#i'm so happy this is my fic gift

[missmungoe]

If you have a moment, you should go check out TricksterMelon on Twitter :) I hope you like it <3

I am speechless

[inconclusionray]

new(ish) due South fic, anyone? In ascending order of spice, we have Strawberry Jelly, written as a gift fic for @cro-mignonette back when we were both on the tumblrs, on the stresses that can lead to alcohol abuse in remote areas, on Ray moving to the middle of nowhere and being undiagnosed ADHD starting to get bored out of his gourd, but mostly about... fruit preservation. As it were. Ahem. Rated T for teen because there are allusions to canon-typical violence between our beloved duo. Then there's Know I'll stay beside that telephone line, which wasn't directly responsible for the change in relationship status between me and @hereeatthiskitten but also wasn't not, so. Kept private because sometimes things are just too precious to be public for a while; she gave me permission to post it years ago, nonetheless, but did I? Look, it's there now, isn't it? Anyway, it's about longing, and repression, and how challenging it can be to change the shape of a relationship, even when you both know the other knows you want to. Talking is awkward, okay, sometimes it's easier in a chat box over the telephone. Rated M, because there is sex, but it's mostly alluded to, not described. Finally, we have the fully smut rated Book, Book, Duck, which if I recall correctly was just me trying to prove to @hereeatthiskitten that Fraser and Duck could so do the deed (ish), what that would look like, and what Ray's reaction would be. It's about... libraries? and alleys? okay it's about dopplegangers and public-ish sex and jealousy and desire. Explicit, no question, though once again, the point is the feelings. Please leave comments on this, it took me over seven years to finish, I crave the validation. That's it! Enjoy! Feel free to use this to promote your new-ish old fandom creations, too! Fic, art, gifs, meta, squees, literally any engagement with this cheesy buddy cop show that is way too good for being as absurd as it is!

[pastafossa]

The Glorious TRT Gift

I needed to make this one its own post specifically so I could link it on my TRT masterlist.

One of my highlights of going to the con was finally getting to meet with @wonderlandmind4​, who I’ve been chatting with for ages after bonding over the fic. It was one of those friendships where you finally meet and you feel like you’ve always known each other. There is no awkward period, no ‘um who are you exactly’. Just boom, we’re hugging, we’re chattering, we’re getting kicked out of Panera because we lost track of time while talking and they’re closing, we’re exchanging friendship gifts. And there was one in particular that was very special. If you’ve been around on tumblr, then you may have seen my mentions of her teasing about whatever this TRT gift was. I know she told a couple other people at the con, but when she finally gave it to me, I was just... stunned, and I immediately teared up.

She'd created a funko display of black suit Matt and a custom Funko Jane she'd ordered. It was set above the streets of the Kitchen, complete with beautiful, glittering threads she'd made and attached herself, with the Hell's Kitchen skyline at night as the backdrop.

Jane even has her key necklace, along with her leather jacket! Seriously, the fact that they have not just a red thread, but Matt also has his white thread signifying his love for his city, is just... perfection.

Girl, this is one of the wildest, sweetest, most thoughtful things I've been given and I have repeatedly teared up when proudly showing it to friends and family. My geek friends on my socials are literally losing their minds over it. I literally carried this in the Keanu Jesus tote bag with me every time I left the car on the ride home because I wanted to make sure nothing happened to it. The second I got home, I was rearranging the Matt Murdock shrine so I could set it up front and center. And I've been looking at it and touching it on and off all day, just stunned that someone loved TRT enough to make it. It is absolutely perfect and I love it so, so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 😭

[rebornofstars]

yay! it's august! i've had a lot on my plate recently irl, and finals are coming up in a few weeks, but the worst is over now and i'm ready to start working through my writing to do list!

only problem is i am hugely bad at making decisions. i am wondering if tumblr would please assist me in deciding my priorities for this month? pretty please? it would really help 💞

i feel super shy making this poll. hello 👋

[kaatiba]

i guess i should just accept that i am primarily a fanfiction writer. i've completed one (1) long-form original work in my whole life and it's increasingly feeling like a fluke. i've written two "collections" of prompt fills, which are very like fanfiction as you take someone else's idea and run off with it, but they're not short stories really, as they're not complete narratives, just expansions. fanfiction I can write quickly and easily and well and I almost always finish them. but I can't do the same with og work no matter how hard I try. And maybe that'll change in the future but I just feel like a failure and a fraud and a flop

[rainbowwing251]

The Other Chris (Wild Kratts Tickle Fic)

A/N: I can’t. Believe. I’m doing this.

Seriously, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I should not be doing this, but I’m doing it anyway.

So uh… yeah, this is… a thing! It’s a tickle fic for the PBS Kids series Wild Kratts!

I know I said I didn’t want to make tickle content for the show, but truth be told… I really wanted to for… almost as long as I’ve been into the show. The only reason why I decided against it was because I was afraid. Afraid of how the Wild Kratts fandom would see me for making this kind of content. Afraid that the tickling community wouldn’t care about tickle content for this show. Afraid that somehow, someway, the Kratt Brothers themselves would find my content.

But recently, two out of my three fears have been proven false. It turns out that there IS a tickling community for Wild Kratts and that the tickling community as a whole does enjoy the limited amount of tickle content there is for it. I’m still concerned about whether or not the brothers themselves will find it, but I guess I shouldn’t worry about that for now…

This is a long author’s note, and I apologize for that, but before I get onto this fic, I would like to mention that this fic is a collab! This is a collab between myself and @kittyfluffies on Tumblr, whom I may have accidentally dragged into the Wild Kratts fandom with me… oops.

Well, let’s see how this goes! Real quick, this fic takes place shortly after the events of the episode “The Other Martins”!

P.S. Interpret this as Krattcest and I’ll get the sniper rifle. That shit is DISGUSTING.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a horrible day to be Chris Kratt.

Everything that could go wrong today did go wrong, except for the appearance of one or more of the villains. But would that have been any worse than falling into a pile of rotten apples, nearly being dive bombed by a Purple Martin (multiple times in fact), finding an American Pine Marten, having an American Red Squirrel steal your Creature Power Suit, getting tickled by said squirrel and your brother at the same time, and falling into a body of water, in that order, all on the same day? All while your brother teases you relentlessly the whole time? Chris would argue that this is worse than anything the villains could throw at him and the rest of the Tortuga crew.

He tried to combat his bad luck by calling it a day early to try and think of animals that shared his name, but there was one problem with this plan: he can’t think of a single animal that has “Chris” in its name. Not a single one.

“Come on, there’s gotta be one animal out there with the name Chris that isn’t me…! There has to be…!” he thought as he laid in a bed in the basement of the Tortuga. He had intended to lie in one of the hammocks that was in the central room of the ship, but remembered that none of those were his. They belonged, from top to bottom, to Aviva, Koki, and Jimmy Z, and as much as he would have liked to be in a hammock right now, he didn’t want to risk being scolded for taking a hammock that wasn’t his. That, and he was already feeling irritated by the events of the day and didn’t want to be angered any further, so he chose to isolate himself to try and calm down.

This worked for some time, but eventually, the peace was disturbed by the appearance of someone else.

The moment he heard those footsteps, he knew who it was. And he groaned.

“Oh no…” He should have known that there was no way he would be able to go the rest of the day without seeing the one who was responsible for half of the troubles he faced today, and yet somehow, he thought he would be left alone.

The door to the basement opened, and in came the reason he was even lying here in the first place: his older, mischievous, and sometimes annoying brother, Martin Kratt.

“Hey bro!” he greeted before noticing the look on Chris’s face. He’s seen him direct that face at the villains and sometimes him a couple of times, but something about that expression in this moment seemed… off.

“What? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“After everything you put me through today? No, absolutely not.”

That upsetted Martin a little bit, but he did understand why he’d feel that way. It didn’t stop him from teasing him a little bit more, however.

“Awww, come on, Chris! You got to see animals that share a name with your bro! Does that not make you happy? Not even a little bit?” he teased, putting his hand on his shoulder and leaning towards his face.

Chris rolled his eyes at his brother’s actions, “Remember when I said that purple martins didn’t annoy me anymore, but this one-” Chris put a finger on Martin’s chest, “-not so much? I meant it.”

“Awww, you’re no fun, bro. I was just messing with you! I wanted you to enjoy The Day of the Martins!”

“Your teasing didn’t help me get my Creature Power Suit back from that red squirrel.”

“But I still got it back!”

Chris sighed and poked his brother again, “You don’t get it, do you?” He was about to lecture his older brother before he heard what sounded like a mix of a giggle and a squeak, “You’re still laughing at my luck, aren’t you?”

“N-no, just watch where you’re poking me!” Martin explained, grabbing Chris’s wrist and pulling it away from him. Chris looked down to see where he had poked him, thinking he had poked him in the chest again, only to realize that he had accidentally poked his brother in the stomach.

Suddenly, he got an idea. An idea on how he could get back at his brother for his merciless teasing.

If he couldn’t think of any animals with Chris in their name, then he’ll have to invent one. One that can give him the power to take revenge on his brother.

“...Chris?” Martin’s concerned voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “You alright?”

A malicious grin formed on Chris’s face, “Chris isn’t here right now.”

Martin raised a brow at his younger brother’s statement, “Huh? What are you talking about, bro? You’re right here! What do you mean you aren’t-”

“Chris. Isn’t. Here. Right now.” The green brother grabbed Martin by his wrists and swiftly pinned him down onto the bed. “Only his alter-ego~”

Upon hearing that teasy tone in his voice, Martin immediately knew what was about to happen. “C-Chris? Can we talk about this…?!”

Chris let out a sinister-sounding chuckle, “I already told you, Chris isn’t here~ Only…” he brought his hands into Martin’s vision and wiggled his fingers.

“W-wait, nohoho! Don’t-!”

“The TICKLE MONSTER!” The younger brother drilled a finger into the other’s armpits, “But right now, you can call me the ‘Other Chris’~”

To Chris’s slight shock, Martin had already burst into a fit of giggles with a few laughs mixed in for good measure.

“Nohohohoho, Chrihihihihs! W-We can tahahahalk about thihihis!”

“Laughing already? And from a single finger in the armpits, no less~? This will be easy~”

The blue brother was already squirming under the ticklish touch, trying and failing to throw Chris off of him.

“Trying to throw me off, are we~? I think that warrants a punishment, wouldn’t you agree~?” Chris ignored the unintentional rhyme and snuck a second wiggling finger into Martin’s armpits, causing his giggles to rise in volume and his squirming to become a little more violent.

“C-Chrihihis nohohohoho! That t-tihihihihihickles!” Martin cried out, his arms coming down in an attempt to protect his armpits, but unfortunately for him, that only served to trap his brother’s fingers in there.

“I told you, I’m not Chris! I am the Other Chris!” The “Other Chris” protested as he broke through the blue Kratt’s defenses to slip a third finger under his arms.

“Chrihihihihis, I knohohohow you’re in thehehehehre!”

“Nope, Chris is nowhere to be found right now, but I promise, he’ll come back once I give him what he wants~”

“Whahahahahahat? What d-dohohohoes he wahahahant?”

Chris gave him the most evil smirk he could muster. “Revenge~” With that, he skipped the fourth step and slipped the last two fingers under Martin’s arms. With all ten fingers tickling him, Martin went from squirming to thrashing uncontrollably, nearly throwing Chris off of him a few times. He’d also started kicking his legs, desperately trying to distract himself from the tingly sensation under his arms.

“NOHOHOHOHO, BROHOHOHOHOHO! C-CUT IT OHOHOHOHOUT!” Martin seemed to nearly scream out as he kept kicking and thrashing for a few more seconds, only stopping when he felt a hand on his ankle.

“Are you trying to kick me~? How rude~!” Chris teased. He was about to stick a hand back under his brother’s arm before he was hit with another idea. Martin, who had squeezed his eyes shut during his laughing fit, opened them and giggled in anticipation. “C-Chrihihihihs?”

The evil grin his brother had on his face nearly made him burst into laughter again.

“You know, Martin… I’m pretty sure it’s not a good idea to kick another person, and yet you tried to kick me anyway. I think it’s time for me to switch spots and teach you another lesson~” 

“Whahahahat?” Martin questioned through his giggles before he felt his shoelaces coming undone. “Whahahaha- hehehehehey! Don’t remove my shoes, plehehehehehese! Chrihihihihis!”

“It’s too late to beg for mercy now, Martin~” Chris slowly pulled both shoes off before slipping a finger into the blue brother’s socks.

“Nononononono dohohohohohon’t! Dohohohon’t do ihihihihit!”

“Do what~?” Chris asked him, pulling one sock off of his foot, “Take your shoes and socks off? Well too bad, I will not stop until you apologize to me… and to Chris~”

“But yohohohou are Chrihihih- NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Martin burst into laughter upon feeling a hand on his bare left foot.

“Laughing already~? This will be easy~” With that, Chris dug in, scribbling his fingers all over the other’s feet. Martin absolutely lost it in response.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO, CHRIHIHIHIHIHIHIS! S-STAHAHAHAHAHP!”

“Begging for mercy again are we~? I don’t remember you giving Chris mercy when he told you to stop, so why should I~?” Chris ribbed, leaning in closer to Martin’s face in an attempt to make the teasing worse for his older brother. Needless to say, it worked like a charm.

“PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHASE STAHAHAHAHAHAP TEHEHEHEASING MEHEHEHE!”

“And why should I do that~?” the younger brother asked, focusing the tickling on Martin’s arches, a spot he knew was unbearably sensitive to any kind of touch, “Does it tickle more when I tease you~? Does it make you lose all of your strength so you can’t fight back~? Tell me, Martin, does teasing make you weak to tickles~? Even more so than you already are~?” 

Martin’s only response was to throw his head back in uncontrollable laughter before immediately rushing to cover his face with a pillow to muffle himself.

“That was not a response, but I’ll take it anyway~” Chris reacted with a giggle, far too amused by how much his brother was laughing.  “Besides, now that you’re covering your face, you won’t be able to see what I’m doing~”

To prove his point, the younger Kratt suddenly switched from scribbling Martin’s arches to scratching under his toes. Just as he predicted, Martin’s laughter increased in both pitch and volume, though it was muffled a little by the pillow.

“CRIHIHIHIHS NOHOHO-MMMPH!” The older Kratt had lifted the pillow a little to plead for Chris to have mercy on him, but he had to cut himself off by pulling the pillow back over his face because he was afraid his laughter would alert someone upstairs.

“You brought this on yourself, Martin~ All you had to do was get Chris’s vest back without tickling him, but nope, you couldn’t resist~”

Chris looked down to return his focus to Martin’s feet when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright green disc in one of Martin’s shoes. For the third time that day, he was hit with an evil idea. He slowed the tickling under Martin’s toes to a stop and waited for him to catch his breath.

“Hey Martin~”

“A-are you fihihihinally going to have mercy on mehehehe…?” Martin let out his after-giggles and slowly lifted the pillow off of his face. Chris grinned a little at seeing the bright pink blush on his brother’s face, a clear indication that this was a job well done so far. He nearly laughed when he saw his eyes widen in horror.

“T-that’s…!”

Chris let out the most malicious laugh he could muster. “The Pine Marten Power Disc~” He then leaned in towards Martin again. “I think you know what I’m going to do with this, but first, I need to find a pine marten~”

The other Martin tried to snatch the Power Disc out of his brother’s hands, but Chris just dodged each attempt effortlessly.

“Now… how am I going to keep you from escaping…?” Chris pondered, realizing that he had not considered the possibility of using an animal’s Creature Powers to tickle Martin. At that moment, both brothers heard the door to the basement open.

“What’s going on down here? I thought I heard someone laughing…” Aviva walked into the room and spotted the brothers. Martin’s blush deepened into a dark shade of red while Chris’s face turned a bright pink, just like his brother’s face was a few seconds ago. The blush quickly faded from the green brother’s face when he realized that the answer to his question had just caught them in the act.

“Aviva, keep him pinned down for me, will you?”

“Huh…?” Aviva was very confused, but upon seeing the tears of mirth in the corners of Martin’s eyes combined with the blush and residual giggles, she quickly caught on to what was going on, “Ohhh, I see~ Sure thing, Chris~”

“I’m not Chris, I’m the Other Chris!”

Aviva couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that, “Whatever you say, ‘Other Chris’~”

Chris elected to ignore the sudden embarrassment that welled up within him upon hearing Aviva’s teasing words and walked out of the basement to go find his “partner” in crime. As soon as he left, Aviva turned to face the flustered mess of a Kratt brother on the bed.

“Hehehehey Avivahahaha…!”

She couldn’t help but giggle at him, “Chris got you good, didn’t he~?”

“Yeahahaha, and he’s not even dohohohne yet!” Martin answered as the remaining after giggles slowly subsided. “You’ll get me out of here, rihihight…?”

“Hmm…” The inventor pretended to ponder his question before she pinned him down, just as Chris asked her to, “Nope~ Don’t want to get on Chris’s- sorry, ‘Other Chris’s’- bad side~”

Martin’s giggles quickly returned as he realized there was no hope of escape, “Nohohohoho! I mehehehehehean, I geheheht it, but nohohohoho!”

“No what, Martin~? Do you want me to get on your brother’s bad side~? On ‘Other Chris’s’ bad side~? After everything he did to you~?” Aviva smirked at the blue Kratt’s sudden laughing fit, “No way~! If you can’t handle his tickle skills, how do you expect me to handle them~?”

Before Martin could respond (if he would’ve been able to answer at all given how hard he was laughing), both he and Aviva heard the sound of a Creature Power Suit being activated upstairs, followed by the sound of quiet footsteps approaching the door to the basement.

Aviva couldn’t help but let out an evil chuckle as she saw her pinned victim’s eyes widen in horror, “Looks like your time is running out, Martin~”

“NOHOHOHOHO!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whole time Aviva was teasing his brother, Chris had entered the main room of the Tortuga to find a pine marten. As soon as the door opened and he stepped inside, he finally allowed himself to break character.

“Phew… keeping up a fake persona is tiring… but oh is it worth it~” Chris thought to himself, “Let’s see… is there a pine marten in here…?”

Chris looked around the room and noticed that two certain crew members were nowhere to be found. “Koki and Jimmy aren’t here…? That’s a little odd…”

Before he could further question their whereabouts, his eyes landed on a pine marten that was sitting in Aviva’s desk chair. Chris grinned, “But right now, I need the help of my ‘partner’ in crime~”

He made sure to carefully approach the pine marten so as not to scare it away before he put on his Creature Power Suit and took Martin’s Pine Marten Power Disc out of his left pocket.

“Hey there! Li’l Marty, was it?” Chris asked the little creature as it turned to look at him, “Well I’ll need your help to get revenge on Big Marty~”

He put his gloves on. He was finally ready to enact the last part of his plan.

“Insert Pine Marten Power Disc!”

He put one gloved finger on the pine marten.

“Touch pine marten!”

He pressed the central button on his vest, and…

“Activate pine marten powers!"

The suit activated, and within seconds, he had become a pine marten.

“Haha, I finally got the chance to use pine marten powers! But I’ll have to test out the pine marten’s hunting tricks some other time. I have a more important prey to devour downstairs~”

Chris ran out the door and down the steps to the basement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He made it to the bottom of the stairs, but waited a moment before entering the basement to listen to the pure terror that found its way into Martin’s laughter.

“Did he hear me activate my Creature Power Suit?” Chris wondered before smirking, “Good.”

He finally entered the room to see Aviva holding down a hysterical Martin, but while they did hear the sound of the door opening and looked to see if he was there, they failed to look down towards the floor, where he actually was.

“Look down here~”

Aviva looked down and giggled upon both seeing him and hearing Martin shriek out a “AVIHIHIHIVA, LET ME GOHOHOHOHO!” She just ignored him and greeted Chris.

“There you are Ch- Other Chris!” she corrected herself.

“You see what my plan is now, Aviva~?”

“Sure do~ Want me to stay here, or do you want me to leave you to it?”

Chris tried to think about his response, but couldn’t hear his own thoughts over the sound of his brother’s uncontrollable laughter. Out of playful spite, he decided, “Leave him to me~”

Aviva nodded, “Okay then~ Sorry Martin, but it looks like you’ll be stuck with him for a bit longer~ See you later… if you’re still alive that is~” She released said Kratt from her grasp before walking out of the door and heading back upstairs. The whole time she was walking away, Martin was pleading for her to reconsider and help him escape, but it was futile. She and Chris had already made their decisions.

Martin’s laughter had subsided a little after the inventor left, but he still had a hard time controlling himself, especially when he looked at his younger brother sitting on the floor. Watching. Waiting there. Menacingly.

“C-Chrihihihihihs? Hellohohohoho?”

Chris leered at him, “Are you ready for the grand finale, Martin~?”

“Nohohohohoho, nohohot at ahahahahahahall!”

“Well too bad~”

The green pine marten ran over to one of the legs near the foot of the bed, climbed up it, and ran across Martin’s body to get to his neck. The whole time he ran across his brother’s torso and ribs, he dragged his tail behind him, intentionally tickling him and sending him into another fit of laughter.

“H-hehehehehehey, wahahahahahatch the taihihihihihil!”

“What do you mean? I was watching my tail!” Chris snuck up to Martin’s ear before he spoke again, “I was watching it tickle you~”

He could feel Martin shiver as he brought his now-free hands up to his ears to cover them up. Unfortunately for him, the ears were the last spot his brother had in mind.

While his hands were up and covering his ears, Chris made his way to his neck and stood dangerously close to the collar of his shirt.

He could practically feel the heat radiating off his brother’s skin as he took note of the blush that had managed to spread from Martin’s face to his neck. He saw the tips of his ears through his fingers and noticed that they even had a tinge of red on them. He didn’t know his older brother could get this flustered!

“You ready~?” He asked teasingly, knowing full well what Martin’s answer was going to be.

“N-nohohohoho! Chrihihihis, d-dohohohon’t do ihihit!”

Chris couldn’t help the smug grin that made its way onto his face, though he didn’t turn to show it to his brother, “Too bad~ Here we go~!”

He stuck his head into the collar of Martin’s shirt, slowly inching his way in. He was only a few inches in when he suddenly pulled himself out and began sniffing at the blue Kratt’s neck. Martin was in no way prepared for this sudden change and nearly let out a squeal as he desperately tried to move his head from side to side to get his brother’s face away from his neck.

“H-hehehehehehey, don’t sniff my nehehehehck!” I-I dohohohon’t smehehehell!”

“That’s not what I’m going for, Martin~ I’m just here to make you laugh, and unless you apologize for what you did to Chris today…” Chris moved down to where Martin’s blush ended on his neck and went right back to sniffing, “You better prepare yourself~”

“I-I cahahahahahahn’t!”

“You can’t apologize? And here I thought you knew basic manners~”

The green pine marten stayed at Martin’s neck for a few more seconds before the sniffing came to an end. However, while his brother had his guard down, Chris quickly zipped into his shirt and ran across his stomach over and over again.

Martin’s only response to the sneak attack was a squeal so loud that it nearly stunned Chris. While he knew that the walls of the Tortuga are rather thick, he highly doubted that Aviva, Koki, and Jimmy were unable to hear that squeal, even if they were outside of the ship.

“CHRIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIS, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! I-I CAN’T- AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Huh? What was that, Martin~? I can’t understand you, you’re laughing too hard~” Chris taunted as he kept up the pace and continued to race around on his brother’s torso. He dragged his tail behind him once again, swishing it back and forth to make it tickle even more, and even stopped running a few times to pretend to use it like a paintbrush on Martin’s navel, which nearly resulted in him getting pushed out of his shirt by his hands. It didn’t take long for Chris to notice that Martin’s squirming and pushing was gradually fading, a tell-tale sign that he was nearly at his limit.

“Ready to say sorry yet~?”

“Y-YEHEHEHEHES! YEHEHEHEHEEHS! I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORY! CHRIHIHIHIHIS, PLEAHAHAHAHAHAHASE!”

The moment Martin said sorry, Chris brought the tickles to a halt and carefully climbed out of his sibling’s shirt, doing his best to not make any of his steps tickle him any further.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it~?” Chris teased him one last time before he hopped off of him and onto the floor, waiting for his giggly mess of a brother to catch his breath and calm down.

“T-thahahahaht… that wahahahahs evihihihihil…!”

“Good~ That’s what I was going for~ So next time, when you try to bully your brother for an entire day, remember… I will be here to tickle you until you apologize to him for your behavior~” With that, Chris stood up, said, “Deactivate!” and reverted back to his normal appearance and personality.

“You okay, bro?” he asked and held out his hand, worried that he might have taken his tickly punishment a bit too far.

“Y-yeah…” Martin breathed out, taking his younger brother’s hand and letting himself be pulled up into a sitting position. “Just give me a few more seconds to breathe…”

After two deep breaths, he got up off of the bed and stood next to his brother, “Do you think the crew heard me squeal…?”

“Only one way to find out! Come on, let’s see if they’re upstairs!”

A light pink blush returned to Martin’s face, but nonetheless, he went upstairs with Chris into the main room of the Tortuga. When the door opened, they were greeted with the sight of Aviva waiting in front of the big computer, while Koki and Jimmy were at their desks, having turned to face the brothers.

“So…” Aviva started with a smirk, “Who’s going to explain that loud squeal we heard downstairs~?”

Martin’s blush turned a dark red, while Chris just stood there, trying to look as though he had no idea what she was talking about.

“I’m not an expert on human noises, but I don’t think that squeal belonged to any of us.”

“Certainly didn’t come from me! I’d know my own squeals anywhere!” Jimmy responded to Koki’s comment, completely unaware of the engineer creeping up behind him until he heard a, “Boo!”

“AAAAAAH!” Jimmy didn’t squeal, but he did indeed scream and bolted behind Koki and her chair. Everyone couldn’t help but laugh at his panicked reaction.

“Hehehe, I think that’s enough to prove that it wasn’t him~” She then turned her attention back to the brothers, “Sooooooo~?”

The light pink blush Martin had the entire time turned a dark red again as his embarrassment grew, and even Chris couldn’t fight the faint pink blush on his cheeks as he tried his best to play it cool and pretend that he didn’t understand her.

No one said anything for a few seconds, then the blue Kratt finally spoke up, “I-It was me… and I’ve got to admit, Chris is a surprisingly good tickler if he got me to squeal that loud!” Martin quickly regained his usual energy and peered at his brother, who just looked at him with a confused expression.

“Huh? What are you talking about, bro? I didn’t tickle you!”

Martin gave him a “you’re really doing this?” look and decided to play along, “No, that was totally you, Chris, I swear!”

“No way! I’m not as good at tickling people as you are!”

“I think I remember hearing your voice teasing me into oblivion! I’d know your voice anywhere, bro!”

“I’m not good at teasing, either! Martin, I swear, you’re confusing me with someone else!”

For a moment, Koki and Jimmy thought that they were having a genuine argument over a supposed tickle attack, but when Aviva gave them a knowing grin, they immediately caught on to what was really happening.

“Nope, that was totally you! And you know what~?” Martin’s voice turned teasy out of nowhere as he brought his hands up into Chris’s view, wiggling his fingers, “I was lying when I said I was sorry~”

“Huh? Wha-” The younger brother was initially confused before spotting the wiggly fingers that were slowing approaching him, “W-wait, Martin noooOOOOHOHOHOHO DOHHOHOHOHON’T!” He immediately cracked when he felt his older brother’s fingers on his sides, ribs, and belly. It didn’t take for him to try to fall to the floor to escape the ticklish hell that was unleashed upon him, but unfortunately, Martin had followed him down, never stopping his assault.

“Haha, revenge sure is sweet!” Martin cheered, “Okay, I was sort of lying when I said I wasn’t sorry, I did feel bad for you, but right now, I care more about getting my revenge~”

Chris could only laugh and try to curl up as he felt Martin’s hand close in on the center of his stomach, but he managed to trap his hands there instead, sealing his tickly fate.

Aviva, Koki, and Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh along as they watched the chaos unfold in front of them.

“Hehe, these boys will never change, will they~?”

[nostalgicatsea]

A few years ago, @cathalinaheart recorded two podfics of my fics, and I encourage everyone to give them a listen.

Podfics are so cool once you get over your embarrassment and shyness of being seen, especially in a way that you're not used to lol. It's magical to hear your words come to life, in the voice of someone who enjoyed your writing enough to read it aloud to others and back to you.

Somehow, it makes it even realer that there's another person out there who opened my fic on their phone or computer and spent time with it. It feels more intimate like it's just that reader and me and the words I excavated from someplace deep inside existing in the space between us.

All this is to say, these podfics are special to me and even more so because they're the first two I ever received! For some reason, I never imagined someone podficcing any of my fics.

WOW, I'M DIGRESSING. WHAT ARE THE FICS AND WHERE ARE THE LINKS TO CAT'S PODFICS, YOU ASK? Here they are:

"The Burning of Flowers" - 616 Hickmanvengers Steve/Tony Hanahaki AU

"In My Hands and Gone Again" - post-Endgame Steve/Tony amnesia AU

THANK YOU FOR MAKING THESE, CAT!<3

[loppiopio]

the chances of the people seeing this aren't super likely so this is highly inefficient but i'm too afraid to approach people personally…. yet i've been burning with the need to express my gratitude for the tags i've received individually somehow and figured, i could do it the way i do best. in the tags 😅

(sorted by most recent) (i capped the limit hard here) (some ✂️✂️ had to be done 😔) (i still like this format a lot though) (might do this again in the future idk would people like that??) (i hope it's not mortifying for anyone……..)

it's sorta the way i like it, indirect and unimposing, even if it's kinda. wieldy. but it's just on my blog so anything goes right? although in saying that, i am open to being imposed on. like if someone wants to talk about aci or something, like other fic?? i'm a big fic fiend. or anything else lol not sure what else you'd wanna chat about since so much of the stuff i've put out is just. about fic. but hey, if you're a person i don't mind being approached :>

(lol the way i've made this like a *throws out a bunch of paper slips* find your's 🎉) (might be obnoxious hm) (sorry...) (find your's if you want though 🫡)

[eilinelsghost]

Fight With Thine Own Hand

Happy happy birthday, @that-angry-noldo! You are such a lovely, talented, kind, and caring person and it's been a delight getting to know you over this past year.

I hope the horrors of a completed Orodreth-and-Finarfin-have-the-worst-day-ever bring you some suffering joy(?) on this, your day of birth. ❤️

Apologies in advance for *gestures at everything below*

The laugh rumbled through Finarfin’s bones. He was only half-conscious, the room reeling about him with sickening fluidity, the reek burning his nostrils and stabbing along his throat, raw from the screams of battle and the torment of his journey across Anfauglith. His legs had given out amid the endless descent and at the last he had been dragged by his hair across the threshold and kicked to lie gasping and helpless in the open space before Morgoth’s seat.

And the Foe laughed.

“Your courtesy is somewhat lessoned since the blinding days of Tirion.” Morgoth’s voice drifted over the prostrate form at his feet and Finarfin shuddered at its familiarity. “Your brothers came to me willingly and I find I take offense that your approach is so marked by coercion.”

Finarfin fought to catch his breath. The air was acrid and smoke stung his eyes. But there was Tree Light—Tree Light! Amid the choking dark and terror, the mingled silver and gold touched his gaze for the first time since all he loved had broken beyond repair. Ai, Malinalda… Ninquelótë… His eyes watered from the brilliance, wept as memory rose and drowned him in its familiar despair. Rebellion, repentance, reparation, reconciliation, and yet he too fell now at the feet of Darkness. Airë Manwë, were none of them to escape it?

“It is a poor finish to collect the coward last of all, but I am satisfied. Each whelp of that petty king now accounted for. Each son of his brought down by my hand. It will suffice.”

His eyes had begun to acclimate to the fractured vision of the nethermost hall, impenetrable darkness mingled with unquenchable light. It was like seeing through the glass windows in the palace upon Túna where each was constructed from shards of shaped glass, and the new sun stabbed in fractal light through its facets. Everything image here was pieced together in shards.

There were wolves about the throne, beneath its looming bulk. And with naught but his own hands he slew the wolf who came… No, press down the thought. Memory would only weaken. Despair is what widens the cracks, hope is that which binds them together. Think rather on Tirion. Think on gold and silver, on Ingoldo and Litsemir bending together over the parchment in the library, gold and silver mingled in the light, and gold and silver mingled in their hair. 

Hope. Hold to hope and he would hold himself whole.

Silver glimmered amid the shadow beside the throne. A familiar silver. It ran like the water of Alqualondë’s harbors, there in the far years when those were yet an image of joy and not desperation. When they danced in the twilit brush of Telperion and Laurelin reaching out through the Calacirya, and Eärwen murmured their son’s hair was lit with the very image of that silver…

Litsemir.

Finarfin’s cry was a hoarse gasp as he tried to push up from the stones.

“Down, dog.”

Some force outside himself had control of his arms and they wrenched out from under him, the air knocked from his lungs once again as his chest and face rammed against the floor. Litsemir, Litsemir, Litsemir…His son’s name pounded through his senses. He was a phantom, surely a phantom. They had told him of Orodreth’s end, those few Nargothromdrim he had met in the Falas; the dragon had come and the host’s blood was scattered across Tumhalad in wreck irreparable, and Orodreth was lost. 

Ai, holy Valar, they had said lost, they had not said slain. His eyes dragged upward once again till he saw the face, half-shrouded in gloom but unmistakable. The slight features, his mother’s silver hair, the sharp slant of his ears which had ever been more pronounced than his siblings. Litsemir…Artaresto… How beautiful he was, even here in the clinging dark; half his face in shadow and half lit by the echo of that long lost light. It danced off of him even as it had when he ran through the valley around Tirion, a shy and quiet child brimming over with laughter. The joy in that face was silenced now, etched in the light as though of stone, too pale and too still.

“Söa, the guest cannot stand.”

There was a pause. Then his son was walking toward him, descending the dais with silent steps, and nearing, nearing…

Finarfin reached out to him with all his thought and at once an unbearable weight crushed his senses. It was pressing forward through a bog, every movement a grim wrench through the will bearing down about him, but he was close, he could feel the ripples about his son’s mind like the shimmer of sea water, he could nearly reach him. And then he touched a wall of ice. His thought flinched back in shock and he shuddered as Orodreth’s hands closed about his wrists and pulled him up from the ground with unexpected strength. The guards who stood yet at his sides took hold of his forearms and his son reached up to retrieve the shackles hanging loose in the air above him without ever looking at his face. 

“Litsemir,” Finarfin whispered as the iron locked about his flesh, “Onya…How has he hurt thee, Artaresto?”

The second shackle was fastened about his other wrist and he felt a rising horror through his senses as Orodreth still made no sign of recognition. “Onya! Yéta nin!” 

There, at last. The slight twinge along the jaw muscle, the little quiver that ever heralded the first signs of the storm. He was alive, he was here yet within the marble visage.

“Artaresto–” he began again, then broke off with a gasp as the chains drew suddenly taught and he was hauled to his feet, arms stretched painfully above his head.

“You have heard the story of your brother’s ruin, I am certain.” The voice rumbled again through the cracked light. The ever-burning gems lit swaths of the chamber about the throne, but some deep, tangible darkness hovered yet about the visage and Finarfin could see naught beyond the sharp edges of his crown. “So you will know that a crushed fly nevertheless may prove an irritant. Your brother died with a debt unpaid, Finwion.”

The shackles were cutting into the edges of his hands, and his feet scrabbled against stone in an attempt to hold his weight, but he had been lifted just high enough that he could gain little traction and no more than a margin of relief. Which brother, he wondered frantically, his reason spinning the possible scenarios. What would the Foe count in liability? There was movement in the shadows about him and he felt the hair prickle at the back of his neck.

“Seven debts,” the voice continued, “if we are to draw the contract clearly.”

Nolofinwë. His apprehension turned to panic as Elwing’s voice sprang from his memory, quiet and clear, recounting the roll of the dead, calling out their deeds in effigy. And he wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave a cry of anguish.

“Litsemir,” Finarfin breathed as his son lingered before him, and he saw the shudder run through his frame. “Onya, do you hear me?”

Once more the hall rumbled with mirthless laughter and a pitch of mockery ran through the words. “Tell him your name, laman,[1] so that he may address you rightly.”

Orodreth hesitated and the shiver rippled across his jaw once more.

“Your name!” The intonation was a snarl now and Finarfin saw his son flinch at the sound.

“I am called Söa Ustation.”[2] The ghost of his child’s voice passed over him, cold and flat, fractured as all the room about him. And in that moment the eyes shifted up at last, blue as the heedless gems his mother once cast along the shores with her laughter, piercing and bright as sea spray, deadened now and glassy.

For the first time Finarfin saw the white lines tracing across his face, a lace-pattern of scarring, and he felt hot fury rising through every vein. Holy Manwë, the number of them…And then he saw that the other too was bound in iron. A band wound around the neck before him and the name he had spoken was etched in repetition about its circumference. Filth, the son of Usurper. An empty chain loop rested below the chin, a mockery of where a gemstone might lie, and its laden potential drew a choked strain of profanity from Finarfin’s lips.

“Söa, call out the debt that he might know it in full.”

There was hardly a hesitation this time before his son’s voice began again in rote recitation. One by one he listed the tally of seven wounds, but Finarfin hardly heard them. His eyes were bound to the threaded scars along the cheekbones, encircling the lips, the brows…Varda, there was not an inch without.

“One blow dealt to the thigh of the left leg, severing the muscle. One blow to the wrist of the sword arm.“

“Onya…” Finarfin pressed hard against his son’s thought, pleading against every edge and crevice he could find. Thou art named Artaresto son of Arafinwë, long-sought and beloved. Thou art named Litsemir son of Eärwen, sea’s jewel and song. The ice shuddered against his touch.

“One blow to the right leg below the knee.”

A slight crack had opened and it was with an effort that Finarfin held back from pouring all his love through it to force the breaking dam. Instead, he rested against the fracture, a hand hovering upon a lintel, and held out the memory of twilight, of his own voice drifting through the air amid the sea-brine and rolling surf, of an infant curled within his arms. The hair upon the tiny head was fine as corn silk and shimmering in the mirrored starlight. Hairanna palan-tírienwa, he had sung, endórellon aldarembinë… [3]

It was brittle now, the barricade between them. A fluttering thing forged of fear.

“One blow piercing beneath the eighth rib.”

Fanoiolossë, lyé liruvan han ëar, si han ëaron!

With a quiver of panic, the resistance gave way and Finarfin’s breath caught in a choke. The expanse before him was as splintered as the gloom about them, a trammeled corridor, flinching and terrified. 

“One blow hewing the left foot and rendering it lame.”

The gloom reared up as Orodreth’s voice trailed off into silence. Finarfin saw in the corner of his eye that an Orc captain had moved to stand beside them while the litany was recited. He was tall, a match for Finarfin’s stature, and his face was shaped still with lines of beauty. 

“Dutifully have you learned your lessons, laman.” Morgoth’s voice fell nearly to a breath and Finarfin had to strain to hear the words. But he saw Orodreth tense before him as it continued. “Now show them forth.”

The captain stepped forward and held out a knife, long and cruel, and Orodreth’s hand shook as he took the hilt in hand. 

Another memory reached through the tenuous brush of thought and Finarfin’s blood ran cold as the fragmented snatches reached him. A dark-haired Elf, vaguely familiar—Gaelon, captain—bound even as Finarfin was now, the same whispered voice of command, the same drowning panic, a hot iron clattering from Orodreth’s hand and his son’s voice sobbing I cannot, I cannot. Then in a burning rush he was struck with nausea, with terror and horror and a relentless barrage of images—the same Elf again, his body variously contorted and mutilated, alive still and screaming—

The memory broke apart as Orodreth stepped forward, and at last he looked up of his own will to meet his father’s eyes. Refuse, said the Foe’s voice in memory, and I shall decide instead what he undergoes.

“One blow dealt to the thigh of the left leg, severing the muscle.” Morgoth’s voice rumbled in the darkness and the knife shook as it hovered in the space between them.

And at once Finarfin’s fear settled into defiance. This, at least, this he could give. He had left his child in the dark of Araman—he had left all of them pressing onward through the clinging mists, every infant he cradled renounced with his retreating steps—but here he would hold him through every step in the darkness.

“One blow dealt to the thigh,” Finarfin echoed, holding his son’s eye, and through the same path he pressed the song once more, the lullaby encircling each precious fragment within its embrace.

A Elentári Tintallë, his spirit sang as the first strike passed through his flesh.

The melody shuddered with pain and his right arm tensed against the coming blow, tyelpë pendas mírilya…

…menelo alcar elerrimbë! He ground his teeth nearly to breaking as he fought back the threatening scream. The third strike landed.

Hairanna palan-tírienwa, he sang. His blood began to pool upon the floor. 

“One blow piercing beneath the eighth rib.”

…endórellon aldarembinë, Litsemir was weeping. Hold him fast.

Fanoiolossë, lyé liruvan, he sang as his breath faltered,

…han ëar, si han ëaron! The blade hewed through the bones of his foot and he could no longer hold back a cry as he collapsed against the shackles. He dangled, helpless as the blood ran down his limbs. He was dizzy. He could not hold.

“Atta!” The knife clattered to the ground and his son’s arms were about him, clinging and desperate. The chains cut into the wounded wrists, but at no angle could Orodreth lift him without worsening some other wound. 

“Back, Söa. The debt remains.”

“I have done all your bidding!” Orodreth staggered back at once despite the protest, his breath heaving in ragged gasps.

“There is one thing yet lacking,” the voice murmured, “and then this score is settled.”

“Please…” Litsemir whispered, but the captain stepped forward and held out a second tool—four curved spikes, splayed out from a short handle—and he sobbed as he took it within his palm. 

Then through the haze, Finarfin saw the Foe lean forward; and through the haze he saw the face pass at last into the light, scarred with deep trenches along each side—the signet seal of Manwë’s messenger.

Finarfin wrapped his thought about his son’s once more, cradling him close as though they walked again along the twilit sea walls, with the tiny face tucked and slumbering against his neck. Then he lifted his head and laughed into the shadow, and once more in the dark he began to sing—aloud now, his voice rasping out the melody of defiance.

“Come forth, O monstrous craven lord, And fight with thine own hand and sword. I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!” [4]

Then the strike fell and he knew no more.

1. Laman: [Quenya] tame beast 2. Söa: [Quenya] filth; Ustation: [Quenya] misappropriate, supplant, usurp (the son of) 3. A Hymn to Elbereth, in the Tongue of Valinor 4. The Lay of Leithian, Canto XII, Fingolfin and Morgoth

All credit to @that-angry-noldo and @actual-bill-potts for spawning this au that somehow contains both Orodreth and Finarfin in Angband.

RIP, boys, you're their favorites and consequently they've sent you to literal hell.

[weekend-whip]

Happy White Day people!! My designation for the @ninjago-valentine-exchange comes in the form of a Kailor piece as a response to the work of @kristoffs-lullaby!!! It was an honor <3

Words: 9.7k (don’t look at me it’s fine it’s fine) Pairing: Kailor (with a teeny dash of some Smith Sibs in there) Summary: Skylor wants to go on a "real" date with Kai. Kai is totally down for this...but, he doesn't know where to start, and he's also terrified for how it will end.

[catboydan]

fiance got me a kindle for my birthday <3

[natasha-in-space]

Hey so I see you reblogging lots of RE content and I wonder if it's okay to ask if you have any fics for it maybe? It's okay if you don't, just wanted to check in '^^

So, uh, funny answer? Lots and lots in my private drafts. Also lots of RP lately (unironically working on an art piece for it rn bc it's fun). I write for it pretty much daily at this point, haha. RE4R sucked me back in, and I'm staying put so far. But that's all for me because I'm insecure about posting my stuff without heavy tinkering and editing to make it good 💀

But honest answer? I am actually working on a full Leon fic! And yes, this one I do plan on posting once it's done. I have no idea when it'll get finished though, because I am interchangeably working on it along with the Saeyoung one... Also, it's at <3 500 words currently, and I'm only, like, about halfway done through the plot.

For my MM followers: Saeyoung fic is at <4 000 words currently (yes I know, it was supposed to be a drabble. Things went out of control. There's no going back now). I do hope it'll be worth the wait! And yes I am working on it! My love for MM is not going anywhere.

I am a bit of a slow writer, admittedly, and real life has been kicking my butt lately.

[zoennes]

“You should know I'm not falling for this bullshit. I'm not falling for the big Senne show. I know you. I feel you.”

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @jann-the-bean!!!!!

you know i had to draw this lil precious baby again because my GOSH-!!! too adorable<333 (i believe she is capable of murder with how full of rage she is tho- gremlin behavior<;3333)

there's only so many ways i can say how much i adore your art and writings before i become a broken record because SERIOUSLY!!!! you are my biggest inspiration when it comes to writing and i swear if i hear you saying ANYTHING otherwise i'm breaking into your house no matter how far away you are cause i'm not tolerating such lies!!!! you are an AMAZING bean and i would hug you to death if i could >:'Dc <333

mocha belongs to jann

mobster au is both by @help-im-a-gay-fish and jann

[sabraeal]

The Vagrant’s Season, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written for @onedivinemisfit for her birthday, late by a couple days due to Life Constraints, and by that I mean two kids under 10 with head colds! This is part of Annie’s Shapeshifter AU, specifically a prequel to this piece

It may be muffled through wattle and wool, but Obi still hears the question loud and clear: “What do you think of the boy?”

Bark bites into his gloves as he stiffens, the chopped wood clutched tight to his chest as he presses against the wall. It can’t be possible the Goodwife’s considering the spring, not when there’s snow still piled in the streets and ice clings to every eave. There’s weeks yet until he has to worry, until the heat makes his scalp prickle worse than a bee swarm and he’s driven off just to satisfy the itch. Why, he still has to break through the ice on the well to get water in the morning, there’s no reason to think winter’s even halfway done--

Plink. Water splatters at the tip of his nose, hard enough to make him sniff.

“The boy? Obi?” Goody has no mate-- ah, no husband to speak of, but Harwin comes close enough to both. Not a thing he’s supposed to know, but this is hardly the first wall he’s heard too much through. “He’s a quick one, that’s for sure. Knows how to hold his tongue. Bit on the small side.”

Plink. Plink. His eyelashes flutter, flicking away the drops. They’re cold enough to sting, but there’s nothing to be done, not unless he wants to drop his whole load and give away the game.

“He’ll grow yet.” He won’t, but it’s kind of her to think so. Among his kind, he’s already tall enough, a full-grown male who peers over most heads. Last thing he needs is to stick out any more. “I thought I might speak to him. Ask if he wants to stay on through the spring. Might be nice to have another set of hands, specially when people start traveling the roads again.”

Plink. Obi looks up, licking the water from his lips. The icicle, it’s melting. Even now, he can see the next drop beading on its tip, trembling as grows bigger, no longer able to fight against the earth’s sway--

Ah, so it is time. 

Goody never has time for her little chat. Obi slinks in when the serving girls are all aflutter, asking about stews and trenchers and whether they’ll have enough ale in the cask for after sundown, leaving the wood by the hearth. It’s nothing to snag his sack then, filling it with what he can reach in the larder. Bread, cheese, dried meat-- anything that will keep; he’ll need it until the snow melts. There’s always forage to be found by those wise enough to see it, but nuts and winter berries make a thin meal indeed.

A meat pie on a sill makes for a king’s feast as he lets his feet carry him out of town, the stink of man fading away as he wanders from the well-trod road out to where stone cedes to pasture. Or at least it would, if the last storm hadn’t covered the fields. Might have been nice to stay on until the last frost; he had no proper bed, the way the serving girls did, but a mat rolled out on the hearth made for a warmer one than he’s used to. And if he was fed scraps...well, being fed was better than not being fed at all.

But winter’s comforts do not last spring’s thaw. The goodwife might find her boy handy now, but that would pass soon enough. All it took was a few custom asking about the gloves on his hands and the hat that never left his head, and folks would start looking at him sideways, start puzzling at a mystery never meant to be solved. Better to leave now, before his memory can sour.

By next year these folk will have forgotten him. After all, boys disappear off the streets all the time. No use remembering a scrawny one.

The pie loses its charm along with its warmth. Still, he’s eaten worse-- will eat worse, if history holds-- and he stretches it to its last crumb. After that first glut he keeps to a bite every few hours, ignoring hunger when it wraps its sticky fingers around his stomach. It’s hardly a stranger, after all. Practically an old friend. 

It’s a day’s walk to get to the forest’s edge. Not the one the townsfolk mark, just outside the glow of their little village, but the one he knows, long past where the stink of man has faded. Another day sees him safe, long past any trail even the most daring would mark. It’s only then that he dares to take off the cap.

It’s like being born again. All at once the world gains new dimension, a riotous cacophony that swells over him like a wave. His ears ache; both from the deluge of sound and from being pinned so tight for so long. A simple flick eases the physical discomfort, but the rest...

Obi breathes deep, cold burning his lungs. He’s dizzy, disoriented, but by all spirits in this wood-- as little as he can feet them-- he would take this over another second of pretending to be man’s child.

He dares a fire that night; a small one, just at the mouth of a cave he finds beneath a mossy outcropping. Sitting close, there’s enough light to stitch by-- and enough warmth that he can take off his trousers altogether. Still, he works quickly, ripping fabric and plucking out seams, squinting and swearing until they’ve been made new.

Getting to his feet with a wince-- ah, but these rocks are still cold, fire or no-- Obi pulls them on. It takes a moment to catch his tail, threading it through the hole he’s made. but when he’s finished...

Well, it’s easy to pick out his hasty work from the goodwife’s careful stitches, but at least his tail isn’t cramped inside a leg. Matted and sad as it is, it spreads over the rock like ash from a fireplace, or maybe ink from a quill. Given a few days, it’ll fluff up fine, the envy of every dog from here to Tanbar. And with these clothes, fresh from man’s world-- well, it’d be hard to keep the vixens off him, really. So long as the Keeper didn’t catch wind of a vagrant roaming around. That’s the last thing he needs, a wilder getting all curious about him.

He hulls a hunk of bread from his loaf, setting it to toast on a rock at the fire’s edge. It’ll make a meager feast even with the meats and cheese he’s got in his pack, but it’ll fill him. Until the snow melts, that’s all he can ask, unless he’d like hunger clinging to his shadow, a demon not even those mountain women can exorcise, try as they might. Worse comes to worst, he might be able to stave it off in his small form, feeding off the small rodents that peek their noses out of their burrows, but they’re a spare meal at best, hardly enough to keep him hunting. And still...

It’s not good to stay small so long. That’s what the wise women would say when he was just a kit, scolding the young when they’d play their hiding games out in the wood, seeing how long it would take for the other to find them. Obi had been the best at that game; he’d manage a day or two, enough that the patrols would have to find him, dragging him out from his warren by the back legs.

Stay too long like that and you’ll forget, one of them had creaked direly. You’ll forget what it’s like on two legs, on how to do anything but feed and flee. Wild in truth, that’s what you’ll be, and never able to come back.

He’d never taken the old witches seriously. Who could, when he was so used to the elders barking, make a face like that and you’ll get stuck! Yelp too much and you’ll only be able to howl! It was silly superstition, a way to make the kits behave.

Or so he had thought. Never again.

His mouth sours, so much that even water can’t wash it out. It takes a slice of sausage, salty enough to cleanse any spirit, to banish the taste. He’ll have to consider that though-- what he’s going to do during the weeks his supplies her sparse, and the forage is thin on the ground. Where he’ll go if he doesn’t want to hunker down and hope for spring.

Tanbar’s a fine enough stretch, so long as he stays out of the hills. He doesn’t need to get tangled up in territorial disputes, especially when the picking’s so slim. But go much further south and there’s patrols, two dogs to every pass, with noses sharp enough to pick out another in the brush. They’re not kind to vagrants there, even less so the ones they’ve marked before. Different Keeper, maybe, but Shenazards are either shrewd or stupid, and neither makes for a comfortable jailer.

There’s the Yuris Wilds even farther south, a long jaunt for a cold welcome, though the weather might well make up for it. But the Keeper...

Obi grimaces. The Valley’s his best bet. The snows may not melt as quick as further south, but there’s a patch that’s thick with winter berries not far past the territory’s edge, and plenty of tubers once the their stems peeks above the drifts. He’d hardly have to skirt far past the boundary to reap the rewards. Last time he’d gone there hadn’t even been a patrol; no point when the land’s been abandoned since the last Keeper’s time.

The toast burns his fingers when he plucks it from the stone, but even that can’t keep the grin from his face. There’s an extra slice of sausage when he takes his first bite, cheese and meat softening with the the warmth of the bread beneath it. His supplies may be scant this season, but he has something far better now: a plan.

He approaches the valley as a little one, cutting through the tall grass with as much substance as a shadow. The night covers him; as long as he keeps downwind and moves when the grass does, his pelt merely a darker spot among many. Not that there’s anyone keeping watch here-- he smells one dog at the most northern border, a sharp, unpleasant set that annoys more than unnerves, but once he skirts south it becomes all sweet with a hint of pine.

The patch is where he remembers it, nestled only an hour’s trot past the treeline. Dawn breaks when he reaches it, sun filtering through the thick canopy, dappling the snow like stained glass, and he flops into the underbrush with a relieves fwoosh. Three days of scant meals have left him famished, mouth watering as he stares up at the plump, ripe winter berries, but--

But he’s been traveling all night as a little one. Good for swiftness and stealth, but stamina...

His breath evens, chin resting on his paws. A small nap, that’s all he needs. Enough to let the sun come up and warm the air, and then he’ll shift, letting his clever hands take their bounty. Glut himself before he finds his next bolthole.

When Obi sleeps, he sleeps the sleep of victors. But when he wakes--

“Tulleri, lull, is he still alive?” The song cuts through the silence, bright as the sunlight itself, sending him stumbling to full wakefulness. “Far, far away in the forest.”

The vixen’s scent follows not long behind, carried on the same winds as her melody, a mix of sweet honey and bitter greens-- the same as the buds he used to pop with chubby fingers, their fluffy blooms spilling wetly across his fingers, leaving a stench the wise women would cluck over him for. Leave them, they would grouse, all three together, they taste better on the spit than they do your fingers, pup.

“Why yes, he is.” He’d slept so easy thinking it was simply the herbs growing beneath the snow, muted by the melt, but it’s her, her scent clinging to every branch. Foolish of him; the volva might warn against staying little lest the mind be forgotten, but they never spoke of this-- stay too long as a man, and go as nose-blind as one of them for your trouble. “The little one is lying in his cradle.”

Her words fade to a hum, certain in their uncertainty, and there’s no time to run, not when her next silent step brings her into sight.

She’s a tiny thing, even for a wilder. It’d be nothing for him to shift, to step out into into the patch with all the confidence his height could bring him and scare her out. Not his style; the men have saying-- they have one for everything-- you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Obi’s never tried to catch a fly, wouldn’t know why a man would, but he’s certainly had more luck with vixens playing sweet rather than sinister.

“I am busy, I cannot go out to the fields.” She drops to her knees as the next line hums through her lips, wordless, so close to him that his paws skitter back, folding beneath him. “Well, the wind blows and birch go, and the little one still sleeps so nicely.”

Obi had thought the town had been overwhelming with its hundred thousand scents, with pies being baked and men walking about their business, sweating and eating and leaving the scent of their mating upon them. He’d kept himself apart as much as he could, hiding his wilder-sensitive nose beneath a scarf, but this--

Honey and herb smother him, as palpable as a blanket over his nose, leaving it aching even as his eyes stung and watered. It’s too close, too much. And yet--

It soothes him. Soothes him so much his skin itches, even as he melts into the ground beneath his belly.

She reaches for the winter berries first, plucking enough to fill the basket she keeps at her side, singing the entire time. Children’s songs, enough that he’d wonder if she was a mother, if he couldn’t smell her innocence on her, like glazing on a cake. One left in the window, begging for clever hands to steal it.

Obi keeps his paws to himself. It’d be one thing to sniff around a vixen with a few seasons under her belt, but one unmated-- and as pretty as this one-- oh, that’d bring a Keeper down on him quick. And the last thing he needs is the attention of this one’s.

Instead he lazes, keeping one eye open as she works. He’s almost sad when the last berry falls onto her pile, but then--

Then she starts digging in the snow beneath. It parts under her hands like soap bubbles, crumbling to water and slush. Still, her fingers turn red as her cheeks, looking cold and swollen by the time she exposes the greenery underneath.

“There,” she murmurs, voice as sweet as her song. “Finally--”

Her breath catches, and it’s only then that he looks up, meeting her wide eyes in monochrome.

“Oh my.” His heart stutters when she smiles, the way females do at kits. “I didn’t know I had company, little one! Here.”

She takes a handful of berries, holding them out just beneath the bush’s shadow. “Would you like a snack?”

Obi whimpers, his stomach gurgling at the offer, but-- but--

She might think him a harmless little one, sleeping among the underbrush, but if he stepped out into the sunlight, notched ear and shadowed pelt, his brand just visible beneath the fur--

Well, he knows what welcome there would be for a male like him.

“Come on now.” Her lips purse, kissing at the air, coaxing him close. There’s a part of him that is tempted. Perhaps if he only stuck out his nose... “There’s plenty to share.”

Obi stares at her, sunk into his wary crouch, and when she reaches out a hand--

He bolts.

[thosetwofirefighters]

Hi bestie !! 📃, 😚 and🌾for the ask game ?

eee hi Lee!! thank youuu for sending questions <3 <3

📃 Ever written anything inspired by someone else's fic? Yes!! My fic, "I Told You So," was inspired by @ghosthunterbuck's fic, "the implications of observation," which has a similar premise (and is so good!!). I think that's the only one though

😚 A fic you liked writing more than other fics? both of the works in (and probably all of the ones that are going to be in) my "Buck and Eddie Don't Understand Snapchat" series (which I am realizing needs a better title), wherein (took this straight from ao3 because I'm lazy lmao) Buck and Eddie are new to Snapchat. It takes a week for them both to fuck up: Buck by accidentally posting a dick pic to his story without realizing it, Eddie by taking a screenshot of Buck's dick pic. Currently, the series only has 2 works in it, both of Buck and Eddie's POVs, but I want to add more! The premise is so funny, and I love getting together fics (especially with a splash of embarrassment or silliness thrown in). I have at least 2 more works to write for the series, and I am so excited about them!! (no clue when I'll actually write them though, js....)

🌾 A fic you really want to write but haven't (yet)? i have so many prompts and ideas for myself, but I have this idea for a crackfic where Eddie is secretly a Twilight fan, and one day after a brief period of not seeing Buck, he comes in only for Eddie to ask, "Buck, where the hell have you been, loca?" I can't remember what sparked this idea, and Twihard!Eddie may be ooc but I love him :') I'm not sure when I'll get around to writing it tbh, but it's one of my favorites in my 11-page prompts doc :)

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