#or maybe you knew that and were trying to come up with some saner explanations to cut the last commenter some slack

[carrie-kelley-deserved-better]

Shifting is a new age belief prevalent on tiktok that you can psychically astral project into an alternate or even fictional universe. There was recently some huge drama with a shifter accidentally killing a fictional character during a shift and other members of the community trying to convince them that it was morally the same as killing a human being.

Since uh, self hypnotizing so hard you hallucinate an entirely separate universe is difficult, it's pretty common for people to ask 'more experienced shifters' for advice which is what that comment is about.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Chanyeøl x Reader: homini lupus.

Word count: ~3,2 k

Genre: dark, supernatural

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and injury

I’m actually thinking of writing this for some other members. There are some minor events that weren’t explained and I’d like to refer to them in other fics. We’ll see!

Homo homini lupus est.

You didn’t know how long you spent in the same position. Your back ached, you were cold, and the migraine wouldn’t leave you in the last few hours at least, ever since you lost the remaining willingness to move. You tried to walk around the small space at least once in a while to keep your body warmer, and yourself – saner. But it didn’t work, and you felt hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. 

The space was small, but you knew it wasn’t meant to be a prison; more like a pantry, considering shelves along the walls, although empty. 

Sometimes, you heard noises. People walked right behind the locked door, ignoring that you sat there in complete darkness, starving, unable to cry for help any longer. You wished someone would come here just to keep you company, or at least tell you what was going on. But no one did – you were kept here like an animal hunted down, caught and then kept alive until it’d be needed dead. Although it’d at least be given water and food to stay healthy until its time came, and you didn’t have even that much. 

You thought you’d pass out when the doorknob moved slightly; you couldn’t see it, but you heard the faint noise and your face snapped up.

“Let me out” you whispered; your throat was dry, your voice hoarse, as if it didn’t belong to you at all. But you stumbled to your feet, pushing forward and falling against the door next moment, slamming your weak fists against the wood even as the noises on the other side dulled out. You cried out incoherently.

And suddenly, something slammed against the door from the other side, making you jump back. You shook, barely standing on your own feet, as the lock was removed on the other side and the door opened, letting in light that blinded you in an instant.

“Why can’t you just keep quiet?” the voice spoke even before you saw the man in front of you clearly.

“I-I heard a sound…” you whimpered.

“I just tripped, don’t think too much. God, can’t you even be quiet for a second?” You kept quiet, though; you waited for your eyes to adjust, and finally, you made out the silhouette in front of you, a man with one hand still on the doorknob and the other holding onto his side. You didn’t see the exact colors yet, but there was a darker stain on the side of his face, one you confused with a shadow at first, but as you soon realized, wasn’t one. 

“Are you hurt?” you whispered.

He snorted. 

“Still stronger than you, no doubt. Stay where you fucking are.”

“I-I can help” you offered.

“I don’t think so, you can barely stand.” He moved to close the door back and, almost instantly, let out a groan, leaning against the door frame for support. You didn’t hesitate before reaching to him; anything to get out of here, no matter how dangerous the world outside could be with him around. 

His immediate reaction was to push you away and you landed on the cold ground, miraculously not letting out a pained sound. 

He stared at you for a short moment, as if rethinking his previous statement.

“Follow me. Don’t slack off. If you can stand up, that is.”

You didn’t know if you could. But the will to get out of this small space turned out way stronger than all the aches and fear gathered in your fragile body. So you ran after him, trying to remember at least some of the passing surroundings, but in the end, able only to walk behind the man who captured you, hoping that he won’t pass out in the middle of the hall – mainly because if anyone was to find you two like this, your explanations would be quite unreliable without his testimony.

Although maybe, just maybe, it’d give you a chance to escape? 

Probably only if no one else was in the house; you wondered how big the building was, but it seemed cozy, closer to a summer house than a mansion, so it shouldn’t be too big. You didn’t change the floor, but you saw some stairs in the distance. You moved into a cozy bedroom and the man motioned you to wait in the middle, walking to the door in the corner, which, as you saw from your perspective, was a bathroom. He came back soon with a small box – first aid kit. 

He threw the box at you, and you barely managed to grab it; at least these few minutes of stretching your bones helped a little with your migraine, and you didn’t feel as dead as before. In fact, literally the opposite – you felt a rush of adrenaline that urged you to move as the man sat on his bed and exhaled heavily. You looked at him more closely. Although he was holding his side earlier, there was no visible injures there. Maybe some bruises under the jacket, you thought.

The only one was on his face. Blood poured from under his closed eyelid, and it was a scary sight. There was a cut over the bridge of his nose too, but it didn’t look half as threatening. 

The man looked at you with his one, dark eye.

“What happened to you?” you asked. He must have calmed down by now, because he didn’t yell anymore, his posture didn’t look half as intimidating as before. He didn’t say a word as you moved a chair to sit next to the bed and open the first aid kit. You didn’t know, what to do. Shouldn’t he wash his face first?

“I was robbed” he announced.

“What kind of robbery leaves wounds like this?” you huffed.

“It wasn’t a robbery. I was stolen from” he clarified, although, in fact, it didn’t clarify much.

“What do you mean? What did they take?”

“Can’t you tell?” His one eye bored into you as the two of you stared at each other for a few moments.

“Oh.” Who’d do something like this… And what for? 

The man seemed amused.

“They’d gladly take you, too, if they knew you’re here.”

“Who?” 

You completely forgot about what you were here for, simply listening to him, first aid kit left on the mattress. 

“People who don’t like what we are.” This reply didn’t explain much. The man huffed. “You don’t need to know the details.”

“You just said they’re after me, too. Who are they? I need to know more.” You were focused on getting the information out of him. It was not an easy task, you had a feeling you were unlucky enough to meet the stubborn one. 

“It’s none of your business.” 

You huffed with annoyance, picking up a bandage roll from the box and throwing it at him. You stood up and started pacing around the room. As if your head wasn’t already overwhelmed, you had even more questions than before. Nothing had been cleared out, nothing at all. 

“Then why do you keep me here? It sounds like you couldn’t care less about my well-being, then why bother?”

“Don’t be mistaken” the man spoke louder. “I couldn’t care less about you, but I don’t want them getting any stronger. I won’t let them put their hands on you until they’re all dead.”

“How many is all, then?”

“Seven” he answered without hesitation. “Six of which I’m going to kill.”

“And the one?”

“If I kill him, I die, too.” The grin on his face made it clear that he was sincerely amused with making you even more confused than you already were. 

“I don’t understand” you admitted.

“You don’t need to. Just stay where you are, could you?” he shrugged. From the box, he took out some pills and took two, but it didn’t seem like he’d do anything about his eye. 

“What about your…?” you hesitated, briefly pointing at his head.

He shrugged.

“I’ll get a new one, no big deal.”

Just who was he? You had way too many questions. Your fear dissolved a little, especially after finding out he was not as hostile as he seemed at first; interest appeared instead. 

He looked up at you with his one eye and scrunched his nose. 

“You’re useless here. Go back to the pantry.”

You glanced at him, not too happy with the perspective.

“Can I use the bathroom at least?”

He shrugged.

“Do what you want. You’ll die if you try to get out, so in your own favor, don’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

“We’re two hundreds miles from the nearest town, and it’s the middle of winter. We’re not gonna kill you, but it doesn’t mean we’re gonna care if you die. If you go, you’ll freeze to death or starve before they find you. So we won’t care.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Maybe. But we have enough of our own problems to worry about.”

“Can I get food?”

“Do what you want.”

So you did. Maybe it’d earn you a bit more chance to get information out of others who were here. Or maybe it’d just make it a bit more bearable, if you could live normally at least. 

You came to a conclusion that there’s nothing more humanizing than a warm shower.

* * *

You slept on the sofa in the living room of the house. It was a spacious building, as you discovered. A few rooms were locked and no one ever entered them – one of the men shared that they belonged to those who passed away. It scared you to realize that death was not something uncommon to them, but you didn’t dare to ask more questions; these rooms were unavailable to you either way, so you stayed in the living room, a place the inhabitants came to only on those rare evenings when all of them were here. Usually, only one or two were in the house to begin with and they busied themselves in their own rooms. There was six of them. And the one who stayed at home the most was Chanyeøl, with his head wrapped in bandages; he didn’t recover yet so he didn’t go out much. You wondered where they all went in the first place – if it was true and the closest town was hundreds of miles away, where were they going all the time?

Once, it became quite obvious. Sehůn came back home with a dead deer over his shoulder; the animal had no wounds so you worried, what if it was poisoned? Would it be safe to eat it? But the others didn’t question it, just prepared it, and that was the first time in a while you ate something warm and fresh. They didn’t really care that you took some, nor that you sat among them while eating. They never paid you much attention at all, but you didn’t mind – it allowed you to see them at ease, not so scary anymore, just a group of people, maybe not friends, but surely not enemies either, more of associates, living under the same roof. 

You saw them come back home tired and dirty, you saw them laugh at stupid jokes while looking as if they just took a bloodbath, you saw them complain about injures that were simply “annoying”, never “life-threatening” or even “dangerous”. 

And one day, you saw Baëkhyun sit next to Chanyeøl and gently take the bandage off his head.

“It looks good” he spoke. “Creepy as hell, though.”

“You should have gotten me a better one. Seriously.”

“I thought this one would suit you more. We can dig out the other one and exchange so that they match.” The sentence was probably the creepiest thing you’ve ever heard, but the man’s smile made it clear he was simply joking, in his own, twisted way that Chanyeøl seemed to reciprocate, because his lips curled into a grin too. 

They heard you shuffle in the door’s entry and both turned their heads towards you.

Chanyeøl’s bright blue eye stared at you with more intensity than the other, dark one you already knew. 

Baëkhyun was right. It was creepy as hell.

* * *

“Aren’t you getting too comfortable?” 

Chanyeøl sat by the kitchen table, elbow on the glass surface and chin resting on his palm; he seemed bored, so he watched you do the dishes after dinner. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, not even glancing back at him. 

“I could put you back in the pantry at any time and none of the guys would stand up for you. I could even kill you and they wouldn’t care. Why do you do this, then?”

“Do what?” You didn’t seem too bothered with his words. You started to get used to his threats. 

“Act like you live here.”

“Do I not?”

“You’re a hostage.”

“Thanks for letting me know” you replied sarcastically. 

You made barely one step before his hand was on your neck, pushing your face against the fridge. His grip was firm, but you didn’t dare to struggle, trying to ignore the way your entrails twisted in fear. You were starting to get used to it, you just needed more time. That’s what you told yourself. He wouldn’t kill you – you repeated it in your thoughts. He wouldn’t kill you, he doesn’t hate you. You’re useful, somehow.

“You seriously think that it’ll change anything?” He leaned down and let his voice turn quieter – the words he was about to speak were not for anyone else to hear. “There’s seven of them. If I kill the one, I die too. What, do you think, will happen, if I kill the others?”

The words started to sink in. All the domesticity and familiarity suddenly turned poisonous. Not even associates, you thought. Just means to reach his own goal. Did the others know? Should you warn them? Or were they all thinking the same way, working together only for now? Was this how the others passed away? Were they also not useful enough for their life to be more valuable than the death of those who were against them?

“B-but there’s only six of you” you noticed. Your voice quivered.

You felt his breath on your neck, his grip didn’t loosen.

“Do you want to know who’s the seventh? Do you, really?” 

Your body shook in fear, and you realized that you should have started fearing him much sooner than you allowed yourself to.

A smirk.

A push, forcing you onto your knees.

And then, silence. He was gone. 

You had to get out of here.

* * *

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Chën stared at you, amused. It was early spring already, the temperature wasn’t that bad. You picked up the warmest clothes you found, took food and everything else you considered useful. Chën stood in the door’s entry as you walked into the yard; he was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, not wearing anything special, yet not looking half as cold as you already were upon feeling the weather for the first time in ages.

“Chanyeøl said I can go if I want.”

“You’ll die.”

“Or survive.”

“Doubtful.”

“Worth the risk.”

“Is it?”

“I will either live or survive. If I stay here, I will only die.”

“Better later than sooner, though” he shrugged. 

But you didn’t feel convinced. You made your mind, you knew anything would be better than staying here. You didn’t ask for any of this. Were “the others” really even worse than what you had here? You doubted. Especially now, knowing what was their purpose.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” The angry voice startled you, it was the first thing that made you hesitate, but it’s not like you had much time to reconsider.

A hand wrapped around your hair, pulling you backwards and you landed on the  snow with a shriek, the bag falling off your shoulder. 

Chanyeøl stood over you, his face twisted in anger.

“You think that’s funny?” he spat at you; you didn’t think it was, but Chën’s laughter resonated in the distance. 

“Y-you said…”

“Get the fuck up.”

He seemingly resisted the urge to kick your side to hurry you as you scrambled to your feet, head low in fear. 

Chanyeøl stared at you coldly. 

“Get back inside. Now!” he growled. 

You passed by him without a word. Your body shook in fear and cold; maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to leave, after all? Just how far you’d make it anyway? You were so weak. 

Suddenly, a small, weird sound resonated right behind your back, followed by a groan. You turned around rapidly. 

There was an arrow in Chanyeøl’s shoulder, all the way through, its sharp head glistening with red, sticking out of his back. 

The man stumbled backwards and you jumped away in fear before tearing your gaze away to look in the direction the arrow must have come from. 

There was a man holding a bow in his hand. You knew his face. You’ve meet him before.

But you didn’t. It wasn’t the same person, the look in his eyes was not the mocking glimmer you’ve seen in Sehůn’s. Who was he?

Who were the other five men gathered around?

Two dark eyes of Chanyeøl’s nemesis stared at him coldly, and Chanyeøl glared back with hate you’ve never seen in anyone else before.

“Move away from her” the other Suhø spoke. 

Chanyeøl snorted, pushing himself off the ground. Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your neck as he pulled your body against his chest, a human shield. The arrow in his shoulder didn’t seem to bother him half as much as it bothered you.

“Or what?” he dared.

Someone pushed through the crowd of men; a smaller silhouette that stood behind them until now, with her arms crossed on her chest and an unreadable look on her face. 

Yøu. 

Your breath hitched at you stared at hër in complete shock. Shë stared back, also curious, maybe not that confused, seemingly knowing what awaited hër here, but also surprised – it’s not really a situation one can prepare for too well. You couldn’t help comparing herself to hër. Shë seemed prepared, with hër hair not as messy as yours that weren’t treated with a haircut in ages, lipstick on hër lips, a color that suited hër so well, which should suit you too, even though you’ve never considered it before. 

You didn’t have too long to think about it. 

Chanyeøl pushed you forward, as if instantly giving up your own self; as if, in fact, you didn’t matter to begin with. Just means to his own success, as you realized. What did it matter?  He wanted to kill both of you, anyway. Why did he want hër here so much?

The both of you passed by each other, still too shocked to exchange even a word of greeting. 

You couldn’t see anything, your eyes wouldn’t focus enough to keep you aware of where were you going. You thought you’re gonna stumble and fall, but a pair of hands was suddenly on your shoulders, grounding you, a motion so gentle and protective you couldn’t help the tears gathering in your eyes. You missed it. You missed the warmth.

The other Chanyeøl studied your face intently.

“Are you alright?” he asked and you forced yourself to nod slightly, although your legs felt like a jelly. He pursed his lips. “You can rest. You’re with us now. You’re safe.”

Please, reblog if you enjoyed! It’s not much, but it’d help me a lot!

[anon-e-miss]

Prowl alone on Base HC: (That went into an interesting direction over night xD) Spec Ops has weird qualifiers for 'attractive'. Aside from Prowl being absolutely lethal, Trailbreaker has never met another bot who knew that much about guerilla tactics and any other tactics. He wishes he could have met Prowl millenia earlier. Hound is specially fascinated with how efficient a hunter Prowl has become, this is a mech who could survive everywhere in the wilderness (with him).

Prowl alone on Base HC: (That went into an interesting direction over night xD) Spec Ops has weird qualifiers for 'attractive'. Aside from Prowl being absolutely lethal, Trailbreaker has never met another bot who knew that much about guerilla tactics and any other tactics. He wishes he could have met Prowl millenia earlier. Hound is specially fascinated with how efficient a hunter Prowl has become, this is a mech who could survive everywhere in the wilderness (with him).      

PAOB HC: (continue) Mirage has never met any mech who has read the entire classical collection of Crystallas early works - there was not much else to do for Prowl in his spare time but reading, at least since the base's datanet connection shut down about 40 vorn ago. Blaster finds out that Prowl has cracked every single Autobot or Decepticon cipher developed  in the last 40 vorn on his own. (Base comms may no longer go out, but the receivers still pick up messages.) 

PAOB HC: (continue) Bumblebee has witnessed Prowl taking down Cons twice his size in frontal confrontation - not with a stiletto, not with a powered energon dagger, but with those shoddy standard knives every Autobot soldier is handed at recruition - he has asked for melee combat lessons from the feral mech and Prowl has agreed to teach him some tricks. Jazz has taken one look at that swarm of healthy and happy little mechlings roaming the base and something inside him is simply purring. 

PAOB HC: The fact that his entire team has a crush on Prowl is making Jazz more than a bit jealous. They know not to poach but they can'z help but to tease him a bit. Jazz: "Mirage, what was that? Were you just flirting with (my) Prowl?" Mirage: "And if I was? If he'd ask me, I'd elope with him to Velocitron on the spot." Jazz: "You are conjunxed to Hound!" Hound: "No, no, he is right, I'd come along carrying their bags." Jazz: D:                                      

PAOB HC: The Cons have trouble recruiting new mechas, so they do kidnap younglings and sparklings from neutral camps they are destroying. Jazz's team stumbles over a little, grey and red Praxian sparkling after infiltrating a Con base. They decide to rescue him, but the bitlet is terrified of everyone on the team. Mirage: "Maybe we should get him to a mech of the same frame type?" Jazz imagines his feral crush holding the little one - has to frantically hide his engine revving.            

PAOB HC: (15 vorn after Bluestreak's rescue) Ratchet hears the first of this. Ratchet: "You handed a little frightened Sparkling over to a crazy, feral hermit??? Just because he had the same frametype???" Jazz: "It was either Prowl or Smokescreen, you remember Smokescreen? The gambler who lost the entire Autobot highcommand including you and me to an alien slave trader over cheating at roulette?" Ratchet: "... Right, ohhhoho, Smoky! I think you missed out a recent maintenance exam! >:D "             

***

Prowl is lethal, and clever but he is pretty much halfway insane. That instability isn’t so attractive to the OPs. They haven’t come around often, maybe twice. Jazz used the base as a bolt hole after he discovered it, and continued as he was trying to find out why the base was there, and why it was no longer listed in the records. They come for him when he’s injured. No need to worry about Cons, Prowl dealt with the problem. So the team is in awe of Prowl, but they are very wary. They question Jazz’s sanity for relying on someone who talks to the maintenance drone, and the toaster.

Jazz sees through the madness. He sees a mech who gets lost in his helm. Prowl forgets there is someone there talking to him, Jazz notices Prowl doesn’t seem to get lost in his helm when with the mechlings. Is it caretaker protocols? Or is it the touch that grounds him?

Not so long ago Praxus was destroyed. As Jazz has tug around to find some kind of evidence, some explanation, he finds Prowl’s record which lists him as missing and presumed dead. Finally, Jazz finds the identity of the bases. When working on his next fuck the cons mission he mentions the base to OP, who tells him the base was abandoned. Apart from being quite certain Prowl is going to be pissed, Jazz learns why the base, aka the lab, was there and what it was hiding. OP order the base destroyed, and calls on Jazz to bring Prowl and the mechings home.

Sentinel was prime when Prowl was forgotten. He doesn’t acknowledge the orders as authentic and he keeps stepping just out of Jazz’s reach, because he is questioning is Jazz is friend or foe. Knowing they are standing on a war crime in hibernation, Jazz begs Prowl that they don’t want a repeat of Praxus. And Prowl stares and stills. Praxus?

If the team though Prowl was insane before, he is mad now. Not just angry, but absolutely mad with anger. He rages. While he was trapped here, Praxus was destroyed, home was destroyed. Instead of working tactics, Prowl has been stuck as hardly more than a maintenance drone. He could have saved Praxus. He could have. He  crashes and crashes hard. Jazz bundles him up and they evacuate. The feral mechlings making life pit for everyone. Prowl isn’t moving. Prowl isn’t answering. They are terrified.

Prowl wakes up hot and ends up sedated. Fearing for the mechlings, they are separated. The mechlings are not okay with this. Every time Prowl wakes up he seems a little more mad. Smokey is informed of Prowl’s survival, they were foster brothers before they both decided to enlist. Smokey is pissed when he sees Prowl strapped down, and undoes the straps and hugs him. In a half nanoklik Prowl realizes who this is and clings to Smokey, spark broken and not articulate enough to express it at this point.

Out of nowhere, the mechlings attack. Not Prowl of course, Smokey. Feral monster bitties don’t know this mech who is touching momma. Smokey for his part takes it in stride. When the mechlings crawl into Prowl’s lap, he’s calmer,  saner. His caretaker protocols were absolutely screaming, now they’re calming. He croons and purrs at the mechlings, a sound low in his engine and the mechlings just about bliss out.

Smokey knows of a mechling who could use this sort of reassurance. Maybe Prowl could help him? Blue hasn’t imprinted on him or anyone. But when he sees Prowl, and hears him Blue climbs into the cuddle pile. The sound Prowl is making is safe and its warm. Smokey will get his aft chewed for just dropping the orphan in a madmech’s lap, Smokey would argue that Prowl isn’t actually insane. He just needs help reintegrating and until he does you don’t touch those bitties without his permission. You don’t enter the room without his permission. He’s got a wee hoard of bitties he’s guarding and you don’t make him feel safe when you stalk in and then tie him down.

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 4: Musical

A/N: This is, unusually, a Natori & Cat King ficlet, exploring the chaos of double retirement, inspired (and referencing) the song: “If I Were A Jolly Blacksmith” from the musical TV show: Galavant. (Hence posting it on Musical day) I’ve really enjoyed this, so maybe I’ll write more on the retired concept. Who knows?

Also, a big shout out to @linchxpin for very kindly allowing me to play with their headcanons for Natori’s past! 

x

Natori took to retirement like a landlocked duck took to the sea. That is to say, once he figured he wasn’t in any major danger of drowning, he wondered why he hadn’t retired years ago. 

Of course, the core reason was the cat who had retired alongside him. 

Regardless, the switch from working cat to retiree was aided by two factors. The first was simply that he was tired. If the Cat Kingdom had possessed a functioning economy, the thought: “I don’t get paid enough for this” would have passed through his head multiple times a day. Since it hadn’t, his brain had substituted the thought for a swan-like state - graceful and smooth on the surface, and incoherent confused babbling beneath. 

And the second reason was that not much had fundamentally changed. He still had an irresponsible, power-crazed old cat to kittensit, only now when the irresponsible, power-crazed old cat decreed that Tuesdays would now be known as Second Mondays, Natori could pat the ex-king’s paw and go, “Maybe not, Sire,” instead of having to change all the palace calendars and politely ask the servants to play along for the next month. 

(Early into his tenure as a royal advisor, he had taken to bribing the servants into backing up the ruse. Later in his career, he had realised that the King’s attention span didn’t stretch far enough for him to realise that Tuesdays still existed outside the palace.) 

But while Natori was like a duck in the ocean of retirement, the ex-king was more akin to a stone. 

Natori wasn’t sure what had possessed him to agree to the ex-king crashing in on his retirement plans, except that old habits die hard and he had felt that Lune would benefit from his father being out of meddling range, but agree he had. 

Anyway, Natori had managed for... too many years to count. He could manage a little longer. At least until the ex-king found some direction. 

And so the two palace cats had found themselves in Natori’s kittenhood home, out in the edges of the Cat Kingdom and squarely in the mouse belt. (That stretch of scrub land dominated by villages which had risen out of mouse husbandry, and whose yearly highlight was the annual scarecrow contest.) 

In such a village, there wasn’t much use for an ex-king, not unless he could harvest catnip, or sheer a rabbit, or wrangle a mouse, and the ex-king definitely wasn’t one of such persuasion. 

(He had watched, with some horrified fascination, as a butcher skinned one such mouse in the shop window, and had briefly sworn himself to vegetarianism until Natori had politely reminded him that cats were obligate carnivores, and then repeated the explanation with smaller words.) 

As such, lately the ex-king had turned to contemplation - a markedly foreign concept to the cat for whom “reconsideration” was a survey of side courses. Natori had even found him once in the library. A scary enough situation even before one considered that the ex-king hadn’t known where the palace library was located in all his years living there. 

He had asked Natori’s advice on words such as “self actualisation” and “inner peace,” at which point Natori had confiscated the book and distracted him with the golf club their neighbour had made for him. 

It wasn’t that Natori was against cats reaching self actualisation or inner peace. In theory, it sounded all very nice and relaxing. But after a lifetime trying to gently steer his monarch away from stupid ideas and sometimes even succeeding, Natori had learnt to trust his gut. And he knew that the ex-king would take such ideas and run completely in the wrong direction with them and probably start a few fires in the process - not all figurative ones, either.  

And the point of all this was that when “Young Gizmo Junior” came running over bellowing “Mr Natori! Mr Natori!” Natori knew exactly who was at the centre of whatever chaos he was about to be dragged into. 

Young Gizmo Junior, a runt of a tabby who had yet to grow into his paws, fumbled up to the cottage’s porch with the kind of frenzied energy that comes from being torn away from interesting happenings. “Come quick, Mr Natori,” the kitten gasped. “It’s your friend!”

Natori lowered the cross-stitch he had finally been making progress on, and felt his heart dip along with it. “Oh no. What has he done now? Is it the mice? The rabbits? Please tell me he hasn’t fallen into the salmon river again--”

“No, Mr Natori, it’s worse. He’s singing!” 

Natori blinked. "But he doesn’t sing,” Natori said. “At least,” he amended, “not while sober.” 

‘Please don’t let it be catnip wine again, please don’t let it be catnip wine again, please don’t let it be catnip wine again,’ his mind chanted, ever hopeful that he had developed magic wishing powers since the last time he had fervently wished for a saner life. (Last Second Monday.) 

x

It was not catnip wine. 

It was somehow worse. 

Natori slowly leaned over to Young Gizmo Junior and whispered, “And how long has he been at this?”

“He was on the...” Young Gizmo Junior counted on his claws and scrunched up his face when he surpassed his last easily countable claw, “eleventeenth verse when Grandpa told me to fetch you.” 

Natori raised both eyebrows and nearly unsettled his spectacles in the process. “This is bad.”

“What’s he doing?” Young Gizmo Junior asked. 

“I’ve heard of this before. He’s on the third stage of Searching For Himself.” 

“Why does he need to search for himself? He’s right there.”

“You know that and I know that,” Natori said, “but cats who go searching for themselves don’t. The first stage is talking to oneself, the second is staring into the nearest water source--” 

“Grandpa said he was staring at the well funny--”

“--and the third is bursting into song,” Natori continued. He couldn’t remember the next step, but that was mostly because the ex-king had begun another verse, and Natori’s mind had tapped out. 

“If I were a jolly blacksmith,

What a happy cat I’d be,” the ex-king crooned, rounding towards Old McGregor’s workshop.

“I would do all kinds of blacksmith stuff in my blacksmithery...

“I’d hit the thing... with the other thing. 

“Till I made a different thing!

“If I were a jolly blacksmith...” 

The ex-king trailed off, and if Natori hadn’t been assured that this was the eleventeenth verse, he might well have believed that that would be the end of it. But the ex-king didn’t know the meaning of defeat - mostly because the Cat Kingdom didn’t have dictionaries - and so, after a little bit of muttering (that Natori caught the tail end of “No, I’m not feeling it. Besides, I’d get filthy. There must be something better”) he perked up and made a beeline for Maggie’s meat pie stand. 

“If I were a friendly farmer, 

“Wouldn’t that be oh so sweet? 

“I’d be planting greens and lots of beans,

“And other things to eat.

“Then I’d plant some eggs, and a couple mice,

“Then a yummy salmon cake!” 

The ex-king paused, vaguely aware somewhere in the recesses of his kittenhood education that it didn’t quite work that way. 

(”No,” he muttered, “that’s not right,” and Natori briefly thought there was hope yet. Then the ex-king continued with, “Any moron can plant a cake,” and the farmer upbringing in Natori cringed.)

Natori leaned over to Young Gizmo Junior. “Why can I hear a pipe playing?”

“That’s Uncle Saburo,” the kitten replied cheerfully. “He’s really good!”

“He’s also encouraging someone who needs no encouragement. Trust me.”

“I want to be special,” the ex-king continued, undeterred from the whispered conversations. “Needed. Liked. I’ve got it!” he cried, and made a dash for Rosie’s valerian wine shop front. 

(Part of Natori knew he should stop this. The other part really wanted to see how this worked out. Historically, the latter was a bad idea, but Natori put it down to shock.)

“If I were a merry brewer,

“That would be a grand career,

“I would pick the grapes and peel the grapes

“And stomp them into catnip beer-- dammit!”

The ex-king slumped down onto a convenient crate, which Rosie suddenly decided she didn’t need right now. “I don’t know how to do anything but be a king,” he lamented. “And no one wants me to be a king.” 

“Mr Natori,” Young Gizmo Junior piped up, “shouldn’t you go help your friend?”

“Not yet,” Natori said. “Let him finish first.”

“Why?”

“Because one does not interrupt a cat when he’s singing an existential crisis song,” Natori replied firmly. 

“If I’m just a jolly... nothing,

“What am I supposed to do?

“I don’t have a skill, no niche to fill,

“No one to come home to.”

Natori had a sink full of dirty dishes that argued otherwise.

“Don’t know where to go,

“Don’t know how to fit,

“Don’t know who to even be.

“If I were a jolly tailor... juggler... barber... wet nurse... cesspool worker...”

The ex-king sighed and shook his head. “What difference does it make? I would still be me...”

Natori waited a moment longer. When the last echoes of Uncle Saburo’s pipe playing had died away, he sighed and approached the aged cat. “Sire?”

“Go away Natori,” the ex-king grumbled. “I’m brooding.”

Natori didn’t go away. He waited a moment longer, just until the other cat’s ears began to twitch. He could read his old monarch’s tempers better than he could read his father’s book on Mouse Husbandry. 

“Brooding’s rather boring, isn’t it, sire?”

The ex-king scowled. “Yeah.”

“Do you want go down to the Mouse’s Tale pub and see if we can convince Chaucer to let you try darts again? Maybe you’ll even hit the wall this time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Stage four of Searching For Yourself, Natori decided, was getting yourself uproariously drunk. 

If the rest of the evening was anything to go by, the ex-king agreed. 

[stiuvar-elnor]

Useless verbal diarrhoea

This is a long post and it is very irrelevant. Feel free to scroll away. I just need to let things out. I would write it on paper but I am currently unable to use one of the fingers of my writing hand, so typing is slightly more feasible than actually writing. (And when have I not used my blog for ranting anyway?)

Thing is... I’m not sure where to start. The things that are bothering me have been here for such a long time. They’re just part of the constant noise in my head, which I can usually just ignore. (Perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps I should address them.)

It all started with my feeling a bit lonely, as tends to happen. Last night, the slight loneliness turned from just missing some company to something more physical. I am not sure why deep pressure feels so good or why I need it so much. Perhaps because it helps me feel like my soul is being squeezed back into my body and I can find some oneness again. Or maybe there are more scientific explanations.

I have some ways of getting deep pressure from artificial means -- heavy blankets and tight things across my chest mostly. But some days it’s not enough. It doesn’t go deep enough. And... it lacks the ‘affectionate’ aspect. I can always wrap myself in the heaviest blankets in the world, there won’t be that closeness of someone I trust actually being there. And so it is a terrible combo of needing pressure, and skin hunger. Just, for once, affectionate touch. Just that.

Anyway I eventually fell asleep. Got out of bed (2 hours after my alarm), managed to work despite not being very motivated, even did a few extra hours to complete a project needed for tomorrow morning. While I was managing to focus on work, I could safely ignore the thoughts bubbling in a deeper part of my self.

My work day was ending. The last 1,000 words to translate took me much longer than usual. The bubbles were getting bigger. The screams were getting louder. A swarm of “what ifs” and unfounded certitudes started to assault my mind. What if your messages remained unanswered because everybody hates you? and its kin. What if the people you love and trust actually can’t wait to be rid of you? Okay, all was well the last time you spoke, but maybe they’ve changed their mind? And what if they just forgot about you? Isn’t that how it always ends? You know it is. They all leave in the end. No one cares. No one will come. You’ll always be alone, screaming in the dark, and there is no one to hear you.

I recognised those thoughts for what they were -- the insidious voice of my anxiety, pushing me to doubt and question everything. That whisper that literally makes me grind my teeth, that makes me sick to my stomach, that makes me pull at my hair, that prevents me from breathing, that makes my hands shake a bit. I know I should not listen to it. I know it’s just trying to get the better of me. I know it’s all lies. I know it’s just that monster in my head, just growing another head after I cut off the previous one. But I’m still afraid of being abandoned and forgotten. I am not sure where it all comes from. Well -- it has happened before, and I suppose I just fear it will happen again.

I wanted that voice to shut up. I knew it was lying to me and I was tired of it dragging me down. But it wouldn’t shut up and yield to the saner part of my mind. And it made me angry. At it, first, for just being there and polluting my mind with those thoughts, and then at myself, because I still couldn’t stop that train of thoughts. Stupid, pointless, unproductive anger because once again I am letting it get to me, because I still haven’t killed that monster, because I have been blessed with some of the most wonderful people there are on this planet and it dares try to get me to doubt them.

Eventually I forgot why I was angry. I was just raging. At everything. For no valid reason. It was just my mind screaming, too loud, far too loud, and me just wanting to break something, punch a wall until I broke a knuckle, crush something, scream until my lungs were sore. I don’t know. Anything. It wasn’t even this fight/flight/freeze response. Just fight. And... pain. There’s always that element. As if to punish myself for even daring to feel this way? I don’t know.

I tried to breathe. I tried to listen to calming stuff and look at nice pictures. I tried to focus on a random object long enough to distract myself. I tried eating chocolate hoping that it would do its thing on my endorphin levels. I tried having galangal tea -- which is supposed to clear my mind and help my nervous system. I tried going out for a brisk walk. I tried to do that mental exercise of reciting all Doctor Who episode titles since 2005 in the right order. I went to see my donkeys (then realised it was unfair to release all those negative feelings into their space, as they are emotional sponges). I tried to find some warmth against the radiator. I tried making some sort of drawing/doodle of what I felt. I tried writing and just barely stopped myself from stabbing myself in the arm with my pen. I tried wrapping a blanket around myself for pressure and found I was just making it harder to breathe. I just lay down on my bed and noted I was clenching my jaw every time I felt I might just be about to start crying, because I still won’t let go.

I am still holding. For now. At least I have managed to focus long enough to type this. But my head is still in complete chaos, an ugly mixture of fear and rage and sadness. And I still don’t trust myself with most objects surrounding me, even the most innocuous ones. I don’t trust myself with my own thoughts. I don’t trust myself because there is still a gigantic hydra of self-hatred and insecurity in my head and I can’t defeat it. 

It would be so easy to give in. It’s so tempting. Why am I even still trying to resist?

I don’t know why I am like this. I don’t know where it all comes from. I can’t explain it, I can’t pinpoint it. After so many years, it feels like it was just always there. I can’t retrace my memory to one particular event or anything. It’s just deep-rooted fears and bad thoughts that I somehow let fester and infect the wounds one inevitably sustains as life takes its course. I let the baobabs grow, I neglected to weed them out. And now they’ve smothered my rose. (When in doubt, always reference The Little Prince.) I mean, sure, some events probably contributed to that -- past experiences of people stabbing me in the back and leaving me behind, and all that. But there is probably something deeper that I can’t quite identify. And it makes no sense.

I don’t know why I am writing all this. I don’t know if it is helping or making it worse. All those intense feelings have drained me and I am feeling tired. Perhaps I will sleep, eventually. And maybe tomorrow will bring something good.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Written on Your Heart - Chapter 5

James tries to be reassuring - Rose reads far more into it than he meant, and overreacts.  Bit of a timejump here from the last chapters.

Here is where we start getting into the drama, hope it holds up!

Chapter 5 of my soulmates AU - @doctorroseprompts, @timepetalsprompts

Fic masterlist  

Thirteen year old Rose Tyler stood with her back against the wall, watching the dozens of pre-teens move on the dance floor, not that you could really call it dancing.  Arms crossed, the irritated look on her face was enough to keep away any boys who might have dared try otherwise.  Coming to the dance was hardly her idea – her best mates Shareen and Keisha had begged her to come with, and Jackie had all but shoved her out the door.

Truth be told, Rose would’ve rather been at home, spending the evening writing to James.  In the eighteen months they’d been soulmated, they’d only grown closer.  While Rose saw no issue with this, as after all they were meant to spend their lives together, Jackie, Shareen, Keisha, and Mickey had been encouraging her to spend time with ‘real’ people her own age.  She tried to resist as much as she could, but did occasionally allow them to bully her into going out to a party or dance, knowing they just wanted the best for her.

She still maintained the best for her was James, though.

Tonight was a night where’d she’d let them win, though James had gotten a long-winded rant just before she got in the shower.  He’d been sympathetic, but mostly supportive of her going out – though he had made it clear he’d miss her, and he might write, but she shouldn’t feel an obligation to respond.

Therefore, every few minutes she would feel a new tingle, and see a new message from him which never failed to make her smile.

Just as she was thinking she hadn’t heard from him, there was a new message, and she instantly looked at it, scowl melting from her face.

Danced with anyone yet?

She plucked her pen from where it was hidden in her updo, after making sure her friends were occupied.

No. Don’t plan to either.

Why not? I doubt you’ve gotten no offers.

No offers. I’m all but wearing a ‘stay away’ sign.

Why?

What’s the point?

It’s it a rite of passage, or something?  Dance with a boy at a dance?  No one you want?

She held the pen over her arm, biting her lip in indecision. Even after eighteen months, she still was sometimes shy about sharing her feelings.  They’d never actually said those three words, but it was heavily implied in most conversations.

It may be, but I don’t care.

Then, she decided to be brave, like Shareen and Keisha had suggested, though not in the way they meant.

I don’t want to dance, if not with you.

He didn’t respond for long moments, and she nervously tapped her foot to the music waiting for him.

I don’t know what to say to that.  He finally replied after the song had changed.

There’s a large part of me that wants to stand on the roof and beat my chest and let out a rebel yell.  She snorted, watching his words come through slowly, as though he was thinking as he wrote.

That part of me wants to come to where you are, and take you away so we can begin our lives together.  The other, slightly saner part of me realizes that would probably look very creepy, and that’s not the kind of impression I want to make on your mother, and I don’t think Sarah’d be too happy to bail me out of jail for kidnapping you.  She threw her head back, laughing.  She could picture the sheepish, but smug look on his face as he thought that through.  Not that she knew what his face looked like, of course, but she knew enough of his personality to guess.

It’s not kidnapping if I go willingly.  She quickly scrawled, to get a smiley face back right next to it.

I don’t think the cops would see it that way.  Nor your mother.  But, Rose, you’re 13.  We’ve got the rest of our lives.  I don’t want you to put your life on hold, and not really live until we meet. That’s not fair to you.  Have fun.  Dance, if you want to.  You owe no one anything – not your time, not your attention, not your favors.  Not even me.  Live your life for you, and I believe, I really believe, it will all work out perfectly when we meet.  Well, maybe not perfectly, but perfectly for us.

The words made her smile, and she could feel his love for her. Writing back ok, I’ll let you know how it goes, she looked up and saw a boy watching her carefully.  When they made eye contact, he straightened up and wiped his palms on his trousers before coming over to her.

“Wanna dance?”

“All right.”  She agreed, somewhat hesitantly, but took James’ words to heart.  It’s not like she was going to marry the guy.

-

It wasn’t until she was at home that night, getting ready for bed and rereading James’ words that what he said really sank in.

On the surface, they were caring and supportive, but suddenly she was seeing them in a new light.  Why was he so supportive of her going out, doing her own thing? Shouldn’t he want, or even expect, to claim all those firsts for his own?  Not that dancing with a boy (well, near a boy, really – they’d barely touched) was really a life-changing event, but it was more what it implied.

She stopped humming abruptly, and sat down on her bed as the full weight of what he’d implied hit her.  Had he encouraged her to ‘live her life for her’ because he was doing the same?  She may have only been thirteen, but she lived on the estate and was well aware of what happened between boys and girls.  She knew he’d already turned seventeen, and to her horror she felt tears well up at the realization that he must have had already at least one girlfriend, maybe more, and done far more than hold hands, like she dreamed of doing with him.

After all, Mickey was the same age as him, and he’d certainly been friendly with several girls.

Humiliated, and feeling like a stupid, naïve little girl, Rose quickly headed for the shower, scrubbing off every inch of ink until her skin was raw.  Once she was dressed in her jimjams, she crawled into bed, where she finally let her tears go.  Sobbing into her pillow to try to muffle the sounds, she tried to cry out all of the pain in her heart.

Really, though, what should she have expected?

-

Sunday morning, Sarah Jane walked into her kitchen to find the now-familiar sight of James seated at the kitchen table, furiously scribbling on his leg, which was propped on the table top.

“Feet off the table, please.”  She teased him, heading to the kettle for a cuppa.  His lack of response amused her more than anything, and it wasn’t until she turned back and saw his bloodshot eyes and upset face that she realized something was wrong.

Her own eyes widened, and she hurried over to him. “James?  What is it, what’s wrong?  Is Rose okay?”

“I don’t know.”  He answered dully, staring at his leg.  “She went to a dance Saturday a week ago, and she’s barely talked to me since. She said she had a lot going on, but I’ve barely heard from her.”

“And you don’t believe her?”

He shook his head slowly.  “She’s been busy before, where she couldn’t write – but even then, she’d send me little doodles, or messages occasionally.  But I’ve initiated every contact over the last week, and even then I got the bare minimum back.”

“So you think something’s wrong.”  She repeated, and he nodded miserably.

“Yeah.  And I think it’s me, somehow – something I said.  Cause I’ve asked her if there was anything wrong, with her mum, or her friends, or school, and she said no to all of it.”  He took a shuddering breath, not bothering to swipe at the escaping tear. “And then this morning, I woke up and she sent me a message saying she thought we should take a break from each other, that it was getting to be too much and she needed some space.”

Sarah hesitated, before saying delicately, “You do realize it’s possible that she actually feels that way, don’t you?  She’s thirteen, maybe she’s getting overwhelmed by it all. And maybe it has nothing to do with you.”

“But it does!”  James exploded.  “Something’s happened, something she won’t tell me about, and I’m losing her!  I can’t lose her, Sarah, I can’t!” Breathing heavily, he dimly registered that at some point he’d stood up, and was now towering over his wide-eyed aunt.

Energy suddenly gone, he slumped back into his seat, resting his head in his hands.  “I don’t know what I did wrong, and she’s completely shut me out.  I don’t know what to do.”

Going over to him, she wrapped her arms around her nephew like she had when he was a little boy.  “Oh, love, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what you’re going through, and I don’t know what’s going on with Rose. But maybe you should do as she asks – just give her some time.  Maybe she’ll come around, and just needs some time to cool off.”

Cradling his head close to her, Sarah desperately prayed her hopeful words were more than wishful thinking.  After everything the boy had been through, he deserved better.  

She just hoped the girl had a reasonable explanation, and that it wouldn’t come too late.

[the--sad--hatter]

Mischief, Meet Your Match - Chapter Fourteen (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: Violence, Swearing, Smut, Loki

SUMMARY:

Being caught in the cross hairs of The God of Mischief would scare a saner person but not you, you enjoy it. There’s just something about Loki that draws you to him, and you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to. Tricking the Trickster is exhilarating but you quickly find yourself becoming attached to him as you’re unwillingly dragged on the adventure of a lifetime.

While The Avengers race to get you out of Loki’s clutches, you find yourself teaming up with him to try and defeat an enemy who threatens everything you hold dear.

When you’re tangled up with the God of Chaos, there’s no way of winning and it’s anyone’s guess which you’ll lose first, your heart or your life?

Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen -  Outfitted For War

When one woke up with god of mischief hovering over them, a dagger in his hand, the sensible response wasn’t to yawn at him and lazily swipe his hand away.

 “Good morning Kitten.” He purred, teasing the skin under your ear with the tip of the blade.

 “Morning Mischief.” You sighed sleepily.

 There was a tugging motion on your scalp and Loki moved away from you, standing up.

“Did you just cut my hair?” You frowned.

 He held up a lock of your hair between his fingers and you grimaced.

“Why?” You asked in confusion, patting your head.

 Your fingers found a thin braid pleated into your hair, behind your ear and you pulled at it, studying the plait.

 “I’m sorry, is this some kind of Asgardian version of a friendship bracelet? Why have you braided a lock of your hair into mine?” You chuckled.

 “So I do not lose you.” He shrugged, dumping a tray of breakfast foods onto your lap while you sat up.

 You just looked at him until he graced you with a better explanation.

 “It is to ensure that I can locate you, no matter where you might end up. I will not be able to stay by your side on Asylum, this ensures I can find you again.” He elaborated.

 “Fair enough.” You shrugged.

 You were trying to act nonchalant about it but there was something strangely intimate about what he had done, in a primal way and it was making your heart pitter patter in your chest. You toyed with the braid while you picked up the goblet of coffee with the other hand and sipped happily at it.

 “Eat it all, you will need your strength.” He ordered in a tone that brokered no argument.

 You picked up a slice of toasted yellow bread and made a big show out of biting into it which seemed to satisfy him.

 “From what I was able to find out, Glahn-Betn not only still resides on Asylum but the army has grown considerably. We are running short on time to stop him.” He dictated.

 Guess you weren’t even allowed to finish eating before you moved into the pre-mission briefing. At least he had given you breakfast in bed, that was thoughtful.

 “Good thing we’re going now then.” You said once you swallowed a mouthful of fruit.

 “Tell me again what you must do.” He said tightly.

 That was when you realized it. Loki was nervous. Considering he wasn’t the one walking into danger, that meant he was nervous for you. You played along with him, trying to soothe his nerves by being as brisk and serious as you could be.

 “I need to fight for a place within the army and continue to impress them so I move up the ranks and swiftly. I need to be skilled enough to draw attention but not so much that Glahn-Betn will see me as a potential threat. Once I am high enough up in the ranks I start watching his movements and patterns until I find an opportunity to strike. Then I kill him and run as fast as I can.” You summarised.

 “You will need to lie about who you are, do not let them suspect you are from ‘Earth’. Show no signs of weakness or mercy, do not question your orders. Be a good soldier, obedient and loyal.”

 “Be strong but not too strong, be obedient but not mindless, be noticed but blend in. Be a walking contradiction, I’ve got it.” You assured.

 “Most importantly, be careful Kitten.” He reminded you.

 “Stop fretting mother hen. I know what to do, I’m prepared and I know the price if I fail.” You said, finishing off the last bite of food and washing it down with a swig of coffee.

 “Did you say goodbye?” He asked, nodding towards the door.

 “Yeah, you missed a hell of a party.” You sniggered.

 You had told Elder you were departing the next morning and the villagers had all come together to send you off. It had been a night of dancing around the flickering flames of a bonfire, hand in hand with the children you’d come to adore. You’d dutifully kneeled in the dirt and allowed people to say prayers to their gods on your behalf, your heart bursting with fondness and your eyes burning at the thoughtful gesture. You had drank cup after cup of amber liquor, proving to them that you had an inhuman tolerance for alcohol. You had laughed until your chest ached and danced until your head spun.

 At some point during the festivities you had been pulled into the blue grass with Elder, the sage old man clasping his hands with your own and offering you a departing piece of wisdom.

 “I don’t know what it is you are setting off to do but I can tell it weighs heavy on you Sky lady. It is clear you and your husband are warriors of a kind and knowing your heart as I do, I know whatever your cause, it is a righteous one. I wish you luck.”

 “Thank you.” You said softly, squeezing his hands.

 “We will miss you, you fit in well with us in a way few visitors have.” He mused kindly.

 “Maybe… Maybe I’ll return one day.” You said wistfully, hopefully.

 “You won’t. Your heart does not belong on this small corner of the universe, it belongs elsewhere. But I can see it is torn. You are stuck between who you are, who you want to be and who you think you should be.” He warned you.

 Were you an Avenger or an assassin? A hero or an anti-hero? Or were you something else entirely? Were you Captain America’s daughter or the God of Mischiefs friend and could you find a way to be both?

 “What do I do?” You asked, pleading with him to help you figure it out.

 “There is no easy answer. Perhaps you think I will tell you that you should be true to yourself, but that is such an easy answer and yet the most difficult thing to do. You must live Sky lady, live your life and make your choices as you go. Let love and loyalty guide you and never stay stagnant between two choices.” He advised.

 “I told you to rest.” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

 “I did. Will you stop fussing and let me go wash up?” You laughed, clambering out of the bed and breezing past him, towards the bathroom.

 “Do not tarry, we leave as soon as you are ready.” He shouted through the door as you kicked it shut.

 You rolled your eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it and pulled doff your tunic, turning the taps on.

 It was sweet in a way you didn’t think he would be sweet. But if even Loki was worried about you, how screwed were you?

 As you bathed you pondered the coming mission and tried to stuff your nerves into a box in your mind, locking them away as best you could.

 You felt like something was missing, like you were forgetting something, but you knew what it was. A patented Captain America pep talk, with added Stark sass peppered throughout. You’d never gone on a mission without one. You’d never ever done this alone.

 It didn’t feel right, not having Bucky hovering over you and checking all your weapons were properly loaded and holstered. You wanted Sam to come and double check you were hydrated and sneak chocolate bars into your pocket. You needed Clint to offer you a fistbump and a wink. You missed Wanda squeezing your hand, seeking assurance and offering it at the same time. You needed Nat to throw extra ammo at you and assess you with a discerning look before she gave a confident nod, telling you that you were ready. You even missed Tony blatantly complimenting how well the suit fit you while he side-eyed a seething Steve.

 You missed your family. You needed them.

 “You’re a grown ass superhero, you don’t need you daddy to come and tell you how to do this.” You hissed angrily, pulling yourself out of the water.

 You dried and dressed as quickly as you could, metaphorically beating your doubts into submission.

 Before you opened the door you took one last deep breath and readied yourself.

 “You can do this.” You vowed to yourself.

“I wish I had my Avengers suit with me. I feel stupid going off the warn in jeans and a t-shirt.” You grumbled as you walked back into the room.

 “I thought you might.” Loki said, tossing something at you.

 It was a long black coat, made of tough but smooth leather. It wasn’t quite Midgardian style, but it wasn’t quite Asgardian either. You looked up at him in surprise and he nodded towards the bed where the rest of the ‘outfit’ was lain out. There were a pair of tight leggings made of a similar material to you Avengers suit, a solid but breathable material, a leather corset with a surprisingly modest and high necklined undershirt and a pair of knee-high leather combat boots.

 You turned around to ask him where he’d gotten this and more importantly, to thank him but he was gone. Probably giving you privacy to change into it, so that’s what you did.

 No offence to Tony and his eye for design, but you felt infinitely more bad-ass and put together in this than in the skin tight combat suit he’d provided. The material of this outfit was tight, but not uncomfortably so and there was a lot of give in it, allowing for ease of movement. There was a holster along your spine that held Mischief securely and you found that it was incredibly easy to reach behind your head and pull it out or slide it back in. Slipping the heavy coat on you found that it didn’t hinder your movements either. You were dressed as a warrior but you didn’t outwardly appear to be so.

 You were outfitted like an assassin.

 You had to hand it to Loki, he’d done good. You might have expected him to dress you in green but he’d opted for all black, except for one very important detail. There was a flap of material over your torso that when peeled back revealed a fabric insignia sewn in. Unless they knew to look for it, nobody would find it. The emblem of Captain America’s Shield contrasted well against the black leather and in the centre, where the star usually resided, was the Avengers A. He’d had the foresight and kindness to make sure you had a symbol of home pressed to your heart. He’d probably had to swallow a lot of pride and distaste to do it as well.

 You strode out of the hut with a newfound confidence, your shoulder thrown back and your head held high. Loki looked up as soon as you walked through the doors and for a moment he froze.

 “How do I look?” You asked, holding your arms out.

 “Like someone to be feared.” He said with weight.

 He stepped forward and pulled open you coat, sliding an array of his own daggers into the attached sheaths.

 “Thank you, for all of it, but especially for this.” You whispered, tapping your chest where the secret insignia was.

 “They would be proud, if they knew the truth about all this. They would be proud of all you have done and all you will yet do.” He said dismissively.

 You hoped he was right.

 “After all, you made an ally of one of their greatest foes. Without bloodshed, without fighting, you have defeated me.” He added with a sassy smirk.

 “Are you defeated, Mischief?”

 “Without a doubt.” He said without hesitation.  

 He gently tugged your coat closed and looked down at you, his face startlingly close to yours while his arm slid around your waist for a heartbeat, you thought he was going to lean in kiss you but your hope was shattered when you saw the Tesseract in his hand and the ground disappeared from beneath your feet as the blinding blue light filled your vision.

 As soon as it cleared you were visually assaulted by a bevy of colours and a sycophancy of loud noises.

 “Ah, my eyes!” You winced, shielding them.

 Loki dragged you somewhere while you held your hand over your eyes and you didn’t dare look until your back met a wall. You opened them to see you were in some kind of small alcove down an alleyway and unable to resist, you peered out onto the street again.

 “What Fresh hell is this?” You asked, scrunching up your nose.

 “This is Asylum.” Loki said stiffly.

 “Then why does it look like… well, the 80’s?” You asked.

 It looked like a Bizzaro version of Earth, all neon signs and fluorescent colours and more diverse than even The Distillers Planet had been in terms of different aliens you could see walking down the street. It looked like what you imagined the inside of Elton John’s brain looked like but with a fuckton more aliens, a murky yellow sky and…

 “Is that building made of bones?”

 It definitely was, and now that you were looking you could see it wasn’t the only one. Apparently Asylum was where the Stone Age hooked up with the 80’s for an acid-fuelled apocalypse party. After the peace and serenity of Clarius, it was a shock to your system.

 Loki tightly grabbed your elbow and tugged you around the corner again.

 “Follow this street until you see the recruitment base, you won’t miss it.” He said, refusing to meet your eyes.

 “Ok.”

 “Remember what you have to do Kitten. You’ll need to battle another recruit to gain a place in the army, from there you need to impress them enough to work your way up the ranks until you find yourself close to Glahn-Betn. I won’t be able to help you or advise you. You’ll have to use your own judgement.”

 “Fate of the universe depends on me using my brain… We’re all doomed.” You joked.

 “No we aren’t.” He snapped.

 Apparently he wasn’t in a joking mood.

 “I know what to do Mischief. I’ve got this.” You said with as much bravado as you could muster.

 You knew the plan, you knew what was required of you, all that was left was to see if you could pull it off. You took a step backwards, towards the alleyway and lighting fast, he grabbed you, pulling you back into the alcove and his hand closed around your wrist. You wanted to get on with it, to walk into the lions den before your nerve failed you. But in an ironic twist of events, Loki was the one in need of comfort and reassurance.

 “I’ll be alright Mischief. I’ve got this.” You promised, twisting your wrist out of his grasp and sliding your fingertips along his arm softly, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

 He exhaled forcefully and nodded stiffly at you.

 “I’ll be close by, as close as I can be without risking running into anyone who may know me but I will be disguised. Do not remove your braid for any reason, promise me.” He demanded.

 “I promise.” You said firmly.

 “If you do… our connection will be lost. I will have no choice but to assume you are dead.” He warned.

 And he’d flee Asylum was what was left unsaid at the end of that sentence.

 You bit your tongue. His eyes were flashing dangerously, almost overflowing with emotion and you knew that he wasn’t refusing because he wouldn’t do it, he was refusing because he didn’t want to entertain the idea of you failing.

 “See you on the other side. When the chaos starts, we meet back here.” You said with a note of finality, stepping away from him.

 Your heart was clenching painfully and the steady, overpowering thrum of your nerves were making you dizzy. A few more steps and you would be separated from him and even if you succeeded in your assassination there was a high chance you weren’t going to survive. This was likely a suicide mission, which meant that unless you were very lucky, this may be the last time you ever saw Loki. He had your goodbye letters for your family but you hadn’t said goodbye to him. You hadn’t said what needed to be said.

 Three words. Just three little words. You could say them and then leave with a clear conscience. You wouldn’t even have to wait around to find out if he would say them back, you didn’t need to take that chance. You could tell him what you so desperately wanted him to know.

 I know you could never love me back, I know that you don’t need the affirmation from a mortal but I love you. I love you so much it’s consuming me.

 “Mischief I…” You began.

 “Don’t.” He interrupted, snapping out the word angrily.

 “You will not say farewell to me Kitten, do not dare. Leave me as if you intend to return to me.” He demanded.

 He lowered his head until his forehead was pressed against yours and let out a shuddering breath.

 “Return to me.” He said, a plead and not a demand this time.

 For the first time you felt something like hope building inside you. His torn apart emotional state was so out of character for him that it was making you wonder, was all this fear and concern really just for a friends safety? Or was it possible he felt something more for you?

 “I will always return to you Mischief. Nothing could keep me away.” You swore.

 His grip on you tightened almost painfully before it gradually loosened and he stepped back. You nodded once, more to yourself than him and made to walk away.

 “Aren’t you forgetting something Kitten?” He asked.

 He looked at you blankly, his expression giving no hint as to what he was alluding to but somehow you just knew what he was asking for and it made you smile.

 Balancing on your tiptoes you reached towards him and the corners of his lips twitched as he leant down for you. At the last second you moved your head and the kiss you’d been about to place on his cheek landed purposefully on the corner of his mouth instead.

 “I’ll see you soon Mischief.” You breathed into his skin.

 You stepped away, walking backwards so you could hold his gaze. His eyes were dark with emotion as he stared after you, slack-jawed at your actions and with one last wave, you left the alleyway, stepping onto the street and you couldn’t see him anymore.

 You exhaled forcefully, your emotions spilling from you in a gust of breath as you turned around and started walking.

 The last time you’d been alone you had still been a regular human, wandering the world without a cause, living town to town. Now you were a superhero, with a family, with so much love in your heart that you could barely contain it. This was your first solo mission, the first time you didn’t have Bucky watching you through the scope of a rifle or Sam flying overhead. You didn’t have Steve stood beside you, shield in hand. You didn’t have Loki or his tricks keeping you safe.

 You were alone again, but this time you were on an Alien planet with the fate of billions resting on your shoulders. But you weren’t alone, not really. You had Loki in the shadows and The Avengers in your heart and unconsciously touching the braid in your hair, you realized you’d never felt stronger.

 You kept your eyes ahead, not wanting to look like an obvious tourist but even still, there was a lot to look at. While shopping wasn’t on the agenda, it was hard to resist peering into the stores you passed. Half of them looked like mystical apothecaries, and you were convinced you’d just walked past a blacksmith’s but there were a lot of strangely modern looking stores as well. You did a double take at what for all intents and purposes could essentially have been a Hot Topic, the alien edition.

There were Taverns and chic bars, a nightclub that you were itching to see the interior of, café’s and restaurants.

 It was a mind-bending blend of several Earth era’s and distinctly alien. When Loki had told you the whole planet was an Asylum like it had been named, you’d expected a neat, clinical, cold, militaristic atmosphere. This was the polar opposite and despite how jarring it was, it was kind of awesome in a Las Vegas way.  

 Not all of it nice. Not all of it was fantastical and wonderful. You steadfastly ignored everyone trying to engage with you but you were fairly certain that you knew exactly what was being offered when a thin, seven foot tall, green humanoid sidled up to you and asked…

 “Need a fix, you look like a being that needs a little fix.? I didn’t take mine, wanna make a deal?”

 You’d sidestepped him and kept walking but it left a chill in your blood. If this was an Asylum, a hospital, then where were the attendants? The Nurses? The Doctors? Who was looking after these people?

 Now that your attention had been drawn to it, you could see it everywhere. These creatures were sick. Blanks stares, nervous ticks, frenzied pacing, wailing and crying, agitated aggression… You could see people exhibiting signs everywhere you looked.  Once again you felt a surge of anger for Glahn-Betn. This planet was supposed to be a refuge for these people, a safe place. He had taken that from them, he had brought chaos to a planet that really couldn’t handle it.

 You quickened your pace. The sooner you got to the recruitment base, the sooner you could get on with your mission and carve that bastards chest open, just to see if he had a heart.

 Like Loki had promised, you couldn’t miss the base. You reached the end of the long street and there was a crossroads. Ahead, more of what lay behind you, to the right, the same. But to the left, down a winding hill, there was a fortress.

 At first glance you thought it was just a black mountain but your eyes adjusted and you could see it was man made, a collection of spires and towers carved from shiny black rock and surrounded by a moat. If this was an Asylum planet, that must be the maximum security ward. Before Glahn-Betn it must have housed the criminally insane and now it housed… the criminally insane. It took nearly twenty minutes to reach it, your heart picking up it’s pace as you drew closer and slipped into the crowds of people heading in the same direction.

 You had just stepped onto the black stone bridge over the moat when the sky rumbled above you and you looked up to see a humungous spacecraft descending towards the fortress.

 “Look, more conquests. Hope we get to fight one of the captives. Doubt they have much fight left in them.” An alien behind you sniggered.

 As the craft slowed down it’s flight and neatly hovered behind the fortress, landing behind it, you tried to decipher what the alien had just said.

 Conquests and captives. Glahn-Betn was waging war and forcing prisoners to fight for him. How many planets had already fallen to this tyrant? Why was nobody doing anything?

 You’d thought this was a madman attempting a sinister plot but it went far deeper than that. This was already full scale intergalactic terrorism. Even if you killed Glahn-Betn and put a stop to his plans, he had already done so much damage that couldn’t be undone. Not for the first time you started to think that you were in way over your head. How could you, one woman, bring down an entire regime?

 Because nobody would expect one woman to be stupid enough to try.

 And this wasn’t your plan, it was Loki’s. Even if you were starting to doubt yourself, you didn’t doubt him. You had the blood of the greatest soldier of all time in your veins. You had been trained by literal gods, infamous assassins and the greatest minds your world had to offer.

 So you squared your shoulders, put on your metaphorical big girl panties and walked through the wide doors into the base.  

 The cavernous hall was bustling with activity. It was teeming with crowds of hopeful recruits, nervous recruits and guards. Ignoring them all you strode purposefully to the far side of the hall, to the lines of recruits being admitted through the doors into the heart of the fortress.

 You chose a longish line so you had time to study the admittance procedure. There were dozens of platforms raised slightly off the ground that were surrounded by a shimmering golden sphere, a force field of sorts. Every platform was manned by two guards apiece and, tall, statuesque, intimidating blue aliens with futuristic monitors in their hands. One by one the recruits stepped onto the platforms and had a short conversation with what you’d guessed were the recruitment officers. The platform you were in line for was manned by a beautiful blue woman with a stiff posture and eye catching black splotches on her skin.

 As you got closer you could hear what she was saying and as you watched carefully, a man who could easily have been human stepped onto the platform.

 “Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?” She asked robotically.

 The man looked around desperately, his jaw clenched. The woman leaned forward with a hard gaze, as if she was finally interested.

 “Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?” She asked again, harshly.

 “Reconnaissance for the Nova Corps.” He spat out, looking terrified when he realized what he’d said.

 He made a run for it but he didn’t even get one step away before he was shot, his body thumping to the ground. Someone grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him out of the sphere while the woman ignored it, looking at the next recruit in line who stepped into the sphere without care.

 You subtly studied the sphere and put the pieces together in your mind. It was some kind of truth field, it must be. Which meant that nobody could lie when they joined the army, you couldn’t lie.

 Shit.

 You ground your teeth as the line moved forwards, mentally trying to solve this puzzle before you were called into the sphere. All to soon, you were at the front of the line and as a hulking creature was waved to the other side, having passed the recruitment questions, you had no choice but to calmly step onto the platform. The field caused no sensation as you walked through it and if you couldn’t see it, you wouldn’t have known it was there. The woman looked at you with cold disinterest as you stepped up in front of her.

 “Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?”

 “I’m here to work my way up the ranks of the army, to prove myself, so I can make my father proud.” You said smoothly.

 “Name?”

 “They call me Kit.” You said.

 Well it was true, some people did on occasion call you Kit.

 “What planet are you from?”

 “Clarius.”

 You had just come from there.

 “Race?”

 “I’m the result of an experiment.” You said quickly, thinking fast on your feet and stretching the truth as far as you could without breaking it.

 She didn’t blanche, just swiped something on the monitor.

 “Give me your wrist.” She said, holding her hand out impatiently.

 She snapped a black band onto your wrist and after a moment it flickered orange.

 “We do not provide weapons to recruits, if you did not bring your own, tough.”

 “I brought my own.” You assured her.

 “Through the doors, find the corridor that corresponds to your band. If you observe any rituals or pray to any deities or gods then do so now, you’ll be dead by the end of the day.” She said dismissively.

 You’d just stepped outside of the truth field but at her words you stopped and stepped backwards, back into the sphere.

 “No, I won’t.” You said confidently, looking her in the eye.

 You walked away, allowing yourself a quick triumphant grin. You’d done it, you were in. Now the hard part began.  

A/N - I know the last chapter was a bit of a filler chapter that was there to point the plot in the right direction but I hope this makes up for it and I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

We're in the thick of it now, Kitten's got some trying times ahead of her. Wish her luck! (And wish me good luck in writing it!)

P.S - I think I’ll be stopping the gifs at the beginning of each chapter from here on in and maybe I’ll make a mood-board to use instead. Or maybe I’ll use gifs that relate to the chapter and aren’t always Loki ones. Or maybe just stick with what I’m doing right now. Thoughts??

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