#good news is that i am not nearly as afraid of fighting her if it comes down to it

[mythals-whore]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags my lovely friends @sugar-peanut-cat @flowersforthemachines

edit: did I forget to tag people? Maybe. But I remembered immediately and I am tagging @basedonconjecture @seaglassmelody @serensama & @operative-arrow

I have not made much progress on the longfic (everyone who voted that there wouldn't be a new chapter by Friday...you were right I'm afraid) BUT modern au has been keeping me afloat so here's something from that.

"A good investigator never sleeps." There's a pause on the other line, and Neve can only imagine Rana's dry smile. But when the next words come, even that feels false. "Varric Tethras is dead." Even in her sleep-soaked state, the name straightens her spine. Varric Tethras, investigative journalist. He's most famous for a piece he wrote on the bombing of the Vatican, and for his alleged connection to the perpetrator. But if the heat he'd been under since then scared him, he didn't let on. Just in the past year he'd broken several articles on both presidential candidates. Since the election, he'd fallen silent. Until two months ago. Two months ago, Varric Tethras approached her at The Mug Shot, the coffee shop she always stopped by on her way to work. He didn't even bother not to know who she was. "Your card was on his body when they found him." Her eyes slide closed. "How did he die?" "Stabbed to death early this morning in an alley off K street." A good man, even if many of her friends in the FBI disagreed. Neve swallows over the lump in her throat. Death is an old friend, Varric a new one. "Thanks for the heads up. I assume that—" "Detective Lenos will want to talk to you." Rana agrees, and bereft of an audience, Neve rolls her eyes. The old bastard lost his touch years ago. She has a sneaking feeling this case will go unsolved. "But that's not why I called." Neve's brows shoot up. She rubs the heel of a palm into one eye, trying desperately to shake off sleep. "Friend of mine was at his office, looking for leads." Rana says. "It seems Varric was looking into an old friend of yours." Neve knows the name that is about to grace her ears before it does. "Solas." Not a friend of Neve's, not nearly. "What can you tell me?" Neve demands, mind sharpening to a knife's blade from one blink to the other. "Not much." Rana says, and when her voice coems through next it's lowered, slightly muffled. "I'm at the hospital, guarding the only witness." "Witness?" "Lenos thinks she's our suspect." "You don't?" There's a long pause. "I don't know." the other woman says finally. "Her clothes were covered in his blood and she was caught scrubbing her hands in a bar bathroom—but she's severely concussed, two of her ribs were broken." "Varric put up a fight then." The steady hum of silence greets her. "Maybe."

[thelonelyfog]

It's kind of funny?

Not long after realizing that I'm, well, me, I have had several experiences with different bug/worm related things. Including one where a friend of mine found a maggot/silver worm in their lunch.

And by funny I mean absolutely terrifying, send help.

[sanguineterrain]

knight in shining helmet | jason todd

Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!reader 

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.

the divider

You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life. 

You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with. 

“Unhand me!” you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. “You'll be executed for this!”

You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught. 

“Batman will find you,” you add. “He'll save me.” You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him. 

That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. “If he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.”

“I am a priority guest in this city, of course he would—”

“Shut her up,” the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You don’t want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.

You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to the fear: either Batman finds you in time, or he doesn't.

That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious. 

When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.

You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. You’re alone, which confuses you.

Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.

The good news is that your kidnappers aren’t here. The bad news is that the reason they aren’t here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they don’t get the ransom they’re no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham. 

Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. You’re going to die.

But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.

They’ll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. You’re the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you. 

Yes, you’ll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and you’ll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. That’ll be very nice. 

You’ll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure. 

The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If it’s your kidnapper, you want to act like you’re still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didn’t catch the whole film, though—you were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d watched the whole film!

As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that he’s a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.

“‘Lo?” asks a gruff voice. “Anybody here?”

You shout through your gag. You can’t make out a face, but it’s alright. Relief floods you. You’re saved.

Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a… red helmet? With glowing eyes?

Wait a minute.

“Holy shit,” Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. “Y’okay?”

Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.

"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.

"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. “You don’t look very happy to see me, all things considered.”

“I don’t want your help!” you say, wriggling away from him. “I’m in an alliance with The Batman!”

He tilts his head. “‘S that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?”

“I am not a beauty pageant contestant,” you say hotly. “I am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.”

He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.

“Princess, huh?” Hood nods. “Ah, yeah. I heard somethin’ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that I’d run into ya.”

“You mean, you weren’t actively looking for me?” you ask in a small voice. 

“Nope. You’ve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here ‘cause I smelled motor oil.” 

Now that he’s found you, what does he plan to do?

“Are… are you going to release me?” you ask.

“Depends. Is this place rigged to blow?”

“My dress,” you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesn’t seem wrapped up too tightly. 

“Hm?” Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. “Damn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.”

His praise doesn’t comfort you, oddly enough.

“Is it live?” you ask.

“Doesn’t look like it. And I’ve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.”

Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view. 

“Who were they?” he asks.

“Who was who?”

“The people that took you.”

“I don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,” you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.

“Mm.”

Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you. 

Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."

“I don’t work for the Bats,” he says, an edge to his words.

“Well, I don’t feel comfortable with you rescuing me,” you say. “You’re a criminal.”

Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.”

He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.

"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"

But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.

"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"

You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.

You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.

"Are you cryin'?"

Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded. 

"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.

He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.”

You look away. "You left me.”

"I did,” he says. “But as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."

"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."

He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your ankles—a feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."

He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you don’t want to throw up. Success! 

“Anything hurt?” he asks. 

“My legs,” you say miserably. 

“Okay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?”

“Um… no.”

“Fantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.” 

You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.

“I don’t give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.”

You huff. “You expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.”

“And what am I s’posed to do about that?” Hood asks. “I look like a Payless to you?”

“I don’t know what that is,” you say. “Don’t you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. I’ll catch a virus! You’ll have to carry me.”

Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure. 

“Oh my God! Highness, you’re a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I don’t carry anybody unless they’re unconscious and I like ‘em a lot. It’s a short list.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m a guest in your city, and I’ve been kidnapped! The least you can do—”

“The least I can do is leave you to rot here,” Hood says, tone cutting. “Or let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You aren’t in whatever palace they carted you out of; you’re in fuckin’ Gotham, and if y’want my help, you’re gonna suck it up and walk.”

You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle. 

“You don't have to be so mean,” you say, voice watery. “I’ve had a difficult night.” 

It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger. 

“...Look, I think I got some spare boots,” Hood finally says. “Stay here.”

“Where would I go?” you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesn’t reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots. 

“Used?!” you ask, voice high.

“Lightly, Your Majesty. They’re my spares. Here.”

Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like he’s flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.

“Time’s a-ticking, princess. I’m on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. He’ll find ya. Eventually.”

So you put on the boots. 

You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket. 

He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing. 

“Got it?” he asks, arms slipping away. 

You definitely don’t have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back. 

“Whoa. Easy.” Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. “Look a'me. Look—stop fighting, Jesus Christ.”

“This is no way to treat a princess!”

“Yeah, I missed that day of training,” he says dryly. “Stay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.” 

“Your grip hurts!”

Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.

“Seems like you’re still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. Now…”

Hood steps back, but not so far that you can’t grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover. 

“So that’s not gonna work.” He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen. 

“What on earth are you doing with that?” you ask, taking a small step backwards.

“Cutting your dress,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

You gasp, backing away. “No you will not!”

“Princess—”

“This dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonight’s gala. You’re not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!” 

“Is it worth more than your life?” Hood snaps. “I don’t have any spare clothes and I’m not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.”

You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isn’t as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.

“Bike?” you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. You’ll grieve for your dress privately.

“Mmhm.”

“I thought you had a Batmobile.”

“That’s Batman’s car. Hence the name. I have a bike ‘cause I’m a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Can’t we take a taxi? Or call a car service?”

Hood snorts. “No one’s driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. It’s my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.”

He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hood’s strides are long and you’re unsteady in his too-big boots.

“Can you please slow down? These boots are enormous!”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. It’s a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. You’ve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enough—why remove the comfort and protection of a car?

Hood’s bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused. 

“Hasn’t killed me yet, and I’ve been dead once.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

“You’ll be fine,” Hood says at your silence. “I’ll go slow.”

“Alright,” you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. “Very slow.”

“Yeah, yeah, very slow. C’mon.”

Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him. 

Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesn’t work.

“Yo, Bambi. This century would be good.”

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle!” you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. “You could help me.”

“For fuck's—” 

Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain you’re about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you don’t bang into him as you sit. 

“What is wrong with you?” you hiss, smoothing down your dress.

“Re-lax, I didn’t see anything.”

“This is highly undignified—”

“Yeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?”

“No.”

“Mm. Hold my waist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all ya want.” Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. He’s warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. “You’re drugged and unsteady. If y’don’t hold on, you’re gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.”

“Go slow,” you say again, obediently holding his waist.

“Yeah, I’ll go slow,” he says. 

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.

True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. You’re able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. You’re definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.

You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom you’ve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous. 

But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.

Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. That’s when another biker turns onto the road behind you. 

“Shit,” Hood says, and you’re startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. It’s like he’s in your head. “We’re being tailed.”

Well, that’s not good. You turn around briefly but you can’t make out your follower; you’re too scared to move on the bike.

But then you hear the bike behind you speed up. 

“Motherfucker,” Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip. 

“Hold on,” he says, like you'd do anything otherwise. 

Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and you’d prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.

“We lose him?” he asks when the road levels off and it doesn’t feel so much like you’re on a rollercoaster.

“Um…” you begin, and chance turning around.

It’s clear for a few seconds until…

Well, to echo Hood’s sentiment: motherfucker.

“He’s there!” you yell, and Hood growls.

“The helmets are mic’d, you don’t have to shout,” he says, leaning into a left turn. 

“I see him!” you say, and grab one of Hood’s holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hood’s neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words you’ve never even heard. 

The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign. 

“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand. 

But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.

“He’s gone! We’ve lost him!” you say happily. 

“Are you insane?” 

You wince at his volume. “The helmets are mic’d, you know.”

“You’re so—”

Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask, putting out your arms. “We lost him!”

“No, we didn’t. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But that’s not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You don’t know how to use a gun and you could’ve hurt yourself.”

You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isn’t wrong, he’s just… loud about it.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps. 

You don't reply. 

“I need a yes.”

“...I wanted to help.”

Hood sighs. “Yeah, well… just don’t. I’m good at what I do and I’ll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. “I'm sorry, Red Hood.”

You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful. 

It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, “Don't cry.”

Your jaw works as you swallow hard. “I'm not.” You turn your head so he won't see.  

“Christ on toast,” he mumbles above you. “This is exactly why I don't do rescue missions—”

You sniffle. “I'm not crying.”

“—’Cause I'm the world's biggest asshole,” he finishes, voice miles softer. 

Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other. 

“Look, ‘m a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.” 

You rub your eyes. “I don't like yelling.” 

“Yeah,” Hood says quietly. “Okay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you can’t pull stunts like that. Deal?”

You nod. “I won't fire any more of your guns.”

He snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’d you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, y’didn’t do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.”

“My father wanted me to learn gun sports,” you say. “I learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I don’t condone killing animals for sport.”

“Uncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?” You think you detect a smile in his question. 

“Everything has its exceptions,” you say primly. 

“Ain't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, ‘scuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.”

Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle. 

“How far are we from my hotel?” you ask.

“‘Bout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,” he says apologetically. “Wasn’t planning to save lost princesses tonight.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?”

“Pretty and funny,” Hood says. “You're the whole package, beauty queen.”

Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen. 

“Pardon me,” you say, mortified. 

“What, ‘cause you're hungry?” Hood asks. “‘S a normal human condition.”

“You don't know anything about royal manners,” you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public. 

“No, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.” 

“Showing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,” you say. 

“Being a princess sounds exhausting.”

No arguments there. 

Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down. 

“There's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,” he says. “I'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys won’t be far behind.”

“A seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!” you say. 

“I’m… glad you're so excited about convenience stores?”

“I saw it in a film once. My father didn’t catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.”

“I know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,” Hood says. “Wait, did you say your dad didn’t catch you?”

You hum. “He doesn’t like me watching films that aren’t pre-approved.”

“Wow. Y’know, I could pirate you some movies if y’want. I know a great website for it.”

You laugh. “That’s alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that he’s older.”

“Pretty sneaky, beauty queen.” He sounds impressed. 

You shrug, trying to hide your pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax. 

“Red!” a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.

“Hope you’re listening to your ma,” Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone else—to you—it would be unnerving. 

But the boy grins. “I am!”

“Then why aren't ya in bed, huh?” 

The boy shrugs. “Not tired. Who's the lady?”

“The lady is a princess, so be nice,” Hood says.

“Whoa!” The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window. 

“Mom!” he yells. “Red Hood found a princess!”

You giggle as Hood leads you away. 

He shakes his head. “Kids.” He sounds terribly fond. 

You stare at his back for a moment. 

“They like you,” you say. “You keep them safe. But you're also a friend.”

“Helps to earn their trust,” he says gruffly. 

You walk a little more in silence. 

“I was wrong about you, Hood,” you say. He doesn't look at you. 

“Lotta people are. Nothin’ new.” 

No, it probably isn't. 

“‘Kay, here we are. C’mon. We gotta be fast, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, following him into the 7-Eleven. 

“Hey, Benny,” Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.

Benny nods. “Long night?”

“You got no idea.” He gestures to you. “She’s a princess.”

“Sweet,” Benny says. “What’s up?”

“How do you do?” you say politely. 

Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.

“I have had a hot dog before,” you say. “I’m not that sheltered.”

“Yeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.”

“Well, you’ve gotten me this far, so I suppose I’ll trust you,” you say.

“I’m flattered. Benny, my usual.”

Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ‘roller’ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.

“Why is it that color?” you ask.

“Tasty chemicals,” Hood says cheerily. “It won’t kill ya, I promise.”

“That would be counterintuitive at this point,” you say. 

“I appreciate your faith in me, princess.”

You return to Benny, who rings up the food. “Five twenty-seven.”

Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.

“What?” you ask.

“This is the part where you pay,” he says.

“A princess never carries money on her person,” you say, like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“You–” Hood looks at Benny and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door. 

“Thank you, kind sir!” you say as Hood waves. 

“See ya, Ben.”

You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.

“I’m not a cupholder,” he says, but he takes the cup anyway.

“It’s warm!” you say, delighted. “Let me take a bite.”

Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.

“Good?” he asks.

“I like it,” you say. “It’s unusual. Is this chicken?”

“So they say,” Hood says. “Try the slushie.”

You take the cup and first take a small sip. It’s cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.

“This is wonderful,” you say. 

He laughs. “Yup. Told ya, nothin’ like this combo. It’s a classic. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly. 

“This is just like Roman Holiday,” you say.

Hood snorts. “I don’t think we watched the same movie.”

“It has a likeness. You’re Gregory Peck.”

“Yeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. I’m Greg fuckin’ Peck.”

“No, you’re right. You’re much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?” you ask.

“Twenty-four.”

“Really? Why are you doing this?”

“Took a career test.”

You bump his shoulder. “Seriously, Hood. You’re young. You’ve so much potential. I can tell that you’re smart.”

“Hence why I do this,” he says.

You tut, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.”

“You’re just fulla charm, aren’t ya?” Hood says. 

Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” you say. “I guess I assumed…”

“Yeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And you’re wrong.”

“You made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and I’m not.”

Hood stops, turns. “Maybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said I’m not a criminal anymore. I help people.”

“I know that,” you say quietly. “I see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just… I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.”

He’s quiet for a bit. You keep walking. 

“I didn’t think you were stupid,” he eventually says.

You scoff. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Yeah, I thought you were a little… sheltered. But you’re smart. You’re certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.”

You roll your eyes. “He still thinks I’m six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.”

“Pretty shitty tour.”

You smile behind his back. “Oh, I don’t know. The tour guide is alright.”

Hood stops. When he doesn’t speak, you approach.

“Hood?”

He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.

That’s when you hear voices.

“—single fuckin’ clue. She could be in the fuckin’ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!”

“China’s on the other side, dumbass.”

You look up at Hood, eyes wide. 

Those are your kidnappers' voices.

He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down. 

You assume that means stay put and don’t try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.

Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own. 

“Nice night, ain’t it?” he says. 

The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.

“Hood, we weren’t doing nothin’!” one says.

“Yeah, Ricky and I are clean!”

“Oh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.”

“We was nowhere near the Plaza!” Ricky cries.

The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks. 

“You were gonna hurt her,” Hood says, and now there’s no trace of humor in his voice. “That poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckin’ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckin’ animals.”

“It wasn’t our idea, it was Bobby’s!” Ricky cries. 

“Shut up, Ricky!”

A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.

“The only reason I’m not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.” Hood leans in. “You’ll pay for hurting the princess. I’ll make sure of it.”

With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud. 

He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go. 

You look down at the unconscious bodies. “You don’t have to kill them.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience.”

“They kidnapped you. They would’ve hurt you had their boss ordered it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t want you to bear that burden, Hood.”

“‘S not a burden,” he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. “If it’ll make you feel better, safer, anything. It’s no burden.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.

“I’ll tie ‘em up and send for ‘em when we get back. One second.”

You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like they’re sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them. 

“So they can see what it feels like,” Hood says, dusting his hands. You can’t help your small smile. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. “I guess so.”

Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.

“Climb on my back.”

You blink. “Pardon me?”

“You’re pardoned.” Hood shrugs. “I can tell you’re tired. We don’t have far to go.”

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask. “All that way…”

“Princess, I’m honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. I’m more than capable.”

“But what about your rule?” you ask. “About carrying people.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad,” he says. “Get on ‘fore I change my mind.”

So you climb onto Hood’s back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Don’t choke me out,” he says. “Otherwise we’re both goin’ down.”

You smile and relax on his back. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You can’t complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike. 

You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago. 

And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hood’s solid figure lulls you to sleep. You don’t even realize until you’re being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness. 

“Hey.”

You’re gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hood’s shoulder.

Oh. Right. You’re on his back.

“Hm?” 

“Ride ends here,” he says. “We’re at the Plaza.”

“Oh.” Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You could’ve woken me! I—”

Hood holds up a hand. “Hey, chill out. ‘S fine. You had a long night, I get it.”

“Right. I, um…” You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog that’s settled over the city. You wonder what Hood’s windows look like. 

“I’m gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll kick his ass, at the very least.”

You look at Hood, blinking. “Oh. That’s very nice of you, thank you.”

He shrugs. “‘S my job.”

You nod clumsily. “Right, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?”

He snorts. You smile shyly. 

“Cute,” he says, but he’s not being mean. “No, that’s okay. I’m pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.”

“Surely there’s something—”

“Seriously, princess, no charge.”

You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.

“What about a kiss?”

At first, you think Hood hasn’t heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you. 

“Ex-cuse me?”

“Um.” You scratch your neck. “Well, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, don’t they?” you ask, but it’s weak. It’s stupid. You’re so young.

You think he’s going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.

“I’m sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,” you blurt.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didn’t have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.

“Wasn’t terrible or wasn’t a joke?” you ask, blood roaring in your ears.

Hood’s quiet. 

“Haven’t done much kissing, to be honest with ya,” he finally says, not answering your question. 

You shake your head. “Nor I.”

“Mm. And y’wanna kiss me? Don’t offer ‘cause you think you owe me.”

“I want to kiss you, Hood.”

He tilts his head. “Y’wouldn’t be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.”

You frown. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m no Greg Peck. And I’m no hero either.”

“Do you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?”

“You’re the first one who’s wanted to,” he says.

You inhale sharply. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You don’t. Neither does he.

“Can’t believe a princess wants to kiss me,” he mumbles.

And then he covers your eyes with his hand.

You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud. 

Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though he’s covering them, out of respect.

His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesn’t know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what you’ve seen others do and what you’ve watched on television.

You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears. 

“Your Highness? Your Highness!”

The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.

Your lips tingle with heat. It’s all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress. 

You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.

Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. “Can you hear me? Doctor, I need a—”

“I’m fine,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m alright, Father.”

He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.

“I am so glad you’re alright,” he says. “The police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?”

“No, not at all,” you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. “He was my hero.”

[navybrat817]

Fall for Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he's good enough for you, but still wishes he could be your guy. Word Count: Over 1.4k Warnings: Longing, insecurities, "just friends" (for now), Steve is a good friend, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: We'll call this a Friday Feels inspired by a nonnie.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a special kind of torture for Bucky to watch the person he loved flirt with someone else.

To be fair, he couldn't say for sure that you were flirting. Being friendly? Yes. You had a warm and welcoming personality, the kind he was drawn to the moment you two crossed paths months ago. One of the things he loved about you was how genuine you were. It was only natural that you pulled others in as well. Your compassion, charm, beauty, everything called to him.

You were the whole package, inside and out.

“What the hell am I doing here?” He muttered. He hadn't wanted to go to the bar, but Steve assured him it was a hole-in-the-wall sort of place. Not a lot of patrons on a night like this. Somewhere no one would bother them. He added at the last second that you were going.

Bucky grabbed his leather jacket to go as soon as those words left Steve’s mouth.

Instead of having a drink with you like he wanted or just talking, he simmered in silence in a booth while you stood at the bar. He narrowed his eyes as the guy you were talking to moved an inch closer. A bit too close for his liking.

Steve said his name was Will. They had met each other at some point in passing. Short blonde hair and a trimmed beard. Ex-military, but still built like he had a war to fight. Behind the guy’s blue eyes lurked pain, guilt, and regret that most would miss due to his general stoic demeanor. Bucky could relate all too well to horrors that haunted even the strongest of men.

But when Will looked at you, his eyes lit up. They held a sense of longing. Hope.

Once again, Bucky could relate all too well because that was how he looked at you.

“You’re doing that staring thing again,” Steve said, grabbing a beer from the bucket and setting it down in front of him. “Just talk to her.”

Bucky took a swig, but didn't take his eyes off you. He was afraid if he looked away that Will might convince you to leave with him. “Talk to her about what?”

His best friend sighed. “You know what.”

Steve knew how he felt about you. Talking about his feelings wasn't easy, but he had to tell his best friend. And it wasn't the first time Steve encouraged him to speak up. He said you had the right to know so the two of you could figure out how to move forward, whether as a couple or just friends, instead of dancing around it.

But how could Bucky admit how he felt when he didn't deserve someone like you?

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

“We're friends,” Bucky stated. The words tasted as bitter as the beer he sipped. No, not bitter. He couldn't feel that way just because he had a piece of you when he wanted all of you.

Was he selfish for that?

He nearly shattered the bottle in his hand when you giggled at whatever Will said. Something akin to jealousy settled in his chest and he had no right to feel that way. The two of you weren't together. You were single and didn't owe him a thing.

But he knows if you gave him a chance, he’d treat you well. Better than any other guy before him. He would do his best to make you happy. Maybe that wasn't enough.

“Will is a good guy, but he isn't you, Buck. You’re still one of the best guys I know,” Steve said.

“You don't have to kiss my ass, punk,” he muttered, immediately regretting it. He was only trying to help and God knows he had done more than enough for him over the years.

Steve shook his head. “And you don't have to feel sorry for yourself, jerk.”

“I’m not,” he whispered. Maybe he was. He was sorry for so many things.

As if you sensed his sadness, you looked over your shoulder and met his gaze. You smiled at him, the kind of smile that stole the very breath from his lungs and made his head spin. He wanted to believe it was a smile you reserved only for him. And the softness in your beautiful eyes, he imagined he could see his future in them.

Could you see the endless love he had for you in his?

His heart ached when you turned away and put your hand on Will’s arm. Of course, you were attracted to the guy. Why wouldn’t you be? The thought of you kissing him though, being intimate with him? He felt sick enough to finally look away.

Bucky glanced at his distorted reflection in the beer bottle. A long time ago, he would've called himself handsome. Not because he was full of himself, but because he knew himself then. He knew how to walk the line between confidence and cockiness. He was full of life and wonder once. Now the weight of his sins showed in how he carried himself.

Sins you never judged him for.

“Jamie? Are you okay?”

Steve nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was so lost in his mind that he hadn’t heard you call out to him. He should’ve known since you were the only one who called him Jamie. When he looked up from his seat, he saw that you were no longer standing next to Will as he was still at the bar. And there was nothing but concern in your gaze as you set your drink down on the table.

“What? What happened?” He asked, not smooth at all.

Your eyes flickered to Steve and then back at him. “I asked if you’re okay. You don’t look too well.”

“Not feeling so great,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. “This place…”

“Oh,” you said, sliding into the booth beside him. He inhaled, your sweet scent soothing the pain in his heart and making it race all at once. “Well, why don’t we head out? There’s no reason to stay if you don’t want to stay.”

He gently smiled. You were always willing to go with the flow and change plans if things ever got too loud or too much for him. “I’m fine. Besides, you just got your drink and you haven’t had a chance to play pool with Sam or Natasha,” he argued. He didn’t want to spoil your night.

You put your hand on his arm, but it seemed different than when you touched Will’s arm. This was tender, soothing. “If being here is making you uncomfortable, then I don’t feel like sticking around. They’ll understand. Steve, please, back me up on this.”

“She’s right. You two should go,” Steve said, conveniently leaving himself and the others out of the equation.

Bucky spared Will a glance, who was now talking to the guys he went into the bar with. He swallowed hard before the next words left his mouth. “What about your new friend?”

“You are my friend, Jamie,” you said. He winced inwardly at the reminder. Friends. You were just friends. “Don’t worry about him. Let’s just go. How about a movie at your place? Something low-key so you feel better.”

“You sure?” He asked, wondering just how eager he looked to leave with you.

“I’m sure,” you smiled, making his heart warm again.

“Okay. You convinced me,” he said. Not that it would’ve taken much. Your smile could bend the will of just about anyone.

“You know, I hear healthy conversations are also good to help people feel better,” Steve chimed in, earning an elbow to the side from Bucky.

You raised an eyebrow and slid out of the booth. “Yeah. Sure. Jamie and I can have a healthy conversation and you all enjoy the rest of the night.” You offered Bucky a hand to help him out. He didn’t want to let go. “C’mon. We have a movie waiting for us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky teased, proud of himself when you giggled.

Steve gave him an optimistic smile and he couldn’t help but return it. He wasn’t sure if Will had given you his number or if you planned to see him, but maybe he’d take a chance and tell you he had fallen for you. Maybe, if he was lucky, you had fallen for him, too.

Just maybe.

And maybe, just maybe, this could be a thing? Did Will give you his number? Will Bucky say how he feels? What's going to happen? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[parkersgarage]

a/n:I just be throwing words together and hit post y’all, I can’t even lie.

Sevika x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) 747 wc, little angsty but I wouldn’t cry to it (｀_´)ゞ dialogue heavy as per usual!

“Am I still allowed to say, ‘come back in one piece’” you ask quietly, watching her tighten miscellaneous screws on her arm.

Sevika doesn’t get it. Why you’re so suddenly quiet when before you wouldn’t stop yapping her ear off, or when she’d come home, you’d shout and cheer while waking up the whole damn block. But now it’s just quiet.

She hates it.

A look of disappointment crosses your face when you don’t receive any response. Your eyes have never looked so dull and lifeless before.

“I know you don’t like this,” she starts, staring at her hand. She couldn’t look at you. “I don’t either, but this is how I can keep you safe.” A hum is her only response; she takes it.

“Can you talk to me, please?” Sevika nearly bites her tongue at the plea, but you’re the most important thing in her life now and maybe forever. “I can’t read your mind, not as good as before.”

A shaky and deep sigh falls past your lips. With trembling fingers, your hand glides up her arms gently, slowly melding your body against hers. She takes you in just as tenderly, rough fingertips holding your waist while the cold metal of her hand reaches to your neck.

“It’s too much,” you confess, letting your head fall to her shoulder. You couldn’t let her see you. “All of this change, all the blood being spilled, your new employer.” Your voice gets rougher by the end, and Sevika’s heart churns at the anger in it.

Had she known how you would react to it, if she knew how bitter and angry you’d be about her joining the very force she used to fight against, would she still do it?

If she could take back joining, if she had just let it lie and die, could she?

“I’m–” the apology sits heavy on her tongue, waiting to spill out, but all that follows is silence. You wonder, did this new life mean Sevika couldn’t even talk to you?

She sighs, rubbing her forehead as you pull away from her. “I wish I didn’t have to do this just to keep you safe.” She murmured, her head cast low in an attempt to hide. “He told me as long as I work for him, not a single thing would touch your head, and that’s all I want.”

“Vika, we could’ve just left—”

“And where would you suggest we go?” She asks, cutting you off entirely. There’s a snap in her tone that doesn’t go unnoticed, one you couldn’t blame her for. Yet she sighs again, regret on her face– or rather, it was guilt.

“I get it.” You nod, sitting back– away from her. “I’m sorry.” Another sigh; it seems almost never-ending. The dissatisfaction, the hurt, everything. All because of one slight change. “I won’t complain anymore.”

“That’s not what I–” her sentence falls off her tongue when you get up. Just as you move to walk away, her fingers are quick to grasp your wrist lightly. “Don’t go.” She whispers, and shockingly, her eyes turn watery before casting downwards. “Please.”

You sink back down to your knees. Her hand still holds onto you, afraid you’ll walk away again. You can’t tell what’s going on in her head, what internal battle she’s going through, and how this change affects her.

“You should eat.” You say after a beat of silence. She only hums, ultimately leaving the thought behind as she lays her head against your chest. “You’ve had a long day, Vika.”

Her eyes shut as she focused on your beating heart. She felt bad for tuning out your voice, but this is what she needed. To hear that you were alive, that you weren’t lying lifeless in a ditch like she’d been threatened with hours ago by some goon who was less than her.

At the end of the night, after you’ve both eaten and settled for bed, she clings onto you tighter than she ever has. When she thinks you’ve fallen asleep, the tears that soak your shirt don’t go unnoticed by you. All you wished for was to turn around, wipe them from her face, and tell her it would be okay. But Sevika wouldn’t want that, at least– that’s what you thought. “I love you.” She says. It weighs you down, making you sink further and further into the pit you dug yourself into.

You wonder why it was only said when she thought you were sleeping.

can yall tell I like writing semi-soft Sevika ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[suugarbabe]

Lover (II)

[Chapter 2]

this is the final part do not ask for a third pls

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: ~1.8k

Warning: none

You were fighting to keep your eyes open. Normally you loved charms, loved learning new spells and mastering ways to mess with the boys. But the stress of your other classes was keeping you up at night. 

Mattheo knocked his shoulder into yours, “You still with us, love?” You made a soft grunting noise in response, earning a chuckle from him. He pulled on the sleeve of your robe until your head fell to his shoulder. 

He let you lightly snooze like that until class was over, tapping your nose several times until you stirred, “Wakey wakey, princess.” You sat up, eyes shooting open, “W-what did I miss?” 

Pansy snorted beside you as she packed her bag, “Just all of charms. Don’t worry, Matty boy let you take a nap on his shoulder.” She winked at Mattheo, who only glared at her for the teasing. 

You didn’t notice this interaction as you were covering your face, groaning, “Teo, why did you let me sleep during class?” 

He sighed, “Maybe because you’re the smartest witch in charms class and you needed a break. You’re stressing yourself out, all the lads can see it, too. They’re just too afraid to tell you to your face.” 

You grinned at this, “I like that they’re a little afraid of me.” Mattheo laughed, leading you out of the classroom and down towards lunch, “They’re a lot afraid of you, love. And I know you like it you little psycho.” 

You punched his arm playfully. Despite you not nearly being strong enough to inflict pain on him, Mattheo grabbed his arm, displaying a large pout. 

You entered the great hall together, making your way to your group of friends. Enzo barely let you both sit down before he started talking, “You both attending the party tonight?” 

Mattheo looked at Enzo like he had two heads, “Do you know who I am?” 

Enzo nodded, “Yeah, good point.” He turned to you then, “Y/n/n? Party?” You smiled, “Course, Enzie. Wouldn’t miss it.” 

Mattheo felt a stirring in his chest, like a bubbling, or burning when you used your nickname on Enzo. His face must have displayed his inner feelings because Draco leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Careful cousin, your little green monster is showing.” 

Mattheo turned to him, “What are you on about?” Draco smirked, “You’re jealous. That Y/n is being sweet to Enzo, of all people.” 

Mattheo’s shoulders relaxed a little. Draco was right, he was being ridiculous. Enzo was like everyone’s child, you were just being sweet to him because that’s how you were. 

“What’re you gonna wear, y/n/n,” Pansy always tried to get you to dress the most scandalous at parties, especially one’s your house hosted. Usually you just opted for something simple, but tonight, you were on a mission. 

“I was thinking maybe we could get ready together? Maybe you can even pick an outfit out for me, Pans?” Pansy was giddy with excitement. 

Mattheo’s cheeks grew warm just thinking about the outfit Pansy might pick out for you. Pansy was a confident woman and, thus, wanted every woman around her to feel as confident. Mattheo thought you were beautiful, no matter what you wore. However, you usually stuck to more moderate clothing choices. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to handle it if Pansy dressed you in anything remotely similar to how she went to parties. His head might explode on sight. 

“Oh that’s the one. Yes. You have to wear that one, please, y/n/n,” Pansy was fawning over you in the outfit she had made you try on. You had on a pleated leather miniskirt with a velvet cropped tank top that was the prettiest emerald green. 

You did a little spin, “You don’t think it’s too much? You know I don’t usually dress up like this for parties, or in general.” 

“Yeah, I know. But Mattheo will be absolutely drooling over you when you come down in this.” Thankfully Pansy was digging through her jewelry and didn’t see the way the blood rushed to your cheeks. “W-why would I want him to do that?” Your voice came out more cautious than you would have liked, wanting it to be stoic and nonchalant. 

Pansy gave you a knowing look in the mirror as she clasped a silver necklace around your neck, “I see the way you look at him, love.” 

“I don’t - I, erm, what I mean is- ugh, fine, yes, okay.” You were a stuttering mess, not able to hide the truth so you just admitted it. 

“I fucking knew it!” Pansy was bouncing on her toes now. You shushed her, “Calm down, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way about me. Just sees me as a…friend.” The word felt like vinegar in your mouth. 

“I think you should talk to him about it,” Pansy said it so casually, like she suggested you ask him about potions homework. 

You couldn’t help but scoff at her, “Are you mental? I could never risk our friendship like that. He told me the other night at the lake that I was his best friend. Emphasis on the friend, Pans. That’s all I am to him.” 

“Right,” Pansy’s tone told you she was not convinced, “You mean to tell me the boy who who willingly carried you on his back to a ‘special spot’ that’s just for the two of you, who took time out of his night to sit with you while you were freaking out, who laid with you to watch the bloody stars over the lake and then carried you all the way back to the castle and tucked you into bed, only sees you as a friend.” 

Pansy shook her head as she walked into the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror again. Observing the way the skirt fell to your mid thigh. Would Mattheo like that? Would he see you and, as Pansy put it, ‘drool over you’? The other things she said played in your mind. How differently Mattheo seemed to treat you. You never really put two and two together. 

You had always figured it was because you were the first girl in the group that he was nicer to you. He was always affectionate with you, giving you long hugs, kisses on the forehead. Holding your hand to stop you from nervously biting your nails. 

He was always there to calm you down, rub your back and hold you when you cried or someone broke your heart. Always promising to hex anyone that did you wrong. You always told him it was unnecessary but one look at Theo or Draco and it would get taken care of somehow. 

You found yourself sat next to Lorenzo on one of the love seats in the corner of the party. Your group had formed a circle, Mattheo sitting across from you. His eyes seemed to never leave you, whether you were aware or not. He was watching closely to every move Enzo made, making sure he kept his hands to himself, appropriate distance from you. 

He was paying so little attention to the game he didn’t even realize that the bottle had landed on him. “Truth or Dare, cousin?” The smile Draco was adorning was not one Mattheo was fond of.

“Erm, truth.” Mattheo figured this would be the safer choice, but soon learned it was anything but.

Draco leaned back in his chair, glancing around the circle until he met your gaze, then turned back to Mattheo, “When are you and Y/n going to admit you’re in love with each other.” 

You nearly choked on your drink, causing Enzo to pat your back viciously while trying to hide his laughter. The entire circle seemed to agree, but you and Mattheo were quick to deny the allegations with a chorus of “he doesn’t see me that way” and “she’s way too smart for me” with some “we’re literally best friends”. 

The group was not happy with either of your responses, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Pansy toward the broom cupboard while Theo and Draco dragged Mattheo. You both were shoved into the small closet, leaving very little room between the two of you. 

The door was slammed shut while Draco muttered a locking charm. “You two are going to stay in there until you admit your feelings for one another,” Theo shouted. Pansy’s voice was heard next, “I’m tired of you two ignoring it, just bloody admit it.”

The floor was suddenly the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You both were silent, avoiding the other the best you could. You could hear the music blaring through the closet door. You flicked your wand, casting a silencing charm. 

“Sorry, music was…hurting my head,” You spared a glance at Mattheo only to find he was already looking at you. Mattheo’s eyes were one of your favorite things about him. Where everyone else just saw brown, you saw honey and autumn leaves. When he looked at you his eyes were soft, flecks of gold dancing within them that reminded you of a flame. 

You opened your mouth to say something the same time as Mattheo, but where you were at a loss of words Mattheo’s seemed to pour out of him.

“Y/n/n, I love you. Like really, truly, all encompassing in love with you. Merlin, I have been for years. And I know you don’t feel the same but-”

“I do,” you had to interrupt his ramblings, he had to know the truth. 

“What?” 

“I love you, too, Mattheo.” 

He took a tentative step closer, like he was making sure you were real. Making sure you really just echoed his confession. Your back was to the wall as he cupped your cheek, his other hand gently gripping your waist. Your hands were flat on his chest as you looked up to meet his eyes again. 

His body seemed to work faster than his mind as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Years of passion coming out in a single moment. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. 

You were so enthralled with each other that neither noticed the sound of the door unlocking until it swung open, cheers and whistles of encouragement from your friends bringing you both down to reality. 

“Bloody finally!” Blaised shouted, causing you and Mattheo to look shyly at the floor. The rest of the group shouted a mixture of congrats and relief that you two seemed finally together. 

Mattheo stepped out of the closet first, holding out his hand for you to take hold, “C’mon, lover. Let’s rejoin the party, yeah?”

[stars-and-darkness]

hi! saw that you're a darklina fan...do you have any good fic recs? loved your darklina fics btw

i am a darklina fan (my beatiful toxic shaylasssss, they are so unwell), though ironically enough over the years i've come to prefer the books to the show, meaning my own fics aren't to my taste now ashdjhdjkdfnh

but i'll never pass up on an opportunity to rec stuff, so:

show-based stuff:

All Is Bliss (Until Someone Loses An Eye) by AquitaineQueen24

'There is this; Kirigan is going to hate sharing his big find with Peter and the Apparat. You’ll look like a saint incarnate when the Emperor starts screaming and throwing a tantrum.’ ‘Indeed. Praise saints for once that I’m married to a complete and utter moron.’ Empress Catherine may have only wanted to change the world for a few days at this point, but that in no way means that General Kirigan is permitted to monopolize the Sun Summoner. General Kirigan, who has been planning to change the world for nearly three hundred years, thinks the new Empress is very sweet. Emperor Peter just wants people to be afraid...of how much they love him. (Why doesn't the Empress love him?!?!) Alina Starkova very much wants to change the world, but also wants everyone else to calm the hell down and stop trying to recruit her for their coup.

Ember Island Players Present: SOL KOROLEVA by PresidentHades

SOL KOROLEVA is a new production from acclaimed playwright Aidoneus Prazident. She has scoured all of Ravka gathering information on the Sun Summoner Alina Starkov. Her sources include the orphanage matron at Keramzin, First Army officers, Little Palace chambermaids, a stableboy, and a plethora of acerbically witty diary entries from an anonymous contributor. This production is brought to you by the critically acclaimed Ember Island Players.

The Book of the Raven by qqueenofhades

To my dear and unfortunate successor: I have debated for many years whether I should finally commit this story to paper. In one sense, the decision might seem easy: I am a historian, after all, and the reconstruction and understanding of the past is our profession’s stock in trade. But there is always the question of where it crosses over into autobiography, where scholarly objectivity gives way to subjective memory, where one cannot always be sure that the historian is, in fact, the best person to tell the historian’s own story. Does the weight of academic responsibility, of factual clarity, of reconstructing events as they truly “were” (itself an utter fallacy, but that is a discussion for later), overrule the understandably human impulse to make it a better tale, to clean it up around the edges, to present one’s own actions in the most benevolent and justifiable light? Despite my unique circumstances, I am no more free from that impulse than anyone else, and so I must ask whether you are willing to trust me as the narrator of my own history.

Social Sciences by yrulikethis

Extremely private Professor Morozova simps over happily married Sunshine-y oversharer Professor Starkov. Gossip and speculation ensues.

Our Lines in the Sand by GaleSentinal

In which being an orphan, a soldier, and a cartographer is more integral to Alina’s identity and she pays attention to the world around her. Meanwhile spending some 400 years in power confers certain advantages to the Darkling, but also certain blind spots. In this fight to secure a better tomorrow, both will be confronted with the same question: What are they willing to sacrifice in order to win? A reworking of the series from the ground up, where the politics are more realistic, grisha abilities are more than just magic artillery, people aren't inexplicably stupid, the religion and history are more present, everyone has an agenda, everyone has their secrets, and imperfect people love, struggle, laugh, fight and strive for a world that they can live with.

kato stara rana e nashata lyubov, mili moĭ by Darnaguen

First part of a trilogy of forehead kisses I promised to write for a Tumblr prompt. I chose Netflix's new Shadow and Bone as the subject against my better judgement, having not read the books it's based on. So… be gentle?

Saints and Sinners (Are you the Hunter or the Prey?) by BrytteMystere

Through the centuries, they change the world, and are changed by it in turn.

Ten Suns in the Sky by PresidentHades

Alina has a happy childhood in a border town that never gets razed. Her father is a clever otkazat’sya blacksmith who labors over creations to rival any Fabrikator’s. Her mother is a Shu Inferni who teaches her daughter to embrace the sunlight in her hands and their heritage. When the family makes a fateful attempt to cross the Fold, the Darkling finds not a pawn but a queen.

kołysanka by Darnaguen

“Sing me a song, Alina.”

book-based stuff:

backstage behaviour by limnaeus

“If you told them the sky is green, they would believe you. If you told them to, they’d kill themselves trying to attack the Grand Palace. Are your fanatics so different to my loyalists?” It is an alluring thought, an intriguing power she hasn’t mastered – shouldn’t even attempt to master – half as much as the sunlight. It is a fine line she must perch on. He doesn’t realize there is also danger in being so loved. Her devotes would tear her to pieces just to keep a part of her with them. They would spit on her and burn her as soon as they found out just how little of a saint she truly is. Or; Alina is a Saint and the Darkling is into it - for political reasons, of course. A visitation of plans and prayers and Ravka's destructive love.

Serendipity by DukeOfDucks

It was him but she had never seen him like this, not even when he had collapsed in her arms, a dagger in his heart. He was still the same— the sharp jawline, the pale skin, the lips— and yet his cheeks were stained red like a child in a fever. His quartz grey eyes were half-lidded, unfocused yet looking up at her, and his perfect lips were parted to let out small struggling pants. His cheekbones had always been sharp, but now he was downright gaunt, and she wondered when he had last eaten. “Alina,” he finally whispered, so quietly it could have been the wind murmuring in her ears. She leaned closer, her hand still on his shoulder, not pulling away when he wrapped his own around her wrist again. “I didn’t know where else to go,”

Three's a Crowd by InsectKin

Alina and Mal's quiet night in Keramzin is interrupted by a newly not-dead visitor. They never made a very good trio.

To Demand Aim by manico_del_lume

To be immortal is to often pick up new hobbies: it keeps life interesting. This time, the Darkling tries out darts.

Saint of Heretics by NoAngelKnows

For six hundred years Sankta Alina has ruled as the physical personification of the nation of Ravka's spiritual and national identity. With the persecuted Grisha flocking to her side as a fanatically devoted army and aligning with the Lantsov family to establish an unbroken line of ruling tsars, under her reign Ravka has risen from a dark age of unending warfare to a unified kingdom bound by peace. But after six hundred years under the heat of an unrelenting queen of the sun, Ravka is suffocating from the traditions and laws of the past. Once meant simply to preserve and protect Ravkan culture and lives, it is employed to ruthlessly strangle and suppresses any attempt of progress. Now the land is boiling with rebellion and revolution and the question is being whispered all over the land: "If the people have grown ready to rule themselves, what place is there for the ancient Mother of Ravka?" Then, down from a mountainside in the heart of Ravka, comes a black-haired boy with grey eyes and a power unseen in any Grisha for six hundred years. The scales are precariously balanced, which side will his power uplift and which will it bring low?

Worst Laid Plans by goblins_riddles_frocks

(fair warning, this one's darknikolina)

Nikolai seeks to make alliances with both sides of Ravka’s civil war.

Winter in the Little Palace by redsixwing

Baghra and Alina's wildly different perspectives on the Darkling, and how things could have gone if nobody listened to Baghra.

The Silence of Your Touch by goatsandgangsters

Set during Ruin & Rising. After Alina first uses their connection, she wants more. Only this time, he isn’t alone. But that just makes it more fun. Or, “How to Frustrate (in more ways than one) Someone Who Can’t Talk Back: An Exploratory Study ft. Alina Starkov” — In her quiet moments, she would pick it up and study it, like a rare and beautiful gem. The sharp lines of his face. The slant of sunlight through the window. The stillness of him, the hitch in his breath, the waver on the edge of a precipice he so wanted to fall into. She had known that feeling many a time, the waiting, the wanting, the lure of it. But she hadn’t expected to see it in him. She wanted to see it again, the catch of his breath. She wanted to know what she could do to him.

Fata Morgana by DukeOfDucks

The future is bright. Bright with the strength of an ardent sun. Hot with the blaze of all-consuming grief.

Vulnerability by goblins_riddles_frocks

Alina visits the Darkling and finds him unconscious, still recovering from their last encounter in the chapel.

i am singing now as rome burns (mash your mouth against me) by bellemon

“Don’t say her name. You killed her,” he hisses, fingers closing around her neck, even as his thumb caresses the curve of her throat, even as his fingers intertwine with the fall of hair that lies at her nape. “She died for you.” “She died because of you,” Alina snarls, even as she leans into his touch, even as she hates herself for it. “We both killed her.” He gives a growl of rage and surges toward her. For a moment, the rage in Alina’s heart gives way to fear, to relief, to desire. He’s going to kill me. But then he is kissing her, lips crashing against hers like flint on steel, and isn’t that the same thing? ---- Alina does not resist the pull of their tether. The Darkling welcomes her in his own way. (Or, Alina and The Darkling are just two people hiding their Thirst through power plays)

[the-font-bandit]

Gossip

Had fun writing the Veilguard crew in this short little ficlet, with the companions wondering exactly who Rook is sneaking off to see in secret.

(Hint: this takes place in my Illarook universe).

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

“Well, I’m not asking,” Lucanis said as he drew a card, the dining room’s hearth warm against his back. “I value my life too much.”

Neve chuckled. “What, the fabled Demon of Vyrantium, afraid of Rook?” She set a card atop the face-up one in front of Bellara and collected them both despite a whine of disappointment from the elf.

Lucanis could have felt insulted, but Neve's crooked smile had softened the taunt, warmed him like the first sip of a fresh batch of coffee. He snorted. “And you're not even a little bit intimidated?”

“Didn't say that.”

“But…” Bellara played another card. “Isn't it, you know… rude? To be speculating on Rook’s love life like this, that is.”

“Not rude if it's a risk to the team,” Davrin said. He was their final player for tonight’s game. Rook was napping on the couch in her meditation room. Emmrich worked on some new experiment with Manfred, and Harding took the night off to tend her growing garden. Taash had said they’d join in later, once they’d finished their nightly workout.

Lucanis wondered if Davrin even noticed that his free hand drifted to scratch Assan between the ears as he continued. “Love makes people do dumb things. Reckless things.”

“No one said anything about love,” Neve pointed out. “But it is reckless, if she's been careless enough about hiding the bruises that literally everyone has noticed.”

Lucanis had been the second person to spot them. When he’d pointed it out to Neve–that the scattering of small, round marks on Rook’s wrists matched the arrangement of fingertips just a little too perfectly–the detective had already known. Of course.

“They could just be from missions,” Bellara offered, but it came out halfhearted. “We all get a bit banged up sometimes.”

“Do you get love bites from hurlocks just under your ear?” Neve teased.

Bellara flushed, then sighed. “Okay, I suppose not. But still…”

“I am surprised you haven’t found out already,” Lucanis told Neve as he played his hand. “You are the detective, after all.”

“Not for lack of trying. I’ve narrowed it down to Treviso, but that doesn’t help much. As a Crow herself, she knows too many people there. The Shadow Dragon contact I put on the case doesn’t know the city as well as Rook does, and she’s lost the few tails I’ve put on her. Not sure if she could tell she was being followed, or just taking shortcuts.”

Lucanis frowned. “The Crows do have our own paths through the city.”

“My few contacts in Treviso declined the job. Said they don’t want to run afoul of the Crows for something so trivial.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “You know people there. Could one of them–”

The dining hall door opened, and they fell deathly silent, glancing up.

Just Taash.

The group visibly relaxed, and Lucanis sighed. They’d all have made terrible Crows. Save maybe Neve, the only one who’d managed to maintain her cool, thumbing through her cards nonchalantly.

“What? Who died?” Taash asked, tugging out a chair. “Deal me in.” They reached for the pitcher of tea–tea–near Bellara and poured a cup.

“No one died,” Bellara said. “We were just, um, well, how to put this…”

“Taash,” Lucanis asked. “Do you know if Rook has a secret lover?”

Taash nearly choked on their gulp of tea, but recovered quickly. “Well, yeah. She disappears ‘to hunt down leads’ or ‘clear her head’ and comes back all glowing. Only one thing does that, other than a good fight.”

Neve dealt a hand to Taash and set the deck back in the center. “Do you know who it is?”

A shrug. “Nah. Don’t really care. Good for her.”

Bellara drew a card. “So, if no one knows, maybe we just change the subject?”

Neve sighed. “I'll keep chasing down leads. If she's keeping it secret, that makes me nervous.”

“Has anyone tried just asking?” Taash set a card down.

“That’s what we were talking about,” Davrin said after a sip of his beer. “Playing a big game of ‘not it’ about who gets to poke the bear.”

Taash shrugged. “I'll ask.”

“Your funeral,” Neve said. “But good luck.” She set her hand of cards on the table. “I win.”

“Welp,” Taash said the next night as the group sat down to another game. Harding joined this time, and Lucanis didn't miss that she sat just a little closer to Taash.

Lucanis poured his coffee and sat. “I suspect it went as well as predicted.”

Taash crossed their arms. “Her exact words were ‘none of your fucking business’, so yeah.”

Neve sighed. “I'll keep at it. Lucanis?”

“I'll ask around. Maybe Illario can do some digging. Discreetly.”

“Thank you.” Neve's smile was a little sad. “I hate to be like a dog with a bone, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

Davrin huffed a laugh. “You have a bad feeling about everything.”

“And it's served me well so far. Now deal the cards, Warden.”

Davrin collected and began shuffling the cards. Wearily, he said, “Harding, I see you feeding Assan cheese under the table. If you don't stop, I'm sending him to your room tonight and you'll find out what a gassy griffin smells like.”

“Sorry,” Harding said even as Taash laughed, bumping the dwarf’s shoulder with their own.

“Loser has to do the dishes after dinner tonight,” Davrin said. “Rules are serpents high, nugs low. Blue cards are worth double. Let's go.”

[argisthebulwark]

Care to share your Thorin musings with us?

i was a bit shy to post anything because it's very clearly just self inserty cringeposting but i do want to kiss thorin real bad!! i did not include the smutty part but here's some of my self indulgent thorin posting <3

“Why are you here?”

He sounded furious. She sucked in a deep breath and fought to recall that this was what she’d wanted so badly. All those long days of walking and practicing this speech, long nights spent gazing up at the stars wondering if he’d spared them a glance. Thorin stomped through the grand hall, each slam of his boot echoing until he halted. A long wooden table stood between them and she felt her brow tighten - was he creating distance?

“Am I not permitted to be here?” She shot back, fueled purely by frustration. “It was you who told me that I would always be welcome here.” Gods, seeing that pink in his cheeks felt good. She was under his skin. It felt comfortable to be in this position; to be at odds with him, fighting with him but thank the gods he was here. Thorin’s nose twitched at her words but his temper remained leashed.

“And you are.” He ground out the words as if they were the last thing he’d ever care to admit. Her blood boiled when his hand slammed to the table, mugs rattling while the other finger jabbed toward her. “I never implied you are not welcome. I will ask again - why have you spent weeks if not months trekking through dangerous territory without aid? Why have you left your home with such a weak explanation?”

“To see you.” She spit out the horrible admission, cheeks blazing from the genuine shock on his face. “Though your attitude has begun to make me regret the decision.”

Finally, Thorin fell quiet. He blinked far too many times while the weight of what she’d said settled around her. Of course she cared for him, she always had - but admitting such a thing felt like crossing the boundary they’d both danced around for so long. For a moment she feared he would flee. When Thorin swept around the table she wondered where he would hide from her but she held her ground.

The world stopped when he took the first step toward her. Her heart seemed to pound in rhythm with each step until he stood before her, allowing her a good look at him. Scars new and old crossed his handsome face, a thin pink line across one cheek still healing and a faded bruise was poorly hidden under his beard. Her lips parted to chastise him but she forgot how to speak when Thorin’s hand rose to cradle her cheek.

“And why would you do such a thing?” The low pitch of his voice sent her heart galloping in her chest. Thorin’s calloused thumb traced her cheekbone and it felt as if the rest of the world could melt away and she would happily remain right here. Her lower lip trembled when she considered giving voice to those nasty feelings that haunted her nightmares.

“I fear,” she began with a voice uncharacteristically shaky, “that I needed to see you.”

“Are you well?” Thorin leaned closer, tilting her face back and forth in search of injury.

“I am.” She snuck a peek and found nothing but concern in his bright blue eyes, fingers ghosting over a scar that had healed decades ago.

“I am here now.” Thorin assured her and she felt like such a coward. Staring up at the man she pined for with every shred of her soul she wanted nothing more than to disappear, terrified at the realization that he could reject her.

“Thorin.” Had her throat ever been so dry?

“Yes?”

“I am afraid,” she paused, scrambling for any semblance of courage and finding little. “I am in love with you. Perhaps I always have been, but as of late I-”

“Oh, thank the gods.”

His kiss was rushed, stubble scraping at her skin and rough fingers holding her face and her heart nearly exploded. Her split lip stung when she grasped his face and tugged Thorin impossibly closer, every inch of her buzzing and alive in his arms. His lips trailed along her jaw and down her throat yet a jolt of anxiety cracked through the haze of ecstasy.

“Thorin.”

“Yes,” he groaned the word into her skin and she nearly collapsed. She’d never seen him like this, so undone and needy, not since he’d been near starvation after weeks on the road.

“Thorin.”

“You must stop saying that or I’m bound to -”

“You must stop slobbering on me and respond or I will happily make the trek home.” It was a lie but he didn’t need to know that. Thorin straightened before her, lips pink and eyes shimmering with something she could only liken to hunger. It lit a spark deep in her gut when Thorin’s intense gaze held hers, hands clasping her upper arms as if she would disappear.

“I fear that I am in love with you.” She’d imagined these words from his tongue thousands of times in hundreds of different ways, though she’d never anticipated the pang of realization in her gut. “Deeply, horribly, unendingly.”

[clangenrising]

Month 11 - Leafbare

Prev | First | Next

The evening was cold but not unbearable, and for that Goldenstar was thankful. The sky was black above them, a blanket of dark clouds through which a star or two shone dimly. There was no moon to light their path. Nonetheless, she and her companions made their way to the Cornerstones for a very important meeting. 

“What if a fight breaks out?” Floodpaw said, padding beside her. “How will we know if StarClan is mad if there’s no moon?” 

“This is going to be a small meeting among leaders,” she said. “No one will be fighting.” Floodpaw frowned slightly and Goldenstar sighed. That boy. 

Sagetooth seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Are you sure it’s wise to bring him along?” she groused. Floodpaw pouted further.

“It’ll be fine,” Goldenstar said tiredly. 

The last few weeks had been exhausting. She’d spent days grieving for Scorchplume, then fretting over Yarrowshade while he healed from his bruised - but thankfully not broken! - ribs. After that she’d been scrambling to keep things together. To her shock, Orangestar had come to her suggesting they turn Aldertail over to the rogues but she had abandoned the idea the moment Goldenstar had pushed back. Orangestar was scared and out of her depth, they both were, but deep down she didn’t want to send a cat to such a terrible fate, which was a relief. 

Together they had organized this meeting, even if Snowstar and Flightstar had continued to put it off for days. The entire time, Razor and his rogues had pushed the border by a tail length or so every day, working their way deeper and deeper into her territory. The longer things dragged on, the more they drained Goldenstar’s energy. Each new inconvenience or threat was like a tick and they just kept building up until she felt like she was covered in them, metaphorically speaking. 

On the other side of Floodpaw from her, Smokyrose smiled sympathetically. “He promised to be on his best behavior, didn’t you, Floodpaw?” 

“That’s right,” he said, puffing up to his full height with a bounce on his toes. “I’ll be quiet the whole time, just like I promised. Please don’t make me go kitsit with the others!” He shaped his face into a pleading expression and craned his head to look over Goldenstar’s back at Sagetooth. At eight moons old, he barely had to stretch to do it anymore and Goldenstar marveled quietly at how quickly he had grown. He was nearly taller than she was!

Sagetooth rolled her eyes and looked away. “It’s not up to me anyways,” she said, which was as good as a yes. 

“What’s wrong with kitsitting?” Smokyrose teased. “Do you not like my little girls?” 

“No, it's not that,” Floodpaw scoffed, bumping shoulders with the elder gently. “It’s just boring. I’d rather be learning! Like tonight,” he turned his eager blue gaze on Goldenstar, “I get to study diplomacy and stuff.” 

“I’m surprised you’re interested, honestly,” Goldenstar said. 

Floodpaw shrugged. “I want to know everything it takes to be a good leader, in case I get to be your deputy one day.” 

“Hmm,” Goldenstar smirked, “we’ll see…” 

The four cats made their way over the river and into the trees. As the Cornerstones came into view, Goldenstar spotted a small cluster of cats. Among them was a bright ginger shape and for a brief second she thought it might be Scorchplume but the illusion was quickly dispelled. Orangestar’s posture was far too anxious to belong to Scorch. Besides, she thought, what would she be doing here? 

Orangestar waved as they approached. Beside her was Darkmoon, the deputy, and a tortoiseshell cat it took Goldenstar a moment to recognize. 

“Poppybird,” she greeted the FallenClan mediator with surprise. “Where is Flightstar?” 

“He’s not coming, I’m afraid,” she said apologetically.

“He’s not?” Sagetooth huffed. “For what reason?”

“He said this is none of his concern,” Poppybird said. “He said I was free to come in his stead, though, so here I am.” Sagetooth sat down with a disgruntled hrmf. 

“Well, thank you for coming,” said Smokyrose. “Maybe you can help him understand the gravity of the situation after tonight.” 

“StarClan willing,” Poppybird smiled and it was clear she was struggling not to speak ill of her leader. Goldenstar returned her pained smile and settled down next to Orangestar. 

“I hope you all don’t mind if my apprentice sits in on the meeting. I’m hoping it will be a good learning experience.” 

“Of course not,” Orangestar said, tail twitching anxiously. Goldenstar let her tail fall over top of Orangestar’s and the younger leader gave a breathy laugh and nodded in thanks. Goldenstar nodded back. She was grateful she was able to be there for the cats around her when they needed her.

She wished she had been able to be there for Scorch when she had the chance…

“Greetings, friends!” Snowstar’s voice rang loudly through the clearing, jostling Goldenstar from her thoughts. The white furred leader, Coyotechaser, and the SkyClan mediator, Heatherfuzz, strolled into the clearing and joined the other cats at the base of the Cornerstones. 

“No Flightstar?” Coyotechaser asked. 

“He declined the invitation last minute,” Poppybird explained. 

“That’s too bad,” said Heatherfuzz, folding his tail over his paws. 

“Yes, a real shame,” said Snowstar a little too loudly. Floodpaw in particular grimaced and pressed his ears back against his head. Goldenstar surreptitiously looked at Sagetooth who cast her a sideways glance and swiped a paw over one ear before focusing back on the meeting ahead of her. So her suspicion was correct then. It seemed Snowstar’s hearing was finally starting to go. 

“We should get started,” she said, changing the subject. “Razor’s band only get bolder by the day. Something needs to be done.” 

“Agreed,” said Orangestar, trying to sound firm. “Every day we have less and less prey to share.” 

Darkmoon nodded. “Either they don’t know how to preserve next year's hunt or they don’t care. I’d wager the latter.” 

“Both can be true at once,” Sagetooth said. “They know nothing of our ways and they don’t care to learn. They need to be stopped.” Turning her gaze to Snowstar, she said, “We would handle them ourselves if we could but, as you know, the Red Gut cut all of our Clans down to a dangerous size.” 

“We need your help,” Smokyrose said, glancing from Snowstar to Poppybird. “Both of you. This is a threat to all of the Clans, not just RisingClan.” 

“I know,” Snowstar started loudly, although she paused when Coyotechaser brushed her tail against her side and then started again at a more reasonable volume. “I know, but, from what you’ve described before, there are enough rogues to outnumber all of the Clans several times over. Maybe we should start considering alternatives.” 

“Alternatives?” Darkmoon glared. “Like what?” 

“Well, for starters,” said Snowstar, “maybe you both could start searching for new territories.” 

“What?” Floodpaw blurted but shrank when Sagetooth shot him a withering stare. Still, Goldenstar was with her apprentice on this.

“What do you mean, ‘search for new territories’?” she asked stubbornly. “Are we supposed to go off on our own? Cut ourselves off from StarClan and our ancestral homeland?” 

Heatherfuzz shifted forward with a kind smile on his face. “There are hunting grounds over the mountains,” he said, “and a lake. They might be a good place to settle down, away from this Razor and his rogues. We would even be willing to help facilitate travel through the mountains.”

“Isn’t that lake swimming with twolegs?” Sagetooth snapped. “If I remember correctly, You have a kittypet warrior now who used to live there.” 

“They’re only busy in greenleaf,” Coyotechaser said, “A seasonal challenge, like foxes and ticks.” 

“That’s missing the point,” Smokyrose said gently, no doubt trying to make up for Sagetooth’s brusqueness. “From what we understand, Razor is looking for a psychological victory as well as a physical one. He’s trying to prove that he can push us around, that he’s better than us. If we leave for the mountains that will only encourage him and next thing you know he’ll be encroaching into your territory as well.” 

“That’s a bit of a slippery slope,” Poppybird said, “don’t you think?” 

“Then we’re standing on the precipice of a slippery slope!” cried Sagetooth. “Stars above! Where are your spines?! Are you not warriors?” 

“Sagetooth…” Smokyrose warned carefully. 

“What?” Sagetooth’s hackles bristled. “Am I supposed to just sit by while these mouse-hearts hand our ancestral territory over to a bunch of faithless kittypets?!”

“Let’s all take a deep breath,” said Goldenstar. “Shouting isn’t going to get us anywhere.” Sagetooth huffed through her nose and turned her furrowed brows skyward. Thankful that the healer had listened, Goldenstar continued. “She’s right, though. This is what warriors do. Orangestar and I are going to have to fight back at some point. We need your help to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.” 

She searched the faces of the cats in front of her. Poppybird studied the frozen ground at her paws with a troubled expression. Snowstar had tilted her head back to look down her nose at her as she considered the argument. Coyotechaser’s head was tilted to the side in an expression that said, ‘she’s not wrong.’ Heatherfuzz was still offering a sympathetic smile. Orangestar’s tail began to fidget again. Fat, wet snowflakes started to fall from the sky, resting on the cats’ pelts as they sat in silence.

Coyotechaser leaned in to whisper in Snowstar’s ear and Goldenstar overheard the words “StarClan” and “not unreasonable”. 

Eventually, Snowstar nodded and said, “Alright. You make a good point. But I hope you can understand my hesitance. This is a big, dangerous thing you’re asking, and my Clan is just as weakened as yours.” 

“That’s why we have to work together,” Smokyrose said. “United we are stronger.”

“Yes, yes,” Snowstar sighed. “I just wish there were better prospects before us. I don’t want to rush into a battle we can’t win.” 

Just then, Sagetooth gasped sharply through her teeth. Everyone looked to see her sitting completely rigid, staring up at the sky with a heavy snowflake perched upon her nose and a distant look in her eyes. Goldenstar’s pelt prickled as the energy in the clearing changed. Those who had seen this sight before could recognize it anywhere - a prophecy!

After a long second, Sagetooth let out the breath and slumped her shoulders, head bowing. She panted for a moment before looking up at Snowstar with a grin. 

“Ask and ye shall receive,” she said, the snowflake still sitting on her greying muzzle. “In nine days, a storm will come and the rogues’ defenses will fall. That is when we strike.” Floodpaw opened his mouth then bit down on his lip to keep it shut. 

“Nine days?” Poppybird asked, “It was that precise?” 

Sagetooth flicked one ear and said, “There were no words but I saw a sudden vision of the moon being blotted out by snow, then a raptor crushed a snake’s head in its beak. I know the phases of the moon and that one should arrive in nine days, maybe ten.” Floodpaw was starting to vibrate in his efforts to contain himself. 

Goldenstar smiled. “Nine days then,” she said. “Can we count on you to be there?” 

“Yes,” Snowstar said and Coyotechaser once again had to correct her volume. “I’ll bring my warriors to your camp before nightfall.” 

“What about FallenClan?” Smokyrose asked. “Do you think the prophecy could convince Fallenstar to join us?” 

“I would like to think so,” Poppybird said. “StarClan’s will is clear. I will see what I can do.” 

“Thank you,” sighed Smokyrose in relief. 

“What do we do until then?” asked Orangestar. “My warriors are already struggling to eat. Even if we drive them back, that won’t return the prey they’ve stolen.” 

Snowstar hummed thoughtfully. “SkyClan can offer some of its prey to strengthen its allies. EarthClan and RisingClan are welcome to fish in our river until this threat is sufficiently dealt with on the condition that they preserve next year’s hunt.” 

“Of course,” Goldenstar agreed. “We’ll take only what the river is willing to part with.” 

Orangestar sounded on the verge of tears. “Thank you so much, Snowstar.” 

“It is the least I can do,” Snowstar said graciously and Goldenstar had to agree but she wasn’t about to overlook the gift they were already being given.

“We’ll see you in nine days,” she said, rising to her feet. “Until then.”

“May StarClan light your path,” Poppybird said, doing the same.

“And may we fight with the strength of LionClan!” boomed Snowstar. Everyone winced. 

“Indeed!” Smokyrose managed to cheer a bit. 

Snowstar nodded and turned to leave with her Clanmates in tow. Poppybird dipped her head to the others and slipped around the Cornerstones to return to her own territory. Orangestar turned to Goldenstar and smiled, sniffing back tears.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said. “I couldn’t have done this on my own.”

“You could have,” Darkmoon shook his head.

“Agreed,” said Goldenstar, “but I’m glad we did this together. We need to look out for each other more than ever right now.” 

“We’ll see you in nine days,” said Orangestar. “Good luck.” 

“You too,” said Goldenstar, and both groups headed in their separate directions. 

Before they had even left the clearing, Floodpaw practically exploded with questions. “What was that? You had a vision? Like from StarClan?” Goldenstar chuckled and wrapped her tail over his haunches as they walked.

“Yes,” Sagetooth said wearily. It seemed the vision had taken a lot out of her. “When they need to, they send us warnings about the future.” 

“How did you know what it meant? Can anyone see a prophecy or is it just cats like you and Papa?” 

“Anyone can,” Sagetooth hummed, “but usually leaders or healers are the ones to interpret them. It's a skill you can learn to cultivate, although some cats have a gift.” 

“So there’s gonna be a big battle?” Floodpaw turned his excited gaze to his mentor. “Can I go?!” He bounced eagerly, jostling up against her.

“Easy,” she laughed. “We’ll have to see. Russetfrond and I will probably hold an assessment before the battle to see if you three are up for it.” 

“Okay,” Floodpaw seemed a bit disappointed but wasn’t phased for long. “I’m sure we’ll ace it, no problem. Well… Maybe not Barleypaw.” He frowned as if irritated with his sister and Goldenstar laughed again. 

“She probably won’t want to go anyway,” Smokyrose said. 

“Yeah,” Floodpaw shrugged. “That’s fine. More fighting for me.” 

“That’s not how that works, kid,” Goldenstar rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever,” he laughed, bumping into her on purpose this time. She glared playfully and gave him a rough shove back, causing him to tumble onto his side with a squawk, flailing his gangly limbs. 

Goldenstar smiled but the smile quickly faded. This battle was no laughing matter. Fighting Razor’s rogues was going to be dangerous and that was before you factored in a heavy snow storm. She would have to talk with Sagetooth about the best ways to prevent injured warriors from also contracting frostbite, send extra patrols looking for horsetail and cobwebs, oversee extra training for the apprentice and maybe even some of the warriors. She would have to coordinate the attack with the other Clans and hope that Fallenstar didn’t try to pick a fight, if he even came at all. 

It was going to be a lot to handle but she was determined to do it. This was what Sunstar had trained her for. This was her destiny.

UPDATES: - Yarrowshade has healed from his injuries. - Sagetooth receives a prophecy from StarClan!

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[everybody-loves-purdy]

I fear that the Tawnypelt chapters are going to force all the "younger cats" to be absolute idiots specifically to make Tawnypelt get angry at them.

It's going to be like what Shadowsight or Nightheart had to deal with that their Entire Clan is a bunch of idiots who distrust/belittle them while They Are Right, but we won't see any real insight in these cats. They will just work as one monolith that will antagonize Tawnypelt whenever the plot needs and then magically fall into place as soon as she's proven she's right. The characters that Will fight back won't even do so because They As Characters are against what Tawnypelt says/does but because the plot needs a vessel to show that The Youth isn't listening.

Because if these characters had any agency it would be yet another good chance to show some internal struggle in ShadowClan and later ALL the Clans between Tawnypelt's StarClan mission and the cats who believe her, while other cats want to stay loyal to Tigerstar (who will very definitely not believe his mom at first)/they way they've been doing now.

These cats that stay with Tigerstar could then mostly be younger cats as he's more popular with them than Grumpy Old Tawny, but I don't think a cat like Scorchfur would immediately side with Tawnypelt either (even though I just generally struggle to see what Scorchfur would do, he's more used as a contrarian than anything else, so who knows) and all of this could give us more CHARACTER for all these nobodies and offer some interesting dynamics.

That will probably not be the case though and Tawnypelt will just constantly have to deal with disrespectful young cats not listening to her while She's Right until it's (nearly) too late and then they go back to her begging for help, and with how Tawnypelt reacts to these challenges (directly fighting back instead of the meekness of Shadowsight, or whatever Nightheart was doing) I don't think she'll be an enjoyable character to read from. And it's sad because this could've been an interesting new way to tell a story in these books, but it's already been done with Tawnypelt's Clan and they're not going to handle it well in CS.

I personally am really hoping that the lesson will be for Tawnypelt is that the younger cats are competent and have good ideas (like with the frog catching in the first chapter) and that she needs to trust the youth more.

I really really hope your proposed scenario with an internal ShadowClan struggle plays out.

But yeah I am very afraid that we will just get a “young people don’t know what’s good for them and should always listen to their elders” message

[butchreg]

fuzzy ( ~ 1k words )

not feeling well mentally or physically especially after the election results so not sure when i will be able to write something new / get to the lovelies in my inbox so i thought i would post something older... i am really nervous about posting this because it's very self indulgent && based around some of my personal experience but my lovey buddy encouraged me to so i'm being a brave pup && doing it anyway .. ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶꒱ྀི১

n e ways i am number one cate dunlap enthusiast ( && she is literally me ) so .. erm hai

summary : baby cate dunlap, an exploration of her regression && the complexities of her relationship with shetty

tags / warnings : angsty , hurt comfort , vent regression used to cope , brief allusion to sh , involuntary Trauma regression , multi-part ( hopefully ) , sfw agere , baby!cate , mama!shetty

Cate was accustomed to feeling fuzzy. Ever since she was nine years old her mind had done a strange thing. Whenever the memories got to be too much, when she couldn’t handle the guilt, the shame, the hurt she had caused, a sort of fog came over her mind and the world around her seemed to grow as she became smaller. This was only metaphorically - unlike Emma her physical size never changed but she felt different. She felt tiny and childlike. She was just an itty bitty little thing like she had been Before she had discovered what she could do. Her mind brought her back to a time when she was loved, when she was too small to be anything other than perfect - her parents’ little bundle of joy.

Oftentimes everything seemed too big and she spent her time in this headspace in tears or feeling largely frightened. She felt helpless, she felt ashamed but a part of her recognized that this was her brain’s way of helping her. At least when she felt tiny she felt too small to do all of the bad things she wanted to do to herself. It was different but it helped. She knew there was nothing she could do to control it, a fact that scared her but a fact nonetheless.

It was hard to feel so tiny and to be all by herself. Over the years she had grown used to it yet she ached for the soft touch of her mother, her sweet whispers soothing little Cate as she cried, her gentle fingers wiping away her baby’s tears. She dreamed of her father singing her to sleep as he rocked his little daughter in his arms, kissing her forehead as she drifted off to sleep safe and warm.

It had almost been too much when Shetty had come to speak with her for the first time. That fuzzy feeling clouded Cate’s brain and she wanted to sob when she saw her mother’s stone cold face, heard her warnings to keep her distance from the girl. How she longed to crawl into her mother’s arms. She wanted to tell her how sorry she was, how guilty she had felt for nearly a decade. Not one day had gone by where she hadn’t thought about it. God, she just wanted someone to forgive her.

And Dean Shetty had. She’d looked at Cate with kind eyes as she assured her that she was not to blame for what had happened. Cate had been confused. Of course it had been her fault. She told the woman this and instead of being angry she’d looked sympathetic. She had offered the blonde girl a hug and God did Cate need a hug. 

Shetty took the girl into her arms, wrapping her in a hug. A good solid one that made Cate burst into tears immediately, her mind clouding over the rest of the way.

She’d tried to fight it - how could she let a stranger into something so secret, so shameful, so personal. It was no use however. Fighting it made her tired and she was already so exhausted. So she cried and she cried. She let the older woman hold her for as long as she wanted to. When the woman pulled away Cate couldn’t look at her. A part of her felt afraid. She was afraid of judgement, of anger. She was afraid of how small she felt and most of all she was afraid to go back to being alone.

“Look at me, Cate.” Shetty’s voice was soft but firm. Cate did as she was told, sniffling and wiping at the tears still streaming down her face. “How would you like to come with me, darling?” She cried even harder. She wasn’t sure what she wanted.

“Shhhhhh,” the woman soothed her. “Hush now, darling. You’re okay now, Cate, you’re okay.” Cate was quiet yet she felt at last like she had found someone she could feel safe with. She was overwhelmed. She didn’t know what she could do aside from cry. So she did. She cried until she had no more tears left to cry. Still the woman wasn’t angry with her. This perplexed Cate. Shouldn’t she be angry?

When Shetty spoke again her voice was kind. “There, now. Have you gotten it all out?” She chuckled a little. Cate didn’t see what was funny. She nodded - she felt far too tiny to speak aloud. “Good, that’s good. My goodness, you must be tired.” Cate whined. She was.

“I’d take that as a yes.” She chuckled again. Cate could only babble in response. She leaned against the woman, closing her eyes. “Why don’t you have a nap and we can talk about what we’ll do after you wake up, hmm?” Cate whined again. She felt terribly fussy - she didn’t want to move and she certainly didn’t want to talk. The woman smiled at the girl but she made no comment on her behavior. She didn’t seem at all weirded out by it - in fact she seemed to know exactly what to do with her.

“Come on, Cate. Doesn’t a bit of rest sound good?” It did, it really did. She nodded. She let the woman, this strange woman, lead her over to her bed. She climbed under the covers and Shetty smiled at her once more. She let her pat the spot where her knee was as she stood over the girl.

“There,” the woman whispered. Cate hummed. Though she barely knew the woman she had offered her more comfort and compassion than she had been given in so many years. “There, that’s it, Cate. You don’t have to fight any longer.” She turned to go, leaving Cate to get her much needed rest. She’d drifted off almost immediately, hoping this wonderful woman would be there for her when she woke up.

[bqstqnbruin]

Nate MacKinnon Teacher AU

I have more ideas for this but I am running out of players because I cannot think anymore which is great since I'm back for in-service on Monday

Teacher AU Series

Warnings: None

WC: 753

______________________

“Why are you here?”

Nate looks up from his computer, confused. “What? I work here.”

“No,” Annalisa sighed, inviting herself into his classroom. She puts her bag down on the floor, moving some of his papers off his desk to make room for herself to sit. If anyone else had done something like that, he would have lost his mind, but Annalisa? Sitting this close to him?  “Why are you here this late? It’s nearly six.”

“Oh, whoops,” Nate says, finally looking at the corner of his screen. He told himself this would take him two minutes, not two hours. He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. “I was making a seating chart.”

“God, those are the fucking worst,” Annalisa laughs. “They won’t stop talking or something?”

“I always assign their seats. New month, new seats.”

Annalisa looks at him with her mouth hanging open. “Don’t you teach sophomores?”

“Yes.”

“They’re old enough to drive, they’re old enough to pick their own seats.” 

“So?”

Annalisa shakes her head, crossing her legs. “Too late to argue with you over this. Which class are you doing right now?” 

Nate turns her computer towards her, Annalisa leaning forward to read it, her legs brushing up against Nate. He takes in a sharp breath that she doesn’t notice while he watches her nod at the screen. 

She points at two names on her screen. “Don’t seat them together,”

He looks at the names, Cayden and Lucy. “I thought they were best friends since Cayden moved here when they were in second grade?”

Annalisa nods. “They were. But they’re fighting right now.” 

“I told them they could sit together this month,” he says, the color draining from his face, pulling a laugh from Annalisa. 

“Maybe if you sat them together sooner, they wouldn’t have had that fight,” Annalisa jokes, Nate not getting it. He stares at his screen, looking as if his heart was breaking. “Dude, I’m joking. They’ll be fine in, like, a month.” 

“Ok,” Nate says, leaning forward on his elbows on his desk. “If you know all the drama between the students, who else should I put together?” 

Annalisa laughs again, a feeling Nate couldn’t place running through his stomach. He lets out a sigh as she continues to look at his computer screen. “Oh,” she exclaims, making Nate snap out of the trance he didn’t know he was in. “Cameron and Max like each other, you should put them next to each other.”

“They do? I’ve never seen them talk to each other.”

Annalisa takes his computer in her lap and starts typing. “He’s too afraid to talk to her and she doesn’t know what to say to him when they are together, so you have to give them a reason to talk.” 

“Why?”

“Oh, come on,” she says, not looking up from his screen and continuing to type away. “You remember what it was like to have a crush on someone when you were younger and to barely know how to talk to them.” 

Nate lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as Annalisa glances and him with a smirk on her face that made his mind race. “Boy, do I.” She goes back to his computer, Nate mesmerized by her. “Why were you still here?”

“I was helping Miles with something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s trying to make this display for women’s history month.”

“And who better to ask than the only woman in the department?”

“I might as well be good for something to him, right?” she jokes, Nate hearing the annoyance in her voice. 

“So that date you guys went on the other day didn’t go well?”

“If that was a date I’m sorry for whoever he ends up with,” she laughs. “Ok, here.”

Nate takes the computer from her, his hand brushing against hers. He stares at the screen, a seating chart on it that would have taken him another couple of hours, or honestly, couple of months, to get to. No one he knew who had problems with each other were near each other, friends who knew how to sit with each other were next to each other, Cameron and Max were together, Cayden and Lucy further apart. It was perfect. “Shit, this is great.”

Annalisa hops off the desk, picking up her bag. “It’s great enough that we can both go home, now, right?”

“Or,” Nate says, his voice shaking as he packed up his bag. “We could grab dinner?”

Annalisa smiles. “Sure.”

[cursedcatchild]

I'm so excited about the new series!

I saw someone who wrote down what they would like to see in it and I was all like: I wanna do that too!🤩

So here it is, feel free to comment your own ideas if you want to! 😇

Finally having decent canon ships: Like TMNT 2012 tried and failed so hard. I swear Ramona was the only non disastrous one. Honestly I loved Leorai until someone decided to blow up the sweet home Alabama bomb right in the fans face. 🤯The rest of the ships were scandalous. And  ROTTMNT didn’t even dare to try and give us ships.😑 Like if I really want, then I might pressure my imagination to see some Kendratello or April+Raph, but nothing is canon. I think this time we deserve some shipper food people! ( So far it goes well, I kinda like the awkward crush Leo has on April. It feels real. Also I am looking forward to some Rasey.😏)

Canon LGBTQ+ turtles (or at least one):  Come on people, this is the 21th century it’s good d*mn time for some queer turtles.🏳️‍🌈 I mean ROTTMNT kinda gave us some gay Leo hints ( I swear if that guy is not gay then gay people are not even real😂), but nothing confirmed. Also what do you think which turtle should be queer? I personally vote for Raph or Donnie.😏

Cynthia Ultron being really evil: Like please let her be an actual threat!😈

Serious villains: Please, no more goofy villains like in Rise! 🥺There can be some, but I firmly believe that the mainly unserious bad guys caused ROTTMNT’s downfall. 😭No way it wouldn’t get a season 3, if the series would start off with something like the Shredder fight or the movie. (And truth to be told, I nearly dropped the show at the beginning, because it felt like it was aimed for a way younger audience with all that goofiness.)

Mutant Racism: This is the first time the turtles are out in public, they go to school and stuff. But even though they are accepted everything can’t be peachy, right? I want the tasty conflict of not all humans accepting them. Like, it would be illogical that there not a single rick b*tch in school that is disgusted by reptiles, or a bully that just found a too good reason now, to bully . Or are some kids straight up afraid of them? There must be people that are still unsure if this is not the ““ alien’s” master plan to take over the world.” ( Although that won’t go peachy, cause you try and pick a fight with ninja turtles.) 

Donnie being the biggest weeb of cartoon history: That’s self explanatory, also I wanna see him on a BTS concert. ( Boy deserves it!😇)

Purple Dragons are a High School Tech club: I just fell in love with the concept in ROTTMNT and because it would fit nicely into the new series in my opinion. ( since I guess we're gonna be in school a lot.)

Loads and loads of  fighting in school:  The boys deserve an audience.😂 Also I wanna see how the principal is gonna react to turtles destroying the school.😱

New human friends: They are bound to have some since they are going to school, right?

[amemberoftheosc]

Thoughts on TPOT 16

Guess who's back! It's me, Printer! I am well aware I am late but I'm oddly picky about when I watch these episodes ;-; So, let's get to it! [Spoilers below!]

Long episode, so I may be forgetting some things! We'll start from the beginning(ish) Let's start with Price Tag and Yellow Face's newfound friendship with each other! Expected from me? Definitely not, but happy to see it! I mean, more development for others' arcs as well That smile from Book as she watches Price Tag and Yellow Face tells me she's come to terms with her past Of course, her fear of abandonment may still lurk in the corners, but she's gotten better at fighting it So, to me, her arc is nearly over, if not already! Also, her scene with Winner is so sweet Both having a past of being tossed aside with people who left (and never returned) It reminds me of an argument I heard: That, sometimes, you are hurt. You go through painful experiences. The reason why is so that you can help others who went through the same thing or to help them avoid the experiences that hurt you. That's what I thought as I saw Book remind Winner that there are other people now that can help them with their trauma of abandonment

Moving onto the eliminations I suppose? Pin's elimination! I don't know what I was expecting, but her scene with Tree was really cute Actually, her scene with the entirety of Death P.A.C.T is so heartwarming! Everyone telling her that she made a difference and that she did good in the game ^^ Such a sweet elimination And with Pin giving her token to Tree! Ah, beautiful ^^ Then there's Ice Cube's elimination :< Sad to see Ice Cube and Book part ways when they are mending their friendship But... I do think their friendship has been repaired adequately enough. There are no loose ends now; Book and Ice Cube are on good terms again. One more thing to note about the eliminations: Pencil's panic attack Not only is she afraid of losing people she values, but she's afraid of Four The trauma of E.X.I.T runs deep in her After all, she was the first one eliminated and had to endure the most time spent in E.X.IT Not to mention that her first month there was spent in isolation; nothing there but chairs, math equations, and four-shaped trees It really does something to someone's psyche to be isolated that long and to go through the mental torture of not being able to do what you want And getting out of that situation when you've gotten used to it for years, it takes time to re-adjust to how everything normally works Sometimes that requires a coping mechanism, whether its healthy or not In Pencil's case, she ground herself by the desire to win Unhealthy? Yes, but it does help her to assimilate back into the competing again with other people (and no longer being trapped in E.X.I.T) This then leads us to Pen! He acts as the new arc that parallels Pencil's While Book was more of a foil to Pencil, Pen is near identical to Pencil Both are angry at the lost of their friends and need a way to express that anger Pen starts the episode by unbottling that anger then learning to control it Pencil uses that anger as fuel as winning, but never truly controlling it The rage is a motivator, yes, but it infects Pencil's view on others and herself Fascinating how Pen has this anger, though it does makes sense He got split up from his friends beginning of BFB, but was able to cope He lost Blocky during the split but gets Eraser back during the beginning of TPOT However, it doesn't last long due to Pencil's schemes To me, it feels like JnJ is trying to create sympathy for Pencil using Pen (and it's working for me) After all, it's a bit of a gamble to have Pencil up for elimination due to her previous actions Might as well increase her chances by showing her in a sympathetic light! I'll end this post by saying, I really love the animation for the the Freesmart Supervan! It's cool and I love how the team did Grassy hanging onto the van as they make a sharp turn to avoid Four!