#followed up by ‘we lost by a whisker’

[gretagerwigsmuse]

i still can’t get past “they’re eating the pets!”

[luveline]

If you’re doing requests could you do KBD during Halloween?

uncle Eddie makes sure Steve has the perfect costume. mom!reader

Steve smiles at himself in the mirror. Wren, in his arms, smiles back. 

“We look handsome,” he says, lifting her so her face is level with his own. “I look handsome. You look beautiful.” 

“Hi,” she says. 

Steve turns down to her. “Hi, baby.” 

Avery climbs onto a chair and waves at the mirror. Her fairy princess dress is shiny blue. “Hello.” 

Beth climbs onto the chair after her, wrapping her arms around Avery’s shoulders. “Hi!” she says, force of her greeting sending her pirates hat careening to the floor. 

“Are you ready?” you call from upstairs. “Everyone still has their shoes on?” 

“Dove doesn’t,” Avery says. 

“Tattle!” Dove cries, a picture of fury in her kitty cat onesie, her glued-on whiskers twitching fiercely.

“Well, you don’t.” 

“My toes are warm,” Dove whines, thrusting herself at Steve’s legs. “Daddy, she’s telling on me.” 

“I know, and now you’re telling on her. You’re my little band of tattle-tales, I don’t love it.” Steve smooths along Wren’s face with his finger and takes in a breath big enough to fill his lungs. “Can you let Beth put your shoes back on?” 

“No.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

You fit Dove into her shoes and get the kids to the car. Four car seats is tough work but nothing you can’t handle, and you’re still in chipper spirits when you arrive at the Munson house. It’s decked out in cobwebs and great big spiders made of tinsel and bendy framing, carved pumpkins leading up the steps with fleshy teeth and candles unburned in their maws. Wren gives a comical gasp when she sees it all, a tad scared but quickly soothed when you pretend to be scared too. 

Beth races up the steps first to knock. 

The door opens a slither. 

“Who goes there?” a dark voice asks. 

“Uncle Eddie, it’s me!” Beth says quickly. Her excitement again sends her hat to the stone patio beneath her cons, but she doesn’t notice it, vying to squeeze through the door and see her favourite uncle. 

“I don’t know any Me’s. You’ll have to come back another day, I’m waiting for my very favourite troupe of little girls.” 

“It’s BETH!” Beth shrieks, “Come on!”

“Bethany?” Eddie pushes the door open, unsurprised when Beth throws herself full force into his legs. “Why, you look dastardly. How very scary of you! You have a parrot!” 

The fake parrot glued to Beth’s shoulder waggles. 

“His name is Sherbet.” 

“Wow.” Eddie gives her a hug, his eyes blowing wide over her shoulder. “Oh, wow! Ave, you’re a princess with wings! And Dove, meow.” He grins at Steve. “And your dad is what, Frankenstein’s monster? A zombie?”

“Dad doesn’t have a costume,” Beth says happily. 

“Are you sure?” 

Steve encourages Dove over the threshold, four wrapped plates of sandwiches and finger foods balanced in the other hand. “That’s not funny. What are you supposed to be, anyways?” 

“I’m a vampire, duh.” Eddie slips a pair of fake fangs into his teeth. “I vant to suck your blood!” 

“Ew, Uncle Eddie,” you say. 

“Don’t think you’ve escaped me, second favourite Harrington,” Eddie says, frowning as you slip around him. “You owe me a hug.” 

“Creep,” Steve says. 

“With pride.” Eddie takes the plates from his arms and somehow, the Harrington troupe makes it safely indoors, no further costume parts fallen nor lost. 

There are more people here than Steve expected, Eddie’s friends, their kids, even Eddie’s elusive boyfriend sits out in the open. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Dove asks him with a grin. 

He turns his head to show a painted bite mark on his neck. “Victim.” 

“He’s a dead guy,” Eddie tells her, helping her where she’s struggling to sit in one of the barstools. “Alright, babe, dad said last year we partied too hard, so here are the ground rules. No pixie sticks, no soda, and no climbing on the kitchen counters. If you follow these rules, I am being allowed to give you a Hershey bar the size of your dad’s massive head. Deal?” 

“How big?” Dove questions suspiciously. 

Eddie goes to the cabinet. Inside, there’s more candy bars than one person should ever have purchased in one go. He pulls out a huge one and holds it nexts to Steve’s head, laughing when Steve bats it away. “Huge.” 

“Dad, dad, can I go play with Milly and Joe?” Avery asks. 

Steve was hoping she would. “Sure, baby. Good manners, okay?” 

Avery whizzes off to find Gareth’s kids. Beth stays by Steve’s side and he forces himself to believe that it’s him she wants to be with, not Eddie. “You don’t wanna go play?” Steve asks her. 

“Not yet.” 

You appear again where you’d been missing with Robin in tow. Steve grins at the sight of her, though he’d spoken to her on the phone last night, and seen her the day before at home. “Buckley!” 

She’s wearing a black dress with a belt and her hair is teased into a short cloud. “You aren’t wearing your costume?” 

Steve moves Beth around unthinkingly. “Yeah, it still smelled like vomit. Wren had too much yoghurt. Rob, you really look like Madonna. Your makeup is–”

“It’s trippy, right?” Eddie asks. 

“Mora did it. It’s like, face sculpting.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“I like it,” you say, Wren on your hip giving an agreeable gurgle. “I like your real face more, but this is cool.”

“And where’s your costume?” Eddie asks. 

You frown down at your nice dress. “You can’t tell?” 

Eddie falls for the trip in your voice and attempts to backtrack, only realising that you’re kidding when Steve laughs. 

“The baby got sick on both of us,” you say, turning Wren so everyone in the kitchen can see her face. “But that’s okay. She’s so cute, she’s forgiven. Aren’t you, gorgeous? You didn’t mean to eat all that yoghurt, daddy just kept feeding you.” 

Steve holds his hands up in surrender. “I feed her every day, I know how much yoghurt she can handle.” 

“Clearly not,” you croon, shooting him a loving smile. “You did save us from those awful costumes, though.” 

“Oh, worry not,” Eddie says, “I figured something like this would happen, and I’ve prepared.” 

Awesome, Steve thinks, groaning as Eddie takes his wrist into his hand and begins to pull on him. Knowing Eddie, Steve’s end up dressed as a demon with giant horns, or a fairy. 

The reality is much, much worse. 

“Hey, look at that! It still fits!” Robin laughs. 

Steve looks down at his little sailor’s uniform and sighs. “Barely,” he says. 

“Say the slogan!” you demand. 

If it were anyone else, Steve would refuse, but you’re sitting at the breakfast bar with Wren tucked under your chin, so he takes a deep breath and straightens his white hat. “Ahoy ladies,” he sighs. “Would you like to… uh, set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain, I’m…” —his voice drags reluctantly— “I’m Steve Harrington.”

[claireswhisperings]

the love cats

paige bueckers x girlfriend!reader

synopsis: you and paige find a stray kitten on the way to your guys’ apartment

warnings: none!

w/c: 627

“leave it.”

“no.”

“paige….leave. it.”

the "it" in question is a cat that has approached where you and your girlfriend are standing, no doubt eagerly waiting to be taken into a home.

it's big eyes follow paige's movement as she crouches down to whisper a few "pspspsps" at the curious kitten.

"baby i don't think it working," you laugh, looking at the kitten that seems more interested in what its paws look like.

paige glares up at you from her position on the ground, losing her balance a bit as she leans into your legs. your hand drifts down to her soft blonde hair, playing with a strand as she continues her efforts at getting the cat to approach you both.

the cat has slowly started walking towards the pair of you, finally ending up a few paces in front of paige. you slowly move to sit on your heels, leaning on paige for balance.

paige's voice is soft when she speaks again. "hey, are you lost?" the kitten takes a cautious step forwards, seemingly drawn in by her sweet voice.

you hold out your hand towards the cat, trying to get it to sniff you before it comes closer. the cat moves its head slowly towards your stretched palm, rubbing against it softly.

"that's so not fair. i get a turn petting it next," you roll your eyes at paige's voice directly in your ear, watching the kitten lay down and stretch out before you both.

you stroke its belly cautiously, while paige teases the kitten by playing with its paws. leaning on your shoulder, you feel her lips graze the skin by your ears as she whispers "you know…the building allows cats..."

that's how you and paige end up with a kitten, now known to be a boy, on the subway ride to your shared apartment. paige has wrapped the cat in the sleeve of her sweater, stroking behind his ears to comfort him.

the walk to your building is full of laughter at picking a name for the little guy, both of you refusing to agree on what to name him.

"paige, im sorry but 'whiskers' is a terrible name for a cat. i think a four year old would be make creative," you tease your girlfriend, slipping your hand into hers.

"mhmm, that's such a great point." she rolls her eyes with sarcasm. "i still stand by the idea that 'michael' is worse."

"no no but you don't get the vision, okay?" you're both standing at the front door of the apartment, and paige is smiling as you fumble with your keys in concentration.

"michael cera is such a good name for this little baby, look at him!"

the door opens, and you and paige take off your jackets and shoes, paige putting the kitten on the ground so he can explore his new home. he quickly finds an old zip tie that seems to have been left on the ground, and occupies himself by accidentally kicking it around in excitement.

you're laughing at his antics, before feeling paige's arms circling your waist to pull you closer to her. her chin rests on your shoulder, lips pressing kisses on your cheek and jawline. "i'll agree to the name michael, only if that means i get to pick the name of the next pet. deal?"

turning back to face your girlfriend, her face slightly pink with the excitement of having a kitten, you smile at her and lean in to kiss her.

"you absolutely have yourself a deal. but only because there was no way we were letting him live the rest of his life with the name whiskers," you press a kiss to her nose, laughing when she rubs it off in mock anger.

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

Requesting a fluffy seb fic where we just doodle on his skin with a sharpie. Seb would definitely like the feeling of that and melts in an instant!

Also love your fics 🤌💕 You don't have to write my request if you don't want to!

stains of love

☆ lord have mercy i was extremely nervous when i was writing this because i admire your writing :sob:

•*¨*•.¸¸♪✧•*¨*•.¸¸

Recently, you had taken a liking to drawing.

If you were stuck in Hadal Blacksite, you might as well make the most of it.

As of right now, you were drawing Sebastian.

His hair was easy to draw, reminiscent of a typical 2000's anime protagonist. It was almost uncanny, but at least it looked good on him.

Well, kind of, but that was a discussion for another day.

Sebastian wouldn't mind if you gave him a little tiara, right?

You quickly looked around the room, then back to your forsaken paper.

It felt like this was a dirty secret, as if this small paper alone could cause a worldwide war.

You set the pencil down, picking up the sharpie.

Time for line art.

The more you concentrated on the paper, the more you got lost in it.

The marker glided across the paper, leaving a faint alcohol scent that you thought was nice.

It was refreshing, in a way. Even if you were used to the constant horrific smell of fish and salt.

While you finished up the drawing, Sebastian had somehow slipped right behind you without you noticing.

He peered over your shoulder to see him. With a stupid tiara.

Something clicked in your head, and you drew small cat ears and whiskers on his head.

He flicked his lure down, and the sudden light disturbed you.

All you could do was freeze up. "Hi... Sebastian...!"

His right hand wrapped around your head easily, and he applied some pressure.

"Turn around, and hand me that paper."

"Don't rip it..." You swat his hand away, shamefully picking up the paper.

With a groan, you turned around to face him, sort of.

You held up the paper, and he snatched it from your grip.

For a brief few seconds, his eyes glossed over the idiotic drawing you made of him.

You were expecting a torrent of insults, but that didn't come.

"Can you er... Do it on my tail?"

"What..."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek, "draw on my tail. Yes or no."

"I... Okay...? Go to your corner." He obliged, slithering to his usual corner while you picked up the marker and followed him.

While you twirled the sharpie around in your fingers, he undid the straps that were on his tail, letting them fall to the floor with a satisfying thud.

"Alright. Go on." He held his hands together, placing them neatly near the hem of his blouse.

You opened the marker, placing the cap on the end. Then, you kneeled down, letting the marker trace all sorts of shapes along his tail.

"Ah... That feels nice." His voice was slightly raspy, and he could feel himself turning into jelly beneath your touch and marker.

Sebastian allowed himself to be turned into your canvas, not just because he enjoyed the feeling, but because he wanted you to be happy.

That's contradicting, but he didn't care.

Suddenly, you stood up. "I wanna draw on your arm now." You innocently smiled up at him, and he just couldn't say no to that cute little face.

Sebastian held out his third arm, in which you looked at the clean gauze. "You finally changed the bandages, huh?"

"Kinda had to." You shrugged it off, taking a seat on his tail.

You took his arm into your hand, beginning to draw on his skin once more.

You happily hummed while drawing the minutes away.

Sebastian intently watched, absolutely melting on the inside.

“Okay, I’ve run out of room!” You looked up at him with a toothy grin, and he lifted his third arm up as best as he could.

Plenty of cats, hearts, and stars were scattered across where skin was exposed. “These actually aren’t horrible.”

“Tha—Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked away from his arm to look back at you, “oh, nothing at all.” He grinned widely, it would be unsettling if the atmosphere wasn’t so comfortable right now.

[netherfeildren]

Meet Me in the New Year

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary:  “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love. 

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

-OR-

The New Year's Eve AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; New Year's Eve AU; Devoted Joel Miller; Established Relationship; Ringing in the New Year with your baby daddy like God intended; More fucking in your childhood home shenanigans; Pregnancy sex; Needy behavior; Older man/Younger woman; Daddy kink; Unprotected PIV; Creampie; Meet me in St. Louis is the best Christmas movie ever; Breeding Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Size Difference; How does one tag fingering?; Fluff and Smut; Praise Kink; PWP

A/N: One last post for 2023, and of course, I had to do a few of my favorite things; daddy Joel, creampies and pregnancy sex, yeehaw. Here's to a new year of more of the same, but WORSE and nastier.

I should be put in prison next year probably like omg but whatever. Have fun, I love you all lots!

This is a sort of follow up to Evermore

Word Count: 2.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

MEET ME IN THE NEW YEAR

“Joel, what time is it?”

He looks down at you, tender look in his eye, dragging that big hand of his through your hair. Tresses slightly sleep damp and warm at the roots and gradually growing cooler towards the ends. Your parent’s living room is dark, only the warm shine of the Christmas tree coming from the front hall peering in around the corner into the comfortable, warm den. Meet me in St. Louis plays on mute on the flatscreen, Judy Garland rushing over to give John Truett a piece of her mind on Tootie’s behalf. “Look who it is. Thought I’d lost you for the night.” 

You groan, stretching your legs as far as the couch allows, knees popping hollowly, little toes splaying wide within the sweaty confines of the fuzzy Christmas socks he’d put in your stocking and which you’d been sporting for the past six days. You yawn wide, nose scrunching up at him and turning to nuzzle your face into his lap where you’ve been on and off dozing for the evening. Dinner had been so, so good, browned butter steak and baked potatoes and heirloom tomato, mozzarella salad, and you were so full and so warm and so content beyond imagining. “No… I’m awake,” you mumble against his thigh. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight, I reckon.”

You turn to look up at him, giving him a scrunchy faced smile, “Didn’t miss it, ha. Knew it.”

“Oh, did ya?” His palm moves over the bowl of your skull to cup and squeeze the tender nape of your neck, big fingers gently kneading the fine, tight muscles there. “Gonna ring in the New Year with me, sweet girl?” Mhmm, you moan, nuzzling further against his sweats and the thick heaviness of his half hard cock. 

“You’re hard, daddy,” you whisper up at him while his fingertips slip beneath the neck of your pullover, running down the notches of your spine to reach your waist. He pauses there, his hand curving over the growing swell of your bump. 

He groans, head dropping onto the back of the sofa, and brings his other hand up to rub across his whiskered mouth. “Don’t fucking start.” You know it makes him crazy when you call him that, but you’d told him that you now have the excuse that he is actually going to be a daddy again, and so it’s only nothing but the truth. 

You press your fingertips to your mouth, hiding away your laughing smile. Your first Christmas as a little family of three. Sarah was away with her mother this year since she’d gotten Christmas with the two of you last year, and so the two of you’d decided to come to your parents house again, like you’d done for Thanksgiving last year. You’d been here for a week now, and Joel was starting to lose patience. The lack of alone time was needling as evidenced by the now fully hard and slightly pulsing erection digging into your cheek. 

He rolls his head to peer down at you, mock, chastising frown as he drags his hand over the small swell and up to your naked breast, squeezing gently. “We’ve been here too fuckin’ long.” And you moan, hiding your face against his thigh as he pinches your nipple, rolling it softly between his fingertips, thumb dragging around the sensitive puffiness of your areola. Your whole body had been, for the past several weeks, a coiled tight ball of nerves, everything swollen, everything wet, everything needing him. Like your skin knew, knew he’d been the one to do this to you, and wanted it more, wanted it again. 

You squeeze your thighs together, legs shifting and sliding against each other to relieve the knot of want he’s spin, spin, spinning with his fingers plucking at your breast. He switches to the other one, hand sliding beneath the heavy weight to lift it into his palm and squeeze. You turn to look up at him now, eyes wide when you can’t control the sound of the moan he forces out of you, mouth falling open, panting. Your breasts, going all tight and hot, needing his sucking mouth. “Joel–”

“What?” He teases, pulling his hand from beneath your sweatshirt and shifting to sit you up and press you back the opposite way on the couch, crawling over you to settle between your thighs he pushes open for himself, slightly to the side and sure to not crush you. “If your father catches us,” he whispers with wet lips moving across your throat, that same hand sneaking its way back under your sweatshirt, tongue against your pulse, “he can’t be mad, sweetheart. Already fucked you full’a my baby. Damage s’already done,” he snickers, mouth latching at your carotid, pulling hard enough you know he’s purposely trying to leave a mark. 

“You’re so bad,” you moan, arching up into his hand on your breast, his hot, sucking mouth. You want it on your cunt, you want that thick cock he’s rubbing against you, inside. He’s right, you’ve been at your parents house too long, too far into your first trimester to pretend at civility. You need your husband. 

“Not,” he huffs, damp against your collarbone. “Gonna give it to you so good, baby.” He wedges one hand behind your neck, holding you in place, while the one fondling your breast moves down between your legs, center gusset soaked slick already, and you flush at the flutter of muscles wrapped around his jaw when he finds you pantiless beneath your soft sleep shorts. And so what? Pregnancy had made you sensitive and achy. You need to be free, you tell him with an airy laugh. 

He clicks his tongue down at you, fingers slipping beneath the soft cotton to pet at the soaking wet tuft of curls with the back of his knuckles. “Pretty cunt’s all wet and hungry for me, isn’t it, baby?” And he’s all teasing grins and sparkly, self satisfied eyes as he searches gently for your clit, parting your folds to pet there slow and steady. 

Uh huh, you moan, hitching your foot up higher on his back, little heel digging into the padding of muscles over his ribs to find purchase. You let your other leg slip off the couch with a dull thud, socked foot rolling up on your tip toes so that you can cant and rock your hips against his too light touch on your cunt. 

“More, daddy, please,” you provoke, all breathless sighs as you roll your head in the cup of his palm, the heat of him seeping through the mantle of your messy hair, against your scalp. You feel him flex his fingers, tugging lightly at the sweaty roots, and he finally gives you more. Thumb sliding down to your weepy entrance, pressing there lightly, petting and circling, moving back up to press against your clit at the same time that he starts to feed you two fingers at once. 

You groan at him, scrunching your nose, but he just clicks his tongue, tutting you into submission and silence. “Take it,” he says gentle and low. You scratch at his shoulders, slipping your fingertips under his ratty t-shirt to get at his skin, using your bracing foot to rock your hips against his palm, rough callused palm catching a little painfully at your clit. You’re going to come so fucking fast like this. 

And fingers hooked forward inside of you, he jostles his hand a little, rattles your cunt so that all your wet rings loud in your parents dead silent house. “Hear how sloppy this cunt is for me?” He’s grinding his cock against your inner thigh, fat, blunt tip thrusting against the crease in your thigh over and over and you want it inside of you. You don’t care if you get caught, if someone comes down stairs. You want to soak his hand and then soak his cock and then have him carry you to bed and do it all over again. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Gonna come.” Your lashes flutter shut as he lowers his head to bite your tit, hard and mean, over your sweatshirt, fingers fucking fast and loud, and your cunt goes tight, tight like a knot and then wet and loose and even sloppier. You’re so wet for him. Always. 

Fucking Christ, he groans against your breast, sucks harder, darkening the grey cotton so that the hard tip of your nipple is left molded and obvious beneath the soaked fabric. “That’s it. Come just like that, sweet girl. You’re so fucking wet.” And he doesn't’ gentle his fingers, pressing in a little harder, palm grinding against your clit and shaking his fingers up and down inside of you so that he’s jostling another tiny, almost painful, orgasm out of you. The wet sound of your pussy is so loud and so obvious, if someone were to come down the stairs, the sound of it would be unmistakable. “Gonna soak your mother’s nice couch, and then what’ll she think of you? Everyone’s gonna know exactly what you let me do to you down here.”

You’re pretty sure that’s what gets you over the edge that second time. The thought of everyone knowing.

He nuzzles at your breast, your neck, sucking and kissing, fingers still stretching your pussy, while he makes his way up your throat, mouth against the tip of your chin, and then finally to your mouth. Kiss, slow at first, all tongue and hunger, and then soft little pecks. The corner of your mouth, the bow of your top lip, the other corner. Open, he orders, and licks behind your teeth. Bossy man. You love him.

He pets gently at your G-spot, slow and careful because he knows it’ll be too much soon, letting your slick spill out and gather in his palm, drip down his wrist. “Pretty girl,” he says real quiet, “Keeping my baby so nice and warm in this little cunt. Aren’t you?” You whine up at him, bringing your foot up off the floor, trying to toe his arm away. He clicks his tongue at you again, but finally pulls his fingers from you, wet, sucking sound as he leaves your cunt. He brings his hand up to his mouth, fingers slick sticky and sweet, shiny in the dim light and licks himself clean. You watch him as he teases you, all eyes and laughter, wrapping your fingers around his too thick, hairy wrist, not meeting around it, and holding him there as he eats your wet out of his own palm. When he’s done, his mouth is shiny and glossed in you and he presses another kiss to your lips, forces your jaw open, hinged wide and eats you like you know he wants to eat your cunt instead. Later, he says, like he can read your mind because you’re pretty sure he actually can.

When he pushes the loose waist of his sweatpants down over his erection, no underwear either, you roll your eyes at him, and tell him old men aren’t supposed to be this slutty. But at the sight of that too thick cock nestled in his neatly trimmed bed of hair, the wide root leading up to the happy trailed covered belly, you concede that easy access is highly to your benefit. And when he wedges that said thick cock inside of you by way of an answer to your brattiness, fat head stretching your well used, wet hole, he slides in way too easy because you want him way too much. 

You moan open mouthed for him, and he presses your sweatshirt up over your bump, your swollen breasts, and finally gets his hot mouth on your bare nipples, teeth grazing lightly, pushing you into a higher, hotter level of desperation. You rock your hips up to meet his thrusts, close your eyes and listen to the slick sound of his cock fucking your cunt. “Lemme see this sweet belly,” he murmurs, cupping the small swell. The changes he’d incited in your body had made him a specific flavor of hungry you were going to miss when this was all over. “You’re so fucking beautiful, carrying my baby. You know that?”

And you’re all soft sighs and whimpers and his name as nothing but a moan, hitching your knees as high as you can to open yourself further to him. “Fuck, you’re gunna come again. Gettin’ tight as a fist,” he grits, hips swinging back and then forward, pelvis grinding so that he’s pressing on your clit and then pressing you into another full blown orgasm. It throbs through you, an almost unbearable heat stirring in your pelvis, walls of your cunt pulsing and milking the too thick, sometimes too big, weight of his cock inside you. It always hurts just a little and you always like it too much.

He pulls out suddenly, tiny flutters still moving through your muscles and sits back on his knees, turning you on your side and shoving your thigh up, pulling the now ruined shorts aside to line up and shove back inside. He braces his foot on the floor, one hand on the back of the couch, the other holding your thigh up and open for himself and drills down into your spasming cunt, mid orgasm, and there are tears in your eyes and you gnaw and slobber on the edge of your mother’s couch as your husband fucks you into one last orgasm. The previous one not even fully over. “Told you you’d fuckin’ take it,” he growls, balls slapping against the curve of your ass, temples shiny with sweat, throat all red and splotchy. “Fuckin’ shame I can’t knock you up again here in your parents house like I wanted to last time. We’re gonna have to try harder next time.”

“Told you, you’re so bad.” And you can barely speak as he starts to pump you full of his load, hot and thick so that you can feel it being forced out of your cunt while he continues to shove inside. 

When he’s finished, cleaned you up and tucked you back into his side, both of you choosing to ignore the wet spot on the couch you’d left and agreed to plead the fifth tomorrow if anyone asks, the movie is just finishing up. Judy and her beau are finally at the World Fair together. The clock below the TV rings midnight and Joel presses a soft kiss at the tender spot behind your ear. “We’re havin’ a baby this year,” voice boyish and shy and full of excitement and love. 

You peer up at him, cheek smushed against the ball of his shoulder. “We are.”

“Ready?”

You nod, slow, pulling his head down for another kiss. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[marvelfanfics1]

I know Halloween already passed but imagine looking for Halloween costumes with CG Rafe and Sofia. I feel like little!reader would pick a super cute costume(I imagine she goes as a bunny, and suggests a magician and assistance for Rafe and Sofia so they match) and rafe begrudgingly doing it for little!reader and Sofia lighting hitting him in the chest when he makes a face.

(Sorry if this is incoherent, my ears are stilling ringing from dance class😬)

Your fingers skim through the different costume options of the store, not having found the right one yet. Rafe and Sofia are following right behind you, hand in hand while keeping an eye on you so you won't get lost like the last time you guys went to the mall.

Rafe decided to throw a Halloween party at his house this year, with costumes, decoration, and all that. So you just have to wear the perfect outfit for that occasion.

Frustration starts to creep up as you're still searching until your eyes catch the sight of a white full body bunny onesie, quickly grabbing it off the hanger and holding it up for your caregivers to see. "This one!"

Sofia smiles softly, checking if it's your size and nods. "Good choice, sweetie. You'll be the cutest bunny at the party."

Rafe nods as well, looking down at his watch. "A'ight, we gotta go now...before someone gets cranky when she doesn't get her nap." He mutters the last part to Sofia.

"But Rafey! We gotta find you both costumes to match mine!" You pout at him.

"I'll stick to my ghostface mask." He responds quickly, sighing when your frown deepens, trying to find a reasonable excuse. "And- look, they sadly don't have any more matching ones in my size."

Sofia's heart breaks at the disappointment on your face as you sadly nod your head. "What Rafe's trying to say is we gotta see if we can order something online instead." She says, ignoring Rafe sending her a look.

The way your face instantly lights up has him groaning quietly. "Right. That's exactly what I meant."

And that's how Rafe finds himself standing in front of a mirror, adjusting the bow tie of his magician attire, a scowl on his face.

"You better wipe that look off your face when she comes out of the bathroom." Sofia warns him, pulling up the black tights up her legs, in the process of getting in her own costume as Rafe's assistant.

"This is ridiculous, I'm never gonna hear the end of this from Topper and Kelce." He mutters, grabbing the hat and putting it on his head.

"Just remember who you're doing this for." She responds, going to stand in front of him, fumbling a little with his collar with a small smirk on her face. "You know she loves Halloween 'cause she can dress up as whatever she wants without people giving her weird looks."

Rafe sighs before eyeing her up and down, a smirk forming on his face. "I gotta say, you look hot in that. Can't wait to rip this off you later." He says, reaching up to grab her tie, pulling her into a kiss.

Just as their make out session could escalate, the sound of the bathroom door opening has them pulling away from each to look at you.

You stand there with a big smile on your face, dressed in your bunny onesie and the hood already on your head, a little messily drawn whiskers and button nose painted on your face.

Rafe, for the first time since putting on his costume, smiles at the sight of you so happy and excited for the coming evening. "There's our beautiful bunny. Better be good tonight or I'll have to make you disappear." He teases, waving the plastic wand before your face.

Sofia hits his chest at the comment but you just giggle, rushing over to hug them both and they quickly return your hug, each of them kissing your cheeks at the same time.

Taglist

For Everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 85)

Tera was riding on top of N's head, nibbling on the brim of his hat as Hal led both N and Uzi through the bunker towards his apartment, it had actually been a minute since they'd spent considerable time here, preferring to settle into the nest instead of heading to their apartment. Only stopping in for oil or a tool that Uzi left behind.

As they walked, Uzi lost in thought as per usual, and only following N out of instinct, brushed her hand across where her side panel was, the area had begun to feel uncomfortable and tingly, but nothing so far had changed.

She sighed, she wanted this to be over with already. She wanted her body to behave normally again, she wanted to be able to walk without shifting her weight or fly without feeling like she’d just run an entire marathon. But it wasn’t just that, she wanted to meet the little tyke that was pinging around on the inside of her core, it was a weird feeling to be so in love with someone you hadn’t even met yet, but even now, she could feel it, stirring her to smile gently while placing a hand over her core.

The body growing inside her had yet to move at all, which she could only assume was due to the fact the little AI was still developing in her core, what would happen when it was done was beyond anyone's guess, weather it would transfer down into the body, or weather those were going to be separate processes entirely. She was still nervous, but with all the stress lately it had been easy to push out the fact that this baby was going to have to come out of her, one way or another.

“We’re here! Come in! Come in!” Hal opened the door to his apartment, leading them inside, many photos of Hal and his wife lined the walls, she was a redhead, with long braided hair and sparkling white eyelights, handmade pottery lined the shelves and were used as decoration everywhere, soft humming and the sound of a motor filled the air. Hal called out; “Reida dear! we have guests!”

The humming stopped, as did the soft hum of the motor, and a soft, almost ethereal voice wafted back; “Coming!”

Reida came from an adjoining room, clay staining her hands and her hair. A beaming maternal smile on her face as she clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh! The Doorman Family! I almost expected you all not to show, I know you have to be busy.” She gave her husband a kiss on his whiskered cheek, pulling him down by the sleeve… N hadn’t realized how short she was in comparison.

She went up to N first, her gaze was almost piercing, like she was looking into his very soul. And then she smiled wide. “And you must be N, Hal has told me quite a bit about you dear. You look so handsome! Come er’” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a gigantic hug, she smelled like the earth, or the forest floor.

N stiffened in surprise, not used to anyone but Uzi hugging him at all, but he relaxed after a second tentatively hugging in reciprocation, her grip surprisingly strong. Comforting, in some strange way.

Tera peeked down at the new woman from his head, and Reida pulled back as her smile grew to three times it’s size. “Oh! This is your daughter! Look at her! She’s so lively!” N reached up to take Tera off his head, the toddler giving her normal greeting to strangers; a questioning, slightly aggressive glare…

“Oh dear-” She chuckled, a soft smile on her face. “-Looks just like Nori, that woman had the meanest look to her when she wanted.” Tera continued to glare for a moment, taking a few tentative sniffs before her face broke into a happy smile, giggling.

“She’s so cute! That laugh is so precious! May I-?” She asked, hand hovering slightly over Tera, asking for permission to hold her. N glanced at Uzi, who gave a soft nod before he slowly sat her in the woman’s arms. Tera cocked her head as they locked eyes, before showing off her fangs in a smile.

“OOooh! Look at those! You get those from your dad don’t you? Don’t you? Aww, yes you do!” Immediately, her voice went into baby talk, babbling nonsense as Tera made noises of her own, giggling at the weirdness of the lady holding her. Hal chuckled.

“Don’t get too distracted dear. You’ve got someone left to greet.” Hal hummed, his voice several octaves softer then it ever was at work. Reida suddenly froze, a blush on her face.

“Oh Yes! I’m so sorry! I see a baby and lose my mind!” She handed Tera back hesitantly before turning to Uzi, now looking slightly nervous, she was perfectly fine just watching them interact…

“Your Nori’s daughter… ah! look how pretty you are! You got your moms looks, that’s for sure!” Uzi blushed, compliments still being awkward to take when it wasn’t N. She was even more put off when she was crushed in a hug, not sure what to do.

“Oh uh… Thank you?” She replied, unsure and unsteady, the older woman’s eyelights fell to her core, something soft filling her face as she released the smaller worker.

“And another on the way… And you’re working your tuckus off to save us all! On your feet all day! Come darling, lets get you sat down, you ain’t working under my roof!” And suddenly Reida was leading her to the couch with a hand on her back, Uzi looking back at N with an alarmed and confused look when she was all but forced onto the couch. And Then she hurried away towards the kitchen, closer to where the men were standing.

Hal looked over at N “Aye, that’s my Reida… She’ll make ya take yer shoes off and before ya know it, you’re waking up the next morning pampered like royalty.” He laughed, his gaze falling down to Tera, now riled up and wanting to play.

“I wanted ta ask, Uzi is… looking different now. Is everything alright with her?” He asked quietly, and N gulped, he knew that people would start noticing soon. He just… didn’t know how to explain it without sounding completely deranged.

“She’s fine. It’s… Dissasembly Drone pregnancies work differently?” Eugh, that sounded unconvincing at best and like lies at worst. Why was he so bad at this…

Hal raised an eyebrow, asking him to elaborate. N didn't want to freak him out, but he didn't want to lie either…

“She's… building the body inside of her, we're both partially organic… you've seen the wings and tail. That's why she's… “looking different”.

Hal blinked.

“Like-Like a human?”

N nodded.

“Ow.” Was all Hal had to say, before his wife came sailing into their direction.

“What did you just say. It's a organic pregnancy?” She asked, eyelights blown out wide as she took a glance over at Uzi.

Yeah, she'd noticed, she just didn't want to be rude! She'd never think it was because of… that.

“Poor thing! It's a wonder she hasn't hurt herself!” But Reida shook it off quickly, heading over to the couch with a small cup of chilled oil in her hand.

“She's been wanting to meet Ya'll for awhile…’specially you. Kinda got on my ass after she heard you all on stage, and the announcement.

“Ugh… that was an accident. We didn't want everyone to know…”

Hal gave a bark of laughter and slapped his back.

“I figured! She don't seem like a sharing type…” Hal gestured over to Uzi, who was now being doted on by the older woman like a mother would dote on her daughter.

“Though, now that it's not so crazy…”

Hal gave a smirk.

“How soft is she really with ya? Ya always came to work with this goofy satisfied look on yer face.”

“Hal!” N blushed heavily. Not expecting the question and getting flustered put of his mind. Hal laughed again.

“Haha! Don't answer that! I'm just teasin’ but ya really weren't subtle about it. Everybody could tell the days ya got lucky.” Hal snickered, and N grumbled, before a far worse thought entered his mind.

“E-even Khan?”

“Especially Khan.”

N gulped.

Next ->

[crackrodent]

Check out the rest of my Flufftober library!

Poor Baxter

“Niff how fucking many bags of candy corn do you need? Poor Baxter can barely push the cart!” Husk huffed while absentmindedly rubbing the spot on his arm where Alastor’s mic had struck him for attempting to get out of driving Niffty on her seasonal sugar shopping spree.

Charlie should have picked anyone else to pick up the snacks and decorations for the holiday party. Niffty was going to really remind everyone that they are in hell at this rate.

“All of them!” Niffty said pulling another bag of the multicolored junk out of an unsuspecting hellhound’s basket and tossing it into her cart.

Baxter’s sinister little laugh forced its way into Husk’s ears leading to the former overlord wishing he could punt the tiny man. Husk was way too sober to be in Hellmart at six in the morning.

Baxter’s voice almost made Husk’s brain implode as he encouraged this bullshit, “Niffty, I think I saw some imps back in the freezer aisle, they must have had at least a dozen bags of candied corn, perhaps we could claim their share as well?”

Niffty looked like she had skipped Halloween and Thanksgiving and went straight to Christmas as she bolted out of Husk’s view dragging the cart behind her.

“Baxter! You fucking lost her now!” Husk hissed as he attempted to follow her.

“Nonsense Husk. She is in aisle 2 looking for imps that don’t exist.” Baxter said calmly, looking at his phone while walking opposite of Niffty.

Husk switched directions and followed the other short monster, “What? Why would you lie about that?”

“I needed to ask your advice on something,” Baxter said stopping in front of some big box of overpriced seasonal kid’s toy animals, “Do you think Niffty would prefer the stuffed spider or the stuffed scorpion?”

“Excuse me?” Husk asked, suddenly wishing he was more sober because he had to have caught a secondhand high when he hugged Angel goodbye as they left.

“The woman displays the most familial behavior to you and that radio demon. Since I do not plan to have my voice added to his broadcast, I require your assistance.” Baxter explained.

“Why the hell do you need my opinion? You just sent Niffty off to aisle 2 tracking down imaginary imps! You could’ve asked her yourself!”

Baxter rolled his eyes, “That would ruin the point of the surprise you dunce.”

“And you are trying to surprise her with children’s toys?” Husk asked, the annoyance flowing from his voice in contrast to its usual drip.

The fishy little man was definitely showing his form as he looked down checking the seams on the spider. "I wanted to ask her to accompany me during Charlie’s party. She doesn't seem like the kind to like flowers. I have observed her with bugs and other creepy crawlies however and she seems fixated on them."

Husk stopped and judged the pathetic scientist. Poor dude was going to get himself stabbed.

"The scorpion."

"You are sure Husk?” Baxter suddenly seemed hesitant to accept the help he was pleading for, “I wish they just had a roach. I know she likes those." Baxter said sorting through the bin.

"Women like her, like venom. And ya know scorpions got that stinger thing. Little shits like to stab people. Just like Niffty." Husk paused after his warning, "Trust me."

He was back to feeling too sober. Advising an adult about what teddy bug to buy for another adult added to the headache sobriety was bringing on.

Baxter quickly shoved the scorpion into his pocket as Niffty came back, the cart now full of candy corn décor as well as her 40 pounds of actual candy corn. Husk was going to have to take charge and grab the actual stuff from Charlie’s list.

Husk’s arms were on the verge of falling off by the time all the candy, drinks, food, and décor were inside the hotel. He grabbed a bottle of cheap booze that he was horrified to learn was pumpkin spice flavored after he already committed to a chair in the living room.

"Hey, Whiskers!" Angel Dusk said strolling in and perching himself on the arm of the chair Husk was already melting into. “How was your trip to the store?”

Husk chuckled a little. Sore and annoyed but still laughing at the fishy idiot. “Baxter has a crush on Niffty. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into.”

“I know that already,” Angel said, fidgeting with the bag Husk had failed to see in his hands before now. “He told me a couple of weeks ago.” He gave a nervous laugh.

“What is it Legs?”

“I’ve been trying to help out as his wingman and he keeps trying to ask her out and,” the sinner was shaking his head, “she just doesn’t hear him.”

“Yeah she tends to ignore people a lot-”

“No whiskers I mean, he keeps trying the dumbest things to get her attention, and she just doesn’t get it. He tried inviting her on a walk the other day and she responded that she was already walking and just went ‘see?’ and walked out of the room.”

“Today he bought her a stuffed animal to use as a bribe for her to be his date to the hotel’s Halloween party.” Husk took his turn to shake his head at Baxter. “Like I don’t even know how a normal person would react to that, let alone Niffty.”

“Yeah... that might not go well.” The bag Angel had been fidgeting with ripped and the contents fell on Husk’s lap. Angel attempted to recover the item but Husk was faster.

He looked at the stuffed orange cat wearing a little white ghost costume. Its little ears and nose poked out from underneath. And the belly of it had a little pun that read,

‘You look BOO-tiful today!’ in black factory print with ‘Husk’ written underneath in red marker.

“Hey Husk listen it was stupid, I just saw it when I was out with Cherri and thought ‘Hey! Husk is a cat, well kind-’” The rumble of purrs drowned out the end of his rambles.

Husk was certain of two things.

1. Baxter was going to get the Jack-o-lantern treatment from Niffty.

2. If Angel asked him to be his date to the Halloween party he would be the happiest sinner in hell.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Fifteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

By the Three’s blessing, the walk around Barley’s home was uneventful. Not a single trace of animal that wasn’t feline or rodent could be found, and the farm went in a giant square with a perfectly straight fence bordering it. So long as one didn’t go into the corn, as Barley explained, one was very unlikely to get lost on this track of land. Fireheart could at least take some comfort in that.

The night passed, and when the next evening was just creeping over the horizon, Yellowfang returned with the apprentices. An aura of joy and awe radiated off of all of them; Brackenpaw was practically dancing on his way up to the Barn. Their mentors and mother went to meet them and were greeted with wild, half-yelled babbling about blessings and prayers and magic. Snowpaw, almost shaking with glee, was signing at an incomprehensible speed that even Ravenwing couldn’t keep up with.

“Well,” Greystripe said, “that, I would consider to be good news.”

Fireheart twitched his whiskers, watching Ravenwing repeatedly gesture for Snowpaw to slow down. “It’s good, yeah.”

“And they were there!” Brightpaw shouted, making Mousefur lean a bit back. “I felt them! They were really there! Horoa AND Suriin AND Rokhar!”

“That’s awesome,” Mousefur said, tail curling. “And who did you get blessed by?”

“We’re not s’posed to say,” Thornpaw said sharply, then his eyes went to Yellowfang. “Are we?”

Yellowfang snorted. “You won’t be blasted by lightning for it, child. Say what you like.”

Dustpelt gave her a dry look and said to Thornpaw, “It’s not a secret unless you want it to be. I got Suriin when I was your age.”

Thornpaw straightened up, the long fur around his neck flaring and his hesitance immediately forgotten. “I did too!”

Dustpelt nodded approvingly and ruffled his apprentice’s head-fur.

Swiftpaw wove around the little crowd and greeted Brackenpaw with a nose-touch. “So, did you get Rokhar?”

Brackenpaw shook his head. “I got Horoa. But—” he hurried to add. “But it was still cool! He’s cool too!” He peeked up nervously at the darkening sky, where the sun was inching its way down past the clouds into the distant horizon.

Frostfur purred. “He knows, don’t worry. Are you four hungry?”

The excitement of the ceremony was immediately forgotten for the excitement of food. The crowd of apprentices rushed into the Barn, leaving their mentors, mother and the seers to follow them with shared looks of amusement. 

---

Some nights passed after they returned, more than Fireheart was able to count (which wasn’t saying much). Every night, someone would go out through the hedge and watch the forest, and every night they would come back in and report unenthusiastically that there were cars and humans wandering about the borders, even after the smoke had finally been snuffed out. The Clan would have to stay another night, and another night.

Fireheart had always preferred the challenge of living in the wild compared to kittypet life, but it took staying in the Barn to see the effects of the latter on himself and his Clanmates. The easy hunting began to bore them all, even as they slowly thinned out the mouse and rat population—there was no reason to go outside into the corn and try their luck there (especially as Barley warned them that the rough corn leaves could scratch their faces and eyes if brushed up against). With that, another issue presented itself: the Barn was warmer than outside, sure, but it was a finite space, cramped and overheated compared to the open-skied space ThunderClan camp provided. With Theful herding rainclouds back into the territories’ sky, and with that rain occasionally freezing into slush, going out was even less of an option—but Fireheart watched his Clanmates fidget and stare at the rows of corn wistfully, the air growing colder and colder.

The very aura inside the Barn grew more and more agitated. Even the adults were trying to find something to do: grooming themselves and each other more, scooping stray straw up and scooting it around to make more nests, lazily chasing mice instead of catching them immediately, and so on. The apprentices and kits, meanwhile, took to wrestling or sweeping hay and clumps of soil at each other (which luckily gave the adults someone to groom), and their voices steadily got louder as the nights went on.

One night, Brightpaw tackled Swiftpaw with a yowl and the pair rolled around the nesting area where most of the Clan slept. Despite being smaller, it was impressive how strong Brightpaw was in comparison to her much older friend; she kept up with him easily and he was often the one being pushed back or knocked over. Thornpaw ran after them, yelling, “Stoppit!” and being completely ignored.

It took the ball of black, white and ginger crashing into a sleeping One-eye and rolling over her sides for someone to stop them. It was Speckletail, who simply pushed against them with her front paws and sent them sprawling out on either side of her. Their chuffs ended quickly and they got to their feet, heads guiltily low.

“Are you alright, One-eye?” Speckletail asked the pale elder.

One-eye sneezed and nosed her own ribs. “Well, nothing’s broken. I don’t think I died, unfortunately.”

Swiftpaw and Brightpaw together mumbled indistinct apologies.

Just as Speckletail was opening her mouth as she loomed over them, One-eye waved her bony tail. “Don’t scold them. They’re bored. I’d be wrestling, too, if it wouldn’t shatter what little of me is left.”

Cloudkit, fidgeting by Brindleface’s side, rambled up to Halftail, who was slightly behind One-eye, and pushed at him with a paw. “Can you wrestle?”

The dark tabby grunted. “Too old. And you’re too small.”

Cloudkit made a pouting face and turned around, now making his way up to Brightpaw. “I wanna wrestle!”

“You’re not going to,” Brindleface said, getting up and following him. She patiently scooped him with a paw back towards her. “It’s quiet time.”

Cloudkit pouted up at her now. “But they were—!”

“They weren’t supposed to be,” the tortoiseshell said, her patience more emphasized. “They should be doing something else.”

“Like what?” Brightpaw said with an expression not too dissimilar to Cloudkit’s.

A voice piped up. “How about a story?”

Heads turned; to Fireheart’s surprise, Ravenwing had gotten to his feet from where he was sitting with Greystripe and Snowpaw. His legs were quaking a little, and Fireheart could faintly hear his breathing grow rapid, but he sat upright instead of huddling.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had one, is all,” he said in the tone of an apology. “I’m sure the kits would like something, too.”

Cloudkit whirled around and left Brightpaw behind, running as fast as his little legs would allow to join Ravenwing, his and Fireheart’s siblings following him. The apprentices cheered up and trotted after the kits, and though no warriors moved, their ears were perked and eyes focused on Ravenwing. Fireheart quickly took position close to Ravenwing, but on the opposite side as Greystripe, ready to try and send all of his supportive energy to his friend.

But perhaps he didn’t need to; Ravenwing was still trembling a little, but he was taking soft, deep breaths and the trembles were steadying out. Snowpaw, dead asleep beside him, rolled a little as his paws twitched and leaned against his mentor’s haunch, eliciting a quiet sigh from Ravenwing. He straightened up even more, waiting for the young cats to gather before starting.

“I know it’s hard right now,” he said once they had all settled. “We’re in a strange place because our home burned and there are dogs loose across all the territories. I’m sure you all feel no better than kittypets, stuck in a house with nothing to do.”

His green eyes darted to Fireheart at this. Fireheart waved his tail, dismissing the kittypet comment, and Ravenwing continued.

“You know, a long, long time ago, all of the Clans were in a similar position.” Some of the kits tilted their heads, while the apprentices’ eyes shone. Evidently, they knew where this was going. “Once, there were monsters much worse than some dogs that hunted cats—hulking, many-clawed beasts of stone and earth, so big that moss and grass and sometimes young trees could grow on their pelts: Titans. Our Mother wiped out the largest and most dangerous of them before she created us and our homes, but some of the smaller ones hid carefully and waited for her to fall asleep before they advanced upon us. These little Titans weren’t really little at all—the smallest were as large as a car, like the one over there—” Ravenwing nodded to the strange, rusty car in the corner of the Barn. “And some were twice that size. Believe it or not, they were strong enough to fight the Three, who were very young and inexperienced at the time. Three gods versus a swarm of Titans is no joke, and the Three were often overwhelmed. When they could, Titans tramped through fields and forests, killing what they could catch. They didn’t need to eat us, but they hated life that came from the Mother, and they wanted revenge for all of their kind that Mirra slew. We could do nothing but hide in our camps or in badger setts, shaking with fear and pleading for the Mother to wake up and save us.”

The kits huddled into each other a little, Cloudkit especially looking a little frightened. Brightpaw tapped his tail with hers and he settled a bit.

“In a way, she did, just through a conduit.” Ravenwing’s voice lightened and warmed. “In the beginning of the Clans, there was a beautiful calico who would come to be known as Mernatha*. Though she was irreverent and loved nothing more than pranking her fellow cats, she was born with bravery and cunning and perhaps less caution than she should have had.”

At the name of this molly, the kits perked up, their fluffy little tails dancing. Brackenpaw and Brightpaw looked at each other excitedly, and even Thornpaw’s face brightened.

“And she had a magic power no one else did,” Ravenwing said. “Can you tell me what that power is?”

Ashkit sat up fast enough to nearly jump to his feet. “She can turn into petals!”

“That’s right.” Ravenwing nodded. “That’s why her markings always dance around her fur like the wind moves them; they’re waiting to turn back into petals and fly through the air.”

Fireheart watched the apprentices and kits radiate excitement, feeling a bit of it himself. He had never really gotten to hear a Mernatha story—mostly kits and apprentices were told them regularly, which was admittedly frustrating, since everyone would mention her name with some context he was missing and then not elaborate. He hardly even knew what she really looked like, or any of her major tales. Goldenflower and Ravenwing had separately promised to tell him some, only for a distraction or work to show up and have everyone forget the promise. This felt like a long time coming.  

Brackenpaw spoke up. “Is she really from RiverClan?”

“Well, some say so,” Ravenwing replied. “Everyone likes to say she came from their own Clan, of course. But I’m sure she was from RiverClan. She certainly acts like one of them.

“Anyway, Mernatha made great use of this power to soar in the sky and get a bird’s-eye-view of our homes. She so often saw cats being torn apart or chased by Titans, and it broke her heart that her fellow cats were suffering so. But how to solve the problem? What could one little cat hope to do against creatures that large?

“But Mernatha is not a fool, and she loves her tricks. She paid close attention to the Titans and noticed something important: they avoided Mirra where she slept. To experiment, she called upon her good friend, Theful, the spirit of wind and weather, and told him to send the wind through the territories from the Mother. Just as he did, she sliced open a gash on Mirra’s massive paw, and the scent of her blood was blown on moorland and through the forest. The Titans smelled it and, knowing the scent of godly blood well, were frightened and scattered, leaving the territories in peace for several nights.

“Mernatha knows a good opportunity when she sees it, and she humbly called upon the crow-mother, Thlainra**, and requested the help of her infinite flock for her plan. Thlainra saw immediately what Mernatha aimed to do, warning her through her crows that the Three would be angry. Mernatha has never been afraid of angering anyone—”

“She’d be well afraid of angering Thlainra,” Yellowfang croaked suddenly, close by on a haybale.

Ravenwing twitched his whiskers and nodded to her. “Well, we would all be.”

Yellowfang stuck out her jaw with satisfaction and fell silent again.

Ravenwing continued. “Mernatha’s not afraid of angering anyone (except Thlainra), so she took the crows that volunteered for such a task and went to the Mother herself, instructing the crows to gather moss and bundles of grass and anything that could carry liquid and follow her.

“When she got to the Mother’s wounded paw, she opened up the gash even more, until blood flowed like a river.” Brightpaw opened her mouth and Ravenwing shook his head. “No one agrees on what color her blood was. Some say it WAS water, others that it shone and reflected a rainbow of light, others yet black as the night. It could be anything, even in RiverClan.”

Brightpaw closed her mouth again. Ravenwing turned back to the rest of his listeners.

“Whatever it looked like, the crows got to work. They soaked up the flowing blood with their moss and grass and little bits of carrying things, and they flew to each border of the territories. All along each border, they painted the ground and trees and bushes with that blood, thickly layered so that even rain and snow could not wash it away. As soon as the blood touched these surfaces, it sank into them, even rocks, and became invisible to the mortal eye.

“Just as the last bit of land had been covered, the Titans grew angry again and returned to the territories. But they discovered, to their outrage, that the scent of the Mother was everywhere. In the trees, in the earth, even the river smelled of her.” Ravenwing’s voice intensified. “And they were afraid again, and did not dare to cross these borders of blood. With a nudge from Mernatha, Theful shook the clouds and produced a deep, vast roar of thunder. The Titans heard this and, afraid that the Mother had awoken again, fled from the territories as fast as they could go, escaping to lands of hills as high as the sky, or meadows lower than a tree’s roots can sink. The territories have never seen them again, and to this night, they don’t dare to return.”

Ravenwing paused for breath and the kittens whispered to each other, eyes huge. Bramblekit looked to the warrior and murmured something.

“Sorry?” Ravenwing asked.

“Um…” Bramblekit raised his voice, and it wobbled nervously. “Did… did the Three get angry? Like Thlainra said?”

Ravenwing’s eyes creased. “Well, that’s the next part. The Clans celebrated their freedom and safety with the very first Gathering, where every cat—elder to kit—came together to rejoice and relax in the open of Fourtrees’ clearing, where no Titan could get them. Mernatha received many cheers and speeches in her honor, and she was quite pleased with herself.

“But suddenly, the full moon was joined in the sky by the blazing sun, and the sky went black and red. Cats cowered in terror as a light gleamed in the center of the clearing. When the light dimmed, before Mernatha stood Horoa and Suriin: Horoa’s golden pelt shining in the sunlight, his smokey mane covering his remaining eye so as not to blind their followers, and Suriin’s spots of moonlight glowing coldly as her single eye glared down at Mernatha. And even though he could not be seen, Rokhar’s presence was heavy in the air.

“Mernatha bowed gracefully to them, saying, ‘Well, my Lords and Lady, what a blessing to have you here with us tonight! I was hoping you’d join the party.’

“Suriin did not humor her. She bared her snow-white teeth. ‘You arrogant, heretical creature of flowers. Look at what you’ve done to our Mother.’

“‘Look indeed,’ Mernatha said smoothly. ‘I would say that it’s better to smell what I’ve done.’

“Horoa growled, ‘We smell it just fine. How dare you slash open your creator’s paws, wound her, and spread her blood around? And worse yet, you have Thlainra helping you! How could you do this?’

“Mernatha made a shocked face. ‘Why, Endless Watcher and Pathcarver, hear yourselves! I’ve done your job all on my own!’”

Ashkit stared at Ravenwing with an open mouth. “She didn’t talk like that to the Three!”

“She did,” Ravenwing said, amused. “And they were quite angry. The sky grew hot and stormy, night and red clouds slashing through each other. Suriin’s eye blazed like her brother’s, and Horoa himself was moments from shining his remaining eye to blind Mernatha.

“But the calico was not frightened—or if she was, she was going a very good job of hiding it. She simply purred, ‘I speak facts. Do you see any Titans around you? Have any of these cats been ripped to shreds and left to rot here on this gloriously clear ground? You did what you could to save us—and I applaud you, truly—but we required help you couldn’t provide. I simply took matters into my own paws.’ She lifted her head to the sky and raised her voice. ‘Mirra, Mother of us all, I beg you, if I have angered you by taking your blood, please strike me down now. Send lightning to blast me, fire to burn me, rain to drown me! Crush me with your wounded paw! Answer your children’s anger however you so choose!’

“Of course, there was no reaction. The Mother slept on, the only sound coming from her breathing through her open mouth that you apprentices have ventured into, and as will you kits in the future. The Three waited, irritated, but there was no cry for punishment, and Mernatha stood before them, entirely unruffled.

“‘Well, there we are, then,’ she said brightly. ‘I suppose saving the Clans was enough to clean my record of any wrongdoings, wasn’t it? Now, would you care for some prey? My dear friends have caught some delicious rabbits and fish…’

“The Three did not respond to her. Instead, there was another flash of light, and they were gone. The sky smoothed out back into its usual dark, starry self.” Ravenwing’s whiskers twitched. “Though for the rest of the night, Mernatha could feel glaring eyes on her back from above, and perhaps they never really stopped glaring at her. Or perhaps they did. It depends on what prank she just pulled on them. Either way, the Clans were saved, and Mernatha became our greatest hero. To this night, she wanders the Clans’ borders, ensuring that the Mother’s blood has retained its grip on our lands and no Titans will dare to come near us again.” Ravenwing shut his eyes. “And that’s the end, as I’ve heard it, and as you’ve heard it now.”

The kits squeaked their applause, and the apprentices called wordlessly in approval, a good number of the warriors and queens adding in their voices, Fireheart and Greystripe especially. Ravenwing took in a breath, shaking again, but his eyes were shining and he was very obviously fighting not to beam at the reaction.

Patchpelt, I hope you heard that, Fireheart thought, getting up. You’d be really proud of him right now.

Fireheart joined up with Greystripe and Ravenwing as the Barn lit up with conversation about the story (and several mentions of Ravenwing’s bravery). He bumped his head on Ravenwing’s skinny shoulder.

“That was awesome,” he said delightedly. “Does Mernatha have all the best stories?”

“I’d say so,” Greystripe said, mimicking Fireheart and nearly knocking poor Ravenwing over. “But they’re more awesome how Ravenwing tells it. You should’ve been called -throat, bud!”

“Heh…” Ravenwing’s head lowered sheepishly. “I wasn’t really happy to talk at all when I was an apprentice. Maybe that’s why Snowpaw’s so easy for me…” He glanced down, and then chuffed. “Look at him.”

Fireheart did, and chuffed himself. Through all the noise and story, Snowpaw was still dead asleep, his eyes shut with blissful ignorance.

*Mernatha: a portmanteau of several words – “mern” (amusement/merriment), “therna” (leaves or petals from a tree), and “ahah” (to land silently on one’s feet from a high fall). The literal translation is “laughing petals on foot”, transcribed into English as “Petalfall”.

**Thlainra: literally “thousand-crow”. Proper plural should be Thlainral, but the singular version stuck better in historical Clan culture thanks to the character herself being a singular being.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi again!

I've been so delighting in going back through some of your past answers this week and I loved rereading your daemon AU with BAMF Alec. I love all your Alec characterizations, but I have a particular fondness for your versions where it's really emphasized how cold and aloof Alec has to be in command sometimes. Alec allowing 'just a little nip' to Clary's otter was such an excellent visual.

If it happens to strike your fancy, I'd love another daemon AU, whether it be a continuation of that snippet or not. In particular I'd love to see Alec's daemon, his soul, walking up to Magnus and touching him, literally putting Alec's soul in Magnus' hands. (If there was a d/s undertone there, that would just be adding the cherry to the ice cream sundae, but is totally not necessary.)

Thank you again for all your lovely fills!

hey!! i always love your prompts and i'm happy i felt up to answering this one!

Magnus waits until the door clicks shut and then he turns to look at the shadowhunter who fought with him, back to back. He’s even more stunning after his display of both competence and the surprising compassion he showed.

“Will I be in the way? Or should I leave as well and we can pick a better time for a meeting?”

Magnus summons himself a drink and takes a long, fortifying sip of magically aged gin that will help his core to stabilize. Three warlocks lost is still three too many and his magic aches with a lust for vengeance that he cannot yet unleash.

“If you’ll follow me, I must leave this place and let it settle before I can return and let them rest properly. It needs to remain as undisturbed as possible.”

Alec — as he was called at one point — merely nods and silently follows as Magnus’ directs, his nearly eight-foot long alligator moving with surprising grace.

The shadowhunter and his daemon step through the portal without protest and Magnus turns to raise the wards he will need to let the dust of souls settle without fear of it being harvested.

Warlock rituals require time and Valentine desecrated that need, brutalizing the ash of warlock souls in experiments and well, Magnus will not allow that to ever happen on his watch.

He follows Alec as quickly as he can and it’s to find that his own daemon is already there, practically nose to nose with Alec’s.

“Cahya—” Magnus murmurs, more out of a surprise than a true reprimand.

There’s a moment where Alec turns and Magnus thinks that this is about to be business again, and then a large, reptilian head turns to face him as well.

Alec stops, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at his daemon and then he takes a half step back and shrugs. It’s clear that he trusts his daemon and Magnus is curious enough to keep quiet since Cahya seems content, almost amused.

Magnus isn’t expecting the daemon to continue approaching, past what is considered polite.

Daemons don’t do this. They don’t initiate contact.

Not ever and Magnus feels charges with the weight of potential that he cannot comprehend.

There’s a moment of charged silence and then a long snout is reaching up and brushing against his fingers.

Magnus can’t help the shocked gasp that slips past his lips.

The way his soul cries out and Magnus drops to his knees, hands unthinkingly reaching out to cup Alexander’s daemon.

Dust clings to his fingertips and energy fights for a brief moment and then, as Magnus exhales, Jayr is born anew.

He’s a melanistic jaguar, perfectly suited for the shadows and his muscles roll as he presses his head up against Magnus’ palm. Everything about him sings to Magnus as he feels the weight of a soul settle under his palms.

Soft, dark fur tickles his skin and whiskers brush past his wrist as a regal head ducks for comfort.

“Oh.” Alexander makes a surprised, almost frantic noise, his eyes bright, “he settled then.” There is something relieved in Alexander's tone and then he leans against the wall, as if awaiting Magnus' direction.

Magnus knows that he could bid Alexander to kneel, and his boy would do so. Alexander would do anything Magnus asked - his soul already conforming to meet Magnus - and Magnus knows it.

Magnus takes in quiet breathe and lets the knowledge anchor him.

That Alexander’s soul settled at Magnus’ touch has a great many connotations and Magnus won’t let anything sneak past him.

[ghostflowerdreams]

British Phrases/Slang

In writing, colloquialism works by using common terms and phrases to create a sense of authenticity and informality, which can enhance dialogue. For this reason, I'm making a short list of what I've seen and heard in British television, film, and books.

Taking the mickey (out of someone): Teasing or making fun of someone.

Example: "Are you serious, or are you just taking the mickey?"

Knickers in a twist: Getting upset or overly worried about something.

Example: "Don't get your knickers in a twist; it's just a minor issue."

Full monty: The whole thing or complete package.

Example: "I want the full monty – don't leave anything out."

On the blink: Not working properly.

Example: "My computer's on the blink; I need to get it fixed."

Sod's law: The idea that if something can go wrong, it will.

Example: "Of course, it started raining right after I washed the car – sod's law."

Off one's trolley: Crazy or insane.

Example: "Did you hear what he said? He must be off his trolley."

Lost the plot: Became confused or irrational.

Example: "I have no idea what he's talking about; he's completely lost the plot."

Bob's your uncle (and Fanny's your aunt): It's basically 'there you have it'. It is used to convey that something is very easy or straightforward, and that success or a positive outcome is guaranteed. The addition of "and Fanny's your aunt" is often used for humor and emphasis, without changing the meaning significantly.

Example: "Just turn the key, and Bob's your uncle – the car starts."

Example 2: "Just follow these instructions, and Bob's your uncle, and Fanny's your aunt, you're done!"

Taking the biscuit: Going too far or being unreasonable.

Example: "Asking me to work on a Sunday? That really takes the biscuit!"

Arse over elbow: Tumbling or falling over.

Example: "He tripped on the pavement and went arse over elbow."

Pop one's clogs: Die or pass away.

Example: "If I don't get enough sleep, I feel like I might pop my clogs."

Spend a penny: Go to the bathroom.

Example: "I need to spend a penny before we leave."

Throw a spanner in the works: Cause a disruption or problem.

Example: "The unexpected delay really threw a spanner in the works."

Throw a wobbly: Have a temper tantrum or get upset.

Example: "She'll throw a wobbly if she finds out we lost her keys."

Chuffed to bits: Extremely pleased or proud.

Example: "She was chuffed to bits when she got the promotion."

Flog a dead horse: Waste time on a hopeless cause.

Example: "Trying to fix that old computer is like flogging a dead horse."

Up the duff: Pregnant.

Example: "She's up the duff and expecting a baby in the spring."

On the pull: Trying to attract someone romantically.

Example: "He's always on the pull when we go out to the bars."

Example: "He's dressed up tonight; he's definitely on the pull."

Pear-shaped: To go wrong or fail unexpectedly.

Example: "After weeks of planning, the project went completely pear-shaped when we realized we had underestimated the budget."

The bee's knees and the cat's whiskers: Something excellent, outstanding, or the best of its kind.

Example: "This new phone is the bee's knees and the cat's whiskers – it has all the latest features."

All mouth and no trousers: Someone who talks confidently or boasts but fails to follow through with actions or achievements.

Example: "He talks a big game, but when it comes to actually doing something, he's all mouth and no trousers."

A storm in a teacup: A small or insignificant issue that is blown out of proportion.

Example: "Don't worry about that argument; it's just a storm in a teacup."

Have a butcher's (at something): To take a look at something; derived from "butcher's hook," which rhymes with "look."

Example: "Can I have a butcher's at your new phone?"

A stone's throw away: Very close in proximity; a short distance.

Example: "The shop is just a stone's throw away from here."

Bee in your bonnet: An idea or obsession that someone can't stop talking about.

Example: "He's got a bee in his bonnet about recycling; he talks about it all the time."

Mum's the word: Keep a secret; don't say anything.

Example: "I know about the surprise party, but don't worry, mum's the word!"

Cut the mustard: To meet a required standard or expectation.

Example: "His performance didn't quite cut the mustard, so he didn't get the promotion."

Bugger all: Nothing at all; absolutely nothing.

Example: "I've got bugger all to do this weekend."

Bag it up: Prepare or get ready.

Example: "Bag it up, mate – we're heading out."

On the ball: Alert, attentive, or quick to understand.

Example: "She's always on the ball at work."

Bits and bobs: Various small items or things.

Example: "I picked up a few bits and bobs from the store."

Knock it on the head: Stop doing something or take a break.

Example: "Let's knock it on the head for today; we can continue tomorrow."

Taking the piss: Teasing or mocking someone.

Example: "Are you serious, or are you just taking the piss?"

I'm pissed: Drunk or intoxicated from alcohol.

Example: "I had a few too many drinks at the pub, and now I'm pissed."

Example 2: "At the pub quiz, Sarah confidently shouted out 'Elephant' as the answer to every question. When asked why, she just grinned and said, 'I may be a bit pissed, but who doesn't love elephants? They're the answer to everything!'"

Bent as a nine-bob note: Dishonest or fraudulent.

Example: "That deal sounds bent as a nine-bob note."

Give us a bell: Call or contact me.

Example: "If you need anything, give us a bell."

Tickety-boo: Going well or in good order.

Example: "Everything is tickety-boo with the project."

Budge up: Move over or make room.

Example: "Budge up; make some space for me on the sofa."

Flog it: Sell or get rid of.

Example: "I need to flog my old clothes at the market."

Bloody hell: An expression of surprise or frustration.

Example: "Bloody hell, did you see the size of that spider?"

Full of beans: Someone is lively, energetic, and full of enthusiasm. It is often used to describe someone who is in high spirits or has a lot of energy.

Example: "Goodness, you're full of beans this morning!"

Wind your neck in: To tell someone to stop being nosy, interfering, or to mind their own business.

Example: "Maybe you should wind your neck in and not jump to conclusions about my friendships."

Wind-up merchant: Refers to someone who enjoys teasing, provoking, or playing pranks on others to elicit a reaction.

Example: "Oh, don't take it seriously; he's just a bit of a wind-up merchant."

Can't be arsed: Is used to convey a lack of motivation, interest, or willingness to do something.

Example: “I can’t be arsed with doing the assignments.”

What a load of poppycock: Is an expression used to dismiss something as nonsense or absurd.

Example: “They are changing the offside rule? What a load of poppycock!”

Chocka: Is short for “chockablock”, which is most often used when talking about something that’s completely packed, like a jammed road.

Example: “I’ll be home in ten, love, hit a chocka!” 

A few sandwiches short of a picnic: Is a humorous way of saying that someone is not very intelligent or mentally sound. It can also imply that the person may be lacking common sense.

Example: “Perhaps it’s best not to task them with this. They’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

To bodge: Is to mend, or repair something clumsily.

Example: "Bob forgot his toolbox, so he had to bodge a fix for the leaky pipe using chewing gum until the plumber arrived."

That's rubbish: When something is of poor quality, disappointing, or not good.

Example: "I thought the film was rubbish – the plot was weak, and the acting was terrible."

Happy as a pig in muck: Very happy.

Example: "I'm as happy as a pig in muck with all these new books to read."

Were ya born in a barn: Is used as a playful or humorous way to chide someone for not closing a door behind them.

Example: “I just got it warm in here, were ya born in a barn?”

Not give a monkey’s (uncle or toss): Not caring at all about something, being indifferent, or not attaching any importance to a particular situation.

Example: "I don't give a monkey's about what they think."

Making a right pig’s ear of something: Refers to a task or situation that has been poorly handled or executed.

Example: "You've made a right pig's ear of that plumbing job!"

You’re peckin’ me ‘ead: When someone is annoying, bothering, or getting on your nerves.

Example: "Would you give it a rest, you’re peckin’ me ‘ead!"

Curtain twitcher: Refers to a person who is overly nosy or prying, someone who frequently peers out of their window, often through the curtains, to observe the activities or affairs of their neighbors.

Example: "She's a real curtain twitcher, always watching and commenting on everyone else's business."

Half past: Is a way of expressing the time, particularly when indicating that it is 30 minutes past the hour on a clock.

Example: If someone says, "It's half past three," they are stating that the time is 3:30.

Innit: Is a contraction of "isn't it" and is often used to seek agreement or confirmation. It's an informal way to tag a statement, turning it into a question or seeking validation.

Example: "It's a nice day, innit?"

Smarmy: Is used to describe someone who comes across as scheming or untrustworthy.

Example: "I don't trust him – he's a smarmy geezer."

Swot: Is used to describe someone who studies hard, is diligent in their academic pursuits, or is generally focused on their work or studies. It is similar to "nerd" or "geek" in American English. It's sometimes used in a mildly derogatory manner to refer to someone who is perceived as overly studious.

Example: "She's always buried in her books, a real swot."

Bagsy: Is used as a way of claiming or reserving something for oneself. It's similar to saying "dibs" in American English.

Example: "Does anyone want thi—"

"Bagsy!"

Builder's tea: Refers to a strongly brewed cup of tea that is typically enjoyed by construction workers or builders during their breaks. It's characterized by being a simple, no-nonsense cup of tea with milk and sugar, often designed to provide a quick and energizing break.

Example: "A bacon sandwich and a builder's tea. Now that's a proper breakfast."

Dog's dinner (or dog's breakfast): Is often used to describe something that is disorganized, messy, or done in a haphazard and unattractive manner. It can refer to both physical appearance and, more commonly, to a situation or event that is poorly executed.

Example: "You've made a real dog's dinner of this room!"

Kip: Refers to sleep or a short nap. It's a casual way to express the act of resting or taking a quick snooze.

Example: "I'm feeling tired, so I'm going to have a quick kip before we head out for the evening."

[clansofafeather]

CHAPTER ONE

CW: PARENTAL VERBAL ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT(?)

“Y’know, we could really get in trouble for this.”

Dahliapaw looked back at his littermate. Petuniapaw stood behind him, their tail trailing behind their body.

He couldn’t help but scoff. “We’re eight moons old, Petunia! I know the territory like the back of my paw by now! In fact, when we get back, Blossomstar will wanna make me a warrior!”

“Mm,” Petuniapaw shook their head. “I think you’re being mouse-brained.”

“And went you’re following me around like a lost kit!” Dahliapaw grinned, continuing to pad along the river. A feeling of triumph could be felt as he heard Petuniapaw’s resigned sigh and pawsteps behind him. 

The air around the apprentices carried an earthy, slightly musky scent that filled Dahliapaw’s nostrils and made him wrinkle his nose. Even as a kit he despised the water. He always envied how the other clans had gorgeous forest territories, while CraneClan was stuck with the rivers and fish. How he longed to climb trees, to catch mice…

It’s alright, He thought to himself. One day I’ll be Dahliastar, and I’ll take over the clans! All of the forests and trees will be mine!

“Dahliapaw?”

Dahliapaw snapped out of his thoughts with a brisk shake of his head, turning to Petuniapaw. They were staring forward, eyes wide.

“What? What are you looking at?” Dahliapaw huffed, mildly annoyed that his stream of thoughts had been ruined.

“Who…Who is that?”

Intrigued, Dahliapaw followed Petuniapaw’s gaze. 

His sibling was looking at a young she-cat, who seemed to be searching for something along the edge of the river. Her fur was brown, with mottled markings. Her chest, belly, paws, and tail-tip were white, and her eyes were yellow.

Growling, Dahliapaw stalked forward, lashing his tail. “Hey! Who are you!? This is CraneClan territory!” He hissed.

The she-cat looked up, eyes widened. She began to take slow pawsteps backwards, trembling, her ears flattened.

“I’m sorry! I was just…”

“Leave now, or else!” Dahliapaw hissed, and the she-cat scrambled away.

Petuniapaw shuffled over to their brother, looking up with a saddened expression. “Dahliapaw, she seemed harmless…You scared her!”

“Ugh, you should’ve become a medicine cat instead of Orchidpaw!” Dahliapaw groaned, glaring down at Petuniapaw with an irritated twitch of his whiskers. “We didn’t know who that was! She wasn’t a clan cat, she could’ve been plotting an attack! You never know!”

Lifting his nose in the air, the cream tom turned and started to make his way back to CraneClan’s camp. “Now, I can’t wait to tell our mentors and Blossomstar about how I chased off a rogue all by myself! They’re gonna be so proud!”

…

Blossomstar glared down at Dahliapaw from the TallHill, the tip of her tail lashing in irritation. 

“Let me get this straight, Dahliapaw,” The she-cat meowed. “Not only did you and your sibling leave camp without warning, but you also chased off and scared a cat without asking what her business was in the territory?”

Dahliapaw frowned, lowering his head. Shame burned through his pelt. 

“Yes,” He mumbled after a pause, looking back up at the calico she-cat. “But Blossomstar, I thought-”

“Dahliapaw, I appreciate that you were trying to help the clan.” Blossomstar interrupted. “But what you did was dangerous, and you dragged your sibling into it! What if this rogue…If they were even a rogue at all, which I doubt…Was part of a group? You two could’ve been ambushed! Torn to pieces! And none of us would know what happened!”

“Blossomstar, if I may,” Rosewing, mother of Dahliapaw and Petuniapaw, stepped forward from the small group of gathered cats. “Dahliapaw was just doing what he thought was right!”

“Did I not mention that already?”

“Of course, you did, but…He’s just an apprentice! He barely knows any better!” Rosewing insisted, sitting beside her son and curling a tail around him protectively. 

Petuniapaw scooted away. Dahliapaw shot Rosewing a grateful glance before turning back to the leader.

Blossomstar sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Great StarClan…” She murmured, before looking into Rosewing’s eyes.

“Rosewing, I’m going to say this as gently as possible.” She began. “He won’t be young forever!”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’. You’ve tried to pull this trick ever since he was in the nursery. ‘Oh, Blossomstar! He’s just a kit!’, ‘He doesn’t know any better!’...It’s infuriating, to say the least.” Blossomstar rolled her eyes. “At this rate, you’re not doing anything but raising a spoiled, entitled cat who runs to mommy for protection whenever he does something wrong!”

Dahliapaw glared up at Blossomstar. He could feel Rosewing’s fur burning with either embarrassment or rage…Possibly both. He felt just as angry. How dare Blossomstar speak to his mother that way!

Her tail curled more around the apprentice’s body, and she let out a huff. “It’s not my fault you clearly have a preference for Orchidpaw and Petuniapaw!” She exclaimed.

“And it’s not my fault you have a preference against them.” Blossomstar meowed, a cold sadness in her tone as she stood. “This clan meeting is dismissed. Because they both left camp without permission, Petuniapaw and Dahliapaw will both be the first picks in dawn patrols for the next quarter moon. That is all.”

Cats began to disperse, and Dahliapaw watched as Rosewing turned her attention to Petuniapaw, giving the young cat a glare that made them shrink down to the ground in fear.

“You!” She hissed. “Why didn’t you stop Dahliapaw if you knew he was doing something wrong!? You could’ve prevented this!”

“I…” Petuniapaw looked at Dahliapaw, silently pleading for help. 

Dahliapaw looked away.

“Well? Hurry up and answer, mouse-brain!” Rosewing snapped, making Petuniapaw flinch.

“I tried, but…He didn’t listen to me…I’m sorry, mama, I’m sorry-”

“Enough! Because of you, Dahliapaw is in trouble!” Rosewing turned away, her gaze softening as she padded over to Dahliapaw. She sat down, purring as she began to groom his fur. “You poor thing, you’re all fluffed up…My baby…”

Dahliapaw tried to ignore it, but he could feel Petuniapaw’s eyes glaring at him from their spot. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them pick themself up from the ground and slink away, towards their father Owlspring.

A little voice deep inside of him told him to follow his littermate.

He didn’t listen, and instead leaned deeper into Rosewing’s warmth.

[irlcats-bracket]

Bracket 5 THIRD PLACE BATTLE

Handsome Stinkerbutt-Jones Boy vs Blackie

check their descriptions and propaganda below!

HANDSOME STINKERBUTT-JONES BOY

BLACKIE

This is Blackie, submitter's little one-eyed wonder. He lost his eye to glaucoma quite a few years ago, but he's doing a lot better now, and still likes to play with his sister, Artemis. His name is Blackie because that's what the shelter named him and submitter's family couldn't agree on a new name for him so it stuck, but submitter themselves call him 'Big Boi' because of just how massive he is. He was once very timid, but with time and love and patience he is now a certified lap cat who will come right up to strangers to demand pets. He has a wonderful squeaky meow and when he purrs it sounds like two cats purring at once. He likes to have people watch him eat and he will guide submitter's mom over to the couch and make her lay down just so he can sleep in her lap. Also, when he lays on his back, he covers his belly with his tail. Pictured is him in his signature polite boi sitting pose

CATPAGANDA

BLACKIE

So glad to see Blackie still in the competition! His response so far has been "aow."

Truth be told, I'm running out of propaganda. If he make it to the next round, I'm gonna try my darnedest to capture his meows on video, which I haven't been able to do before because he sees me coming with the camera and starts purring XD

For now, more assorted Blackie facts!

Very rarely, when he gets the zoomies, he'll laugh. Like "huhuhuheueheHUEHEUE" kinda laugh.

I like to let him sniff human food/whatever I'm holding just to make sure he feels included (still doesn't like anything but pizza crumbs). But he has gagged on pickled ginger, banana, and CBD rub. He always gets really embarrassed when he gags tho

Ever since I got a job, he has been following me to bed and jumping on my chest to get the pets that he now lacks during the day.

If he sees you getting out the cat brush, he''ll lead you over to where he wants to be brushed.

On that note, when I had hurt my leg one time, Blackie saw that I wasn't leaning down to pet him and instead lead me over to the couch to have me sit down to pet him. He kept that up for a couple months once he saw how relieved it made me.

More Blackie propoganda! This time I bring you big boi in motion

link

Assorted Blackie facts:

A brave man when it comes to thunderstorms. But the vacuum? His mortal enemy.

The friendliest cat at the shelter. But the staff forced me to pick him up and hold him to get a picture and he got terrified and peed on me.

We think, based on how he acts, that he may have grown up in a home with dogs. But the mark on his ear is one done by our local neuter and release program, so we don't know if he was a stray, an outside cat, etc. But he's one of the friendliest cats I've ever met.

Will go up to his sister and put his head down to get it licked. But as soon as she goes to lick him and flattens his ears and raises a paw like he's gonna hit her. Sometimes they fight and sometimes they just walk away. We don't think he's trying to trick her because he acts genuinely confused throughout this process.

Sometimes he uses his back paw to scratch the back of his front leg when he's sitting down and it's so cute <3

These are old photos from when I used to hold a camera down and snap a photo when they leaned in to sniff the lens.

Blackie is our older cat and is such a gentleman. He is eager to love, he does the quickest slow blinks I've ever seen from a cat. He has a two-layered purr, it literally sounds like a cat purring as popcorn is being made in the background. He lost his eye to glaucoma when he was younger but he runs around and plays and teases his sister Artemis like a kitten. And his eyebrow whiskers grew down over his missing eye! He's not a big fan of people food but he has a fondness for pizza crumbs (NOT the crust. Just the crumbs off the plate when you're done eating the pizza). He walks like he's gingerly stepping through flowers and he's so gentle that the one time I overstimulated him and he wanted to bite me, he just shoved his closed mouth against my hand. He has a super long tongue and if you scratch the right spot between his shoulder blades he will lick the air. He's my precious boy who started out so scared but he's so brave and social and happy now just typing this out makes me wanna cry and go give him scritchies.

HANDSOME

HE WAS AN OUTSIDE TRASH CAT AND NOW HES AN INDOOR TRASH CAT THAT LOVES HIS PARENTS SO MUCH!!! Hes so sweet and lovey but a bastard. he also likes to bite lick toes.

Want even more? Handsome has an additional catpaganda post!

[beardedmrbean]

You can't make this shit up. Macron's party lost the european elections by an absolute landslide, and the first thing he does, I kid you not, is dissolve the fucking national assembly. Do you want to take a guess who the last guy to do this was ??

Le Pen won? If someone had told me this would happen 8-10 years ago I would have called them a liar, then again AfD is picking up steam in Germany and according to reports every single party in Belgium has shifted to the right some, some less than others.

As for my wild guess

Philippe Pétain? or maybe that was just him dissolving it so he could surrender.

Let's look at the write up

PARIS (Reuters) -French President Emmanuel Macron suffered a heavy defeat in European Parliament elections on Sunday, with Marine Le Pen's far-right party sealing a definitive win that underlines her credentials as frontrunner for France's 2027 presidential vote.

Le Pen's National Rally (RN) party, led by telegenic 28-year-old Jordan Bardella, won around 32% of the vote, more than double the Macron ticket's 15%, according to the first exit polls. The Socialists came within a whisker of Macron, with 14%.

Le Pen's strong showing, notching a 10-point increase on the last EU election in 2019, will weaken Macron's hold on power three years before the end of his final term. It could also prompt high-level defections from his centrist camp as the succession battle to replace him heats up.

In a victory speech to a rapturous audience at party headquarters, Bardella urged Macron to call for a new legislative election, although the president is under no obligation to follow suit. "Emmanuel Macron is this evening a weakened president," he said. "The president cannot remain deaf to the message sent by the French tonight."

Le Pen and Bardella sought to frame the EU election as a mid-term referendum on Macron's mandate, tapping into discontent with immigration, crime and a two-year inflation crisis.

With widespread expectations of a bruising loss, government officials sought to downplay the importance of the European poll, pledging to maintain policy focus and arguing that EU elections are a poor predictor of presidential voting. ___________________

Ya he got spanked,

I wish there was a solid definition for president across the EU some countries they have almost no responsibilities and in others we get folks like Macron with actual authority

Other countries have a monarch instead of a president too.

Whole thing is less embarrassing for him if they called for him to do it, France and the UK both doing snap elections, wonder how Germany is doing.

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Whenever

Woke up with an idea for Rhys and Kaidan. Of course, before we could get to that idea (which means I lost the details my half-awake brain provided) we had to sort something out from the past, BUT, it's sorted and the details are firming up on that front!

In the meantime, a bit of something from the 1100 words I did get.

Setting: ME1 sometime (not sure exactly when yet)

Slowly, Rhys slides a booted foot closer.  Just the length of it, heel to toe.  Just enough to gauge whether or not Kaidan is still amenable to the idea and whether or not Rhys can still read him right. Kaidan's breath catches - the softest of hitches in the air between them - but he doesn't move. Rhys takes another slow, sliding step with the other foot. By the time their noses bump slightly against the other's and Kaidan's breath tickles along Rhys' neck above his collar, memories of far better times, of laughter and joy, of friendship and more, chase away the last vestiges of any lingering ache.  A small smile tilts upward to one side of Rhys' lips.  This time when Rhys lifts a hand towards Kaidan, Kaidan leans into the touch.  His eyes close as the prickle of a days worth of whiskers tickles along Rhys' palm. Rhys doesn't care.  All he's interested in at the moment is whether Kaidan's lips feel just as warm and demanding as they had a decade ago... Warm.  Pliable.  Sensuous.  A zing of electricity arcs through Rhys, stealing his breath - or maybe that's just Kaidan? - until he has to break it off.  Kaidan's eyes, darker now, pupils wide as they follow Rhys, stay focused on him.  It's almost unnerving.  Almost.  Rhys has fond memories of that intense look.  Clearing his throat, he asks, "Is...is that okay?" Kaidan's lips twitch, his nose, the corner of one eye.  He's amused.  "Fraternization is frowned upon in the Alliance." Any concern Rhys has dies a quick death.  Snorting softly, a lazy grin spreads across his face.  "Good thing I'm not Alliance then, isn't it, Alenko?"

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 21 || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || From the Beginning || Patreon & Ko-Fi >>

Chapter 22

“How are you feeling today, Sorreltail?” In the quiet emptiness of the nursery, Shadepool felt like she was shouting. The tightly-woven walls were thick, stopping any noise from the outside world from getting in. It was its own little world, warm and comfortable away from danger, perfect for raising the Clan's little ones.

“Better,” Sorreltail admitted. She nestled deeper into her nest, which Sun had made for her. The Tribe she-cat had scoured the territory for anything remotely useable. Sorreltail chuckled ruefully, “It's certainly easier to get sleep without listening to Graystripe snoring all night...”

Shadepool twitched her whiskers with amusement. She sniffed Sorreltail's flank. “Everything seems to be alright,” she reported. “I'm glad you're getting more sleep.”

“I didn't want to move in so early, but I guess I can't complain.” The tortoiseshell she-cat stretched out one of her legs, flexing her claws. There was a look of guilt on her face. “Of all the times to be confined to the nursery, though, huh?”

Shadepool grimaced. The news of yesterday's disastrous attempt at parley had spread through the camp like wildfire. Outside this quiet haven, preparations for war were now going at double speed, with every cat who wasn't laid up in the medicine cat's den on their paws strengthening the thorn barrier, patrolling, training, or hunting. Anything to weather the storm coming their way.

“I can't believe WindClan thinks they can drive us out,” Sorreltail hissed. “And over something we didn't even do!” She looked to Shadepool, eyes bright with indignation in the gloom. “StarClan can't want this, right?”

Shadepool's tail trembled, and she tucked it out of Sorreltail's sight. “No,” she answered, calm as she could, “they certainly don't.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Sorreltail wondered. Her own tail lashed. “None of us would ever murder someone - are we supposed to just pick out one of us and pretend they did it?”

“Of course not!” Shadepool breathed, deeply troubled by the idea. “Tinystar would never allow that!” Grimly, she pointed out, “I don't think Mudstar would fall for it, anyway.”

“Probably not,” Sorreltail agreed. She lowered her muzzle to the edge of her nest and sighed. “Shade... I'm so scared.”

Shadepool felt a pang of sorrow for her. She traced her tail-tip down her friend's spine. “It'll be okay, Sorrel,” she murmured.

“Sun is worried that our kits might never know her kin in the mountains,” Sorreltail mewed on. “But if WindClan drives us out, they won't even know ThunderClan. They'll have no one at all.”

Shadepool didn't know what to say to that. Her mouth felt dry. The idea of ThunderClan, the cats she knew and loved so dearly, scattered to the winds, lost and confused and without one another, was horrifying. She recalled hearing a story of a Clan that had faced a similar fate from her father, cats who lived by a cliffside far from the old forest after they had been driven away.

Where would we go? she wondered. The old forest was probably gone by now, and life in the mountains would be very difficult. Would StarClan follow us somewhere else?

“Hey,” Sorreltail offered. She nudged Shadepool's paw with her own. “If I'm okay, I don't mean to keep you from your other duties.”

Shadepool dipped her head in gratitude. She touched her nose to Sorreltail's ear and mewed, “Try to get some sunshine when you feel up to it. It's good for you.”

Sorreltail shifted in her nest. “Will do,” she promised.

Shadepool slid out of the nursery. In sharp contrast to the dark, gloomy warmth, the stone hollow was blindingly bright and chilly, alive with the motion and chatter of cats preparing for the inevitable conflict. Between all the noise, Shadepool could hear the trilling of birds and the trickle of meltwater as it ran down the rocky walls. Earthy scents filled her nose, while the sun warmed her back.

Newleaf had officially begun.

Quickly, Shadepool trotted into the clearing. As she wound around the fallen tree, she spotted Sun and her patrol depositing some prey onto the fresh-kill pile. Sun grabbed a pair of mice and passed Shadepool, nodding to her as she made her way into the nursery.

Cinderpelt had taken over for Dustpelt, directing Ferncloud as they worked together to reinforce the thorn barrier. Some cat must have gone out to dig up more materials, as there was a large pile of sticks and torn-up bushes near the camp entrance that the two were using. Shadepool bet herself that she would be pulling splinters from their pads before sunhigh.

Snowmelt had flooded the glade in the forest, so training had to be moved into the camp, even for Spiderpaw and Mousefur, who were practicing battle moves over by the apprentice's den. Across the clearing, by the tumble of stones Shadepool had used to sneak out of camp, Mistyfoot was tussling with Rainwhisker while Sootfur and Cloudtail looked on.

Shadepool flinched as she watched Mistyfoot deliver a fierce mock bite to Rainwhisker's shoulder. Rainwhisker yowled something, and the two parted, panting, and at Mistyfoot's signal, Cloudtail and Sootfur replaced them.

Shivering, Shadepool looked away. She had learned a few basic battle moves on the journey to meet Midnight, but nothing like that. Much as she itched to use her claws at times, Shadepool was certain she'd never be able to deliver hard blows like a warrior could.

A dark shape flickered in the corner of her vision. Atop the Highledge was Tinystar, perched above his Clan, his eyes piercing. He didn't seem to be looking at any one thing in particular, but Shadepool knew her father was searching for any sign of trouble as if he could feel every bit of his territory in his paws.

Did he even sleep last night? she wondered. She had delivered his poppy seed - one of their last few - but she hadn't the time to see her father take it, and its potency was questionable at best now.

Not wanting to be caught in her father's gaze, Shadepool put on some speed and, a moment later, slid past the dry lichen and into the medicine cat cave.

A low moan greeted her.

Shadepool's ears pricked. Brackenfur was bent over Dustpelt, pressing a bundle of soaked moss into his throat wound. Dustpelt moaned again, his eyes glazed with pain. The cave smelled slightly sour, making Shadepool's pelt prickle.

“Infection?” she hissed, sliding up to Brackenfur. Whitewing was resting across the cave, and Shadepool didn't want to wake her unnecessarily.

Brackenfur nodded confirmation, his expression grim.

“He was fine when I woke up!” Shadepool breathed. “How...?”

She looked down at Dustpelt. His fur was matted around his wound, which was oozing blood and pus at a sluggish pace. The brown tabby tom bared his teeth at Brackenfur when the medicine cat dragged the moss down the wound again.

He must've opened it in his sleep somehow, Shadepool thought.

“Check Whitewing,” Brackenfur ordered.

Wordlessly, Shadepool obeyed, crossing the cave to see the young white she-cat. Her nose was buried beneath the ginger stripes of her tail, and a quick sniff told Shadepool that, unlike Dustpelt, her belly wound was free of infection. From what she could tell, the wound was healing well. Whitewing was sleeping soundly, and Shadepool didn't want to do anything more that could wake her.

“Whitewing is fine,” Shadepool reported. She joined Brackenfur at the back of the den, where the shallow pool of water trickled in from the forest above. Thankfully, the snowmelt hadn't caused it to flood. “What do we do for Dustpelt? Sweet-sedge? Sorrel?”

“We're out,” Brackenfur told her, “of both.”

Shadepool's ears pricked in shock. “Completely?”

Brackenfur nodded, pressing a ball of fresh moss into the water. “Whitewing's wounds haven't displayed any sign of infection yet, so she can do without, but Dustpelt...”

Dustpelt groaned again. Shadepool grimaced at the sound. She suggested, “Perhaps we should move Whitewing to the elder's den, then, so she can keep resting? No one's there at the moment.”

“We should, yes,” Brackenfur agreed.

“What about poppy seeds?” Shadepool wondered. There had to be some way to ease Dustpelt's pain. “How many are left?”

Brackenfur sighed. “Some, but they're not strong enough anymore.”

Shadepool took a deep, quavering breath. “Juniper, then?”

“Weak, too, in this case - but there's more of them than the poppy,” Brackenfur mused. “Fetch some.”

Shadepool nodded and got to her paws. In a few steps, she was ducking into the storage cave. Even by scent alone she knew it was perilously empty, but she grabbed a pawful of the shriveled juniper berries in her teeth and brought them out to Brackenfur, who was still dabbing at Dustpelt's wound.

Dropping the berries beside Dustpelt, Shadepool touched her nose to his, pulling away when she felt how warm it was. Concerned, she rolled a few of the misshapen juniper berries over to his muzzle. He lapped at one or two, grunting as he swallowed.

Shadepool was about to open her mouth to speak when she heard paws scuffing on stone. Turning, she spotted Ashfur and Larchpaw at the entrance to the cave.

“Brackenfur? Shadepool? Are you in?” Ashfur called.

A quick sniff told her there was no blood, but something clearly wasn't right. She was just about to ask why they were here when Larchpaw began to cough. Shadepool could hear his lungs rattling from a tail-length away.

StarClan help us, she thought, a cold feeling washing over her spine. Is that whitecough? Now, of all times?

“He was sniffling all morning, and I thought it might've been allergies,” Ashfur sighed, looking down at his apprentice worriedly. “But when he tried to chase a bird, he lost his breath almost immediately.”

Shadepool flicked her tail to one of the free nests, away from Whitewing and Dustpelt, and Ashfur guided Larchpaw there. When Larchpaw laid down, Shadepool heard him wheeze.

“How are you feeling, Ashfur?” Shadepool asked as she leaned in to test Larchpaw's temperature.

“Fine,” Ashfur said, “but I know how quick this stuff can spread...”

Larchpaw's fever was obvious, but not at whitecough levels yet, which Shadepool thanked StarClan for. Perhaps it actually was just allergies from the new growth or a chill from underestimating the warmth of newleaf, like young cats often did.

She suggested as much to Ashfur, who looked relieved. “He needs rest,” Shadepool told him. “A few days, and he'll be fine.”

“That's good,” Ashfur said, exhaling gratefully. “Ferncloud would have my tail if anything happened to him...”

Ashfur left quickly, probably due to patrol or training. Shadepool sighed and fluffed up Larchpaw's nest to help him retain as much warmth as he could. They didn't have any feverfew, coltsfoot, or even catmint, and while the juniper would help ease his coughing, what they had just wasn't strong enough, and Dustpelt needed it, too.

Brackenfur had finally stopped tending to Dustpelt and was back at the pool, washing his paws. She joined him and explained what had happened to Larchpaw, keeping her voice low. She felt her mentor stiffen at the news.

“That could become whitecough very quickly,” he sighed. “If it isn't there already.”

“I know,” Shadepool agreed. She tried to keep her fur from bristling with alarm. “We need herbs.”

“Nothing is growing.”

“Not for us, yet,” Shadepool suggested carefully, “but for the other Clans...”

Brackenfur's eyes flashed. “We have no idea of how their herb stores are faring. There's no guarantee they'd have anything to help, and they've their own Clanmates to aid!”

“It's better than sitting and waiting for plants to grow,” Shadepool pointed out. She felt heat flash beneath her fur. “That could take over a moon! We don't have that kind of time, especially with WindClan's ultimatum.”

Brackenfur hesitated to respond, flattening his ears.

Shadepool pressed on while she had the space to do so: “Ryewhisper can't - or won't - help us, but Littlecloud? Mothwing? They would, for sure! And while I'm gone, we can send a patrol to look for more herbs on our territory. This way, there are at least two chances of some cat finding something that could help!”

There was a long silence punctuated by Larchpaw's wheezing and Dustpelt's occasional groans of pain. Shadepool's heart was in her throat - did Brackenfur trust her like he claimed? Enough for this?

Brackenfur stared her in the eye, clearly thinking - and then, finally, blessedly: “Do it.”

There was no time to waste. Shadepool shot off, bursting out of the medicine cat's cave and into the clearing. Everything was as it had been that morning, though as she headed for the Highledge, Shadepool spotted Brightheart, Silverstream, and Nightfrost returning from a patrol.

She had wanted to talk to her brother about what had happened yesterday, but there just hadn't been an opportunity, and there certainly wasn't one now. While he was greeted Mistyfoot, Shadepool was clambering up to the Highledge to meet her father.

Tinystar noticed her instantly, and the urgency of her expression had him ask, “What is it?” within a heartbeat.

Quickly, Shadepool explained what was happening and her plan. She was surprised it had come out so coherently, with how breathless she was from scrambling up to the Highledge. Tinystar listened intently, his eyes flickering in thought.

“Very well,” he decided. “But you're not to go alone.”

Shadepool hesitated. “But-”

Tinystar yowled, “Nightfrost!”

Shadepool swallowed. Nightfrost? She watched the small, black shape of her brother part from Mistyfoot and begin to head toward the Highledge. She knew what her father was thinking, and she could only wonder if her littermate would even want to come with her after everything they had endured recently.

“I can go alone,” Shadepool insisted, “it would be quicker!”

“If you run into danger, you will be vulnerable,” Tinystar reasoned predictably, “and you'll need a spare mouth to carry anything you're given. Not to mention...”

Nightfrost had scrambled up to the Highledge by then, and, panting, he asked, “What's going on?” He glanced between Shadepool and Tinystar and wondered, “Everything okay?”

“Shadepool needs to visit ShadowClan and RiverClan for herbs,” Tinystar explained. “I want you to go with her and do something else for me along the way.”

“What?” Nightfrost asked, his gaze narrowing slightly.

“I want you to speak to Russetstar and Leopardstar, and tell them about WindClan's threat,” Tinystar explained. His ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly. “I need them to know what ThunderClan is facing, and I need to know if we will have their aid, should the worst come to pass.”

Shadepool stared at her father. Of course, it made sense now. If any cat could convince the other leaders to help ThunderClan, it would be Nightfrost! She was certain he had made friends in every Clan thanks to his willingness to help during the Great Journey.

Yet Shadepool didn't need their connection restored to see that the idea unsettled Nightfrost. The events of the day before had clearly upset him. He shifted on his paws and suggested, “Mistyfoot would do far better than I would, Father...”

“I need Mistyfoot here to help prepare,” Tinystar said resolutely. “No, Nightfrost, you are the best choice. Not the second-best, either.” He didn't wait for Nightfrost to protest any further: “Go, now. StarClan speed you both on your way - ThunderClan depends on you.”