#so that bled back into his cat self

[silent-stars-clan]

SHADOWCLAN

CROWCALL (24m, he/him) - a pure black warrior with blue eyes. among the youngest of the cats sent to the island. his mother was a former thunderclan warrior, and his difficult half-clan upbringing has made him a rather resentful cat.

FOXTAIL (28m, they/them) - a russet warrior with ticked stripes. born as rowankit, a run-in with a fox during apprenticeship earned them an honor rename as a warrior. they usually keep to themself.

SHADOWCLAN was the second clan hit by the epidemic, but their quarantine was swift and strict. cut off nearly entirely from other clans, they almost refused to send any cats to the island at all.

[macabr3-barbi3]

A Practical Demonstration Chapter 2- A Hands on Approach (Alastor/Reader)

Ao3 Link!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Tags: Sex Toys; Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor; Reader-Insert; accidentally adding angst to porn

In the couple of weeks following your ‘practical demonstration’ for Alastor, all confidence you had in the glow of a mind blowing orgasm had bled from you- you had a few packages from VoxTech sitting unopened under your bed where you couldn’t see them or think about how hastily you had purchased them. You avoided being near Alastor when you could, eyes glued to the floor and face a matching accessory to his coat when you couldn’t escape or offer up a satisfactory excuse to leave the situation. 

He hadn’t asked anything of you since that night, thankfully. He seemed content to watch you blush and stammer and make eye contact with anything but himself, sometimes going out of his way to corner you by yourself and ask you how you were, how your research for Velvette was going, how you were sleeping at night; shit-eating grin always present and growing with every stuttered syllable you uttered. But he never mentioned that night, no inquiries about the rose toy or the others that he had spotted in your nightstand, despite his mention of being thorough about the various pieces of ‘technology’ you had in your possession. 

You were mortified, honestly, at how thoroughly you had misjudged the situation. Having thought that the Radio Demon was interested beyond his own self-proclaimed desire to know about the strange device was a hard hit to your self esteem, and a large part of why you were so determined to not be anywhere alone with him anymore. You couldn’t stand that kind of embarrassment again. 

“What do we have here?” Sitting at the bar while Husk poured you a drink, your phone is suddenly snatched out of your hands. “Ohhhh, ya got a date tonight, huh?” Using one pair of hands to hold you back, he uses the other to quickly swipe through some of your messages with Velvette. 

Despite your constant denial at wanting to meet anybody, Velvette had set you up with one of her models for a blind date. They were perfectly adequate, she had said, nothing like any of Val’s whores- you could see the way that Angel’s nose flared a bit when he saw that message- but hot, and it was the least she could do for all you’d done for her and for her shoots. 

(You were glad she at least had the sense to leave mention of your deal out of it, probably knowing how nosy Angel was and not wanting anything to get back to Val in passing.)

Husk manages to get the phone from Angel as he pulls up the photo of the model, and his exaggerated wolf whistle in your ear has your cheeks flaming. The cat gives your phone back to you while Angel hoots and calls for a couple shots for the two of you. “Babe, if I’d known ya were on the market I could have hooked ya up but I gotta say, Velvette’s got some good taste for you!” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not ‘on the market,’” you tell him, “she just won’t take no for an answer. I’m meeting them for dinner this one time only, and-“

Husk drops a drink in front of you. “What’s the hold up?” He asks. “Why are you so against going out again? What if you two really hit it off?” He glances at Angel. “Sometimes it takes a time or two to really know someone and if you’re a good fit.”

Angel rolls his eyes. “Come on, sourpuss, you can just say you like me!” He tries to ruffle a hand into Husk’s fur, but the former bats him away. “Anyway, she’s already got the hots for someone- but if she's waiting for him though she might as well sow some oats if ya get my drift.” He winks at you, making a lewd gesture with his hands before you can huff and turn away. 

You down your drink in one go, Angel cheering you on, before announcing that you had to go get ready. Declining Angel’s offer to scour his room for something sexy, you just head to your own. 

Maybe he had been right though- after what happened with Alastor it was clear that he wasn’t as interested as you had assumed. Maybe going on a date with someone else would be good for you, help you get your mind off the Radio Demon and stop indulging in some pointless little crush that was just going to end with you getting your stupid feelings hurt. You supposed if this date went well there wasn’t any harm in planning for another one. As you opened the door to your room, you took another look at the picture of the model that Velvette had sent you. They really weren’t bad looking-

“Good evening!” Bringing your eyes up from your phone, Alastor is standing just inside the doorway of your room. While it’s no secret how he got in- ‘melting into the shadows’ isn’t a method of transportation you would assume to be hindered by doors- you wish you had some sort of warning before essentially walking into him. There’s a brief stumble before he places his hands on you, one under your own and the other on the small of your back as he rights you. “My apologies for the startle, dear, it seems I’ve given you a fright!”

“No problem,” you tell him, trying to take a step back and realizing he’s not yet released you. “It’s my bad, I should have knocked.”

“On your own door?” 

You flush. “Right, yeah.” You notice now how close you are to him, your bodies mere inches apart and one of his hands still protectively placed on your spine. “Either way, no harm done.”

He makes an affirmative noise before releasing you, and you kick the door closed as you step away from him to the closet. You pull some items from their hangers, tossing them onto the bed, and you can feel his crimson gaze on you as you move and try to decide what to wear for this dumb date. You take a deep breath before finally asking, “something that I can help you with?”

“Assuredly so!” Looking down at the pile of clothes you had amassed, you didn’t realize he had re-materialized next to you, and his voice so close to your ear was a shock. You trip over a skirt on the ground that had slid off the bed, landing hard on the ground as you stare up at Alastor. He holds out a hand to help you up which you gratefully take, allowing him to pull you to standing. 

He doesn’t release your hand, instead tugging you closer to him so your bodies are pressed against one another, closer than they had been when you nearly collided. “It’s in regards to our deal,” he says quietly, the whisper of his breath ghosting across your heated cheeks. He’s so close that you can smell his cologne, something woodsy and dark and so Alastor that your mouth nearly waters. 

“I have a date tonight,” is what you blurt out, your own voice a mere wisp in the space between the two of you.

He’s released you again and taken a couple steps back to sit on your bed. “Cancel it,” he says, and one of his shadows brings forth one of the VoxTech boxes from under your bed. “Terrible manners, of course, I do apologize for placing you in such an awkward position. But I’m afraid this simply cannot wait- you’ve quite the collection here, my dear, and we’ll need to start right away if we wish to proceed in a timely manner.”

Your head is spinning from how quickly he’s moved away from you again, and how quickly your night has taken a turn. “Right,” you say dazedly. “I guess I can, reschedule or something.” It wasn’t like you had really wanted to go anyway.

One of his eyes seems to twitch a bit. “Lovely,” he says, and crosses his legs at the knee. He pats the bed next to himself and gestures to the box he had placed there. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You couldn’t even remember what you had ordered as you shot off a text to Velvette- something came up, say sorry for me- and took the box in your hands, placing your phone on the stand next to you. You can’t look Alastor in the eyes as you manage to get it open and see what it was- a remote control vibrator, one that curves in such a way that it can stimulate the bundles of nerves both inside and outside the body. The remote is a tiny thing, an ‘on/off’ switch and two buttons for the different sections of the thing so you can have varying speeds on either spot. 

“Interesting,” Alastor says, and inspects the toy where you hold it in your hands. “I assume an item such as this works in a similar manner to the one from last time?” 

You nod, not sure if you’re hoping he will leave it at that or ask for another demonstration of the thing. “It’s very similar. Both ends vibrate rather than the, uh, suction on the last one.”

“I see,” he says, fingers steepled under his chin. “And is that more preferable to the suction?”

You take a deep breath. “It varies from person to person,” you say. 

“What do you prefer?”

In the span of a blink he’s in your personal space, his smile light and curious. “God, uh, I’m not sure,” you babble, intoxicated again by the smell of him. “The last, um, demonstration was the first time I’ve used anything with suction. But other people-“

“Quite frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck about other people.” The shock of hearing Alastor swear has you sucking in a sharp breath as he comes ever closer. His smile has taken on a dangerous edge, his eyes dark and lethal as they look you over. “My deal is with you- I wish to learn about the technology itself, of course, but how others use the things are of no concern to me. My concern is you, and how you are using devices made by my enemies.” His voice cracks around the static of the last word.

And fuck, if you hadn’t been aroused already, that would have sent you the rest of the way there on a bullet train. The single-minded focus in his gaze as he watched you was making you dizzy, your hands trembling slightly as you held the vibrator, remote discarded back into the box. 

“Right,” you say, instead of burying your face in the too-close junction between his chin and shoulder. “I guess I should…” you trail off, nodding vaguely at the object in your hands, and Alastor gives you a tight smile before leaning back out of your space to let you get to it.

Like last time, you don’t make eye contact as you remove your bottoms and lean back against the pillows. You’re aroused enough that you don’t need to use any additional lubrication, so you clench your eyes shut as you slide the long end of the vibrator into yourself, taking a moment to breathe and adjust as you do so. It settles into place, the opposite end curved in a way that it can rest gently against your clit, and you feel blindly for the box to get the remote out to turn it on.

“What a curious thing,” you hear Alastor say, and when you open your eyes he has the remote in his hands, rotating it to get a look from all angles. Your heart jumps into your throat as the implication, the possibility of his fingers pressing the buttons for you, out of your control. “Have you any idea why the remote is external from the device rather than part of it, like the other one was?”

You struggle to get your breathing under control. “I think it’s so you can have a… a partner or someone with you,” you tell him, earning you a raised eyebrow. “Some people really like the, you know, the idea of someone else being in charge of their pleasure.”

You could burst into flames with the heat of his gaze. He leans closer to you, one hand again coming to rest on your thigh like it had last time. “And what about you, darling? Is that something that interests you?” His grip on the remote is light in his free hand, easy enough to relinquish should you ask him to hand it over. But…

“I might enjoy it,” you whisper, “with the right partner.” You nod to the remote in his hand. “Sometimes a hands-on approach is needed to get more information.”

His smile is interrupted only by his exhale of breath before he presses the button to turn the device on, and your eyes slam shut as the sensations take over. In your quest to fist your fingers in the sheets you knock over the box that it came in, but you pay it no mind as Alastor toys with you, pressing the buttons for either end of the vibrator in a pattern that makes sense only to him, and that you can’t keep track of. 

Not that you want to. You’re already so in your head about the situation, not just another ‘demonstration’ but something that Alastor was actively participating in with that remote in his hand. It’s making you lightheaded with how turned on your are, and you nearly miss the next question he asks you from being so focused on your body.

“How intriguing,” he’s said, and you pry your eyes open to see what looks like a sleep mask dangling from a tendril of shadow. “What is this for?” 

“Some people- fuck -“ you interrupt yourself as he ratchets the vibrations a couple levels. Your breath is coming in short bursts as you fight to keep a clear head. “Some people like to have their, fuck, their eyes covered so they can’t see, what the other person is doing. I’ve never seen the appeal,” you add, anticipating his next question. 

He hums lightly to himself. “Are you quite sure? You do so frequently close your eyes in the throes of pleasure,” he says with a teasing lilt. “You don’t think that you would enjoy it?”

You shake your head on the pillow, your hair splayed out in a halo beneath you. “I don’t, God, I don’t know,” you mumble, and you hear his dark laughter before the lights in the room all snap off at once. 

Your heart stutters in your chest. You can’t see him, can’t see anything, and his comforting weight no longer seems to be perched on the edge of the bed. Were it not for the vibrator still buzzing inside you and kicking up another level, you might have thought he had left. You moan into the darkness, desperate for some sign that he was still with you, and are graced with his sharp claws dancing across your collarbone. Your eyes clench shut despite not being able to see anyway, in an effort to control yourself.

“What do you think, hm?” His touch vanishes only to reappear in the form of fingers brushing a couple errant strands of hair from your face. “Can you see the appeal now?” Again, his point of contact with you is gone.

“Not knowing where I am.” His voice comes from the opposite side of the bed, and you turn towards it with a gasp. 

Then from the foot of the bed- “Not able to see what I’m doing.” There’s a rustle of clothing- surely not his own , you think deliriously- before he’s back in your ear. 

“Not able to guess where I’ll touch you next.” His breath is hot against your ear and the vibrator has sped up again, a new pattern that has you letting loose a stream of curses as your hips move, chasing the feeling. One of his hands comes to rest on your hipbone, claws sinking just so into your flesh where he grips you. It takes a moment to realize he’s asked a question.

“What?”

“You must pay attention, darling, this is quite important.” He’s turned off whatever allows his voice to take on the radio quality. “I recognize that this has progressed beyond the means of a typical demonstration, so I must have your explicit consent. May I have your permission to touch you?”

“God, yes,” you groan, body tight with tension while you wait for his hands on you. They start where you don’t expect them, one placed lightly on the underside of your thigh and the other slowly starting to drift down your leg towards your upper body. He switches between his skin and his claws, swapping them out as he maps imaginary paths on your skin and across your navel, barely scratching you but the implication is there.

“So responsive,” he mutters. “Tell me- do you think your date tonight could have brought you to such a state?”

Your what ? 

Oh god, your blind date. Your eyes fly open to the nightstand where your phone is buzzing with missed calls and texts from Velvette. You had told her to apologize with no explanation, she might have been worried about you. You should really-

“Eyes on me, dear.” Somehow you’ve forgotten about the vibrator still buzzing happily inside you, so focused on Alastor’s hands on you that it slipped your mind until now- he’s kicked it up to the highest level yet, the feeling forcing a cry out of your mouth as your back arches. “And I believe I asked you a question.”

“Fuck,” you force out when you catch his gaze. His eyes are glowing, the only light available in the darkness, illuminating the dangerous curve of his smile as he looks down at you. “I don’t- I don’t know,” you get out, struggling to focus. You can feel the orgasm building, so much more intense than it had been last time, and he was right here with you, helping you through it .

“Come now,” he tuts at you, “that’s not very fair to your date. Have you no faith in them?”

“I barely know their name,” you groan out, the tension building, and you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow. You can’t stop your mouth from moving, despite your brain screaming at you to shut the fuck up before you say something stupid. “Something- something Velvette did- and fuck I didn’t even want them, I want - Alastor- ”

The tension breaks, your body tensing hard as you hit your release, his name falling out on a moan without permission from your brain. You’re distantly mortified at the thought of doing that a second time but you can’t focus on much else but the way that the pleasure in you is overtaking everything.

There’s a snarl and the sound of fabric ripping, the glow of Alastor’s eyes disappearing as you hit your peak. After a few brief moments of overstimulation the vibrations stop, and the lights come back on, Alastor’s shadows fading from the lamps.

He stands across the room, the remote for the vibrator placed on your desk. “Quite illuminating,” he says, and with the lights on you can see the thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, the way that his fists are clenched at his sides without his cane in them. He seems to be at a loss for words, something you’ve never seen before. He closes his eyes, swallows hard and gestures to your bed where you still rest on it. “I’ll be sure to send for a replacement as soon as I can.”

Following his gesture, you see the deep claw marks in the bed at your side, torn straight through the duvet and sheets and straight into the mattress. There are feathers and bits of thread and fabric still floating in the air from the force with which he had apparently dragged his talons across and into the bed.

Your brows furrow as you look back at him. “How-”

“I’m not sure a ‘hand-on approach’ is something that I can be part of going forward,” he says tightly. 

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you watch him, sure that this will be the end of it. You’ll go back to normal demonstrations of normal technology and largely being vaguely cordial with one another- the way you have been since you made the deal. It used to be enough, but you’ve had this taste now of something more, of him , and you’re not sure that you can go back to how it used to be.

“Darling.” At the sound of his voice you look back up at him, eyes glowing and his smile strained. “I’m sure that you understand this is for your own safety.” He glances at the gash across the bedsheets. “I had assumed that I was more in control of my own emotions. Clearly I am not- I will not risk the next thing I shred in a moment of weakness being your flesh.”

Leaning to sit up from the bed you wince at the shape of the vibrator still inside you. Blush staining your cheeks you remove it, pulling on your bottoms from the floor as you try to approach him. “Alastor, wait,” you say, but before you can reach out to grab his arm he’s re-materialized by the door.

The upturn of his lips now is forlorn as he watches you. “I believe it best that we go back to our initial arrangement,” he says. “I shall let you know when or if I need any further demonstrations.” With that he fades into the floor, the lights flickering as he vanishes.

With a cry of frustration you grab the remote off the desk and chuck it at the wall, where it splinters into little plastic pieces.

[youandmedead]

RåñÐðm ÌÐïå §hrðµÐ HêåТåñðñ§

Warnings: Brief mentions of self harm towards the last few points

Notes: Random things I think about Idia's character. (Apologies for this seeming short and sloppy, I've been trying to push myself to release content whilst working on my bigger fanfic).

⛥I feel like Idia would be very shaky due to anxiety, too much caffeine intake and low iron levels

⛥He definitely has some form of Vitamin D deficiency pairing with low iron levels (am I projecting? Possibly.)

⛥Has a plush that he was given as a kid, that always seems to bring him some form of comfort - especially during his toughest days and times when his anxiety becomes too overwhelming

⛥ I feel that he is into a slight bit of heavy music but not too much. I think he'd despise black and death metal alongside deathcore, but I feel like he'd enjoy metalcore and nu-metal

⛥ Is super good at drawing and enjoys studying people as he gets inspired by their characteristics or clothing. I also feel that he does a lot of cat sketches - mainly ones of professor Trein's cat, strays he's found whenever he's being dragged outside or ones he's seen online - in addition to gadgets he's planning on building (e.g upgrades for ortho, a new machine for X, Y, Z)

⛥ He hates when people yell at him. Whenever they do he'll tend to freeze up and disassociate or flinch and repeat "I'm sorry" over and over again

⛥ (This is most likely a given but...) Absolutely horrendous with social cues that is if you managed to get him to socialise at all.

⛥ Yearns for a partner - He daydreams about it sometimes (nowhere as near as much as romance scenarios with fictional characters mind you) and always makes himself miserable afterwards, because he feels as if it'd be impossible for anybody to ever fall in love with him.

⛥ Envious of people he thinks "has the perfect life". Those who he believes do have a perfect life, he automatically assumes they're entitled and selfish who don't deserve to have the things they have.

⛥ Gets grossed out easily at horror movies, but is fascinated in the SFX effects and production processes

⛥ His criticisms always cut straight to the core, there's no sugar coating it when it comes to him (unless he is completely head over heels for said person asking for constructive criticism)

⛥ Ortho has forced him to set alarms on his phone for when it's time for him to rehydrate with water as he tends to get so hyper focused on a new game, book or gadget.

⛥ Idia frequently has vivid nightmares and because they can be so intense for him, once he's awake he can not fall back asleep. Usually when this happens he'll busy himself with a game or through drawing

⛥ Has an interest in poetry. I don't think he'd write any but I feel like he'd have a deep appreciation for the art form.

⛥ Has bitten his tongue, the inside of his cheek and/or his bottom lip far too many times due to his sharpened teeth

⛥ Adding onto the point made above, I think he'd have a habit of chewing the inside of his cheek until it bled or picking at the skin on his hands until they also bled. Due to this, I think he'd paint his nails and peel off the polish to help deter him from causing harm to himself.

[goodluckclove]

clove my kind comrade. i have a very emotional writing advice question for you. this turned kinda long, i apologize

i've been working on college applications these last few months, with the majority of that time taking the form of essay writing. and in these months it has been discovered that, at least to my dad's standards, my normal nonfiction prose writing skills are absolutely abysmal. i would write a draft, think i had everything pretty much shiny and complete, only to have everything i had worked so hard to finish absolutely picked to shreds by my dad and told i needed to start over. and there's nuance to this; i do quite literally forget a lot of writing tips and processes that worked for me, and it took last week's adhd diagnosis 17 years too late for me to stop hating myself for not being able to write a 300 word essay in a week. but this has left deep scars on my psyche and sent me for the most intense mental heath loop ive had in years.

that all contributed to a very intense anxiety ive developed about writing. i'll open a wip (or hell start writing an ask) and i will feel such a sense of dread. it's like i'm reaching into an oven that i know i've burned myself on so many times before. i can barely write a sentence before i start overthinking things too much and give up. this is specifically talking about my own personal writing. five minutes ago i opened my most self-indulgent wip that only four people on earth would ever be allowed to see and felt such an overwhelming fear of "what if it's bad". "what if it doesn't read this way to people". i've never had that before. i write what i write, and it's generally pretty damn good. but the anxiety i have about these stupid college essays has bled into MY work, MY own fun projects.

essentially, what i'm asking you is if you can offer any advice of how to conquer this anxiety. i know that an essay and a gay little fanfiction are fundamentally different things that cannot be equated with each other, and i know that other people's opinion on what is ultimately a self indulgent project can be easily and happily disregarded. but i can't have a self indulgent project if i can't even bring myself to physically write it.

this turned into a vent lmao. i hope you and Wife and the cats are doing splendidly.

Hi Bas! This ask made me deeply angry when I read it last night! Shame from artists, especially young artists just starting out in life and in their craft, apparently provokes a pretty deep rage in my soul.

I'm fine now. I'm at a coffee shop. Thank you for a pretty vulnerable and heartfelt insight into your brain-space, and I'm going to give it a pretty long and ramble-y response because that's what it deserves - and honestly, you've known me for long enough that I'm sure you kind of assume this is what's coming. Before that, though, I get the sense you're pretty anxious and drained. In the name of meeting your sincerity I would like to offer a look at the drawing my surrogate child demanded I draw for them after they saw the terrible Sonic the Hedgehog I drew from memory last night. Their prompt was "T4T Sonic/Shadow"

What do you think? I gave Shadow a wallet chain. I've never drawn fan art before but I do think going forward I'm going to give most, if not every famous IP I draw a wallet chain. This made me grin a lot because it's so fucking weird. Also it's not canon. Canonically Shadow would not smoke a blunt. Canonically Shadow the Hedgehog vapes.

Okay I made myself properly silly time for business. Come follow me into a hypothetical situation so I can talk to you (and anyone in your position - which is a lot of people your age) more intimately.

Okay, so I'm at a new coffee shop. It's open concept, fairly minimal an industrial in decor. I'm in this seated nook in the back at a bench by a large round table. The lighting is soft. There's a lot of plants and the baristas are like kind of anti-social which usually means the coffee is going to be great or pretty bad. Luckily it's the former - I got this iced maple cardamom latte. They have other drinks too. Tea. Your usual coffee varieties. They have a rosemary syrup you can put in lattes that I might try if I feel like I want another coffee later. Take my card and order something. I'll wait here.

You're back? What'd you get?

Mm. Fuck. I should've gotten that too. Nevermind, it's fine. I'll probably come back here again.

Okay, so college essays. I'm going to go ahead and just open by saying that college essays are absolutely not the same as nonfiction prose. Flat out, end of sentence. They're aren't apples and oranges - it's like comparing an apple and a used 2007 Honda Accord.

Good nonfiction means different things to different people. I personally enjoy a bit of humor and love for a subject, even if it's mundane to most of society. My wife prefers a Wikipedia-level of dry Academia. Different strokes.

College admission essays, however, are not good. They're really not. From a vague amount of research it seems this has been an issue for decades now.

You can still write like a bad college essay, don't get me wrong. Something riddled with typos or dribbled out by a generative AI. But if you look a little bit at what the people who actually check applications are, it seems the spectrum isn't "bad to great" as much as it is "bad to fine". My own college essay was some bullshit about how I learned about myself and the world around me by going to the grocery store before school and buying a baguette to have for lunch. It was stupendously mediocre. I got into college.

There's a lot of reasons for this. It could be because the average 17-18 year old isn't given the tools or opportunity to write really solid nonfiction - probably because the society we live in doesn't expect them to have anything to contribute in that way, but that's beside the point. You're taught essays. Ways to format papers that, from what I gather, only really apply in academic settings. When I was in high school the average essay had pretty stark parameters students were expected to follow, and from what I've heard those parameters have only gotten more specific.

With all that in mind, I understand why you're freaked out. If you look up tips on solid college essays the advice is like just comically vague. Be authentic! Focus on deeper themes! Pose a philosophical question! That last one actually made me laugh out loud when I read it, because it's so insanely discordant compared to how I've seen people you're age be treated. To go straight from people assuming you need your hand held on nearly anything to having a person say "Hey solve nihilism in 450 words " is baffling.

There's real advice in this odd, clickbait-y quips. You shouldn't feel like you have to play a character or pretend to be something you don't want to do, because that comes across in the text pretty easily. You should consider exploring a topic, because it reveals more about you as a person and that's valuable to the application as a whole. You - I'm going to go out and say you don't need to pose any sort of philosophical quandary at all, actually. That's a pretty wild thing to ask a huge portion of New Adults to be able to do.

So this isn't nonfiction. This isn't a think piece or a memoir, even though people might compare it to both. This is closer to a cover letter. You should still try, but do so knowing this is separate from your skills as a writer. Once you do that, you'll hopefully be able to relax enough to actually let your character slip into the work. What you mainly want to do is express a sense of your voice and sort of imply an idea of the type of presence you would be as a student at your school of choice. That's the point of the application as a whole. It's not going to win a Pulitzer. It would be truly, very weird if an admissions essay won a Pulitzer.

The other thing that I think might be making you and people in your shoes feel crazy is that you're in the period of your life when a lot of adults around you are going to say just the wackest nonsense. Oh this application determines the rest of your life! The stakes have never been higher! This is your future! You're setting the entire course of the rest of your life right now, somehow!

That obviously is also not true. Next year will be a decade since I graduate high school, and I still actually have no idea why some people had that level of intensity. It strikes me as incredibly counter-productive. I explained this to my kid, and they were shocked when I told them how many paths there are to get a higher education. You can get your first few years at a community college and then go to a university. You can go to a polytech school (They make them for the arts too! my brother went to Cogswell and it was such a cool campus) and get straight into industry experience. You might get into a university and transfer to a different one because it has a better program or opportunity.

All of these are cool. Not going to college is also cool, although it comes with other pitfalls. You can also go to college later on down the line. If you haven't figured it out yet, existing in the world is actually really flexible and open in terms of life choices. A college application, essay included, is not likely to play a huge part in the grand scheme of your life. The results of this will give you a sort of better understanding of your options for a plan for the next - like - year, maybe? It won't even determine it. It's more of a cool, maybe or a cool, I guess not right now situation.

It's also way harder for most people to work with a smaller word count. Less words mean less margin for error. That's stressful. You aren't a failure for struggling to write 300 words in a week when you can't choose the parameters of the writing, can't change the deadline, and probably have a bunch of people saying how crazy important all this is. Those are batshit work conditions for someone who doesn't have ADHD.

For someone who does, I can see how easily this would warp the perspective you have on everything else you do. Being picked apart by someone who hasn't been where you are in like 20+ years but still expects you to take their words as gospel? Confusing! Maybe feeling the inexplicable need to compare yourself to any published nonfiction you've read and loved, even though this isn't even nonfiction - and if it was, those writers have definitely been working in the genre longer than just goddamned now.

I think I've told a few people your age that this is the point where you kind of have to pick and choose how often you listen to the adults in your life. That feels irresponsible for me to say, but I do stand by it. When it comes to the transition between high school and college, most established adults are just crazy biased. Maybe because they raised you. Maybe because they're blinded by nostalgia and think that high school was the best part of their lives. Maybe they aren't familiar with the work you want to go into and what's needed to get a start in it. Or they could just straight up not understand how the college system works now.

It is such bullshit that you eventually have to craft a sense of internal intuition out of essentially nothing but it is a thing. It takes time, though. I won't pretend like you can make it happen immediately right now.

What matters is that you're okay. I promise you that - you're okay. Looking you straight in the eye, Bas, you're a good writer. Not "good for your age", I have read enough of your actual writing to know that you're pretty solid already. I've also read enough of your posts and had conversations with you to know for certain that if you wanted to pursue nonfiction you'd be pretty good at it right off the bat. This would be under the usual standards of a nonfiction writer, of course - meaning you get to pick the length, subject, and when you finish it.

You are in the unfortunate period of going through multiple transitions at once. It's hard enough to navigate the way relationships change when people decide (or struggle to process) how you're an "adult" now (also not really true in a lot of ways, but that's another ramble). But going so long under the assumption of having a Default Brain Experience and then realizing that all of the struggles you assumed were normal are actually an imbalance of chemicals is jarring.

It's treatable, yes. Once you get on a medication that helps with the dopamine everything is immeasurably easier, holy shit. But even then it's still painful at times because the difference is so palpable you sometimes stop and think why did it take so long for me to be able to have this? Why did no one see I was struggling? That was my experience, at least.

This is a crucial point in life where you have to be extra kind to yourself however you can. Once you get on stimulants, if you go that way, drink a lot of water and remember to eat (Some of them can make appetite wonky and I think they all dehydrate you). Be careful with caffeine because they do make you more sensitive to that. Maybe like just stop thinking about whether or not your writing is bad or doesn't work in certain ways because I am a Professional Writer and those kinds of thoughts have literally never been helpful to me. When they pop up in my brain I literally say "no" and force myself to think about something else.

Whether your writing is "good" is not an actual question. Is it coherent and does it contain a noticeable and unique voice? Yes. Is it what you want? I can't answer that, but if you say no the way to fix that is usually read more/write more/think more/share with other more.

Also does it read the way it should to other people? Stop it. Don't worry about that yet. You have to finish the damn thing or else it won't read any way to anyone. So much of writing is Second Draft You's problem.

Anyways that's all I have to say. My heart goes out to you for being pulled in so many directions. From my own experience it gets slightly easier once you submit the apps, but people do continue saying dumb nonsense until like midway into your first year in college. And if you end up leaving college for some reason or another people will keep occasionally saying dumb nonsense. But usually by then you're more equipped to ignore them.

You're going to be okay. You are an intelligent, insightful, artistically capable and deeply kind individual. Whether you share your thoughts and make your stories, true or not, through text or art or a mix of both, you have so much to offer. Just remember that.

Also I'm hungry. I've been writing this for a while and I didn't get any work done on the painting for my wife, but it's almost noon and I didn't have breakfast. There's an American Chinese place near here and they have pretty cheap lunch specials. Come on, get your stuff and let's take a break.

Mongolian beef yum yum.

[bonefall]

Oh I ADORE the idea of a Bumble/Star Flower dynamic. I always imagine Star Flower to have this sweet and soft exterior to her that allows her to manipulate Clear Sky, but is in actuality a cold, solemn, purpose-minded cat who takes no shit. Her geniunely taking interest in this sweetheart kitty who's full of confidence (and probably hates Clear Sky's guts as much as she does LMFAO) is so intriguing pleaaaaase tell me more ❤️

At the moment it's just sort of indulgence because I think their dynamic is interesting, so I haven't completely leaned onto it yet. I probably will though.

What I like a lot about them is that they're so different, yet so alike. They're both victims of their canon's misogyny, in opposite ways. It killed Bumble and prevented Star Flower from being what she could fully be.

In BB, Star Flower was the high priestess of One Eye, in one way, a daughter in others. He was violent and controlling. She was charming and capable. She did exactly what he wanted from her, and she enjoyed being his devotee. They loved each other like a parent and child, and for him, she would stay blind to the pain in the world.

Because she KNOWS that what she does hurts and kills people. Clear Sky isn't the first cat she's skilfully bled out slowly. But when her God is involved, this is not a terrified, screaming person on an altar. It's meat to be prepared for her beloved father.

And as long as she has One Eye to serve, she doesn't have to think about the humanity that is part of her new form. In a way, she's the same extinct medicinal flowers she used to be, before she took a shape as a mortal. She's his treatment. His bouquet. The flowers at a funeral.

And that's a kind of toxic dynamic, too, yknow. To love someone who merely offers you the simplicity of being their butcher.

How could she ever have prepared for his DEATH? To be SEPARATED from him? She is like an angel separated from her lord, whose one purpose has been destroyed.

And then she seduces Clear Sky, the treacherous beast who betrayed them. She'll bleed him like a goat, and be reunited with her father. And even more--

She'll offer it to Thunderstar, too! He understands her anger! Skystar is a snake who's bitten him as well. He will be grateful. There will be more who worship the warmth of the God of Summer, just like her.

But he rejects it, and you know why?Because he's had a toxic dad too.

Not one he loved like she did her own, but it gave him the clarity to realize that sacrificing Skystar HERE, after being backstabbed at his lowest point and suffering for hours, to bring a MONSTER back into the world, would just be revenge.

...and revenge is what Star Flower wants, too. She's hurt, but doesn't recognize that emotion.

(Still working out the climax of Thunderstar's Justice. I'm thinking that One Eye pops up, half-ressurected, and turns on Star Flower for his last sacrifice and Thunderstar saves her from that)

And after that, she can't go back to SkyClan. Of course.

When she speaks to Bumble for the first times, Star Flower is still threatening betrayals. Insisting, chuckling, that she's done Terrible Things and will do them again.

And Bumbs clocks immediately, "You're doing that to get a rise out of me and it won't work because no one would tease their secret evil scheme."

Bumble is going through a lot right now, actually. Thunderstar is getting good at speaking Parkmew on his own, now. Sparrow Heart, her daughter, betrayed her to join SkyClan in the pursuit of power. Her son Pebble Heart goes by Owl Eyes these days, and he's a big strong warrior who doesn't need her. It seems like no one needs her.

She talks a big game about her self-worth, but a lot of it is bluster and self-assurance. She'll insist she's the BEST AND COOLEST CAT THIS SIDE OF THE EVERYWHERE but she's hiding a LOT of guilt, none of it deserved.

I feel like Star Flower is fascinated by this. The dishonesty here. How Bumble presents herself as boisterous and over-confident, but hides a great sadness within it.

Ahh, Bumble wants a God to serve too, doesn't she? Everyone does. Is a Clan a sort of God to serve? ...yes, this is making sense.

For Bumble to Star Flower... she's brand new, an outsider just like she was once. A very strange one with strange humor, who exists at a time when her life is undergoing a lot of changes. She likes the way Star Flower is so interested in her. She enjoys showing her around the territory.

God, sometimes it just... it reminds her of Turtle Heart, you know? Before Tom came. When it was just them, and they were young and they were learning all these wonderful things together.

It never got better, really, losing her lover and her best friend. She's just been GO GO GOing for years, GO out of this Clan, GO get your kittens, GO open negotiations. It wasn't until NOW that she's really had time to process the loss of Turtle Heart.

And that's sort of where they are, now. There's not really an end in sight, they're just very involved and interested in each other. Not quite courting, but not NOT courting either. Sappho and her acquaintance lmao.

[blingblong55]

First love late spring- Ghost

This was written based on a request! So I hope you enjoy it :)

platonic or romantic relationship? ..I'll let ya decide on that.

F!reader (if you feel more comfortable with he or they pronouns please discard female mentions! I want you to feel as comfortable as anyone reading this! (I used as little as possible!!!))

You are the sunshine to the once cold-hearted lieutenant. Your voice as sweet as a spring melody. But lately this all has change, you started to shut your self down. Especially around him. To him you had consumed his body and soul. Your kind and warm heart, scrubbed his clean, leaving only Simon to be the victim of your jokes, laughter, and the open mind you had. Always accepting of every thing and any one. A bright soul, the soft ocean breeze, an angel living under starry nights, sunrise and sunsets, that is what you had become to this healing man.

Days ago, out of pure stress he had told you, your way of being annoyed him. He never meant it, but he hated when he heard your laughter from his office. "Just shut up r/n!" he told you, and your eyes watered. "But S-" you tried to talk but he shut you off. "its lieutenant to you and I mean it, it's getting on my nerves" he left you with his harsh words bruising you.

"oh.",you sadly let out.

-----

"c'mon love what's wrong?" his voice softened, his eyes looking for some kind of explanation, but you gave him nothing

"it's nothing lieutenant" your soft voice barely reaching him.

He had no clue what he had done, but it was clear you would shut down once he was near you.

Yesterday had become the second day you hadn't spoke to him. He missed you, on your favorite seat that he assigned as yours in his office. He heard soap and you laughing at something Gaz has said. Back then he thought you had just forgotten to go to his office, maybe because you had spent all day with the other men. But as soon as he walked in, your smile disappeared. He noticed how your body went stiff.

"lass, what's wrong?" soap asked once he noticed how your moods shifted. "Nothing" you replied

Later that day during training, he noticed how instead of working with him, like you always did, you chose Soap instead. He was forced to work with Roach. Soap would cracked jokes, that made you smile. And not once did you stare in his way.

Today was no different. You ate lunch with the team and once he arrived you somehow would finish your meal and leave. He tried to isolate you but it never worked.

That was until he spotted you alone. Perfect opportunity to catch up with you.

You were humming to a song on your earbuds. A smile plastered on your face. He knew that melody, you had been gushing to him about it non stop. A smile appeared on his lips.

"Y'know that rookie looks like butters from South Park" he attempted to make you smile. "yep" was all he got. He tugged at your arm, but you moved past him.

"Whatever I did, m'sorry. Just please talk to me" His pleaded, his voice filled with regret, brows furrowed. He walked with caution to his darling.

"if you want to tell me how much of a son of'a bitch I am go ahead, punch me, or just yell at me, but please do something" his hand now making way towards your side.

You stayed silent.

You fell so stupid, how can a friend, and a team mate make you feel so....little? His cold heart was easy to tame, but yours was easier to capture. But you weren't at blame, he simply told you how he had felt that day.

----

Simon was a wildflower bouquet, a simple guitar strum on sunny spring evenings, but Ghost was a black cat, black coffee. and black smoke to once pink lungs.

All you wanted to do was tell jokes and stories, but it was clear to you he disliked it. All of you, anything you ever displayed to him. He disliked it. (according to you of course)

He had no idea how much you wanted to give him surprise hugs, throw paper planes at him while he filed papers, sing until his ear bled, but most\t importantly how much you longed for your Simon.

You wanted to show him pictures of your dogs and animals and share stories of your farm back home. He had no idea that he was the spark and you the match. You never figured you'd be here; standing as if the light at the end of the tunnel felt further from you.

When you first arrived at base, you were shy and very quiet.

Ghost encouraged r/n to get out of that quiet shell she sat in. "Anytime you feel little in this base or anywhere, I'll be there. Doin' something so others don't notice how nervous you get" His kind words lived with her anytime she had to speak up.

On days you trained rookies, he'd be outside. And from a window you'd see him give you a thumbs up. On a few occasions he'd mispronounce words so other would laugh at him.

So how could you not shut down, when the only man to ever encourage that loud, happy, and joyous soul of yours to dance in every shadow all of the sudden make you feel insignificant?

A/N: I'm not sure if ya liked this but I hope you enjoyed this somewhat ok writing. take care

Tags: @g4y-gr3ml1n

Request are open!

Pt. 2

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 35: it could be us (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list 1-30 - M.list 30-60 - Ao3

A/N: I'm at back and body hurts does anyone want anything

Summary: Every stray cat belonging to the Nishinoyas makes its way home.

Warnings and tags: implied self harm

Word count: ~4800

7. Confront the problem directly

Something feels wrong about wearing Noya's clothes now. You weren't given much choice—the other option was to stay in your soaked uniform, dripping water on his floor, and ignore the fact that your shirt was white and Noya would be unable to stop staring at your chest the entire time.

Needless to say, you both need the ability to focus.

So, his shirt and a pair of his shorts it is. That, and a towel draped over your head, covering your still-wet hair.

"You know, Kaede probably wouldn't mind you borrowing the hair dryer," he says when he sees you. He's set up on the couch, tucked into the corner to wait for you. "I don't think she'd care at all."

"Normally, maybe, but, I mean…" You shift on your feet a little, eyes scanning the room. "Where're the babies?"

He nods to the kitchen. "Eating. Not sure how old the little one is, but I gave them both wet food to be safe."

You sigh. "Probably too young for adult kibble, at any rate. Young enough that I'm not sure he'd have made it through the rain without her."

"Or without you." He nods. Pats the couch beside him. He's got the first aid kit now, and you immediately understand what he's asking for. "Come on, sit. Let's take a look."

"It's fine," you protest weakly, hiding your arm behind your back. "It's just a scrape."

"Please, [name]-san."

The scrape in question happens to stretch the length of your forearm. You don't have a good excuse—a tree climbed, a branch not quite willing to hold your weight, just the wrong movement on the way down. You'd ignored it as long as you could, planning to clean it yourself once you returned Soba home, once you'd figured out what to do with the baby. You can handle a little scrape. It barely even bled.

But here's Noya, looking at you, pleading to let him take a look, and you find that you don't have the heart to fight him on this.

So you sit down. You hold out your arm. You let Noya take your hand and reach for the first aid kit. "How did this happen?" he murmurs.

He's so quiet. The wrong kind of quiet.

"They were on the back porch of this house for sale, a few streets over. The gate was stuck from my side, but there was a tree over the wall, so I just climbed it and figured I could get the gate open from inside."

"And…?"

He dabs at the scrape with disinfectant. You hiss, clenching a fist. "And I was right. I just sort of wasn't all that graceful on the dismount."

"You could've been seriously hurt."

"Why do you care? You're fine with danger and risk and all that when it comes to literally anyone else. Encourage it, even."

"I think you know why." He pauses, brushing a thumb over an older injury—one of the little cuts you've accrued over the week. "What happened here?"

There's nine of these little injuries—mostly small cuts, but there's a burn or two in the mix. Together, you'll admit that they look pretty bad.

"Accident." Your voice is quiet, and now you're not convinced, yourself.

They were, though. They were all accidents.

"You accidentally shredded your hands?"

"First cooking lesson: don't use a knife when you're distracted."

He gently turns your wrist, inspects the injuries. "That's a lot of distractions."

"I've had a lot on my mind."

Silence. Unbearable silence. He sets aside the first aid kit, grabs a blanket off the neighboring armchair. Slings it over your shoulders and bundles you up casually, like it's nothing, like there isn't a suffocating, tangible mistake floating in the space between you.

"I'm not with him to spite you, by the way!" you blurt when it becomes too much. "I didn't—none of this was to spite you. Or hurt you. Or test you, or—or anything like that. I want you to know that."

"So why are you?" He won't meet your eyes. He's focused on the first aid kit, on painstakingly organizing the small stack of hand wipes. He closes it with a snap.

You hesitate for too long. "I… I don't really know. He asked and I guess I was having one of the worst days and then, the next thing I knew, I was texting the girls and trying to figure out what the hell I'd done."

He stares at his lap now. You watch his fists clench, unclench, clench again. Slow and rhythmic, like deep breathing. "A bad day. Because of me?"

"A… a little because of you. I don't like fighting with you. I miss my best friend."

"Was something else going on?"

Your lower lip wobbles. He'd be hugging you right now. If things were different, he wouldn't even have hesitated to sweep you into his arms, to let you fall apart into him. You need that right now. You hate how much you need it, how much desperation wells up for his touch, his reassurance, any indication that he still likes you. You don't close the gap. Neither does he.

"Otoo-san wants to start dating again," you whisper. "I don't want to tell him not to. It's not fair to him. I don't want him to replace Okaa-san."

You pretend that the hurt is from thinking about your dad, about your mom. You pretend it has nothing to do with the fact that he didn't say I miss you too.

"Oh, [name]-san," he breathes in a hush. It's insane how good he is at showing sympathy without making your stomach churn. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," you reply instinctively. "I… I'm sorry. About… about Asuka-san."

"You could make it better. You could break up with him, right now. Hell, got his number? Give me your phone and I'll do it for you."

"That's…"

You could. It'd be easy. Things would be fixed, and—and you'd be Noya's. You'd be his to shatter, his to break. His to leave mourning when he inevitably—

"That's not really fair of you to ask me," you manage through your closing throat.

"Not fair—no, you know what's not fair? What's not fair is you just—spending months cuddling up to me and making me think I had a chance just to meet a guy and start dating him a week later when you don't even like him! That's what's not fair!"

His voice is raising. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. "It wasn't—I told you it didn't—"

"If you seriously thought that was platonic, I don't know what to say to you, [name]-san. I really don't. Next you're gonna tell me that asking to hold me while I cried was just you being a good friend."

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

"Like, yeah. I probably would've stayed to help you out no matter what. But I didn't let you sleep in my bed and in my clothes for a month because your head hurt. I did that because I like you, and I wanted to hold you, and I wanted to comfort you, and you seemed happy when I held you. Don't you get that? I like you."

Tears slip down your cheeks. "Y-you don't even—"

"If you try to tell me I don't even know you at this point, I'm gonna scream."

You don't finish that sentence.

"I know you, [name]-san. Sure, when we met, you were right to say that I didn't really know much about you. All I knew was that you were drop-dead gorgeous and that you looked kinda sad and lonely but that I could get you to laugh and it made me feel like I understood everything when you did. But—please look at me—that's not true now."

When you look up, he's leaned in close, close enough that you're looking directly into his eyes. You try to turn away, squeeze your eyes shut, but he brings a hand up to cup your jawline, tilts you until you know that, if you open your eyes, you'll be forced to see him. Forced to meet those eyes, sharp and intense and so terribly honest. Forced to admit that he's not lying to you.

"I know you," he repeats. "I know who you are. I know how you work. I know that you like to cook, but only when other people are going to eat it. I know that you don't think you're worth the effort of cooking for yourself. I know that you only make an effort for yourself if you think other people will say something about it if you don't. I know that you're always a little jealous of other girls having shit like lip gloss or those little phone charms, and that you're probably never gonna ask your dad for any of 'em 'cuz you feel bad, so you pretend not to give a shit instead. That you love your dad just as much as you hate him and you always feel like you're reacting to him the wrong way. That your mom liked citrus, so you're always leaving lemons and oranges for her.

"That you freeze up when other people touch you. That you relax when you realize it's me. That you act all cool and detached until you get sleepy, and then you get really cuddly and affectionate. You don't know what you want to do with your life, but you're really smart and really good at reading people. You'd make an amazing teacher or, like, a therapist or something. You think if you let your grades drop, something horrible's gonna happen to someone you care about. You like it when cats have socks and dogs have eyebrows. You're bisexual, but the fact that you liked men was a surprise. You've definitely already thought of the absolute worst joke name for the kitten you brought home with my cat, who you're going to tell me you rescued out of like, obligation or karma or some shit instead of just admitting that you were worried.

"You won't let anyone think you're kind. Almost everything you do is for everyone else. And you're scared, you're absolutely terrified of the fact that you could be happy with me, because you don't know how to accept that it might end someday and you can't trust me to stay. And that's how we got here. Isn't it?"

Where his hand sits, it catches every tear that slips down your cheek. They redirect along his palm, run down in a little rivulet until it reaches his wrist. If he shifted, just a little, if he let his pinkie drift down a centimeter or so, he could probably feel your pulse in your neck, your heart thrumming where it's leapt into your throat and made its new home.

"Please open your eyes."

You try to tell him you can't, that if you open your eyes right now, it'll all fall apart, somehow. When you open your mouth, the only thing that comes out is a whimper, high-pitched and awful.

He sighs. You feel his weight shift, feel his lips press softly against your forehead. Your whimper breaks into a sob.

"I know you," he repeats. He settles back down, rests his forehead against your own. "Don't try to tell me I don't know what I'm doing when I say I like you. Don't try to tell me I don't like you. I'm choosing you because I know you, and I'm going to keep choosing you because I know you. I'm looking at you doing this shit and running around with a guy who I know is gonna hurt you and I'm choosing you. That's what you want, isn't it? Someone who loves you anyway."

It's too much. He's too close. Too everything. You need to get away. Run. Transfer schools and never see him again.

You can't move. Can't run. Can barely speak when you try, awful hiccups interrupting you. "He can't—he can't hurt me the way that—that you can. It won't stick, he won't—I-I can't—I—"

The only noise between you for a moment is your sobs—you try your best to hold them back, but it just makes them louder, pitching wildly like you're a child. You struggle to breathe between them, gasp for air.

I'm scared, you want to tell him. You like me so much it scares me. I don't understand you. I don't understand why you're choosing me. I don't understand why you would ever like me. I don't understand why you're still here. I don't understand why you won't leave.

"Fine," he says. "C'mere."

You manage to peek, manage to glimpse him through your tears. He's sitting back, arms open. Without question, you launch yourself at him, straddle his lap so you can comfortably bury your face in his neck as you cry. He accepts it, accepts you, without complaint, wraps you up in his arms, lets your body meld into his.

"I cheated a little," he admits, murmured into your hair. "Kiyoko-san and Yachi-san talked to me after you left earlier. I know how scared you are. I know you told them you couldn't take it if you lost me."

Later, you'll momentarily think of them as traitors, have a passing surge of irritation that slips away just as fast. Consider confronting them for meddling. Privately, you might be grateful. Right now, though, you sigh into his hold, let him shuffle you around so he can get his arms underneath your blanket. Let his scent and his presence surround you.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm pissed at you for this. All of it. I'm trying to understand that you're scared, but it hurts. But… I'm gonna hold you to your word, okay? If you need time to accept how I feel, and accept that this is worth the ending, and accept that you deserve to be happy now… I can wait. I could probably stand to be a little more patient, anyway."

"Not—not ready," you choke out. "Not yet."

"That's okay." You swear his lips brush the side of your head again. "But I'm not giving up on you or on our bet, and as long as you're with him, I'm gonna make that shitty boyfriend of yours fucking hate me."

You're not sure if the noise that leaves you is a sob or a laugh.

"Can you just promise me something?"

You nod. Anything. You'll promise him anything.

"Just stay where I can love you, alright? I'll handle the rest."

You nearly break all over again—he just had to say love—but manage a nod, a whispered promise.

(This is probably cheating.)

(You can't bring yourself to care.)

You aren't sure how long the two of you sit that way. At some point, your knees ache too much to stay tangled up exactly the same way, so you take a moment to shift, to wrap your legs around his waist and take some of the pressure off. At some point, Soba carries a complaining kitten into the room, drops him right on top of your thigh. He learns quickly that you're both a source of warmth, and ends up wedging his way into the space where your stomach presses against Noya's. Soba leaps up onto the back of the couch, right where you can shift one hand to pet her idly.

"I can't keep the baby," you mumble, when the tears have subsided enough to let you speak. "Otoo-san's been making an effort, but I can't trust him to keep a litter box clean or feed the baby properly whenever I'm away for club stuff. It'd be stupid of me to get attached, so—"

"So what name did your beautiful brain come up with?"

A wet laugh escapes you. "Tsuyu. Like—like Mentsuyu. And because it's raining so hard."

He laughs fondly. "It's September, though."⁵⁰

"I guess it is." You pause. "Please don't ever stop talking to me like that again."

"Sorry. It wasn't about you."

"What was it about, then?"

"Your new boyfriend's an asshole, and it pissed me off too much to apologize for trying to protect you, but you deserved—deserve an apology."

"So you did know you were in the wrong."

"Yeah. Just too mad to do anything about it. Couldn't stop thinking about Sato."

"It's okay. I should have told Asuka-san to fuck off when he interrupted. Like I didn't know you were going through hell."

"You could still—" He cuts himself off. "Sorry."

"I'm not ready," you repeat. "But if there's something I can do for you, without that…"

"I'll think of something. Maybe you could teach me to cook."

You snort, about to come up with a retort when a thought occurs to you. "Did you tell your sisters Soba's home? Last I heard, they were out looking for her."

He swears. "Can you get my phone out of my pocket? I'll call them."

It takes some effort, but you manage to wriggle Noya's phone out of his pocket where it's been pressed between you. He thanks you, dials one of their numbers. Puts it on speaker.

"Yuu, are you out looking for—" Mei's voice starts.

"Soba's home," he interrupts. "Sorry, I should have called earlier—[name]-san found her and brought her back."

"Are you kidding? We've been running around in the rain for—" Oh, good. Satsuki and Mei are together.

"Satsuki," Mei interrupts. "What's important is that she's home. Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She was a little hungry and got a little rained on, but they've been fed and dried off."

"They?"

"Oh, yeah. Soba was—[name]-san, you said she wouldn't let go of the baby, right?"

You nod. Mumble a little. "When I tried to take Soba without the kitten, she tried to scratch me and yelled a bunch. I had to take 'em both."

"So Soba adopted a kitten."

"How long ago was this? Have you been letting us die in the rain this whole time?"

"Sorry. We, uh, we needed to talk, and I got distracted and forgot to call."

"Unbelievable!" Satsuki's voice gets farther away. "At least tell me she's breaking up with the little baseball cuck now that you've talked."

"I can only hope," he says. You feel him looking at you and press your face into him further.

"Important—what's the kitten look like?" Mei asks.

You feel Noya shift. You're vaguely aware he's taking a picture of the kitten, who's insistently purring into your side. After a moment, he speaks. "Sent a picture."

Silence. "Is that [name]-chan on your lap with the kitten?"

"Emotional conversation."

"Don't imagine she's willing to cook for us again."

You shake your head. "No energy left."

"I dunno if you heard that, but she's exhausted."

"How about you go get takeout for everyone to make up for the fact that you just let us keep looking for a cat who is safe at home without telling anyone?"

"I will if you both tell me what you want and think of arguments to convince Okaa-san to keep the kitten. [name]-san, you're staying for dinner, right?"

Like he's giving you a choice. A wordless nod is your answer, a fond little huff.

"[name]-san's staying. I'll recruit her into helping me carry it."

You listen to them talk for a while—Mei and Satsuki settle on Yoshinoya, you rattle off the menu for them mindlessly. Keep track of orders while Noya calls Kaede and Rina and Jii-chan, the latter of whom is apparently out on a date. It's good news down the board until you have to actually go pick up food, which means untangling from Noya. That, and being seen in his oversized t-shirt and the shorts you've borrowed.

"Lemme at least borrow a jacket," you grumble as you finally, finally untangle from him. "I still feel all cold and my hair's still damp. I probably look like hell."

"You're beautiful," he replies automatically. At your unimpressed look, he adds: "but you'd be prettier in one of my hoodies. C'mon, let's find you something and then go get food."

So you borrow a hoodie. You walk with him, not even needing to think about the route. You huddle under one umbrella and pretend there's no connotations there. You let the Nishinoya family feed you dinner once again.

"You should stay tonight," Noya says while you wait for food, his hands in his pockets. "You're tired, and I missed you."

"Senpai, you know I can't."

"I don't think I do know that." He tilts his head. "Because of Asuka?"

You don't need to answer that one.

"Yachi-san and Kiyoko-san said that you don't even like him."

"I don't, but… I mean, I feel like I should try to. He was sorta a friend, you know? At the very least, I should break up with him in person, so… not tonight. I'm sorry."

He sighs. Stares at you a moment, obviously ready to say something. He doesn't need to—you already know what's coming.

"I'll give him one shot. Just to be fair," you promise. "And in the meantime, I'm not gonna talk to you about him unless you actually want me to. Is that… I mean, is that okay?"

He doesn't look very okay with it, but he also doesn't protest. "If you make it up to me."

"How?"

Your name's called—the cook, who's worked here longer than you remember, recognizes you by now, assumed the order was yours instead of Noya's. Passes over the bags with a familiar smile. "Lots of food for you today, [name]-chan. Feeding some friends?"

You bring out your best people-pleasing laugh. "Yeah, I'm just helping carry. I didn't even have to convince anyone."

"You haven't been around much recently. You gotta come back! I remember when you were a kid, swear we saw you in here every week with your parents."

Your smile tightens. "Yeah, it got a little rough for a while. I'll try to come in more, okay?"

You bid him farewell, split the bags with Noya on your way out.

"I didn't know you were a regular here," he says, tilting the umbrella your way.

Another laugh, more nervous than the one you'd given the cook. "Kinda. I haven't been coming as much since Okaa-san, but I guess they still remember me."

"I swear he saw you and started making your order immediately." He glances at the receipt. "I think we got a discount, too."

"Regular privileges."

He hums. "I'm starting to notice a pattern here. Karaage today, and I'm pretty sure you requested it back when you got the concussion. Is that one of your favorites?"

You shrug. "It's a comfort food, I guess. In case you somehow haven't figured it out, I've always been a little gloomy. A lot of the times when Otoo-san or Okaa-san took me out, it was because I was upset over something or another, so I guess karaage just became the food that makes me feel better. Like… like I'm loved, I guess? No, that sounds stupid—"

"Teach me to make it."

You blink slowly. "Huh?"

"You were gonna teach me to cook, right? And you wanted me to come up with something I wanted to learn to make to start with, something about interest. I wanna learn to make karaage. You can do that to make up for giving Baseball Jackass a shot."

"I mean—sure, but—" How to put this? "I… I've never made karaage."

"Never?" He looks aghast.

"I can buy it a fifteen minute walk from my house! They know me!"

"Okay, now we have to learn to make it together. I'm gonna learn to make your sad-day food, and you're gonna also learn how to make your sad-day food."

A sigh. "Your mom did slip me extra chicken I wasn't gonna spring for. We can use that."

"That's a yes?"

"Yes," you reply with a roll of your eyes. "We'll start with karaage and then move on from there."

Over dinner with the family, the debate over the cat—and cat names—begins. You politely and silently bow out—you have no right to name the new kitten or demand that Rina agree to keep it. Besides, most of their focus tonight is on convincing Rina to keep him at all.

No one's outright rude to you, but you catch a little side-eye from Satsuki once or twice. It dissipates over the course of the night—either she loses her interest or decides you're fine, one of the two. Somehow, you think she's just distracted. At the end of the night, you walk home in Noya's clothes, yours still damp and thrown into a random plastic bag for transport.

(That night, in your absence, Noya turns to the next page in the journal and titles it, times I held back. He fills it quickly with the events of the past week or two—every time you showed up to practice and he would've normally greeted you with a proposal, every time he thought you seemed upset and didn't send a Soba to boost your mood. Staring at you standing in the genkan and coaxing Soba and someone else out of the bag in a gentle voice, unaware, it seemed, of the fact that your shirt had soaked through, that your bra was fully visible from the rain. You climbing into his lap, snuggling into him as you cried. Saying you missed him, like he was supposed to not say "marry me, then" in reply. He leaves space at the bottom—he suspects he'll hold back a little bit more, until you've left the jackass, until you're free again.)

That night, when you get out of the shower, you check your phone and find a text. Who else would it be from, if not Noya?

Noya to [name] at 20:48

Noya: [Two images attached. The first is of the kitten, curled up on top of a half-clothed thigh. In the background, it appears that two bodies are pressed to one another in something like a hug. The second image appears to be a zoomed-out version of the first photo, showing you wrapped up in Noya's lap, his shorts riding up your thigh where the kitten is perched. Your face isn't visible, but one of your hands is outstretched to pet Soba, who loafs on the back of the couch behind Noya. Noya steadies you with the arm not holding the camera, and his expression is gentle, soft. The kind he doesn't show around anyone else you know of.]

Noya: this could be us but my favorite cat wouldn't stay the night

Noya: the kitten's going to the vet tomorrow btw. I think we sold okaa-san on him

You roll your eyes, do your best to ignore the comment calling you a cat, as though you're anything like a cat. You might've texted back, but you need to breathe, to process, to think through everything that happened today. Later, addled by lack of sleep and somehow too wired to try to rectify it, you find yourself staring at the second picture.

It could be us.

You get halfway to setting the picture as your homescreen before you consider the consequences if literally anyone else saw that picture. You settle, instead, for a picture you took of Soba and Tsuyu earlier, curled up on the porch where you'd found them, and find yourself navigating back to the picture from before, staring at it in the darkness of your bedroom.

Deep between the day's exhaustion, the wrung-out way you feel thinking about Noya's speech, the panic seeding itself at the thought of dealing with Asuka, the overwhelm at wondering how to fix things with everyone who probably now hates you from this whole episode, there's a warmth budding. Horrifically, you realize that you feel the way Noya looks in that picture.

Like you're in love.

~

[name] to Fukurodani Group Managers!!! at 1:23

[name]: I'm gonna marry him.

~

(Times he's held back: 14)

50. Mentsuyu (麵つゆ), or just tsuyu (つゆ), is the soup base used in soba dishes. "Tsuyu" (梅雨) is one of many words for rain. As I understand it, 梅雨 specifically refers to the rain that falls during the rainy season in early summer. No relation to the BNHA character of the same name.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[mothervonmayhem]

Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

*******************************************************************

Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

[kultklassickiller]

Turning Tables a novela (2)

Summary: Janessa Davis lives for the drama—and she’s got a front-row seat to the wildest show on Earth: professional wrestling. As a reporter, content creator, and certified shit-stirrer, she’s earned a reputation for being the backstage wildflower everyone loves to hate (or secretly loves to love). Most of the roster can’t resist her probing questions and chaotic charm.

But the Bloodline 2.0? Oh, honey, they’d rather suplex her into next week than entertain her antics. Insults? Check. Threats? Double check. A few creative “Yo Mama” jokes? Let’s just say tensions are high, and Janessa isn’t exactly making friends.

She should probably quit while she’s ahead—but where’s the fun in that? Janessa loves playing cat-and-mouse, especially when she’s convinced she’s the cat. But someone in their camp knows the truth: she’s no predator. She’s the prey. And the Bloodline? They’re sharpening their claws.

There’s one man who might save her neck… or hang her out to dry. His loyalty is as questionable as Janessa’s filter, but he knows how far the others are willing to go to make her disappear. The real question is: how far is he willing to go to keep her alive—or keep his secrets hidden?

In a world where every feud blurs the line between fantasy and reality, Janessa’s about to learn the hard way: when the lights go out and the crowd goes home, the real monsters come out to play.

Pairing: Tonga Loa x Janessa (Nessa) Davis (OC)

Author’s Note: This begins right after the Bloodline 2.0 loses War Games ’24. I envision this happening over a certain period of time only focusing on major turning points, past and future. This is AU so it follows the timeline and certain events but not really.

Additional parts may be added..

Warning: None.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter Two: Lines in the Sand

Three weeks later, the Bloodline 2.0 was splintering at the seams.

The group that had once dominated the wrestling world with brutal efficiency now felt like a shadow of its former self. The loss at War Games had been the catalyst, but the real damage was happening behind the scenes. Injuries to key players had only compounded the issue. Bronson Reed’s broken foot kept him sidelined; a hulking presence relegated to the occasional crutch-supported appearance. Tonga Loa’s torn bicep had him out of action as well, though he stubbornly stayed ringside, refusing to fade into the background. The physical toll was undeniable, but the fractures within their unity were far worse.

Janessa sat perched on a production crate backstage, her phone glowing in her hand. She’d just uploaded a cryptic tweet about the Bloodline’s latest match, a bitter, hard-fought victory over a mid-card tag team that barely managed to save face. The comments were already flooding in—half amused by the team’s struggles, half viciously loyal fans defending their fall from grace.

She smirked, but it felt hollow. Chaos was her favorite kind of content, but this? This was personal. Watching them unravel struck a nerve she hadn’t expected.

A burst of angry voices from down the hall caught her attention. She slid off the crate, pocketing her phone as she moved closer, keeping to the shadows. Tama Tonga and Solo Sikoa were nose-to-nose, their argument growing louder by the second.

“You call that leadership?” Tama’s voice was venomous, his fists clenched at his sides. “We’re falling apart, Solo. You don’t see it?”

“You think you can do better?” Solo shot back, his voice like a low growl. “Last I checked, you were just as responsible for War Games as the rest of us.”

“At least I didn’t stand there playing king while the rest of us bled!” Tama’s words hit like a slap, and Solo’s expression darkened.

“Watch your mouth,” Solo warned, stepping closer. “You forget who made this team what it is.”

“What it was,” Tama corrected, his voice cutting. “We’re not the Bloodline anymore. We’re just… leftovers.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Janessa thought Solo might actually swing at him. But instead, he turned on his heel and stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tama exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He muttered something under his breath and started to walk in the opposite direction. Janessa stepped back into the shadows, her heart racing. She’d seen them argue before, but this felt different. The cracks were widening, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down.

Her pulse quickened when she realized just how much she wanted to see it happen.

“Enjoying the show?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Jacob leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His piercing gaze pinned her in place.

“It’s hard to look away,” she said with a smirk, though her chest tightened under his scrutiny.

“You’ve got a real knack for showing up where you’re not wanted,” he said, his tone almost conversational. But there was an edge to it, a warning beneath the surface.

“Just doing my job,” she replied lightly.

Jacob pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Your job’s gonna get you hurt one of these days.”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No. It’s a fact.” He looked her up and down, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the corridor.

Janessa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out, her lips curving into a smile at the name on the screen.

Tonga Loa

She answered quickly, her voice softening. “Hey.”

“You alright?” His voice was rough, but there was a warmth to it that eased some of the tension in her chest.

“I’m fine. Just… watching the fireworks.”

He sighed, and she could hear the weariness in it. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Worse than bad. Solo and Tama nearly came to blows just now. And Jacob… well, he’s got his own way of making people feel welcome.”

“Stay away from Jacob,” Tonga said quickly. “He doesn’t play games like the rest of us.”

“I can handle myself,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual bravado.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “You shouldn’t be here, Nessa. Not tonight.”

“And miss all this?” she teased, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Come on. You know me better than that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said softly. “This thing we’re doing… it’s dangerous. For both of us.”

She swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the phone. “You having second thoughts?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Never. But I need you to be careful. Promise me that.”

She hesitated, then nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I promise.”

“Good. I’ll call you later.”

The line went dead, and Janessa stood there for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. The Bloodline 2.0 was unraveling, and she was caught in the middle of it all. She’d always loved the thrill of the game, but for the first time, she wondered if she’d gone too far.

Still, she couldn’t walk away. Not yet. The story wasn’t finished—and neither was she.

[novankenn]

Saints of the Sword (v1-6)

(I am going to very BLUNT with this statement, even though it seems like it... THIS IS NOT an everyone betrays Jaune fic. There is much more going on including Jaune's own low sense of self-worth.)

The pair walked in silence. Neither saying a word to the other as Professor Goodwitch lead her once student and the former bully of Beacon’s first years towards the accommodations that had been arranged for him and his company. She was impressed with the young man. He carried himself well, and the air of contempt he used to surround himself with was gone. In all outwards appearances, Cardin Winchester was a changed young man. Which begged the question as to why.

“Mr Winchester, if I may?” Professor Goodwitch had heard everything Cardin had told the Headmaster, but she still wasn’t completely satisfied with his answers. Outward appearances can be very deceiving. “Why have you changed so much?”

“Professor?” Cardin paused in their journey to face the older woman. “What do you mean?”

“By all appearances you are no longer the brash, arrogant and deceitful young man who was once my student.” Glynda Goodwitch paused for a moment and gave the young man a minute to consider her words before speaking further. “I heard what you told the headmaster, and while I feel that is a partial reason… it is not the full one. Am I correct?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Mr Winchester, Cardin… I only wish to understand the dynamic between you, Mr Arc and your companions.” Glynda gave Cardin a soft smile. “I do apologize if I have over stepped, I was just curious.”

“To be honest, the training we did with the Rough Necks beat a lot of that bullshit out of us…”

“But?”

“Of course you would know there was more.”

“I do pride myself on being observant.” Glynda sighed as she noticed the tense stance Cardin was now in. “But if it is bringing up memories that you do not feel comfortable sharing…”

“Her name was Elise…”

“Pardon?”

“She was a new recruit, like we were. A cat faunus… her trait was her tail…” Cardin gained a far away look in his eyes.

“Cardin?” Gynda reached out and gave him a gentle shake by the shoulder. “Are you… okay?”

“Just memories.”

“She died, didn’t she?”

“Yes… she bled out in my arms.” Cardin swallowed and took a deep breath. “She took a hit for me… pushed me out of the way of a boartusk, and was gored because of it…”

“I’m sorry, to make you relive…”

“It broke Jaune. She and her were close friends, much closer than me and her… but that she did that to save me… stuck with me… her last words were she was glad I was safe.” Glynda could see the wetness starting to rim Cardin’s eyes.

“We’re… we’re almost at your accommodations.” Glynda offered him an out from his memories. “As you are not students you will not be expected to take part in classes, though if you wish you are welcome to attend.”

“We may do just that after we’ve rested some.”

The pair returned to their journey in silence, and for the next ten or so minutes not a sound or word passed between them. As they closed upon Cardin’s final destination for the night, Professor Goodwitch prepared to bid a farewell… until a hideous soul rending screaming burst through the air. Professor Goodwitch was shocked by the painful, primal sound, Cardin however wasn’t. 

“Shit!” he swore as he dashed forward, as dorm room doors opened, expelling the entirety of Cardin’s company. “Jeanne!”

“In here!” Jeanne yelled back as she started pounding on the door across the hall. ”Joan open up! Joan!” 

“Etienne! Guy!” Cardin shouted as he closed the distance. Still in shock at the sudden visceral nature of the screams, Glynda was unable to step in as two of the larger members of Cardin’s crew moved into position and drove their shoulders into the door.

Now, Beacon’s dorm doors were made to be stern stuff. Engineered to be resistant to accidental discharges of ammunition, sudden firs, and unexpected semblance activations. All of Beacon’s buildings were, in fact, engineered to be rather resilient… but no one told Etienne or Guy that. The pair were jarred by the impact with the door, and stumbled back, gripping their shoulders in pain.

“Wait! Use this!” Glynda shouted once she regained a semblance of focus to understand what was going on. She pulled out her scroll, activated the staff emergency code and tossed it to Cardin. “Wave it over the lock!”

With that simple motion, the door swung inwards…

/== Table of Contents ==/

[kankuroplease]

good night 😊, do you have some ideas in mind for little hcs about the wives of the uchiha brothers (their characters, strong point, weak point, would they want a children?)and what do they think of their husbands?

Most are ready for the dive, but there are expectations

Mate

Mate is a little powerhouse and extremely skilled with her weather manipulation. Able to pinpoint targets precisely with lightning, summon gale force winds, bring about thick fog, and torrential downpours that could flood a village easily

Although she only uses it to help others, it can just as easily be used to harm or destroy

She’s a kindhearted person that loves the simpler things in life and has great knowledge about plant husbandry

Unfortunately for her, she’s just very trusting/unaware and has her abilities to thank for saving herself from otherwise dangerous situations (dull, as Izuna would put it)

Growing up with such a close knitted clan, she’s found it hard to adapt to being on her own

Often looking for new people to befriend and rebuild her community

Her dream life is settling down with a sweet man, working the land, and if that leads to children, great!

As for marrying Izuna;

It was hypocritical! When she said she’d marry any son Sumi had if they were available because there’s no way he wouldn’t be the perfect husband

she didn’t think Sumi would ACTUALLY take her seriously or that Sumi was of such a high level

She always dreamed of marriage and what Sumi was offering, sounded really nice (handsome husband, a bigger home, plenty to eat, etc..), how bad can it be to at least meet the guy?

Pretty bad actually

Izuna barely looked at her and had a backhanded insult ready for practically everything she said

“Sweet boy” was a stretch of the imagination on Sumi’s part

He is handsome and strong, so she wasn’t lying about that

She assumed that was that and genuinely was shocked when Sumi sent for her and her stuff to be gathered and brought back to the Uchiha compound

Things are moving a bit fast for her usual take it easy approach to things and she’s unsure of what to do 🥲

She really doesn’t understand why they’re proceeding at all. Did they miss their constant bickering?

On one hand, she’d be marrying into a community (which she’d love) and be taken care of financially, but on the other hand

She’s convinced he hates her

And she is willing to give him an actual reason to

He’s got cute cats he’s very attached to and she thinks that making them like her more than him will be the perfect lesson for his rudeness before she vanishes

Wakaba

She is a decent when it comes to her Jutsus and awaken her sharingan when she lost her little brother

quite the troublemaker and always had been known as such in their clan for years

Doing whatever she wanted, when she wanted

Which is precisely why she set her sights on Tenko despite him being her friend’s older brother

He was good looking, funny, well accomplished, and she genuinely liked and wanted him. So she went for it

Flirting quickly lead to the two hooking up regularly

She was embarrassed when Sumi sat her asked to see her abdomen and when the last time she bled was

The pregnancy would be completely unexpected as she thought she was taking the medicine to prevent one properly

To her surprise, Tenko was very much happy about the pregnancy and the possibility of their marriage, if she’d have him

She would end up living as house wife and very much would love her husband who would spoil her rotten

HOWEVER, she would be a a little worried about his apparent pregnancy kink as he would seem even more turned on than usual and rarely keep his hands to himself

Yaya

She’s rather weak in terms of fighting and Jutsus outside of fire release

But she still tries to not let Ringo and Wakaba down. They’re a team after all

She doesn’t have great self esteem and talks negatively about herself in a joking manner (but she means it)

She knows of Inari as a healer and as one of Ringo’s older brothers, but she doesn’t KNOW him

So when she overheard Madara and Sumi talking to her parents about this marriage deal, she panicked

She’s very plain in her own opinion and just by birth, he has a lot of opinions

He’s very attractive, but his whole family is in her opinion

And she would turn super red when she’s forced to admit that that’s why she couldn’t really look at him and not because of his scar/missing eye

She loves how kind and patient he is with her

She would enjoy talking with him and learning a bit about medicine

And be extremely flattered when he tells her she’s his ideal type in both personality and physical

She is worried that he’ll change his mind on her

Over all, she feels very lucky and beautiful for the first time in her life

Gin

Gin has operated as a secret weapon for the Uchiha along with her father during the wars

Absorbing his dry personality; she seems uninterested life beyond serving the Uchiha and doesn’t speak how people assume a woman should

Aka she’s rough and vulgar in her speech sometimes

Despite that, she can be sweet and thoughtful while still looking like this 😐

As for children, she barely remembers her birth parents, but she’s sure her mother loved her. Her Uchiha father that found her clutched in her dying mothers arms swore to take care of her like she was his own and he has

So she has a fond view on becoming a parent. To grow a life or to take care of one that’s already here, she would be happy doing either or both

She is not disappointed with her match

She feels honored

Kota is a lot of bark, but most Uchiha men are

She would try her best to get on his good side early on in the engagement as her father would remind her that this union would be good for the clan

Making sure to great him and try to spend time with him

bit surprised he’s not… experienced. What was he doing at those brothels?

Oh well, that’s an easy fix as Kota is rather good at following instructions and melts with praise

She would want to try for a baby right away after they’re married. He’s older than Tenko and Tenko has already beaten him to fatherhood

[kasienda]

Rena Rouge: Secret Keeper - Ch 2: Alya

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Read on Ao3

Chapter 2: Alya

Alya waited by her phone for Marinette to call, chewing the inside of her cheek. She shouldn’t have chewed Chat Noir out like that. She knew he could be sensitive and it definitely was not his fault that Marientte was ridiculous about secret identities.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Alya glanced down. 

Marinette:

I’m going to be akumatized. 

The words blurred as Alya read them. Damn that stupid cat! What did he say?! 

Alya:

Where are you? 

Marinette:

In my room. 

Alya transformed immediately and took off towards Marinette’s balcony. She dropped through the skylight barely slowing down. Marinette was curled in the fetal position at the foot of her bed, sobbing brokenly.

Marinette had never looked so small. 

Gone was the clever and confident superhero everyone looked up to and relied upon. No one else ever got to see the Ladybug that overthought and doubted herself, the girl who was so nervous she couldn’t complete an intelligible sentence in front of her crush, the girl who took responsibility for everyone in their class and their city, the girl who felt so much and so deeply when she saw others were hurting.

Alya dropped to the bed, not bothering to detransform. Her arms wrapped around Marinette. Alya wished she could do something, anything at all to ease Marientte’s wracking sobs. 

Alya’s filled with rage at Chat Noir all over again for putting her best friend in this state. What the hell had he said?

“What did he do?” Rena growled. 

Marinette shook her head. “N-not his fault.”

Alya was gonna blame him anyway. “What happened?” she asked more softly. 

“He quit. He said that our not being able to communicate with him made him a liability.”

Alya cringed internally because she actually agreed with him. She hadn’t thought he would be willing to make that sacrifice. And then she immediately wants to kick herself. If anyone had shown over and over again that they were willing to make sacrifices for Ladybug it was Chat Noir. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Marinette cried harder. 

A black butterfly phased through the wall. 

“Akuma!” Alya shouted. 

Marinette tensed underneath her arms. Alya wouldn’t let her be akumatized. She would take the butterfly if it came down to it. 

But the kwamis immediately swarmed it. And a second later, the akuma was just gone. 

Tension bled out of her shoulders. She continued to hold Marinette like she was the most precious thing in the world. 

Because she was the most precious thing in the world. 

“It’s gone,” Alya whispered. “The Kwamis did something. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

Marinette shook her head violently. “I’m not okay.” 

Alya rubbed her back, but didn’t argue. 

“I can’t do this without him,” she cried. 

Alya bit her tongue, wanting to argue. Marinette could do anything . 

“And I don’t even know how long he’s been feeling this way. I think it’s been building for a long time,” Marinette whispered. “And I didn’t know.” It was impossible to miss the self reproach in her voice.

Alya rubbed her side and back soothingly. 

Marinette twisted in her arms to face her. “How could I not have known, Alya?” 

“Marinette, why didn’t you just tell him? I totally love that you have trusted me, but why did you never trust Chat?”

“I want to! I almost did! But it would be a selfish decision. He and I cannot know each other until Hawkmoth is defeated.”

“But why?” Alya asked. “What’s the difference between him and me? It seems so arbitrary.” 

“Yeah—” Marinette broke off as she dissolved into another round of quaking sobs. 

Alya cradled her head, and rocked her. “There’s more to this than you just following the rules, isn’t there?” 

Marinette nodded tearfully. “There… was another timeline. He knew who I was. We were in love. Or that’s what he said, anyway. But… he was akumatized. Chat Blanc destroyed the world. He said that it was our love that caused it to end. Bunnyx said he couldn’t know who the other was. Not yet.” 

“Not yet?” Alya questioned. “Maybe it’s okay now?”

Marinette scowled. “I don’t have some metric! The only thing I know is that he can’t be akumatized! So I have to wait until the risk of akumatization is over!” 

Alya pursed her lips, uncertain what to say.

“I almost let him tell me anyway. Even knowing that it could cost us everything. How selfish is that?” 

“Shhh. It’s not selfish,” Alya insisted.

Marinette kept going as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve hurt him so badly. He’s never going to forgive me! I don’t know how to do this without him, but I didn’t know how to convince him to stay. And now it doesn’t matter because I don’t know who he is, which means I can’t find him! And I’m never going to see him ag—”

Marinette crumpled into tears all over again. And Alya hugged her tighter, but her mind was already awhirl. Marinette had seen the end of the world? Had denied herself love to prevent that ending? 

It wasn’t fair. 

Alya needed to do something. She needed to fix it. 

“You’ll see him again,” Alya promised.

“How?”

“His kwami knows who he is right?”

“They all do! But they can’t tell anyone!”

Alya looked over at Tikki who nodded in confirmation. 

“Can they give hints?”

Tikki shook her head. 

“It doesn’t matter, Alya! I can’t know who he is either!” 

“But what if you weren’t the one to know?” 

Marinette froze and pulled away. “What?”

Alya met her gaze, stroking the sides of her face. “What if I knew Chat’s identity? It keeps you from knowing each other but helps us coordinate. We could include him in the planning! I could help support him like I do for you!” 

Marinette nodded. “I… I can’t know all the details. But yes, anything, please! But you have to never slip, Alya. You can’t tell me who he is. You can’t hint! You may have to lie to me to protect him!”

“I understand.” Alya said, smiling. This could work. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve already lied to Nino you know… to protect you.”

Marinette slumped. “I’m sorry.” 

Alya shook her head. “No, it’s okay. It’s part of being a superhero, and I know Nino would be okay with it if I could tell him the reasons, and I knew it had to happen to protect you because you protect the whole city. I understand the stakes! And I’m telling you, I can do this.” 

Marinette crashed into her abdomen, her arms circling around Alya’s waist.

“You are the bestest best friend in the whole world!”

Alya laughed. “I don’t know if I would go that far.” 

“I would,” Marinette mumbled. “So how are you going to find him?”

Alya opened her mouth.

“No wait! Don’t tell me! I shouldn’t know! But do you need any help?” 

“Can I talk to Chat’s kwami? Without you?” 

Marinette dashed to the miracle box, and immediately pulled out an octogonal box. She shoved it into Alya’s awaiting hands. “His name is Plagg. He’s quite the squirrelly one. He loves cheese. I’ll get out of your hair, and be back in like an hour?” 

“Marinette?” Alya interjected. Places a hand on her friend’s flying limbs to calm her until Marinette stilled. “I need you to know I don’t know how long this will take. Even if I can figure him out easily, I still have to convince him to come back. I need you to be patient. Can you do that?”

“I’d do anything for Chat,” she whispered. 

“Okay! Then scat! I’ll see what I can figure out here.” 

Marinette darted from the room, Tikki bobbing after her. 

Alya let her transformation fall, wanting Trixx there with her.

“What do you think?” Alya asked her kwami. “Does destruction suit me?” 

“Absolutely not!” 

Alya laughed as she slipped the ring onto her middle finger. It flashed into a silver ring studded with blue sea glass all the way around. It looked like a ring her mother used to wear. Alya loved it. 

“So it’s not enough that you replaced my kitten on the team, but you’re to replace him as my holder as well?” Plagg deadpanned, floating in front of her with his little arms crossed.

“I have no intention of replacing Chat Noir. I only put the ring on so I could talk to you.”

“About?” 

“I’m hoping that you’ll help me figure out who he is so that I can convince him to rejoin the team.” 

“I can’t tell you who he is.”

“Not directly maybe.” 

“Look, blogger girl—“

“Blogger girl? You know who I am! That’s a hint already!” 

“Is it?! You’re the idiot who gets way too close to Akuma battles on the regular.” 

Alya frowned. “Do you not want to go back to him?” 

Plagg sagged in the air. “He’s one of the best holders I’ve ever had. Maybe the best. But he won’t take the ring back, so there’s no point in you bringing out all his hurt feelings. Because you can’t do anything to soothe them.” 

“Maybe not. But perhaps Ladybug can?” 

“As long as she maintains the Guardian’s secret identity at all costs with him and not with you, he’s a lost cause.” 

“I take it you don’t know about the alternate timeline?” 

Plagg groaned. “I hate alternate timelines!” 

“Do you think there’s a chance an akumatized Chat that destroys the world won’t happen this time if they learn each other’s identities?” 

Plagg went silent. Alya raised an eyebrow. 

“I really hate alternate timelines, but here’s the thing, blogger girl, they’re called alternate for a reason .” 

Alya threw her hands up. “Look! I’d be willing to risk it, but Ladybug is not.” 

“I get it,” he grumbled, flying to her hand. “So are you going to tell my kitten this?” 

“Maybe not that they were together? Or that he was the one akumatized? I don’t know. What do you think?” 

“It would be better coming from pigtails.”

“But we have to convince him first .”

“Yeah,” he drawled. “All right. I’m in.” 

“So how am I going to figure out who he is?” 

“Oh that’s the easy part.” 

“It is?” 

“Hey Kaalki!” The horse kwami popped up from Marinette’s desk. “Open up a portal to my kid’s room!” Then he turned to Alya. “You should transform. This is going to be a rough ride. You’ll want all the protection you can get.” 

…

Rena Rouge had been through portals before. More than once. 

This was nothing like that. Rena felt like she had been thrown into a tornado, then sucked through a sieve, and then swallowed by a dragon only to be thrown up ten seconds later. 

She crashed face first onto a grand piano, struggling to regain her breath. 

“Rena! Are you okay?” 

She shook her head to clear it. “I… I think so?” She said, accepting his offered hand, only then turning to look at his incredibly familiar face. “Adrien?” 

His eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

“You’re Chat Noir?” 

His shoulders slumped with a resigned sigh. “How did you find me?” 

“Kaalki knows where you live.”

“Figures,” he bit out. She had never heard him sound so bitter.

She held out the ring to him. 

He didn’t take it. 

“How’s Plagg?” he asked. 

“Umm… I have no idea. We only talked about you.” 

He glared at her.

Right, time to get to the point. “Chat, Ladybug needs you to come back.” 

“Then why are you here?” He ran his hands through his hair. “If I’m so important to her, why did she send you ?”

“Because she’s still convinced you can’t know each other’s identities.”

He threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t understand what’s so different that you can know and I can’t! I know she says she trusts me, but her actions say something different. And I’m not sure what I did that she found so unworthy of trust—“

“It was nothing you did!” Alya interjected. 

“—but I didn’t take myself off the team because I think I have the right to know. It’s putting us all - her and me and you - in danger when we’re not on the same page!”

“I agree completely!” she yelled. 

“Does she know you’re here?” he asked. 

“She knows I’m trying to find you. She does not know that I’ve succeeded, and I don’t plan on telling her that until you agree to come back. She wants to know, Adrien. And she wants you to know who she is, too! I promise you, she does!”

“She has a funny way of showing it,” he grumbled. 

“She spent the last few hours bawling her eyes out about how much she’s hurt you and that you’ll never ever forgive her and that you’re right not to. And that it doesn’t matter because she’s never going to see you again, and she’s not certain she can even be Ladybug without you.”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Rena. I can’t come back. I’m a danger to her and to the whole team because we can’t communicate.” 

“I agree completely,” she said. “Which is why I’m here! Will you let me explain?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice the calmest it had been since she had arrived. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take my frustration out on you. What did you come here to tell me?” 

“Ladybug trusts you more than anyone. More than me.” 

“ But—“

“More than anyone!” she insisted. “Apparently she did trust you. You both knew each other’s identities at some point.”

“I don’t remember that.” 

“I know you don’t. She doesn’t really either. But she saw what it led to. Bunnyx… you know who Bunnyx is right?”

He nodded. 

“Bunnyx came and got her and took her to a future where the world had been destroyed. Bunnyx told her the inciting event was you two learning each other’s identities.” 

“Why did she never tell me this?” 

Alya laughed. “Honestly? She’s bad at difficult conversations. She avoids them like the plague.”

He winced.

“She didn’t plan to tell me her identity either, you know. She just had a mental breakdown and I happened to be there. I imagine being a full time superhero when no one knows, wears you down.” 

He snorted. “Understatement.”

“When she was spiraling, I convinced her that we could find some kind of loophole. Show you that she does trust you. She’s only trying to protect you, Paris, and apparently the future. I figured I could know both your identities, and act as a go between. That way you’ll always be in the know.” 

“That only works if I know who you are, too.”

“I’ll drop the transformation as soon as you agree, Kitty Cat.” 

He stared at her for awhile. “I will want to talk to Ladybug about all this.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay then.” He put the ring back on. 

“Will you stop renouncing me every time you have a bad day?!” Plagg screeched. 

“I’ve only renounced you twice,” Adrien said, sounding almost petulant. Alya grinned. She never knew Adrien had it in him. It was almost refreshing to see him in less than perfect form. 

Though if he was Chat Noir, she supposed she had seen it before. 

“Twice too many! And there was a third time you threatened to do so.” 

“You’ve given up the ring before?” Alya asked softly. How many times had he been hurting that deeply, and she had never noticed. 

He winced. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Are you going to drop your transformation or not?” 

“Trixx, let’s rest.” 

His eyes blew open. “Alya?” 

She smiled. “Hi, Adrien. I swear I didn’t know you were hurting this much. I’m sorry I’ve been so blind as your friend.” 

“It’s fine,” he shrugged it off. “I never told you anything was going on.” He frowned. “Wait! If you’re Rena. That means Carapace is…” 

She waved him forward. She wasn’t sure what she was allowed to say, but if he figured it out himself, it wasn’t her fault. 

“Carapace is Nino,” he concluded. “Isn’t it weird that practically all the holders are in our class?” 

“The same class where literally everyone except you has been akumatized?” She countered, proud of herself for delivering that line with a straight face. 

She felt slightly guilty that was already misleading him, but wasn’t that what she signed up for? To keep both Ladybug and Chat Noir on the same page while misdirecting them from each other? 

Which was going to be way harder than she thought because they were together like, all of the time. They saw each other every single day almost! They sat like half a meter apart in class! How the hell had they not already figured each other out?

Plagg laughed. “Welcome to my world, kit,” he said. 

She sighed. She definitely had her work cut out for her.

…

She didn’t bother going through the front door. Instead, she came in through Nino’s window, collapsed into his arms on his bed, released her transformation, and buried her face into his shoulder and neck. 

He pulled the earbuds out of he ears. “Hey,” he greeted softly. “You okay?” 

She mumbled something incomprehensible into his shoulder. 

He rubbed her shoulder. “That bad, huh? Want to talk about it?”

She wanted to tell him everything. “Our friends are a full time job,” she landed on. “They’re going to be the end of my sanity.” 

He laughed. “Tell me about it. What happened now?” 

She sighed. What could she say? “They’re terrible at talking.” 

Nino laughed again. “What can I do to make you feel better?” 

“Kiss me.”

He was only too happy to oblige. 

…

[andorerso]

Hi! I'm taking an opportunity you presented and I'm asking for more of your story: let the cat out of the bag. I adore it and would like more of it!

A sequel to this AU with some more adventures of Mimi the Cat! Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like this <3

Summary: Five months after they started dating, Jyn gets cold feet and tries to run from her feelings. Naturally, Mimi is not happy about this.

OR, how Mimi saves this relationship for the second time.

Jyn has prepared a little box with all of Cassian’s things she could find: a pair of socks, two shirts, a toothbrush, a razor, shaving cream, his favorite shampoo, one of his cookbooks… She didn’t realize how much stuff he’d kept at her place, growing roots in her home the same way he’d sneaked into her life. Slowly, steadily, subtly. And so thoroughly, she doesn’t know how to cut him out.

She hesitates when it comes to the blue shirt she loved to sleep in, running her fingers across the soft material like it was his skin.

A clean break would be better, right? No need to torture herself with old memories. This would be hard as it is…

Jyn puts the shirt in the box and slams the lid shut. It sits on the living room table all day, taunting her, while Mimi squats under the couch, unwilling to even look in her direction.

Fair enough. She doesn’t really want to look at herself either right now.

Cassian is stopping by soon to collect his things, and then it’ll be over.

She shouldn’t complain. She’s the one who ended things after all. Still, the finality of it squeezes her lungs so tight that she has to stop and remember to breathe. They dated only for five months; it shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t be such an integral part of her that she can’t go on without him. It was meant to be just some harmless fun. But she’d underestimated how much this would hurt.

Seeing Cassian on her doorstep doesn’t help. The face that once put a smile on her lips now makes her want to curl up in a ball and cry while she eats ice cream out of a box like those women in romantic comedies during the second act fallout.

Except this is no movie. She doesn’t expect a grand reunion at the end of all this.

Jyn leads him to the living room, ignoring the memories of all the times she’s done that only to grab him by the collar and pull him down on the couch to fool around. It’s more or less how their first kiss went, right on that couch with half a dozen notebooks open in front of them and forgotten for the night as her legs wrapped around him and his hands slid under her shirt.

Then, a couple of months of unattached sex, or so they had said until Mimi had meddled in her own strange, brilliant way and made them admit their feelings for each other. And so they’d begun dating, five months of bliss Jyn had never experienced before. Not perfect, no, but imperfect in a way that was just right.

Oh, she remembers thinking one night as she played with Cassian’s hair while he slumbered peacefully next to her. So this is what people write all those poems about.

Looking back now, that realization might have been the beginning of the end. Because this is what she does, she runs. When things get too real, she cuts the cord and disappears. Leaves behind a string of broken hearts, but none of them her own.

Except this time, it feels more like she severed her own hand rather than whatever cord tied them together. Cassian left, but the cord stretched taut and continued to tug her towards him while she slowly bled out from her self-inflicted wound.

Now here they are. All those months, and they can barely stand to look at each other. Pathetic.

A scratching sound interrupts her train of thought as Mimi finally pulls herself out from under the couch. Of course she would, now that he’s here. Little traitor.

With a single, drawn-out meow, she runs to Cassian and greets him by rubbing her small body against his leg while she trots around him in circles. The twitch of his lips as he looks down at her is Jyn’s first glimpse behind the calm mask he donned.

Her heart squeezes. Damn it. He’s always loved her stupid cat to irrationality. Once, she joked that the real love story was not between her and Cassian, but between Mimi and Cassian. Cassian laughed and kissed her forehead while he continued to rub Mimi between her ears.

“It can be both,” he said.

Well, she’s effectively ended both as well.

Cassian leans down to stroke his hand against Mimi’s white fur a couple of times, a sight so familiar that Jyn has to dig her nails into her palm to keep her composure. The cord tugs harder but she digs her heels into the ground and refuses to budge. She can’t go back now.

Cassian doesn’t linger as long as he normally would. He straightens up, despite the displeased yowl Mimi lets out, and gives Jyn a look of apprehension.

She jerks her head towards the box on the table. “That’s all I could find.”

Her voice is strained with things she doesn’t want to admit. Like how much she’s missed him in just the week they’ve been separated, how she isn’t actually sure she’s making the right choice, how scared she is to never see him again…

What would he say if she told him all that?

Cassian picks up the box, ruffling through its contents. He has nothing to give back to her. They spent more time at her apartment because of Mimi, but the realization still gives her pause. Had she really been so closed off that she wouldn’t even bring over a toothbrush? Had she been holding him at arm’s length all this time without knowing it?

“Thanks.” He clears his throat as he closes the lid shut, gives her a fleeting glance. He’s unable to hold her gaze for too long. His face is smooth as marble, but the tension in his posture is obvious. “Well, I should just…” He trails off, gesturing towards the door.

“Right.”

Neither of them moves. They stand in awkward silence, waiting for the other to say something, fix things, be honest. But she can’t make her voice work. If that was so easy, she wouldn’t be here to begin with.

Cassian snaps out of it first. He turns away, heading for the door, and Jyn knows the window has closed. No takebacks now. She follows him with a heavy heart, watches silently as he pulls on his coat and prepares to walk out of her life. Will they go back to strangers now like they’d never known each other? Will he nod at her politely on the street or turn away with a frown? Will it still mean anything to him a year from now?

He pulls the door open, and Jyn loses her composure. “Cassian —”

Before she even finishes saying his name, he’s already stopped and turned to face her again. One hand on the doorknob, he waits, patiently, for her to speak. But with those dark eyes that miss nothing watching her, she loses her nerve again, and the words get stuck in her throat. Whatever those words even were.

Don’t go? I’m sorry? Can we talk about this?

As Jyn hesitates and Cassian waits, Mimi, who’s followed them to the foyer, slips between his legs and runs out the door.

“Shit!” Jyn takes off after her without a second thought, but the little devil is far too fast for her own good and is already sprinting down the stairs at the end of the hallway. “Mimi, stop!”

She can hear Cassian fumble with something in her apartment, but she doesn’t stop, taking stairs two at a time as she tries to catch up with Mimi.

It’s no use. By the time she reaches the ground floor, Mimi is nowhere to be seen, and the single mom from the second floor is blinking at her in surprise, holding the main door open.

“She just ran out, I didn’t see —”

Jyn doesn’t dignify that with a response, tearing out into the street and blinking helplessly at the busy neighborhood. It’s the typical picture: people rushing by on their phones, cars honking, drivers yelling, a baby crying in a stroller, a street musician on the other side playing his guitar… The noise feels oppressive.

Now what? She looks left, she looks right. Mimi could have gone in any direction. And with the amount of traffic they have in this area…

Her heart racing, Jyn takes deep breaths and tries not to panic. Too late. She’s not prepared to deal with this. Sure, she often jokes about Mimi being her heartless little devil cat, but it’s nothing but affectionate teasing. Mimi’s her baby and she can’t imagine her life without her. She’s never run away before; she isn’t an outdoor cat. If something happens… if they can’t find her…

Cassian arrives behind her, but Jyn’s still scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a flash of white fur.

“Is she gone?”

“I…” She can’t finish her words, a ball lodged in her throat.

Cassian grips her shoulders and turns her to face him, but she’s too distraught to even feel the burn of his touch.

“Hey, don’t panic. She must be nearby.” He sounds so sure, but Jyn knows he’s only trying to reassure her. Well, she’s gonna let him. Eyes locked on Cassian, she nods and tries to believe him.

Mimi couldn’t have gotten that far, right? She was just pissed at Jyn for sending Cassian away, a fact she’s already made clear in the past week. She was playing the part of an angry teenager running away from home to piss off her parents. Very dramatic. Very unnecessary. But she’d come back.

She has to.

“I locked your door,” Cassian continues, producing a key from his pocket that he hands to her. “Come on, I’ll help you look.”

“You don’t have to,” Jyn begins feebly, but nothing sounds worse than the thought of doing this on her own. Luckily, Cassian sees right through her bullshit. He sends her a look that says he isn’t willing to argue about this, and Jyn’s heart swells with appreciation.

“We’ll find her, I promise.”

xxx

The sun starts to set, casting the sky in pink and orange hues, and Mimi is still missing.

Jyn is beginning to lose hope of ever seeing her beloved cat again. More and more nefarious possibilities of what might have happened circle her like dark clouds before a storm, and she can’t push them down anymore. What if she was attacked by a dog, what if she was hit by a car, what if someone saw her, thought she was cute, and picked her up to take her home, what if what if what if

Cassian tries to keep her spirits high, but he’s fighting a losing battle.

“She’ll turn up,” he insists, always so determined, as they make their way back to her apartment building. “We can print some posters, post it on social media —” he goes on but Jyn doesn’t want to hear it.

It all begins to build in her chest; breaking up with Cassian, the shitty days at work, the sleepless nights, the endless cycle of repetition… Now this. She can’t lose Mimi too, she just can’t.

She doesn’t know how to survive without both of them.

“Stop!” Jyn bursts out just as they reach her apartment building, then buries her face in her hands. Cassian clams up, but she can feel his worried gaze boring into her. “Everything sucks!”

With that, she dramatically plops down on the front steps, removing her hands from her face to rub at her temples. Everything sucks is an understatement, but she doesn’t have the words to describe the heavy weight sitting on her chest. Tears prick at her eyes, and it takes all her energy to keep them at bay. Crying in public in front of your ex-boyfriend was not on the agenda today.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cassian hesitating for a second before he joins her.

“You wanna go upstairs? Rest a little?”

“No.”

“Okay. How about those posters then? I can make them if you want.”

“I can make them myself!” she snaps, angrier than she should be.

“Okay. Do you want me to go then?”

“No.”

“Right.” Cassian clears his throat and falls silent. For a while, neither of them speaks as they stare out at the street while the night grows darker around them. Clearly, she’s sending mixed signals here. She should say something. Tell him that he can go, that he’s already done enough. She can handle it from here. But she isn’t sure she can. Selfishly, she doesn’t want to let him go yet — because then, she’ll be truly alone.

No cat, no boyfriend. Just Jyn in her all too empty apartment with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company.

“Hey…” It’s Cassian’s gentle voice that pulls her back to the present and makes her realize those damn tears leaked from her eyes anyway. And now she can’t stop. She wipes at her face furiously, sniffing, but they keep falling, and when Cassian reaches for her hand and pulls her into his arms, she doesn’t fight it.

She buries her face in his shoulder and lets herself weep for a few seconds. Cassian’s arm circles around her waist, one hand rhythmically stroking her hair. He doesn’t say anything, but she’s glad, preferring his silent but solid presence over meaningless words of reassurance. It doesn’t erase the ache in her chest but calms her down long enough to stop sobbing and pull herself together.

“I’m sorry,” she says when she pulls away, wiping at her eyes. Despite their five-month-long relationship, it’s only the second time she let herself cry around him. She doesn’t think Cassian would judge her or make fun of it, but it’s hard to override two decades worth of self-preservation instincts. Don’t show weakness, don’t show vulnerability, don’t give them ammo to hurt you; it’s always been one of her most important rules.

But it’s also why she broke up with him, isn’t it? She’s never considered that you can’t build a relationship on mistrust because she’s never had any that mattered. Now she has to figure out if she could unlearn those habits and keep Cassian, or let him go for good.

“And not just for sniveling all over you,” Jyn continues, speaking slowly as she thinks about what she wants to tell him and how to say it. “I’m sorry for chasing you away. I was just… I was…”

“You got scared,” Cassian finishes for her, getting to the heart of the matter without preamble. Jyn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He lifts a shoulder, a quiet huff on his lips that almost sounds amused. “I know you. Better than you think. Better than you probably want me to.”

“I… That’s not true. I want you to know me.” She can understand how it might not seem that way, but it’s true. Deep in her heart, she wants nothing more than to be seen and understood by him. It’s just all that fear getting in the way, whispering cruel things in her ear and making her question herself. You’re not good enough for him. He doesn’t want you like you want him. He’s not going to stick around forever. It’s better to cut your losses now while you can. Leave him before he can leave you.

Her armor may have protected her for years, but it’s now become the number one enemy working against her.

“But if you knew,” Jyn begins, her mouth pulling into a frown, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Cassian’s gaze drops to his lap. “Jyn, I can’t force you to want to be with me. I can’t force you not to run. You have to figure that out for yourself. I thought… if you’re ready, you’ll come back.”

“And if I’m not?” she asks, a strange tremor in her voice.

“Then you’re not.” He looks up, and his dark brown eyes and long eyelashes mesmerize her for a second. He’s so close, so warm, so pretty; she has to ball her hands into fists to keep from reaching out. Touching him has become natural like breathing. She doesn’t know how to quit it, quit him.

Fuck, it’s not fair. How is she expected to think clearly when he’s watching her like that? Fantasizing about kissing him breathless is not a productive train of thought at the moment.

“I want to be with you, but it has to be your choice to come back.”

So maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s the way he looks at her, maybe it’s his smell, his warmth, his magnetism, maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to be stuck behind her castle walls anymore. Safe but alone.

Or maybe it’s the way she’s struggled to sleep at night, kept awake by the memory of their time together and how happy he’s made her, but she tells him, “I think I can try harder.”

“Jyn, is that Mimi?”

Jyn blinks, surprised by his response for a second. Then she remembers. She isn’t even sure Cassian heard what she said, but when she turns and finds Mimi strutting down the sidewalk towards them like nothing was amiss, all thoughts of their relationship issues escape her brain.

Gasping, Jyn shoots up and runs to snatch Mimi into her arms, hardly daring to believe it. She’s come back. She’s okay. A little dirty, and positively grumpy at being held like this, but otherwise unharmed.

Jyn’s almost lost all hope, and the relief that floods her chest now threatens to bring on another wave of tears. Biting down hard on her lip, she tightens her grip around Mimi and breathes in deeply. She’s cried enough today.

“Where have you been?” Jyn demands, but her voice is too high and shaky to sound scolding at all. “We’ve been looking all over for you, young lady!”

“Yeah.” Cassian comes to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to rub Mimi under her chin because, as Jyn knows from experience, he just can’t help it. “You scared us.”

Us, Jyn thinks, sending a small smile his way. A team.

Mimi lets out a belligerent meow and starts wiggling in Jyn’s arms. By the way she wags her tail, Jyn knows she’s getting annoyed at being held like this, but tough luck. She’s not letting go until they’re back safe and sound in her apartment. That’s what you get when you run away from home and scare your parents half to death.

Readjusting her grip on Mimi, she turns to Cassian and gives him a tiny, hopeful smile. “You wanna come up for dinner? We can talk some more.”

“That depends.” His eyes sparkle with playfulness. “Are you cooking?”

Jyn lets a bark of laughter. “I can be convinced to leave the task to you.”

“In that case, I’m right behind you.”

As he always has been.

Hiding her smile, Jyn turns and leads the way back to her apartment. She’s taken the leap, she’s chosen to fight, and she’s never been one to back down from a challenge. So screw the insidious voices whispering in her ear; she’s not going to let them win and cost her something important.

She has her cat, and she has her almost-boyfriend, and she’s ready to give this another shot.

[steviesummer]

Thanks to the lovely @famfarafa for this prompt! Sorry it took me so long, hope you enjoy it: “This is the Munson residence. Can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message after the beep.”

“Hey Eddie,” Steve’s voice came out from the answering machine, but it sounded strange. “I’m gonna have to reschedule our movie - ouch! Hey, stop that - night. Something - no, don’t - sorry, something came up.”

Eddie was concerned. He checked that his walkie was on - it was and the volume up. Didn’t seem like it was Upside Down related or a major emergency. Robin hadn’t said anything about Steve seeming off when he stopped by Family Video to pick up a few tapes. And despite sound odd, Steve didn’t sound particularly stressed or in pain.

Still, the message was very odd. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to find out exactly what was going on and dialed the Harrington home. It rang several times before going to voicemail; Eddie hung up before he had to listen Robert Harrington’s self-important message.

He didn’t want to use the walkie and panic everyone, so that left him only one option.

~.~.~

“Steve, you there?” Eddie called out as he open the front door, not waiting for an answer. “I got your - is that blood? Why is there blood?? Steve?” If he hadn’t been worried before, he was after he saw the mess that was the entryway.

The normally neat and tidy front hall was messier than he had ever seen it. There was mud and a few small sticks all over, plus a red smear on the wall that was clearly not paint. Eddie heard movement in the kitchen and immediately abandoned the entry, only to stop abruptly in the door.

“Steve, what is that?”

“Eddie!” Steve looked up. “What are you doing here?”

The fact that he sounded genuinely surprised did not make Eddie feel better. “What am I doing here? Youreally left some cryptic voice-mail canceling out date and didn’t expect me to come looking for you? After everything that’s happened in this town?”

Steve paused. “Okay, that’s fair. I just found this sweetheart by the road on my way home. She’s hurt but the vet’s office isn’t open this late. I couldn’t just leave her there and I didn’t think Wayne would appreciate me bringing a cat to the trailer with no warning.”

“Are you sure that’s a cat?” Maybe it was because of how the entry looked or maybe it was her size, but Eddie wasn’t sure he believed this was actually a cat. He fidgeted from his place in the doorway, watching as Steve realized this.

Steve smiled reassuringly at him. “Yeah. I think she’s a Maine Coon. My grandma had one, they get really big. Really sweet, though. Here, come see.” He patted the floor next to him.

Eddie walked over hesitantly to where Steve was sitting, navigating around the contents of the first aid kit strewn on the floor. He sat down behind Steve and moved so he could peer over his shoulder. Now that he was closer, he could see what Steve meant. He could also see the source of the blood from the entryway. Steve had wrapped her back leg in bandages but she had clearly bled on this shirt first. Steve caught him looking over his work.

Steve shrugged sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure exactly how to bandage a cat, but I figured it would be better than nothing.” Eddie smiled to himself. Not exactly what he expected of his evening but now that the panic had faded, nothing he couldn’t work with.

“Well,” Eddie started. “I can’t say I ever though I’d be okay with my boyfriend missing a date because of a girl, but I think I can make an exception this time. She is pretty cute.”

[practically-an-x-man]

Lost in Thought (Nikoletta x Abner)

Summary: In the middle of the night, Abner falls into a painful thought spiral. He's never had someone to help him out of it before, but things aren't the way they used to be

Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, discussion of self-hatred

Word Count: 3.2k

____

Nikoletta turned over in the bed, wincing at the light flooding in behind her eyelids. Sunlight? No- it was the middle of the night, the sky was dark, and the light from the street wasn’t enough to have woken her. She forced her eyes open and squinted, looking at the room around her illuminated in a myriad of colors.

Her sleep-dredged mind still hadn’t quite caught up with her. She’d been sleeping surprisingly well, for once not chilled or plagued with nightmares. It was… nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply. It must have been years. She had a cat tucked against her arm, the other between her feet, Abner asleep right beside her-

Ah. Right. 

“Mm.” she mumbled, fumbling towards the light until her fingers found his shoulder, “Abner. Honey. Dots.”

He stirred immediately at the sound of her voice - even on the best of nights, he wasn’t a particularly heavy sleeper, and this clearly wasn’t the best of nights - and picked himself up from the bed with a low groan. His movements were rough and graceless, half from fatigue and half from the virus eating its way through his body. Abner ran a hand down his face, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes but only grimacing when his fingers found multicolored, swollen skin instead. Seeing him like this, with that look of well-practiced pain held deep in his eyes, cut Nikoletta’s heart every time. Months of this, and it never seemed to get easier. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, glancing down at her with something almost guilty in his eyes. Somehow that was worse than the outright pain. He took a shuffling step towards the door, leaning on the bedpost when his balance faltered. “I’ll be right back.”

He shuffled his way out of the room before Nikoletta could convince her tired brain to come up with any sort of response. She heard the front door swing open with a low creak, and Baron leapt up from the bed to follow the noise. Abner’s low voice carried through the apartment as he shooed the cat away from the door, and then the lock latched behind him.

For as tired as she’d been in the moments before, it was impossible to sleep while she waited for Abner to return. For one thing, it was hard to hold any warmth with him gone, especially with the cats still off investigating the door. For another, she couldn’t get the sound of his voice out of her head - the apology, the way he sounded both so pained and so flooded with that strange guilt.

She was used to the routine by now, him getting up in the middle of the night to release the dots as the virus collected and seethed in his body, but this was different. Normally it was a chore for him, but tonight he seemed more burdened than usual. Was it the fact that the light had woken her? The fact that she’d reminded him instead of waiting for him to get so uncomfortable that he woke himself up? Or was it something else entirely - nightmares or otherwise haunted thoughts as she knew he struggled with?

Nikoletta wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, her heart ached for him. 

She heard the door open and shut again just a few minutes later. Something in her jolted at that, a static shock between the ribs, but Nikoletta forced her breathing to remain steady. That was a little remnant from her years in Belle Reve, she was sure. She couldn’t sit with her back to the door, and it always made her flinch to hear an entrance she couldn’t see.

But that tired, shuffling gait was Abner’s, as was the mumbled greeting he gave to the cats when he entered. The tension bled out of Nikoletta’s body in a rush. Even though she knew why he’d left, how long he’d be gone, even if logic told her there was nobody else who could have entered but him… that little ribbon of anxiety was woven in with her nerves. Short of clawing herself completely numb, it would linger with her forever. 

Nikoletta shifted on the bed, turning herself over and tucking the duvet around herself as she waited for Abner to join her. Except… he didn’t. She heard him pour himself a glass of water, a routine that was usually followed by him returning to the bedroom and pulling her into his arms, but tonight it was followed by several long minutes of near-silence. Nikoletta frowned to herself, again pushing herself up and rubbing at her eyes. 

She wasted only another moment, lamenting the soon-to-be loss of the warmth she’d managed to scrape together here between the sheets, then sighed and slid out of bed. The cheap vinyl carpet was cool and rough under her bare feet.

“Abner? You coming back to bed, hon?” Nikoletta asked, propping herself against the doorway to look him over. He was seated on the end of the couch, hunched over, though he glanced up at the sound of her voice. His eyes were tired, heavily-lidded- at least, more than usual.

“I don’t know.” he sighed, wringing his hands in his lap, “Maybe.”

Nikoletta frowned as she picked her way over to the couch. Baron and Barbie wove between her feet and nearly tripped her. Abner’s dark eyes tracked her with every step, even as she found a spot beside him on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?”

He just shrugged at first, and didn’t say a word. Nikoletta waited in silence, fingers twitching in indecision. She wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand or run her fingers through his hair or tug on his shoulder to kiss his cheek, but she wasn’t sure he’d want that now. After all, he’d pulled away, and he sat hunched in on himself like he wanted to take up the smallest space he could.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” he finally said, the words so mumbled they were almost incoherent. Abner curled his fingers against his legs, squeezing until it looked like it hurt. “I don’t mean to be so… so weird and gross and ugly all the time. I’m sorry.”

“Whoa, hey-” Nikoletta started, finally finding the drive to reach for him and draw his hands away from his thighs before he bruised himself. Abner hardly seemed to notice her, his fingers squeezing hers so hard it made her bones creak. She fought down her wince.

She was too tired for this - too tired to think of what to say, what she could do to comfort him, if there was anything she could do to comfort him - and that sent a flash of guilt sparking through her. She wished she could be better for him. She wished she could be better about these quiet moments, when her instinct was to grow cold and pull away herself. She wouldn’t give in to that instinct, but… it would be so much easier not to have that instinct at all. 

“I’m just an- an anchor,” Abner kept going, his voice twisted into a low, self-hating mutter, “I’m this weight dragging you down, I’m a drag on your life- you’d be so much happier without me-”

“When did I say that?” Her voice came out too sharp, in her desperation to get a word in before he pressed on, and Abner’s eyes flashed up to hers like he’d been kicked. Nikoletta almost flinched, pierced by another sharp quarrel of guilt, and she swallowed the urge to look away. “Abner, sweetheart- when did I say I’d be happier without you?”

He fought for words for a while, struggling with the logic of it. 

“Well- you didn’t, but I-”

“I didn’t.” she repeated, “I didn’t, Abner, because that’s not true. You asked me, back at the hospital, if I wanted to stay with you. And I said yes.”

“That was months ago.”

“And you asked me again before we adopted Baron and Barbie, because pets are a big commitment. You said they’d tether us together, and they’d get sad if we split, so you had to double-check that I wanted to stay with you. I thought it was… sweet.” Nikoletta added, twisting around on the couch to look at him directly. She was finding her words now, getting a rhythm, and maybe she wouldn’t have been able to manage it if it weren’t so late at night. “And you ask me the same thing every time you get sick, or have a nightmare, or sometimes for no reason at all, and I always say the same thing, don’t I?”

He nodded - a sort of loose, low motion that said he didn’t want to let himself believe her, but at the same time he couldn’t find any ground to refute it. His eyes flicked up and down her face, unable to find any steady place to land. It felt like the early days. These little spirals of his always did. 

That wasn’t to say she didn’t spiral just as much. Some days went by where she couldn’t bring herself to touch him, so convinced she’d leave a mark like she used to. Sometimes she was too sharp with him, too distant, throwing up those old walls even though she knew he deserved so much better than that. It was almost fair, in a way. And strangely, she almost appreciated when it was his turn - it broke her heart to see him hurt like this, but it reminded her she wasn’t the only one.

“Maybe… maybe you just didn’t want to be alone.” Abner finally said, so softly he was almost whispering, “Maybe I was just… easier?”

“You’re right. I don’t want to be alone.” she admitted, dropping her gaze down to their linked hands, “I… I don’t ever want to be alone again. Not like I was. And maybe- maybe that is part of it. But honestly? I don’t think that really matters much. I’d rather be not-alone with you than not-alone with someone else. It’s not just having another body in the house, y’know, just to take up space, it’s… I like you, Abner. I love you. It’s more than just wanting someone else here with me. I want you here. You’re not replaceable.”

She still wasn’t good with the softer words. She still wasn’t used to it. But… these came out about as well as she could have hoped. Abner’s expression softened, just for a moment, and Nikoletta thought she felt him lean in a little closer. She released her grip on his hands, though only to reach up and brush her fingers through his hair. 

“Will you come back to bed?”

“I don’t know.” he mumbled. She couldn’t tell whether he was reacting to the question or what came before it. Abner ducked his head in a way that made her fingers fall away from him. It made something ache within her. For as long as she’d spent shunning all touch, it hurt to be on the other end of it. “I don’t think I deserve to be in bed right now.”

You do, she wanted to say, but she knew that wouldn’t help. It was too… easy. Too open. By now she knew how his mind worked. She needed to give him something harder to brush aside- something that placed it outside himself. 

“Well… maybe I deserve to have you with me. Maybe I deserve to be warm, hm? Maybe I deserve to feel safe? You know it’s hard for me to sleep without you next to me.” she tried, “Maybe… it’s not about what you deserve tonight, it’s about what I deserve. Come back to bed. You’ll feel better once you sleep.”

“I don’t want to feel better. It’s not worth feeling better.”

Nikoletta sighed. This was a bad one. And she was running out of things to say. The darker side of her, that cold steel core, wanted just to walk away. She’d tried, given it her fair share of effort, but maybe he just wanted to wallow for a bit. She was already exhausted, and this could go on for hours. He wouldn’t blame her for being selfish, she thought. Not for this. 

But she’d blame herself.

“Where are all these thoughts coming from?” she asked, setting her palm on his knee and tilting her head to try and meet his eyes. Abner ducked her gaze with a faint shrug. 

“My head, I guess.” he mumbled. Nikoletta knew what he really meant. Those thoughts hadn’t just originated in his mind like he said. She knew who had planted them there, years ago, alongside the virus that racked his body.

“Hm.”

She didn’t say anything more than that, didn’t offer any encouragement or comfort, and she got up from the couch. Abner looked confused, even a little hurt, as Nikoletta slipped back into the bedroom. But she was back only a moment later, with a blanket tucked around her shoulders. 

“Well…” she said, sliding back onto the couch beside him and tucking herself against his side, “If you’re not coming back to bed, I might as well keep you company out here.”

She swept the blanket off her shoulders and laid it across both of their laps. Abner’s fingers fiddled at the edge of it, like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to push it away or not. He ended up leaving it where it was, but there was confusion still drawn into his posture. Nikoletta did her best to ignore it, instead folding her knees under herself and leaning her head into Abner’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. I want to.” she insisted, “I said I want to stay with you, and that means… I want to stay with you.”

Finally, she could feel some of his tension bleed away, and Abner turned his head to press a firm, chaste kiss to her temple. It still wasn’t perfect, she could still feel the reservations in his posture, the way his hands stayed clasped in his lap instead of drawing her closer, but it was a start.

“How do you see me?” she mumbled, turning her head to look up at him, “Do you see-”

“No.” Abner cut her off, something firm coming into his tone as he said the word. His voice softened a moment later, returning to that gentle hesitance she knew so well from him, “No, I… I see you. I see this… this beautiful woman with black eyes and coily hair, and I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m supposed to be seeing.”

“Mm-hmm.” Nikoletta agreed, nodding faintly against his shoulder. Abner let out a faint breath, something almost relieved, like he’d been halfway worried it was all another hallucination.

“When I say I see her, I don’t…” he sighed after a moment or two of silence, “I don’t mean I really see her all the time. Sometimes I do, when I’m- when I’m stressed, or when there’s a lot of people looking at me, but I… I still know what people look like. But I hear her. In my head. All the time. ‘Abner, you fuck-up, why can’t you do anything right? Get rid of the dots, I don’t want to look at that, nobody’s going to love you if they have to see you like that. Sit down and be quiet, I should never have had a son this useless. Why couldn’t it be you that died instead of your brother?’”

He spoke the words tiredly, distanced by time, but Nikoletta’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t find her voice, swallowed and suffocated under so much old grief, but she found herself reaching for his hand and clasping it tightly between both of her own. 

She could see now why he’d ended up pulling away. She’d urged him up out of nothing more than concern, knowing the dots made him feel sick and miserable and hating the sight of pain on his face. If there had been anything selfish in it, it was only the fact that the light had woken her. She’d meant it only as a gentle reminder, nothing worse than that. 

And he’d heard his mother, shoving him away because she couldn’t stand to look at him.

“Abner…” she murmured, the sound of his name enough to make him glance back down at her, “You’re- you’re not gross. You’re not ugly. You’re not useless, and you are not a fuck-up. I don’t know why she thought she had to tell you those things, but she was wrong.”

She lifted his hand and kissed it, the same gesture she remembered him doing for her after she’d first woken up in the hospital. Nikoletta bit her cheek, urging herself to voice the rest of what was in her head. 

“You’re one of the kindest men I’ve ever met,” she managed, and then it was a little easier to continue, “And I mean that. You’re sweet, and you’re smart, and you’re handsome, and I… I’m really glad you’re here with me. You don’t drag me down, you… you make me better. You knew me in Belle Reve. And I’d probably still be there if it weren’t for you.”

There were layers of truth to that. Emotionally and physically. When Waller had assigned her to Corto Maltese, she’d been a hair’s breadth away from slipping into the shadows and disappearing. She’d known the mission was bound to be a death sentence, and she’d known there was nothing Waller could do to keep her there if she chose to escape. She’d never been given a bomb. She’d ducked into the shadows every time they tried, and eventually they just gave up.

But she’d stayed for him. She caught the sidelong glances, the wariness and distrust cast in his direction, even the sheer animosity from the rest of Belle Reve, and she’d worried the mission would just prove an excuse for a very convenient slip in the middle of the night. Waller wouldn’t care. It could all be brushed aside, a mistake, an accident, a hapless casualty. She’d thought even then that he deserved better.

At that point, it had still been a distant sort of want - none of the fervent drive or desperation it would develop into, of course. She’d spoken with him rarely, and she didn’t deny that he was an odd sort of man, but he was still the only person within those walls who’d ever made an effort to reach out to her. If nothing else, she wanted him to make it out of Corto Maltese.

And it led her here: not only alive but warm, happy, safe in a way she’d once barely been able to dream about. It wasn’t a glamorous life, of course, it wasn’t without its share of struggles, but… she’d take these struggles. A hundred times over.

Nikoletta tilted her head to kiss his jaw - about the only place she could reach without stretching - and Abner let out a long, slow breath. Finally his arm snuck around her waist, long fingers splayed across the crest of her hip. Nikoletta shut her eyes, letting her weight rest against his side. She’d spend the night here on the couch, if that’s what it turned to.

“Alright,” Abner mumbled, just as she’d begun to drift off. Nikoletta shifted.

“Hm?”

“We can go back to bed,” he decided, “I’m, um, I’m ready. Thanks, Nik.”

[brainisafk]

I have decided my brain is stupid and I shouldn't listen to it so here's The Thing.

I was thinking too hard about Neve playing tour guide to an excited Nova and this happened. Idk.

Standard disclaimer that this is super self-indulgent and also full of headcanons. >.>

______________

“So this thing just goes up and down?” Rook peered through the grate, trying to see the bottom of the elevator shaft.

“When it’s working. We’ll have to find another way down, come on.” Neve started back the way they’d come, and after a moment Rook followed.

“Surely you’ve seen elevators before.”

Rook gave her an incredulous look. “I’m Dalish. We travel. Can you imagine transporting something like that on an aravel?”

Neve hadn’t actually thought about that. “Fair point.”

“Ladders work just fine for us, and they’re portable!”

“Is that why you scamper up and down them like a squirrel?” Neve asked them with amusement.

Rook barked a laugh, then suddenly perked up. Before Neve could stop them they were off after the next thing to catch their interest.

-

Varric hadn’t told her much about his protege beyond their race and name. Neve didn’t know what to expect when they ran into each other that night in Minrathous, but they had been fairly quiet and professional during the chase after Solas.

They’d been quiet at the Lighthouse too, though that was to be expected given everything that had happened. Now, however, Neve felt like her companion had turned into an entirely different person.

She hadn’t realized until now how young they were, nor been prepared for how much energy they had. Rook had been bouncing between one distraction to the next - a merchant stall, a random cat or dog, or something shiny dropped behind some crates and forgotten. There was always something, and Rook’s ability to find these things was nearly uncanny.

-

This time she found Rook tucked halfway behind a barrel, cooing over yet another cat. They flashed a grin at her before giving the animal one last pat and standing up. Neve resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she indicated the way they needed to go.

“Surely you had cats in Arlathan,” she said as they continued their trek.

“Yeah, but not many.” Rook’s tone was a bit wistful. “The constant travel makes it hard to keep track of them, and the forest is dangerous to little things like them. Most didn’t live that long.”

Neve wasn’t sure what to say to that, but fortunately she recognized where they were. “Ah. Not far now, we just need to head-“

She turned to point for Rook, realized she had lost them again, and let out a few choice curses in Tevene.

It took her a minute to spot them. They’d climbed up onto a nearby crate and now were just staring at the crowds and the docks beyond them, eyes round and mouth hung slightly open as they took in the sights. Neve sighed.

“Rook,” she called. “We do need to get there sometime today.”

Some of her exasperation must have bled into her tone, because Rook immediately deflated. They hopped off the crate and fell into step next to her without another word.

That hadn’t been her intention, as much as she’d wanted a bit of peace. A silent Rook felt… wrong, somehow. 

Neve lasted all of one street before she caved.

“There will be more cats at the docks proper,” she said by way of apology. “Some of the fishermen feed them so they tend to congregate there.”

She glanced over to find Rook studying her. After a moment they gave her one of their beaming grins.

“Alright.”

They remained quiet for the rest of the walk, but some of the bounce returned to their step. Neve was careful to hide her own grin. No need to encourage them too much, after all.

___________

I am trying so hard not to ship them because Bellara but they are the best of friends and Nova adores her. >.>