“Shit, you’re right. Okay, I’ll call him now and tell him it’s over.”

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

“I gotta ask” Leo sips his beer as the two of them sit at the kitchen table, “you had any problems with mice this spring? I keep havin to set traps in my cabinet.”

“Nope, ain’t had any issues.”

“Mrow.”

“Hey there kitty-cat, how’s it--uh, think I know why you ain’t had any mice.”

“Huh? Aw, jeez, Winnie, don’t drop that on the table! At least you didn’t leave it in my shoe or somethin. Thanks for keepin our groceries safe.”

“Mrow.” Winnie trots off, head held high.

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

“Well Winnie, that’s that. Your human’s just a regular dipshit now.”

The orange loaf on his chest purrs soothingly as he pets her, focusing on her fur as he lays on his bed in the darkened bedroom.

“Guess I oughta write out a plan or somethin, in case you outlive me. How you feel about livin with Leo, wait, shit, he’s lost his too. Hmm, maybe it oughta be Juno.”

Prickly, padded paws knead at his chest as the purring continues.

“Takin that as a sign you like that plan. Then again….wonder if Indrid would want company. If he ever comes back, I mean. Juno’s got kids, and you’re gettin up in years and don’t much like bein mandhandled. Plus, that trailer’s real fuckin warm. You’d never get chilly. And maybe you’d force him to clean up all those mugs of stale nog”

“Mrowrrrrrr.”

“Don’t gimme that look, the guy’s just a friend, and I feel kinda bad that he’s alone.”

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

Duck clicks the heater up a few more notches as Indrid slips off his Uggs. The Sylph came back in late February, and has finally allowed Duck the chance to buy him dinner as an apology for the punching. 

“Really, you don’t need to go to any trouble, I’ve dealt with worse, oh, hello there.” He chirps delightedly when Winnie bumps against his shin. She follows him to the couch as Duck searches for his wallet, which has chosen now of all times to stray from it’s normal spot on his nightstand.

“Care to join me, tiny predator?”

“She’s havin trouble gettin up on the couch lately.”

“May I lift her?”

“Uh, sure. She’ll let you know if she ain’t in the mood.”

“Alright, come along fuzzy one, ah, there we go. My, you are a dignified, silver-haired grande dame aren’t you.” 

Duck glances up to find Indrid cuddling Winnie, cooing over her as he pets her forehead. The Sylph is right; the once cheddar colored fur on her head is almost entirely gray.

By the time he finds his wallet (in a random boot), Winnie is sound asleep in Indrid’s lap. 

“We cannot leave. I have been chosen.”

Duck laughs, and goes to start some popcorn. No reason they can’t have dinner and movie at home, after all.

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

Duck is exhausted; the apartment is at capacity, the FBI is nosing around town, and he’s been training daily to prepare for the next abomination. 

So he’s more than a little annoyed when a familiar paw bats his nose, waking him up.

“Not even close to breakfast time.”

“Mrow.”

“Get.”

“MROW.” She hops off the bed, meowing louder and louder until he gets up, at which point she scurries into the living room. He follows, intending to bundle her into her bed so she can’t escape until morning. 

But she’s not near her food bowl. She’s on the couch. Or, more accurately, on Indrid, who is curled up on the couch, frightened. 

“‘Drid?”

“It’s all going to end.”

“Bad futures?”

“That’s putting it exceedingly mildly. I wish I could sleep, I’m so very tired.” He pets Winnie, manages a weak smile when she kneads at his thick sweater.  

“Could read to you from one of my tree guides. Might knock you out.”

“...Yes, that actually might work. Thank you, Duck.”

“You’re welcome, be right back with that book. Winnie, you’re in charge until then.”

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

“I have one final thing to move in. Ta dah!” Indrid presents a flat, rectangular basket, filled with thick, fluffy pillow. It’s late November, and while the world was saved, Indrid’s Winnebago got crushed by a Quell monster during the battle. Not that Duck’s complaining about an excuse to move his boyfriend in.

“Great, what it is?”

“It’s a special catbed. I know Winnie is on the upper limit of her years, and that the cold is rough on her joints. I found an old electric blanket in the Winnebago and stuck it under the pillow, so she can have extra warmth without leaving her favorite spot.”

“Thanks, darlin. Sure she’ll love it.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek.

“It’s the least I could do. After all, she was here first.” Indrid kisses his nose, pats Winnie on the head as she pads, slowly, over to investigate the offering. Duck sets it down in her corner, plugging in the blanket. She sniffs it, then settles into her favorite shape, the one Aubrey calls “catloaf.”

“Well, old girl, what do you think? This all gonna be okay?”

Winnie bumps her head against his hand, “Mrow.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” 

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 3. Onward and Forward

Sunny sat in silence for a while, miffed, but quiet as she gathered her thoughts. She was ready for work when Leere told her that she was having to go away. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“What you want to do is dangerous.”

“It is.”

“Are you absolutely sure you have to do this? You said that being a sage would keep you in Hyrule. Can’t someone else do this?”

“No. I’m sorry. It has to be me.”

Sunny watched Joy play in living room, wincing at the thought of losing her wife. “What about our daughter?”

“I’m certain if I don’t go, you, our daughter, and so many others will be killed. I’ve foreseen this.”

Sunny pinched her forehead, sighing deeply. “Goddarn it.”

Leere gave her moment before holding her hand. “Sunny...”

“Don’t make a girl a promise if you know you can’t keep it.”

Leere smiled, waiting for her wife to look her in the eye. “You know me, when I make a promise.”

Sunny smiled back, yet her sadness was still there. “Well, we’ll be waiting.”

Standing up from the table, she looked to Joy. “Joy? Both your mommies are leaving for work. You’ll have Aunt Galaxia look after ya.”

“Ok. Love you both.” Joy ran up to hug both her mothers, with both women kneeling down to hug her back. Leere smiled, rubbing her daughter’s hair. “We love you too.”

As both moms walked out the door, they turned to each other, stole a kiss, and walked separate ways to their work. Now the only ones who knew Leere left was her wife. Heading back to the Hive, she stopped by a mail box, having a backup letter delivered to Zizi.

~

"Hades," The notorious assassin of the Hive, nicknamed 'Black' by Bonegrinder, appeared to the Lynel. He was rather curious why the summons. Usually, the Lynel avoided him, saying the scent of undeath was disgusting. "You called?"

“I did. I need someone who can protect and aid the shadow sage, as well as our leader when we venture to Malus.”

"... you do realize I am an assassin, not a guardian?" Black thought someone had rubbed the big cat's fur the wrong way to get him thinking such nonsense. "I will go if Bonegrinder requires me, though, I am a surprise he agreed to go to Malus."

“Only because of the girl. I don’t trust her. Another reason I’m asking you to go.” Hades rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you sense deception that could put Bonegrinder in grace mortal danger, I want you to execute her.”

"I will not hesitate to kill her if I sense ill will toward Bonegrinder." Black assured the Lynel. He had been with the Anagari almost as long as Blue and White. Bonegrinder had found him wandering a graveyard and managed to help him recover some of his memories. He felt he owed the Echidnan a great debt. "Or any other being. Including yourself."

“Your loyalty and lack of flare in order to work effectively is why I value you most in the Hive.”

"I am here to serve Bonegrinder. You may be his friend, but I am his assassin." Black stated with a stoic expression. "I owe him for helping me remember who I was, how I died, and if not for him, I would have been unable to get my revenge on those who wronged me. Now, since I am still here and trapped upon this earthly plane, I wish to be useful to him until the magic which keeps me this way runs out."

“That is all I and him ask of you Black. Now come, the witch approaches.” Leere navigated the Hive, this time escorted by Silver. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she disliked him or Red more. Least Red was physically attractive.

But Red loved to talk. "You know, sweet thing, I could totally give you some tips on how to make that pretty wife of yours just squeal in bed." The incubus floated a few inches off the floor, puffing his long jade pipe. "You do know that if you do the Omishan alphabet with your tongue, then she'll be orgasming within seconds."

"Can you talk about anything other than sex?" Silver groaned as the incubus pestered Leere. "Like... maybe the weather for once?"

"The weather in the great down under is doing just fine." Red grinned. "Moist, warm, and ready."

"... remind me to never ask you that again."

Nope. Red was worse. “Please. Stop.” Leere rubbed her temple to clear a migraine.

"Leave the sage alone, Red, she does not require your lessons in nocturnal activities." Black told the incubus with an annoyed expression. "Go back to your whore houses."

"I just don't understand how she resists me and yet fell into the claws of those sisters." "I guess they're a better fuck than you." Silver snorted. "And how would she know? We haven't fucked yet!"

“Because they’d be better company before and after. Leave.”

"You're missing out, girlfriend, that's all I can say." Red then disappeared with a puff of smoke, leaving Black and Silver to waft it away out of the air.

Leere moved through the smoke to Bonegrinders chamber. She knew well enough it was by now.

The Anagari was rapidly puffing his own pipe from Red, angrily. Needless to say, the snake was very agitated. He had books thrown about, opened to various pages, and was cursing in Omishan.

“Bonegrinder? I’m ready if you are. Leere was decked out in her monster hunting robes, ready for cooler weather. She thought it best to open up to the serpent in a friendly mood.

"He is not going." The Anagari flicked his tail, taking a deep inhale of his pipe to calm his nerves. "Malus is a wasteland, nothing but death and decay and dangerous and demons---why did you agree to take her there, you idiot divinity?!"

A sudden shift of personality and glowing eyes revealed Prama once more. "I am Prama, the Maker, and those innocents inside of Malus deserve a chance to be free of the enemy---"

With a grunt, Bonegrinder returned. "And have you thought about what would happen to your precious prophecy, your beloved Kaksa's host, if you were to be caught?!"

"You mean if we were caught."

“You won’t be. We’ll be careful every step of the way.” Leere walked over, picking his books up. “You should keep better care of these.”

"He is researching how to expel this nuisance from his body."

"Your body? We share it, you overgrown sack of scales."

"He is not going!"

"Yes, you are!"

"You cannot make him!"

"Do you really want me to take over your body for the entire trip?"

"Don't you dare! You're such a pain in the ass!"

"The Shadow Sage requires our assistance and has made a good point. Kaksa would want us to continue to try to do good."

"Kaksa is the reason this whole mess started."

"You take that back!"

"Kiss his black scale-covered ass!"

The arguing was stopped when Leere took their hand. “Bonegrinder. Not only do I believe my own life is danger, but also my families and the people of Malus. I want my friend to be with me and have my back. Can I count on you?”

"Mother has warned you of Malus, he has warned you of Malus, and you still insist upon going?" The Anagari asked his friend. "What makes you so sure that he knows how to get in the country in the first place?"

“Because of your insistence of not going. You know.” Leere patted his hand, unable to be unswayed. “Please? For me?”

"Hrm... he does not like it when you beg him."

“I could go by myself you know. Take a lot longer. More danger too.”

"Now you are being a brat."

“Am I? I’m not the one throwing a fit with himself.” Leere shrugged. “Guess I better get going if I want to save those people.”

"Prama is not Bonegrinder and Bonegrinder is not Prama." The Anagari shook his finger at Leere. "Two souls, one body." He grumbled under his breath. "He does not like it that you did not speak to him first on this issue. Malus is a one-way ticket to hell on earth, Leere. He fears for your safety."

“And I my family Bonegrinder. This is me asking a friend to help me. Can I count on you?” Leere put her hands to her hips, waiting for her final answer.

"... he will go." Bonegrinder finally replied, not liking the fact that Leere was trapping him between a hard choice and an impossible task. "Though we will not stay but one day."

“Thank you. Then let’s be off.”

“Not without us.” Hades trotted over with Black, his hooves clipping silently. “We will accompany Bonegrinder for his safety.”

Leere didn’t expect a larger party. “Oh. I didn’t think this needed your attention.”

“Believe me, it does.”

"Hades, old friend, and Black, his trusted warrior, Malus is a country full of hellish monsters and those looking to steal your soul." Bonegrinder frowned. "He does not wish to put you two in harm's way."

"I have already departed this world once, Bonegrinder, I do not fear doing so again if it is to help you." Black stated. "You once helped me with no qualms. I am going to be by your side to look out for you when others fail to do so."

“And I am a monster among monsters. None can kill me so easily.”

"And you may be the last of your kind." Bonegrinder asked the Lynel. "Would you have this Anagari be responsible for the death of the last, great Lynel?"

“Don’t worry old friend, you won’t.” Sheer-Khan patted the snake on the shoulder. “But let us make this quick so that the woman’s quest does not delay us from our tasks here.”

"Hrm, are you using this as an excuse to get away from Red for a while? We both know the incubus would love to have a roll in the sheets with you." Bonegrinder chuckled, not passing up an opportunity to lightly tease his friend. "We must be able to stay together or at least know where the other is in case of danger." The Anagari plucked three of his scales. "Consume these and he will know where you are if he has to create portals to get us out of harm's way or if we are somehow separated."

They all took them, nodding. Leere gripped her shadow medallion, giving herself assurance. “When you’re ready.”

"He must warn you all. While creating portals is an easy task with the right magic, keeping them open is another. If he says we go through then, we go then. Not later. Are we all clear?" "Yes, Bonegrinder." Black replied.

“You need not ask twice.” Hades replied.

“I understand.” Leere said in turn.

"Stay together and do not wander off." Bonegrinder pricked Leere's and Hade's fingers and took a single hair from Black since he only had dead blood. Then he started working on the portal.

"This old snake will be very limited with his magic when we arrive. The last thing he wants is trouble. If we do not find what Leere seeks within a day, we are coming back."

Leere nodded in agreement. She wasn’t going to disagree with her friend. As the portal opened, she steeled herself for what would come ahead.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816111410233344/evils-bane-ch-2-obligation

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816676434313216/evils-bane-ch-4-dangerous-uncharted-territory

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Two: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

As Littlepaw was having her history lesson, the edge of the stone settlement an hour away saw Darkpelt grooming herself in the sun.

It was a little useless, she was free to admit. No matter how much she cleaned her already spotless pelt, she always carried the dusty scent of the Versant family. She thought it was a nice smell – had a faint adventurousness to it that stirred curiosity in the heart – but it wasn’t helpful for her job. Having absolutely no scent at all was infinitely better; the difficult part was that the plants that could smother that smell generally did not smell themselves, meaning that even she had a hard time finding them. So she had to resort to continuous grooming and occasionally jumping into a nearby stream.

That all said, it was a good way to spend time while she considered her next move, so on she went, tongue rasping over her shoulder fur as she plotted.

The boys were a great deal more useful than she had expected, and together they had collected some useful information about Redheart and her goals… but it didn’t feel like it was enough. They knew she didn’t like StarClan and that she wanted to leave the Territory. That was good and all, but they didn’t have any thorough details on what her exact plans were and how long they had before they needed to intercept.

Besides, there was more to this situation than had been discovered – things that no one was aware of except Redheart. There wasn’t much basis or proof for that thought. There didn’t need to be. Darkpelt’s intuition had not led her wrong before.

What they really needed to do, she thought, was get more information on Greyleaf’s involvement. Even Mistface had barely had a chance to talk to him after all this time. Perhaps that was deliberate on his brother’s part. But, then again, Darkpelt was aware of how close the two had been all of their lives leading up to this point. It didn’t make much sense for Greyleaf to be actively avoiding Mistface. Perhaps he knew something too, and-

“Oh, there you are.”

Darkpelt paused, tongue sticking out, and looked around uselessly, as if she couldn’t smell and hear the cat to her right and a bit behind her. She made a show of sniffing the air, then rotated her position until she was facing the cat.

“Here I am,” she said, as friendly as was appropriate. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Darkpelt,” the cat said. “I heard about how you handled Starkfeather being a prick to Littlepaw.”

“Ohhh, that.” Darkpelt lifted a paw and waved it dismissively. “Yes, that was me. Is she doing alright?”

She kept her tone casual and her face smiley, but mentally she winced. Coming to the apprentice’s defense and catching the attention of an entire crowd had not been wise. She had risked blowing her cover in the long run – now everyone there knew that there was a blind cat around who was ready to talk smack to a seer, of all people. She was a thought, however small, in many minds. If she wanted to sneak around, she had to contest with that.

It had been fun, of course, but still.

“She actually left a while ago with some of your friends to visit the Vultures,” said this cat that Darkpelt now figured was Littlepaw’s friend, Flyfang. “So, yeah! She’s doing fine.” There was a sneaky amusement in the molly’s voice. “She told me you offered to teach her to swear.”

“Lies!” Darkpelt dropped her jaw and moved her paw to rest over her chest. “I would never teach a kid to swear. I just extended an invitation to help her learn to stand up for herself, that’s all.” She winked. “Of course, whatever she overhears me say when I’m not talking to her, that’s her business to take or dismiss.”

Flyfang laughed. “I can’t say I’d be any better about that. What she must have heard me say the entire time we’ve been here…”

She paused, and her fur shifted rapidly, like she had shaken herself. “Well, to my point – I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for what you did.”

Darkpelt blinked, surprised.

“Littlepaw’s a good kid,” Flyfang went on. “She can be sensitive, though, especially on her own. If I’m not there to stand by her, she’s as meek as she was before we met. She’s great, but… she wouldn’t stand up for herself if she’d been alone.” Flyfang cleared her throat. “Yeah, basically, thank you. It meant a lot to her – your offer and you speaking up. So it means a lot to me, too.”

Darkpelt had no idea how to respond. She was generally considered unpleasant company; as a result, she did not recollect a time where someone was genuinely thankful and appreciative of her actions beyond her services in spy work. Usually she just antagonized others and laughed about it.

Well. First time for everything.

She felt her smile level out into something more real (and self-conscious) than her usual mocking grin. “She is a good kid. I haven’t talked with her much, of course, but I can hear her playing with those two other apprentices sometimes. I can’t imagine some punk thinking it would be a good idea to pick on her.” She fumbled a little in her mind, trying to think of what else to say, and she came up with, “I appreciate the thanks.”

Flyfang shifted, and in her own uncertainty Darkpelt couldn’t tell if she too was feeling awkward or not. “I was going to ask, actually – what are you doing here to begin with? You can’t really get into fights… well, not physical ones.”

“You underestimate my power,” Darkpelt said. Her grin returned. “Though I just came here to witness the chaos Redheart’s about to cause. It’s too good to miss out on.”

“It does get pretty chaotic here already.” Flyfang laughed again. “You’ve heard all the crazy things that happen. Fights, arguments, everything.”

Darkpelt waved her tail with a practiced merriment, seizing the opportunity to change the course of the conversation. “And from what I’ve heard myself, you’re the resident champion in those fights.”

She could feel Flyfang puffing out her chest. “I win a fight or two, sure.” There was a loaded pause, and then Flyfang continued, “Redheart told me I’m the perfect warrior to help protect whatever cats come with her.”

“Oh!” Darkpelt tilted her head, ears perked. “Then you’re leaving too?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Flyfang suddenly sounded quieter, and not because of some sweet gossip she wanted to share. “I have a couple cats I’d like to take with me, if I do. They’re not ready to go yet. Apprentices, you know.”

Darkpelt hummed sympathetically. “As far as I can tell with Redheart, I think she’d be willing to wait for them. She seems nice enough.” A thought came to her mind, and she took a gamble on it. “I’m surprised she doesn’t just become a leader and do whatever she wants once she’s there.”

“That’s true,” Flyfang said thoughtfully. “And she’d have nine lives to get it all done, right?”

“I don’t want nine lives.”

Darkpelt jumped and looked around wildly before settling on the source of Redheart’s voice. Somehow, they had let her sneak up on them.

“Why not?” Flyfang asked, completely oblivious to Darkpelt’s surprise, thank the stars.

Redheart didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was low and dark. “I’m not interested in the price for them.”

“Alright, I guess.” Flyfang sounded a bit bemused. “You sure do like to talk cryptically.”

“Things will be cleared up once we’re out of the Territory,” Redheart said simply. Before Flyfang could respond, she turned to Darkpelt. “I just came by to make sure you two are doing alright. I heard about Starkfeather’s behavior, and the argument.”

Great. Now Redheart was properly aware of her.

Darkpelt just nodded. “I’m sure he’ll back off from here. I gave him quite the lashing!”

“So I was told.” Redheart sounded like she was hiding some amusement herself. “But you are well? Nothing to see a healer over, no problems in camp?”

“Nope,” said Flyfang. “We’re all good. Or I am, at least.”

“I’m fine too,” Darkpelt said pleasantly. “I appreciate you checking in, at least, ma’am.”

Redheart didn’t respond. Presumably, she had nodded. Darkpelt heard her take a breath, but that faint shaky voice of Greyleaf’s called for her, cutting her off.

Paws carried the speaker closer. “Sorry, we’ve just got an argument. Snowshine wants you to come help resolve it.”

“Speartalon again?” Redheart said.

“No, Vireoberry and Peregrinefang.” Greyleaf sighed. “They’re not happy with the newcomers, as usual.”

Redheart made a noise with a mood that Darkpelt couldn’t quite decipher. “Show me the way.” To Darkpelt and Flyfang, she added, “Let me know if anything troubles you two.”

“Will do."

“Yeah, same.”

With that, pawsteps, and they faded away. In the distance, Darkpelt could faintly hear angry voices.

“It’s really been getting more contentious around here since Redheart’s been gathering cats,” Flyfang remarked. “I mean, there’s always some conflict going on, but I’m sure it’s not usually this bad.”

“Has anyone been annoyed with you and Littlepaw?” Darkpelt asked, more for information than curiosity. This could be useful to establish a timeline, if she needed it.

“No, we got here just before the masses.” Flyfang sounded a little irritated herself. “I get where they’re coming from, at least. The whole purpose of this place is to be rough-and-tumble and get into fights. Half of the cats that arrived are totally disinterested. And honestly? Kind of punks about it.”

Darkpelt nodded, letting Flyfang continue. She started going on about some specific cats that had been poor guests in the settlement, but Darkpelt only half paid attention. The rest of her was focused on this note of conflict between the potential deserters and the natives.

The main thing that this implied was that Redheart didn’t have a lot of time before tensions rose too high and cats were forced to leave. If Darkpelt was right, then the natural conclusion was this:

She and the boys needed to gather more information fast. They had a brief period left to discover everything they could before Redheart walked away from the Territory. And they were missing something, Darkpelt could feel it.

What did that mean, she wondered, "the price”?