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

[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?”

[alexusonfire]

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter Seven

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

A/n: In collaboration with @daydream-cement 🖤 If you wish to be added to the taglist please send me a DM!

Summary: Unbridled Rage.

November 6th, 1856

There will be no salvation for me. 

Time and time again, she came back to me. She begged for my love and what did I do? I called her a harlot. I degraded her and told her she was tarnishing my family reputation. 

Marjory refuses to speak to me and I cannot blame her. I hate myself as well. I know this is due to the hatred I have for myself due to my love of the fairer sex. I thought I had stamped out the flame of internal hate when I began loving the seamstress, but yet it was still glowing bright within me each time that sweet face brightened my doorstep. 

I am tortured as I relive those moments. She told me she regretted ever loving me. How I must have caused her such agony for her to ever say such a thing. 

This household is my personal hell. My only friend finds me despicable, my brother is proud of me for ‘remaining strong in my virtues,’ and my one true love hates my entire being. She deserves so much better than me, but I feel the need to rush to her and apologize. I want to crawl on my hands and knees through the depths of Hell in order to prove my repentance. She must understand that I have meant none of what I have said. 

Far too long, I have been held under my brother’s control. I must break free of this hold. I am not who I wish to be when he is near. I am not the woman my darling little violet deserves when I give his opinion more weight than is deserved.

I must find her. I must fall to my knees and let her know she is my one and only true love. I must do everything in my power to earn back her trust and love.

- J.M.

It had been over a week since Jane had seen you last. She could hardly eat, nor sleep, since her brother arrived nearly two weeks ago. The only task she found herself capable of was to reread her diary over and over, reminiscing the love you had shared.

After tonight’s diary entry however, she was feeling far less helpless. Her words filled her with a new sense of urgency - the need to be at your side and beg for forgiveness.

The next morning she awoke with the same vigor, gathering herself as best she could. She pinned her hair into place, put on her best dress, and gathered some of your favorite flowers from her garden before striding down the gravel walkway towards the shop. Her knees felt as though they would give out at any moment, her breathing rapidly increasing the closer she got to you. Her mind raced with every possibility, good and bad; you forgave her, you didn't forgive her, you loved her still, you hated her, you rushed into her arms, you spat in her direction-

Whatever the outcome, she knew she was responsible for it, and now it was her time to fight for you.

The shop loomed over her, and she felt a great weight in her chest just looking at it. She briefly recalled the first time she stepped foot inside, the first time she met you; how her heart had stuttered, her cheeks had flushed, how she couldn't get you out of her thoughts no matter how hard she tried. In this moment she longed for those early days, carefree and falling in love.

Unsure whether she was still welcome to use the back entrance, she chose instead to enter through the front door, the bell above it seeming far too loud. The shop was quiet, and Jane was surprised to see your workbench empty.

Much emptier than usual.

Odd.

She waited for a few moments, her stomach twisting in knots at the thought of seeing you again, still unsure what your reaction to her would be after she'd been so cruel-

"You're too late, I'm afraid."

The thick scottish drawl pulled her attention towards the back of the shop, where Mary was cleaning up after a day's work.

"I'm sorry?"

Mary laughed, continuing to wipe down surfaces and tidy up loose threads and needles.

"Well, perhaps if you'd said those words a little sooner you wouldn't be in the mess you are now, now would ye?"

Jane held her tongue against the blunt retort that lay on it. She knew she was in the wrong, and if getting to you meant getting through those around you, then so be it.

"Well, I'm here now, with every apology I can think of prepared. Is- Would I be able to see her? Please?"

The "please" caught Mary off guard- Jane Murdstone was not one to ever start or end a request with "please". Mary felt her resolve soften towards Jane, only a little, enough to be more upfront with her.

"Unless you're willing to hop aboard the next train, I'm afraid not Lass. She left for France shortly after you two had your final falling out. Said she couldn't live in a place where you existed and didn't love her anymore."

Jane had to steady herself on the nearest wall, a sudden wave of nausea overcoming her at Mary's words.

But I do love her.

I love her, I love her, I love-

"Thank you, Matron."

Jane all but stumbled out of the shop, the flowers she held in her hand tossed to the dirt as she strode back home.

You'd left. You were gone without so much as a goodbye- and why would you say goodbye to her? All of the cruel, hurtful words she'd thrown at you, the way she'd turned her back on you; she'd left you first. No explanation. No closure. The only difference was you'd seen fit to separate the two of you by countries. Could she really fault you for that, after all she'd done to you?

Upon returning to her cottage, the ravenette slammed the door behind herself. Her hands repeatedly combed over her hair, frantically thinking over what Mary had told her. How could you have gone all the way to Paris in a matter of days? Perhaps if she were to speak with Marjory, she could-

“Where have you been?”

The voice startled Jane from her thoughts and she was immediately filled with unbridled rage as she lay her eyes on the intruder who had opened her front door: Edward Murdstone.

“I find that it is really none of your business where I have been.”

Edward strode into the room, almost as if it was his own home, “Lord Barclay was here waiting to meet you Jane, but you deliberately ran off, no doubtably to commit some heinous sin.”

“Lord Barclay? Whatever for?” Jane snarled, remembering the older gentleman from moments in passing when he came to work with Edward.

“To marry you, of course.”

Jane saw red.

“You bastard! How-” Jane’s hands found the upper right hand corner of the bookshelf, and with a flourish of extreme strength, the ravenette pulled the ornately carved bookshelf to the floor. The right side of the shelf hit the wood table a few feet away, both pieces of furniture cracking and splitting upon impact. The sound of shattering glass of picture frames and the loud thuds of books hitting the floor filled the air, but none of it was as loud as the silent rage that radiated from Jane. The raging woman finally finished her thought as the sounds died down, “DARE YOU?!”

Edward was taken aback, unable to respond to his sister's rage; never had he seen her act in such a manner.

Jane’s volume only increased, her voice a full fledged scream, “YOU TOOK HER FROM ME! YOU ROBBED ME OF LOVE! AND NOW YOU DO THIS?! Are you so desperate in your need to control me that you must ruin my life at every turn?” She was snarling and spitting as she kicked though the mountain of books, wading closer to her brother.

“I-I-”

“ANSWER ME!” Jane roared, reaching out to a nearby decorative hurricane lamp, pushing it to the floor with a swift motion resulting in a crash of glass shattering.

Edward’s choice of response was to yell in return, grasping Jane by her wrist in an effort to keep her from breaking anything further, “Pull yourself together!”

“PULL MYSELF TOGETHER? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PULL MYSELF TOGETHER WHEN YOU CONTINUE TO KEEP ME FROM LOVE? I am so lonely, Edward... or at least I was until I MET HER AND YOU FORCE ME TO SEND HER AWAY. For what, Edward? Why?” Jane’s tone fluctuated as her thoughts flew from her mouth, tears beginning to spill from her eyes at the pure anger and sorrow she felt. She wasn’t withholding anything from her brother any longer. Today, he was receiving the full force of her wrath, “First it was Sarah, and then Elizabeth, and then mother and you forced me into a-a SOLITARY CONFINEMENT where I was forced to be at your side as you made a mockery of father’s name.”

With two long strides, Jane crossed the room of her home, eyes settled in on the China cabinet as she was determined to destroy every last bit of beautiful ceramics in her home.

Edward followed after her, his own rage building at her insinuation that he could be a disgrace to their family name, “You are the one making a mockery of our family’s name by- by... choosing to be so unnatural!”

His hand wrapped around her forearm, and in her frenzied rage, Jane’s free hand swung around at full force, clawing at her brother’s face and sending him to the floor. She loomed over him, her mind racing as she searched for an additional way to harm him. Jane needed him to understand the agony she felt inside.

Swiftly she gathered two of the fallen books from the floor, lifting the novels over her head and launching them downwards at her brother, “UNNATURAL? UNNATURAL? DO YOU THINK I WOULD HAVE FACED YEARS OF INCCESTANT ABUSE FROM YOU AND MOTHER IF I HAD CHOSEN TO BE LIKE THIS?”

Edward shifted away from Jane, scrambling across the floor as the books hit him. He was in utter fear of his sister. He had no excuses for his past or present behavior, and even if he did, Edward knew Jane had no true interest in hearing them. He had yet to notice the blood dripping down the side of his face from where Jane had struck him.

“GET OUT!” Jane blared, her voice becoming raw and hoarse from screaming louder than she ever had before. She repeated those same two words as she reached out and lifted piece after piece of fine China, throwing each of them against the far wall, “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT-”

When Edward lifted himself from the cottage floor he launched himself towards the front door, quickly throwing it open and spinning back to attempt to steal back some of the power away from his sister, “You will marry Lord Barclay by the end of the month and that is final.”

His bravery was only momentary as he quickly slammed the front door shut, saving himself from the pieces of china being hurled towards him. As Edward stalked away from the home, he could hear Jane’s screaming from inside, but her words were hard to make out. Her cries of despair and the sounds of breaking glass and furniture would continue far into the night as Jane mourned for the loss of her love and freedom.

--

Tags: @weemssapphic @bitch-we-have-a-hulk @yourlocaldisneyvillain @renravens @thegoddamnfeels @dvrkhcld @blessmysouljessisonaroll @opheliauniverse @ahsfan05 @ness029 @carnivorousflowers @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @myzzjolanda @bigolgay

[clangenrising]

Month 11 - Leafbare

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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?

[astralisbelle]

The Heart of Snow White - PART 1

tags: snow white!Reader, huntsman!prince!Din, medieval fantasy setting with star wars elements, fairy tale

summary: The queen's instructions for the Mandalorian were clear: take the princess to the edge of the forest, carve out her heart, and bring it to her.

PART 1 - MASTERLIST

It is customary that those from the kingdom of Mandalore whom have come of age to depart from their homes and brave the outside world, for experience is the best teacher.

Often, they serve as mercenaries or guards; a good kingdom will attract the fearsome warriors to their borders. All Mandalorians must do this, including their own royalty.

When Din Djarin set out on his own journey, he stopped in a beautiful kingdom called Crir for lodgings, expecting to depart in the morning. The then King Rarga was told of a traveler wearing beskar, precious metal found only in Mandalore, and he summoned him immediately.

“Crir is a peaceful kingdom,” said Rarga from atop his throne. Din noticed that the throne to the king’s right was empty. “And we do not have any Mandalorians within our walls. You would do us a great honor if you stayed.”

Din chose his words carefully. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but it is as you said: you rule a peaceful kingdom. I do not seek peace.”

“And why is that?”

“I am a Mandalorian. If I am ever to return home, it must be with new skills and experience. I’m afraid a peaceful kingdom will teach me nothing.” He turned on his heel, prepared to leave after making his point.

“Wait.” The king stood. “What if I can promise the knowledge you seek?”

Din did an about-face. “How so?”

“Duel me,” said Rarga. “If you win, then indeed, I have nothing more to teach you and are free to travel. Should I win, however…” He smiled. “I would like you to stay.”

Din thought about this wager, letting silence permeate throughout the throne room. No one was quite sure what the Mandalorian would choose. “Fine.” He rolled his shoulders back. “I accept.”

To the training grounds they went, the king’s court huddling together and forming a circle around the dirt arena. Din drew his sword, a beautiful black blade that gleamed in the sun. Rarga took note of the sword as he entered the ring with armor and a sword of his own. “I know that blade. It belongs to the royal family of Mandalore.” He grinned. “Apologies for not addressing you properly, Your Royal Highness.”

Din flinched. “We do not use titles when on pilgrimage,” he said, lifting his blade.

“Then what would you prefer I call you?”

“...Din Djarin.”

“Very well.” Rarga readied his sword. “Have at you, Din Djarin!”

To the Mandalorian’s surprise, the king had a stronger arm than he expected. Though it was easy to catch his sword, Din’s eyes widened at how much strength he had to use to fend him off. He parried the next attack and exchanged blows with Rarga a few times before they began circling around each other. The king was swift, nearly tripping him. Din summoned all of his focus, using techniques and stances that he reserved for stronger enemies, but Rarga matched him each time.

It all happened so fast. Din’s wrist flinched as Rarga knocked the blade out of his hand, earning a grunt of pain. He kicked him square in his beskar chest-plate, forcing him to the ground, then he pointed the tip of his sword under his neck. As Din fought to catch his breath, the crowd burst into cheers, praising Rarga’s skill. With a smile, the king stashed his weapon and offered his hand to the Mandalorian. He took it and stood, giving him a nod. “You fight well.”

“As do you.”

Din put away his sword. “It seems you have much to teach me.”

“Seems so. Come.” He extended his hand. “Now that you will be staying with us, I would like to introduce you to someone.” The king pressed his hand against Din’s back and lead him towards the crowd, seeking out someone in particular.

Din could tell who it was as soon as he set eyes on her. She had to be almost a decade years younger than him, he thought, and she had various traits of her father. When they approached, she smiled and gave a small bow. “This is my daughter,” said Rarga. “The Princess.” She gave Din her name, but said it with such humility that it caught him off guard. This was not a stuck-up noblewoman, he could tell.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard of Mandalore — it sounds like the most fascinating place. Would you mind telling me about it sometime?”

Din shook his head. “Not at all, Your Highness.”

---

Thus, the Mandalorian became a huntsman for the royal family of Crir. The king gave him plenty to do, from joining him on his weekly hunts, to chaperoning the princess to various outings, and serving as a sparring partner. Din hated to say it, but he did learn a great deal more than he expected from a prospering kingdom. Rarga taught him arts beyond the martial, giving the prince advice for his own eventual rule when he returned to Mandalore. It was easy to see just how loved the king was.

The princess grew attached to him too, asking him to regale her with stories of Mandalore. Stories and tradition were important, so he was pleased to indulge her. He told her about the Way of the Mandalore and chuckled when she asked if he was ever allowed to take off his helmet in front of anyone. When he took her out to the city, he watched her like a hawk — none would harm her if he was close.

Din was there when the king courted a beautiful duchess from another kingdom over. She was sweet and caring, so much so that when they did eventually marry, the entire kingdom celebrated. Even the princess was happy for her father, welcoming her new step-mother to the family with open arms.

Then, it all ended one day.

The Mandalorian still isn’t sure exactly what happened. He was out hunting with Rarga as they usually did, and while they were giving chase to a fox, a boar charged from their blind side and gored the king. Din retaliated and quickly downed the boar, but the damage was done. He carried the wincing, moaning king back to the castle. Rarga suffered well into the night before eternal sleep finally eased his pain, surrounded by a sea of mourners.

The queen held the princess against her black dress, letting her sob into her skirts as she dabbed her under-eyes with a handkerchief. She had to be the only one not openly weeping.

He never did get to defeat him.

---

The months passed and Din threw himself into working for the queen, who tasked him to find those who would conspire against her new rule. Shedding blood was the best way to deal with his grief, he decided. Curiously, he noticed once when he returned that the princess had a simpler dress instead of her ornate one, and she carried rags in her arms. “My step-mother said that the best way to learn how to care for a castle was to work,” she explained with a chipper smile. “A fine idea, is it not?”

Din agreed, seeing as how it mirrored his own pilgrimage. But then a year passed and her humble uniforms deteriorated. Her skirts turned into rags and the soot clung to her face and arms. Her hair, once neatly swept into a formal updo and curls, now dropped and framed her face in dry, messy strings.

And yet she still smiled, even as the work grew, as her riches were taken one by one, as she scarcely was a princess in anything other than name anymore.

---

In the years after King Rarga’s passing, The Mandalorian of Crir made a name for himself as a fearsome hunter. The queen sent him on perilous missions that he always returned from, bringing her whom or whatever she desired.

On day, she summoned him to the throne room, which once was bright and full of people. Now, it was draped in dark colors and she was the only one, sitting on her throne with great pride and vanity. He bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he greeted.

“Greetings, Mandalorian. I have a special task for you today.” She fanned together her fingers. “I would like you to take the princess to the edge of the forest and let her pick some flowers.” He nodded, as it was a reasonable request. “Then.” Her voice darkened. She stood up, her long, purple dress trailing behind her as she stepped down the stairs and drew closer to him with each menacing step. “I want you to carve out her heart and bring it to me… in this.” From behind her cape, she procured a small, red box. The latch was a sword driven through a heart.

Din’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

She frowned. “You do not need to question me. You just need to do it.”

“She’s done nothing wrong,” he stated.

The queen glared. “Your queen gave you an order.” She shoved the box into his hands. “Bring me her heart or I will have yours instead.”

Din was too stunned to speak. He gripped the box as she turned on her heel to return to her throne. With a heaviness in his chest, he bowed his head towards her. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 10

Chapter 10 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, with Starcourt behind them, they try to make it through, which is harder than it seems. Chrissy returns in time for Hopper’s funeral and catches Steve together with Robin, while Steve tries to catch the others.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie and buckingham

Warnings: grief, injury, nightmares, child abuse mention

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 10: The Aftermath

Part of Steve expects to be send away by the Buckley’s the next day, having fulfilled their good Samaritan act for the boy that saved their daughter. However, when he awakes nearly fifteen hours later, it is to Mrs. Buckley – Daisy, sweetie, just Daisy is fine – giving him some soup and asking if he feels up to shower and if he eats anything particular for breakfast, because she still has to go to the store later.

Confused Steve stumbles through an answer, his body still feeling like it has gone through a meat grinder. Daisy gives him a smile and cards a soft hand through his hair, before giving him directions to the shower and telling him to ask Robin if he needs anything.

She leaves to do groceries and is replaced by Robin, who looks way better than Steve. She bounces into the room, sliding onto the couch next to Steve and asks: “How are you feeling, dingus?”

“Confused,” Steve answers. “Your mom is nice.”

“Yeah, she is,” Robin smiles. “I told them your parents are away on business and can’t be reached, but I’m afraid to let you go home by yourself. So, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Are you for real?” Steve asks, unable to imagine anyone opening up their home to him without having met him before. It sounds alien.

“I am, promise they’re cool,” Robin tells him with a soft smile. “Now, mom said you felt up to shower and no offense, Stevie, but you smell like sweat, blood and puke, which is like totally not a good smell. You’re excused of course, would be mean not to excuse it, seeing, you know, everything, but shower sounds smart. I’ll show you the buttons.”

She jumps up waiting for Steve to follow. Steve is a little slower, seeing he is more bruise than skin at this point.

The shower itself is painful. The water feels like it is beating down on his skin and the heat makes him lightheaded, but he can’t stand the cold. So, he takes it sitting on the floor of the shower. He washes his hair with Robin’s strawberry shampoo, remembering the smell from when they were tied together in the bunker. It gives him comfort.

Robin has lend him a set of her pajamas, a soft sweater and plaid pajama pants, as well as some fuzzy socks. It takes a bit to get them on, but in the end he feels more human than he has in the last 48 hours.

Dinner should be awkward, but it seems Robin has her rambling from her parents and the three happily fill the silence and let Steve disappear to the background.

With dinner done, the TV is turned on so they can watch the news. Both Robin’s parents protest, but they have to see. Have to be sure the mall is gone. That yesterday truly happened and they didn’t make it up.

So, the TV goes on and the newscaster tells them about the mall that burned down in a firework accident. That many bodies have been recovered, but not all can be identified. Among the confirmed dead are Jim Hopper, hero police chief, and Billy Hargrove.

Steve cries then. Cries for El, who lost her father, who is alone again. Cries for Joyce, who lost the man she could have had something with. Cries for himself and all the thing he never got to tell Hopper and all the things the other never said either. Even cries for Max, who will inevitably grieve for something that wasn’t real and a person who doesn’t deserve it.

Luckily, neither of Robin’s parents say anything about the tears and Robin holds him throughout it all, careful of his injuries.

After that he goes to sleep again on the couch, having gotten used to sleeping at one and not even bothered, despite Daisy’s apologies about it. It is the first night of a week in which he hides away from everyone in the Buckley house, safe with Robin by his side to keep both of them sane.

On the second day there he calls Joyce to check in with her. He told her he was going with the Buckleys that night at the mall, but checks in with her on Saturday anyway.

Quietly they talk about El, who has turned into herself, refusing to speak. How her powers aren’t working anymore and how she isn’t really coping. The poor kid has already been through so much and both Joyce and Steve wonder out loud to the other how they’re going to get her through this.

But after a few minutes neither can continue the topic they’ve been ignoring. It’s Joyce, who mentions it first, saying: “They’re burying Hopper this Tuesday. They- they don’t have a body, but…”

“I know,” Steve says, so she doesn’t have to. “What can I do?”

“They, uhm, they came here also for you,” she tells him. “Hopper wanted- he wanted you to be a pallbearer. You can say no, but-”

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Steve agrees easily. Of course he wants to help in Hopper’s funeral after all he has done for him, of course he wants to fulfill his wishes. “When do I have to be there?”

“At 10:00 AM,” Joyce answer, obviously grateful. “They’re reading his will too, El wants you to be there as well. It’s afterwards. Can you make it?”

“Of course,” Steve promises again, because he’d make all the time in the world for El, to support her after what she’s been through.

“Thank you, Steve,” Joyce sounds haggard and relived. “Bring whoever you want as support, it’s open to the public, so it’s probably going to be big. Lots of people. They wanted me to speak, but I- I can’t.”

Much to Steve’s horror, Joyce starts to cry. He is already bad with comfort and now he can’t even offer a shoulder like he usually does. Steve knows she doesn’t want to burden any of the kids with this, that she would usually go to Hopper about this, that Steve has to take his tasks now, but he’s still pulling a blank.

“It’s- it’s okay, Joyce,” he fumbles. “You don’t have to speak. He- he knows. He knew. You don’t have to say it for everyone.”

The words probably aren’t the best, but it’s what Steve can manage right now. And the words seem to help. A teary Joyce thanks him, before reminding him he’s welcome there any time. It’s a sweet sentiment, but Joyce has her own grief and that of El to deal with. Steve has a place to stay, he’ll be fine. She has to put her focus elsewhere.

So, he assures her he’s fine and to just focus on the people she has at home, before hanging up and going up to Robin’s room, crawling into her bed. He buries his face in her stomach and she plays with his hair as she reads her book, while he tries not to cry.

Robin has become his safe space, as he has become hers.

On the night from Saturday to Sunday he is awoken by Robin, who stands next to the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders tremble and she is crying as she softly confesses: “I- I had a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asks, getting into a seated position, so that she can crawl on the small couch with him.

“I was in the bunker again and you were there, tied- tied to me and I kept calling your name, but this time- this time you didn’t wake up,” Robin is weeping now, burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck on the less injured side. Her hand is over his heart, so she can feel his heartbeat. “I was tied to your dead body, all alone. I just- I just needed to check.”

“It’s okay, Robbie,” he assures her, nosing the top of her head and planting a kiss there. “I’m alive, I’m okay. We’re okay. We made it out.”

She lets out a shuddery breath and nods, repeating: “We made it out. We made it out.”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve encourages her. “Want to drink some tea or stay here a bit?”

“Some tea, please,” Robin says.

They get up, Steve leading Robin through her own house, where he himself has gotten comfortable in a short amount of time. He parks her on one of the kitchen chairs, but she abandons it in favor of sitting on the counter as Steve starts the kettle, pulling him between her legs as they wait for the water to boil. Just holding him.

Steve can’t remember the last time a person held him this often and tenderly. He melts into her, hugging her back.

The two of them exist like that, intertwined. Robin shuffles along as Steve pours them tea, then shamelessly sits on Steve’s lap as they sip the hot beverage. To distract herself Robin tells him all about this book she has been reading.

When the tea is gone, Steve asks: “Do you feel up to sleeping again, Robs?”

“Probably smart,” Robin says with a yawn, not really answering the question. She clings a bit more to Steve and mumbles: “Just don’t wanna be alone.”

“I- I could come with,” Steve offers, a bit unsure and not wanting to overstep a boundary.

Robin lights up at his offer and says: “You’re a genius, dingus.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Steve asks, not wanting to get either of them in trouble.

“Nah,” Robin assures him, getting to her feet and grabbing his hand to pull him along.

Her bed is as comfortable at night as it is during the days when he crashed there. He is still injured, only able to sleep on his back and Robin is careful with his injuries, lying next to him and taking his hand. As they lay there together, she says: “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Me too,” Steve responds. “Though I hate you got dragged into all the crazy with me.”

“I think it’s worth it,” Robin tells him and Steve gets too choked up to say anything, only able to squeeze her hand and she squeezes back.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Robin says: “If we were normal, this is where we’d confess our feelings for each other.”

Steve snorts, making a gagging noise that has Robin giggling as well. They lay there laughing for a bit more and when they try to sleep, thoughts of Russian bunkers are further away than thoughts of companionship and understanding.

Sunday passes in a haze. Steve calls all the kids, checking in on them. Mike hangs up after assuring him he’s fine, a bit in a foul mood, since his parents haven’t let him see the others. Lucas and Erica both talk to Steve a bit, neither of them mentioning the 4th and just talking of wanting to try out for basketball and wanting to learn DnD. Dustin talks with him for an hour, both of them crying. Will only speaks to for a bit. El doesn’t want to come to the phone, but Will assures him she’s okay, just going through a rough patch, which is an understatement. Max only says a few words, before hanging up quickly, a fight going on in the background.

Monday brings a new surprise to the Buckley doorstep. Steve is making lunch since Robin’s parents are off to work, so it is Robin who opens the door.

On the doorstep is Chrissy, looking stressed and haggard. Without preamble she starts: “Do you know where Steve is? Because I just came back from camp and I went by his house, because I heard he was at the mall when it burned down, but he didn’t answer and I’m really worried about him, because he always, always opens the door.”

Robin is about to answer when Steve comes wandering into the hall, asking: “Hey, Rob, do you like syrup on your pancakes or-” He looks up and sees Chrissy, smiling when he does: “Chris! I didn’t know you got back today.”

“Stevie,” Chrissy exclaims in relief, before her eyes grow wide as she takes in the state he’s in. She rushes into the house, brushing past Robin without a care as she cups Steve’s unbruised cheek with a concerned face, asking: “Oh my god, are you okay?”

And it is not the question itself that breaks Steve, it has been asked multiple times these last few days, but it is that it’s Chrissy. Chrissy, who has been nothing but sweet and kind to Steve, who has protected him, cheered him up, made sure he wanted to get to school. And even after Steve kind of brushed her off to hide that he has been kicked out, she is still so concerned for him. She went to Robin’s house to look for him.

Tears fall before he’s even aware of them and he crushes Chrissy in a hug that hurts his own ribs and maybe hers, but he doesn’t care, just happy to hold her again.

Chrissy makes a confused noise, however, she quickly moves to hug him back. Her wiry strength should not be underestimated as she sways them side from side, telling him that it’s all okay and to just let it out.

Robin latches onto his back, surrounding him with warmth from his two closest friends. And he cries, like he has done so much these past few days. He wants to stop, but he can’t, so he rides it out and hopes that Chrissy and Robin won’t let go until he’s done.

They don’t.

The three of them hug until Steve is done crying, ignoring the small wet patch on his back and how Robin also sniffles, before clapping her hands and leading them to the kitchen.

There is some batter left, so Steve makes pancakes for Chrissy as well, who hums appreciatively and says: “Steve, I missed your food. Camp food is terrible.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve smiles, the compliment warming him up from the inside.

None of them talk about the breakdown in the hall until the pancakes are gone. They just eat in silence and pile the dishes in the sink. It’s only when they’re sitting on the couch, their bellies full, that Chrissy asks: “What happened?”

Steve and Robin exchange a look, before Steve says: “I- I don’t really know. We were out late and closing up when we heard explosions, I suppose the fireworks, before we really knew it the whole mall was going up in flames around us.”

Robin jumps in, interjecting the made up hero story she told her parents: “We were like stuck in the shop and it was terrible. We couldn’t get out until a part of the front caved in and we could climb out. I got stuck and Steve pulled me out, but like a bunch of rubble fell on him. If he hadn’t had done it, well I- I might’ve-”

It’s getting a little too close to the truth now and Robin chokes up. Steve takes her hand and they smile at each other, a reassurance that they’re okay.

“Chief- Chief Hopper got us out,” Steve builds on the fiction they made. “He went back in to help and he- he didn’t-”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible,” Chrissy gasps, hearing their story with horror.

“The funeral is tomorrow,” Steve whispers. “They asked me to be pallbearer. They don’t have a- a body,” he swallows, “so it’s just going to be the casket. It’s ceremonial.”

“Do you want us to be there?” Chrissy asks and if Steve was straight he would've kissed her for offering so he wouldn’t have to ask.

“If you don’t mind,” he says softly, hoping she doesn’t.

Chrissy bumps her shoulder against his, a familiar move, and smiles: “Of course I don’t mind, Stevie.”

“Thank you,” he smiles back. He appreciates Chrissy so much, all she’s done for him, how she’s here for him without question. He feels bad about how he shut her out after the fight with his father, not telling her that he got kicked out. Another realization hits him and he says: “Fuck, I don’t have anything to wear tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a black suit?” Chrissy frowns.

Steve catches Robin’s wide eyes that ask ‘are you aware what you’re doing’ and he communicates back that he does, before answering: “I do, I just- well, I got kicked out by my parents. They changed the locks.”

“What!” Chrissy exclaims.

“Sorry for not telling you,” Steve says. “I didn’t want to worry you. It happened after graduation, remember that fight?”

“Holy shit, Steve,” Chrissy frowns. “That is terrible, I knew your parents were dicks, but this is a new low. What the hell? I’m going to fight them, I swear to God, I am, Stevie. Not a joke. They can’t just do that!”

Steve is touched by her anger on his behalf, but he is also realistic. He gives her a crooked smile and says: “I am an adult now, Chris. They can do that.”

“And what do you think of that?” Chrissy asks Robin, still full of righteous anger.

Robin looks a bit like a deer in headlights, eyes flitting between Chrissy and Steve. She stammers out: “Uh, I- I think they’re assholes?”

“See,” Chrissy tells Steve.

Steve quirks a brow at Robin, who glares at him in turn, before saying: “I already knew they were assholes, Chris. They just also have every right to kick me out if they want to.”

“I know you know that,” Chrissy huffs. “I’m just not going to let them get away with giving you nothing to wear to Chief Hopper’s funeral.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Steve asks, curious for her answer, since he has never seen her like this before.

“We’re going to break in,” Chrissy smiles mischievously.

“What?” Steve chokes.

“You can’t be serious,” Robin exclaims, eyes bulging out of her eyes.

“Come on, Stevie, you said yourself we have to try not to care right?” Chrissy pleads. “I’m sure you’ve snuck in from time to time, you must have a route. Everyone does. And it’s not like they’re going to be home to catch us.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Steve says, even though he would love to grab a few things he forgot in his haste to pack that first time. It’s still risky.

Robin, however, seems to have gotten over her inhibitions and offers: “We can put shrimp in the air conditioning, give them a true surprise to come home to.”

“No,” Steve says. “We’ll break in, but no pranks.”

“Ugh, fine,” Robin rolls her eyes, while Chrissy just squeals in excitement.

So, Steve drives them to his old house in the car the government kindly brought over yesterday. He is technically not cleared to drive yet, but Chrissy doesn’t know that and if Robin heard, she doesn’t mention it.

The house is still looming, cold and dark. Steve can’t imagine how he lived there all those years without it creeping him out.

They sneak into the backyard to get to Steve’s room. His window broke and he never told his parents, afraid to get into trouble, which now works in his favor. He tells the girls about the window and adds: “But I’m too bruised to climb the pipe.”

“Don’t look at me, I’m clumsy,” Robin immediately defends herself, before Steve could even suggest her. He’s seen her run for her life, which had been less than stellar, so he already wasn’t planning on asking her.

Chrissy, however, also looks unsure and apologetically says: “I’ve always been a horrible climber. I have terrible grip.”

“I’m gonna boost you up,” Steve tells her. “Standing on my hands as we practiced. You can easily reach then.”

“Lisa will kill us if she heard we did that without back spotter,” Chrissy points out, though she has a glimmer in her eyes.

“Lisa doesn’t have to know,” Steve grins. “Besides, Robin can catch you if you fall.”

“I most definitely cannot,” Robin protests, but is ignored by the two others, who get into position.

The stunt is one they performed in their final competition, so they feel comfortable doing it without back spotter. Steve puts his hands on Chrissy’s hips and she jumps, giving him the momentum to throw her higher, before catching her on the palms of his hand. From that position, she easily scrambles onto the roof, disappearing into Steve’s old room and appearing a few moments later to unlock the backdoor for them.

“I can’t believe I broke into your house,” she whispers as Robin and Steve enter as well. None of them turning on the lights, because they don’t want to be spotted by neighbors and the afternoon sun is enough, even through the closed curtains.

“It’s okay, I gave you permission, pin it on me,” Steve tells her easily, looking around the room and taking it in.

His parents have left all the furniture without covers, so a light dust coats it, since Steve hasn’t been there to clean. They might get ruined, but his mother will likely redecorate. There are also two cups and plates in the sink with questionable contents, since Steve hasn’t washed their dishes after they left. It makes him both sad and a little vindictive.

He is pulled out of his thoughts by Robin, who is standing by the piano and exclaims: “Wow, this is a really nice piano. Can you play, dingus?”

“I can actually,” Steve replies. It had been part of his education on how to behave like his social standing.

“You can?” Chrissy comments. “I always assumed it was decorative.”

“Yeah, I can,” Steve says, sitting down on the stool and pressing a few keys. It’s not entirely in tune after years of disuse, but it is good enough.

Chrissy goes to sit down next to him and asks: “Can you play We’ll Meet Again? My grandfather used to play it for me whenever I was little.”

“Sure,” Steve says, starting to play the slightly sad song. He only knows it, because his piano teacher had been a nurse during the war and it had been popular then.

When he is done playing, he gets a small applause from Chrissy and Robin and he smiles at them, before closing the piano and saying: “Well, that’s enough for now. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

His room is like he left it, still a mess from when he packed in a hurry. It’s like his parents closed the door and pretended that would make him go away. Likely, they just couldn't be bothered to clean up as they had to leave again soon after.

Steve first folds his suit and neatly packs it into the bottom of one of the bags they brought with them. Then he packs a few more of the other clothes he left there, favorites he forgot, some more underwear, a few warm sweaters for the upcoming winter, two extra pair of jeans that aren’t the most comfortable, but better than nothing.

After that is done, he braves to open a door he hasn’t since he was twelve years old. His father’s study.

The desk still stands there, imposing and sturdy. Steve is momentarily transported to all the times he stood in front of that desk as his father berated him or made him stand there, waiting until he was deemed worthy of attention as his father worked.

He shakes it off and moves behind the desk, putting in the code to the safe that his father had told him for emergencies, praying the man had forgotten to change it.

Steve is in luck, because the safe clicks open. There is ample of money in there and despite his lack of finances, he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t actually want a robbery charge. Instead, he searches under them and gets his birth certificate and other papers. Things that are necessary to have.

With those tucked away, he tells the other two to get out of there. He contemplates grabbing a new key, just to fuck with his parents, but decides against it. Best if no one will ever learn they were there.

So, they return everything as closely to how they found it as they can and sneak back out.

It’s now nearing dinner, so Steve drops of Chrissy at home, hiding so it looks like Robin drove her there. Robin is also the one to walk her to the door, being grilled as Stevie by Chrissy’s mother until she is satisfied.

“Chrissy’s mom is terrifying,” Robin hisses when she gets back to the car.

“I know, glad you survived, Robbie,” Steve tells her with a grin.

“She thinks I’m a cheerleader, Steve,” Robin says. “She asked if being a base was hard with my build. I don’t even know what a base is! I can’t lie. Chrissy stepped on my foot, before I could dig myself into a hole. I nearly died.”

“Well, thank you for your service, drama queen,” Steve rolls his eyes as he continues to drive, luckily all going well, despite the injuries. “But I’m sure you can manage. Cheer isn’t that hard to grasp, though maybe hard for you to do.”

“You know, I get that that was an insult, but I will ignore that, because I am nice,” Robin sniffs, haughtily.

“You aren’t nice.”

“Shut up, dingus,” Robin says, smacking him lightly. “What I meant to say is; you need to tell me more about cheer so that I can pretend to be a cheerleader to Chrissy’s mom and we can all continue to hang out together.”

The shit eating, teasing grin disappears from Steve’s face and he can’t help but sound surprised as he asks: “You want to hear me talk about cheer? You said you hated sports.”

“I mean, I do,” Robin shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. “But you like sports. And you’re like my best friend. I wanna know about your sports.”

“That- that is honestly so sweet,” Steve tells her, having to swallow, so he won’t cry.

“Shut up,” Robin says, suspiciously not looking his way.

That evening Steve tells Robin all about cheer, the two of them pointedly not talking about what they did today and what is going to happen tomorrow. Instead going over cheer formations and types of stunts and positions in the team until they’re tired, Steve falling asleep in Robin’s bed again, without either of them commenting on that as well.

On Tuesday 9th of July, they bury Chief Jim Hopper.

Out of all the pallbearers, Steve and Jonathan are the ones that are not police. Steve is walking in the front and then the right, so his injured side doesn’t hit the casket. He is well aware of the large crowd of people staring at his beat up face, the rumors that are going around.

Steve wills himself not to cry, he has done enough of that already and today he needs to be strong for Joyce and El, who have suffered a much greater loss than him. He is aware of how light the casket is, how there is no body and no closure for them. It makes it easier on his bruised body, but he gladly would’ve suffered the pain to give them that.

His suit is from prom and luckily still fits. He looks like he has more money to his name than he does, but he’s not complaining about it. Though, he feels guilty at the thought.

He purposefully doesn’t look at the crowd, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. He just stares straight ahead, his face stony.

Once the casket is positioned for burial, Steve lets go and follows Jonathan to where Joyce is standing with El and Will. Joyce falls into Jonathan’s arms and Steve takes El, who had been hiding in Joyce’s side.

The five of them watch the burial like that. Will next to his older brother, who has one arm on Will’s shoulder. Jonathan’s other arm around his mother as she cries silent tears. Joyce holds Steve’s hand tightly and Steve holds it right back. El is under Steve’s other arm and he hugs her as best as he can, ignoring how his ribs twinge.

Throughout the entire ceremony, Steve doesn’t cry. He keeps up his impersonation of a statue and looks ahead. He is their rock now. He is keeping it together.

Only when the grave is filled and the Byers get ready to leave, does Steve turn around, El is still stuck to his side and he just keeps holding her. He spots the Buckleys in the crowd, already coming his way to support him, and catches Chrissy’s eyes, who sends him a sympathetic look, stuck next to her mother.

Daisy kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly, while Thomas, Robin’s dad, claps him on the back a few times. Robin ducks between them to cling to him and El, it’s a little awkward, but he clings right back.

It is when he is hugging Robin that he meets his father’s eyes from over her head. He is standing in an expensive black suit next to his mother in a stylish black dress. They look every part the rich socialites, who have come to show support for the town’s tragedy.

In that moment, Steve hates them more than he ever has before. He hugs Robin even closer and glares at them, before letting go of Robin and asking Jonathan where to meet, since El doesn’t look like she is letting go and they still have to hear the will.

He doesn’t care about his parents. He isn’t going to let them get to him. Especially not today when there are more important people counting on him.

Steve goes by all the kids, who are clumped together, making sure to hug them all and tell them that they’re going to be okay. That they’re going to get through this. Mike tries to talk to El, who is still by Steve’s side, but she just shakes her head, before hiding in Steve’s jacket again. This causes Mike to glare at Steve, which he ignores. Emotions are already running high enough.

As he leaves, he is stopped by Max, who tugs on his sleeve and asks: “Steve?”

“Yeah, Max?” he says kindly, not wanting to trigger an upset reaction when she already looks like she can cry at any moment.

“Uhm, I- I know you didn’t have the best history with- with Billy,” she is stumbling over her words, but valiantly keeping in the tears. “But can you come. Tomorrow. To his funeral?”

“Of course,” he promises. He isn’t going to abandon her, not when she already lost a brother.

After that, he drives to the reading of the will with El, since she hasn’t left his side. He doesn’t know why she is clinging to him, when the two of them haven’t interacted much, but he isn’t going to abandon her when she obviously needs someone to lean on.

The group for the will is much smaller and Steve ends up sitting next to Joyce, with El squished between them. Steve gets a few odd looks, but he ignores it to support El.

Hopper didn’t have much, so most of the things that are in his will are sentimental things that he shared with people. Steve tries to ignore that Hopper must have made this will after their second run in with the Upside Down. How he must have foreseen that it wouldn’t be over and they might not all make it out next time.

That he was right about it.

The big thing he owns is the cabin, which has been paid off already. No one who knew about her is surprised when that goes to El. She is still a minor and Hopper has appointed Joyce as her guardian with her consent, which makes Steve glance at her.

Joyce looks back and he can see in her eyes that she remembers the conversation when Hopper asked her to look after El should something happen clearly now. He reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. No one should go through such a thing, but especially not Joyce.

When it’s all done, Steve asks her: “Have you talked to El about what will happen now?”

Both of them look to El, who is currently with Jonathan after she felt good enough to leave Joyce and Steve’s side for a bit. Then they look at each other and Steve sees some awkwardness in Joyce’s eyes that has him on edge.

“I am planning to move to California,” she tells him softly. “She and Will have been through too much here. I don’t want El to start school here and have everyone know and ask her questions. I haven’t started looking for places, since I wanted to ask if you wanted to come too. I know it’s all suddenly and I don’t expect an answer, but I’ve taken you in and I’m not planning on abandoning you, okay, honey?”

It takes a second for all her words to register.

First, all that plays through Steve’s mind is that the Byers are leaving Hawkins. They’re moving away, which is the only competent adult they have left and the girl with the power and knowledge, though the power has disappeared. Jonathan, who can fight. And Will, well, Will makes the most sense, but Steve knows how the party will miss him. How he holds them together.

If they all go, the party practically halves in numbers and Steve is the only one who is a proper adult. Nancy and Robin are there as well and while Robin is new to this, she can be counted on and Nancy is a powerhouse in her own right, but still. Steve will be the one most of the party turns to when shit hits the fan again.

At this point, Steve is still in the stage where the Upside Down coming back seems like an inevitability, though hopefully that will leave – it might be better to keep the mentality, seeing how it has come back again already, but still.

Then it hits Steve that Joyce is offering him to come with her. That she is giving him a way out of this hellhole to California. California where people are more accepting, where he isn’t tied to the Harrington name and his old reputation as well as new rumors. He can just accept her offer and be free of that.

But-

But he can’t.

Chrissy is still here, unable to leave her mom. They’re friends. They bonded over having horrible parents and how much it sucks to be alone in that. She broke into his house with him. He promised her they could always stunt together. That he would always make her fly.

And what about Robin, his favorite lesbian. The only other queer person, he has met besides Will, and that is still a maybe, and Eddie. But Robin. Robin is his queer friend. She knows him. They give each other hope and safety. He can’t just leave her.

Plus, they got tortured together. They were drugged together. They came out to each other. She has never had to deal with the aftermath of the Upside Down before. She obviously isn’t dealing perfectly and neither is he. And the thought of being away from her pains him.

Then there are the kids. They’re already going to loose two friends, who are moving to Cali and they have lost Hopper, who was as much their safety net as Steve is. He can’t hang them out to dry like it’s nothing. And Billy’s loss has hit Max harder than he thought. He can’t abandon her now, not after that.

His mind also jumps to Eddie, who is here in Hawkins. Eddie, who knows him, who has been kind in the moments he needed it. Eddie, who he likes. Eddie, who he wants to have a chance with. The boy he wanted to kiss when he was being tortured, the boy he still wants to kiss.

Steve shoves that last thought away, the other reasons are more important. Plus, him going would be an extra financial burden Joyce doesn’t need.

He is already shaking his head no, before he even thinks about it more. His voice is a little pained, because he would have loved to say yes, as he says: “I- I can’t. I can’t come with you. Thank you, but- I mean, the kids-”

As he stumbles over the words El pops up between them. It is obvious she has been eavesdropping, because she says: “He can have the cabin.”

Both Joyce and Steve look at her and Joyce immediately tells her that she is very sweet for offering, but she should think about such things and Steve is agreeing with Joyce, telling El that is not necessary at all.

“No,” El says, as stubborn as ever. “Hopper was going to take you in if you had no place to go. He wanted you to have a place. You cannot come with us, so you need a place to stay. He would want you to have a place to stay.”

For the hundredth time today, Steve has to repress the urge to cry, because he knows that he cares about Hopper and he kind of thought the other man cared about him, but the fact that he was willing to take him in confirms it.

He takes her cheeks between his hands and presses a kiss on her forehead, before hugging her close and swaying her from side to side. Squished into his chest, he hears her whisper: “We could have been siblings.”

And Steve remembers her running away to find the other numbers, to find a sibling. A connection out there. Remembers how she came back and decided Hopper was her connection. His heart swells with affection and aches at the same time about how she wanted him to feel included in that.

Still, he can recognize that she is in an emotional state, so he just says: “Thank you, El. You’re really sweet. Let’s talk about this later.”

She nods in his chest, mollified with his reaction. She allows Joyce to take her home, while Steve climbs into his own car and cries like he has wanted to all day. He cries until his tears have run dry, then drives to the Buckley house.

He doesn’t say anything all evening and none of them seem to expect him to, which he is grateful for. He sleeps in Robin’s bed again, holding her close against his chest and knows he made the right choice in saying no.

On Wednesday 10th of July, they bury Billy Hargrove. Steve hates the man, but seeing him die has been horrible and he can respect who he gave his life for and acknowledge who he hurt by dying.

So, he puts his black suit on again like an armor and holds Max throughout the ceremony, watching the distance between her mom and step-dad. An ominous feeling about it hanging in the air. Sees how neither of them look back to Max or check if she’s okay.

After the funeral, he takes her to get a milkshake. Neither of them speak as they drink it in their mourning clothes, everyone giving them a wide berth.

It is a week of many funerals, it seems like everyone has lost someone.

When he brings her home, neither parent had noticed her missing, but she seems happier than when he met her at the graveyard. They’ll just have to be there for her, Steve thinks, making a note to keep an eye on her for a few months.

[bonefall]

random question but as someone who's considering trying to do my own rewrite esque thing... is it weird that i want to like. Fix bramble and squirrel's relationship instead of having him continue to be an abuser? Maybe it's just the fact that I liked them as a kid (or that i havent read SqH/past OOTS) but there's this weird disconnect where the bramble in my head is apparently a lot different than other people read in the text lol. figured id ask you since you're The wc rewrite person

You can sort through my tags on Bramblestar if you'd like ideas. I am the king of "Bramble why can't you be GOOD." I talk a lot about how he is abusive, what I enjoy and what I don't enjoy about the idea of an abuse plotline, so on.

I personally won't recommend fixing Bramblesquirrel as a ship though. I think it would be a lot better to rewrite them as adopted siblings... tbh I've never seen a romantic BrambleSquirrel rewrite that didn't keep blaming Squilf as "just as bad" and "pushing each other's buttons" which I think is a really, really uncomfortable implication considering canon

Like... unfortunately, fanfic is inherently a commentative medium. We can fix, we can prune, we can rewrite, but we can't break free of the implications of canon.

I personally feel like the line is so fine that's impossibly razor thin.

So if you are committed to fixing BrambleSquirrel, please try to make sure to treat Squilf as valid. Bramble is constantly downplaying and ignoring her because she's loud and assertive, even though she's nearly always right.

She couldn't trust him with that secret; the second he found out he abandoned his family and acted passive aggressive for an entire year. He trained in the Dark Forest and let Leafpool take the fall for secrets he leaked to Hawkfrost. He throws Firestar's legacy at Squilf while getting pissed off that anyone throws Tiger's legacy back at him, even when they're not.

He holds the fact she wants a new baby over Squilf's head to invalidate her concerns all Squilf's Hope long, screams at her for caring about endangering kittens, and then leads a battle patrol against pregnant women.

Please please keep these in mind. Please either eliminate these, or for fuck's sake, don't "Bothsides" these issues

I think if you're going to fix Bramblesquirrel, you cannot give Bramble power. You'll have to completely change these situations so that he is not the deputy or leader, as these conflicts drive the plot. I can recommend Brackenstar or Thornstar instead, have Squilf lose a deputy position over the secret, Bramble is upset but supportive.

(Especially tap into how ThunderClan treats the three differently after this reveal, "i was angry you didn't trust me, but i see why you did it <:/")

Keep the internal arguments between the two of them harmless. Model something like Honeymooners, where in spite of their arguments being loud and blustering, Squilf is clearly never ACTUALLY afraid of him and NONE of these fights end in Big Summer Blowouts.

(And a side note; if your relationships look like that, you deserve better. It is actually not normal to have huge fights every month. I was Shocked but it is true.)

Remember, remember, remember; you have to SHOW me them being a healthy couple in spite of any arguing they do. Imagine that you CANT tell me "they love each other." You can never say that word-- can I still tell they are a loving couple?

If the answer is ever no, reevaluate.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Your last reblock (the one with Jon[?]) hit me about as hard as finding out that children in the USA apparently go through "school shooting practices" like children from my country go through "Feueralarm Übungen" (Fire alarm[?] practices. Like that they learn what to do and shit. Like...

What the fuck?!

There are a lot of people who own "firearms" (like everything form a Bow to "pea shooters"[?] to small fire arms) in my country as well, relative speaking... and also a bit baised, because I am a "weapons enthusiasts", or in better worlds, target shooting is one of my paartime hobbies. So of course I have meet many people in my local "Schützen Vereine" (no idea what the English word for that is...) that have somewhat of an "enthusiasm" for the sport and the things that come with that.

But like, we have rules for that... the former mentioned firearms? Yeah, "good luck" getting on those, multiple tests, psychological evaluation, letting the police know, showing that you can adequate store the weapon (ammo and pistol separate and all that stuff), and multiple other things (it's a bit different for veterans but my dad most probably sleeps and I have only so much time in my "lunch break"). And out guide lines are relatively lose over here... the USA thought? Do you guys even do checkups? Does your police know who has a gun/who buys one? How do get so many underage children in the position of them... like how come that I get in the legal age to drink over her the same time that you get to get your first firearm? Do you have any guidelines to store your weapons or do they just sit on the countertop? I have so many questions and legitimately don't want any of them answered whatsoever!

I don't know what this whole post is except genuine horror at nearly everything that I have heard from you guys... are you okay? Like Germany isn't the best either, but this is just scary!

Yeah that was Jon Stewart doing the good work as always.

Gun control in the US is a fucking mess and a joke. A messy joke where the punchline is a lot of dead people and now multiple generations of children growing up with the background radiation of being terrified they could die at school. Or at the movie theater. Or the shopping mall. Or while worshiping at their church/temple/mosque. Or just walking down the street.

And there are a number of factors that have led to that situation.

A lack of a functioning healthcare system where mental health awareness in children and adults alike is taken seriously plays a part.

There's also the sheer size of the US as a single country and how that impacts things to take into account. Because the US is broken down into 50+ states, all of which are, in a number of ways, like their own little countries.

And each state might have its own policies about things like guns.

But, all of that aside, it's getting the proper laws passed on a federal level that would go a long way toward the issue of gun safety and control reform in this country.

But that's where we run into the same issue we run into when it comes to fixing so many of the other glaring problems in this country

Money.

Because that's what it boils down to. For example, we have the NRA (National Rifle Association) and politicians being paid by them who will fight tooth and nail to keep restrictions to a bare minimum.

Plus guns are just generally politicized in the US in a way I don't really think they are in most other countries.

But without writing an entire thesis about gun control and the issues with the political Right and the Left in the US what I can and will say is this:

Most regular US citizens want gun control. The vast majority of us want there to be more checks, more bans, and more regulations.

We are tired of being afraid, tired of losing friends and family, and tired of seeing dead kids on the news.

In this, as in what feels like so many other things these days, the voices and pockets of the powerful few are outweighing the voices and the fears of the common many.