#wip: cassie gets a pocket (or three)

[suzukiblu]

WIP WEDNESDAY GAME

Slimmed-down post/rules, but originally taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday! This week’s theme is "Young Justice is just straight-up feral about each other", as suggested by @aceofheartsofthedeck. I think I might've actually done this pretty specifically-phrased theme before but lbr, it is evergreen.

Here’s how it works:

I will post the file names of five WIPs, and will also post a snippet of new content from one of them to get the ball rolling.

Send me an ask with the name of one of the listed WIPs and I will write you a minimum of three sentences in that WIP in response!

Multiple requests are fine, but please send them in separate asks. Just a little easier for me to fill them that way, and also easier for people to read through the WIP tags smoothly later.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

WIP names:

Cassie gets a Pocket (or three) (( newly-posted and therefore lacking in links! ))

YJ accidental baby acquisition (( chrono || non-chrono ))

YJ packs up and gets pupped (( chrono || non-chrono ))

two-thirds more (( chrono || non-chrono ))

project sidekick ( yes it's a different Young Justice but trust me they're still feral as fuck about each other so STILL COUNTS ) (( chrono || non-chrono ))

snippet from “Cassie gets a Pocket (or three)”:

The morning after the team campout with Cissie and Secret and the boys while their incredibly weird superhero parent-teacher conference is happening back at the cave with very few parents and no actual teachers, unless maybe Max Mercury counts, Cassie wakes up to a vibrating pillow. 

“Snrgh?” she manages. Her pillow vibrates harder, and something chirps. She blinks her eyes open groggily, her vision all heavy and sleep-blurry, and– 

She shrieks. 

The tiny Pocket of Superboy that was hovering in front of her face yelps and falls backwards in the air. She claps her hands over her mouth, staring up at him in thrilled shock, and then bolts upright in her sleeping bag. He’s–! 

Wait. 

Why was her pillow vibrating?

[konnorhasapen]

I finished the Knifecup story.

If you've never seen my Knifecup post, you can find it here

All the characters except for Tank (obviously) are all people I've created! They're the people I headcanonTank met and got along with while up in Washington (and if you wanna know more bc I absolutely have a whole story arc behind them I'm always willing to share-)

I changed a few things from the 'last line' wip so it looked a little better. Enjoy :)

It had all started when Tank discovered a knife on Bonfire Night earlier that week. It wasn't anything special, just a folding Buck 110. Although, the amount of dark splotches and stains on it were a little odd. Several hours of smacking Ian's hands away and a few days of having kept the knife, here they were.

   "Since I know we're all a little apprehensive about trying it on me, I came up with something else," Ian explained, twisting to shrug his backpack from his shoulder and set it on the table.

   "No one was "apprehensive" about using you because we weren't going to use it on you," Manny rolled his eyes, but spun around in his seat to pay attention anyways. Tank snorted at both of them and spoke up as they approached the table as well:

   "I doubt it would've done anything to you long term anyway, considering you've done dumber." They said with a barely suppressed chuckle.

   "What could possibly be dumber than willingly being stabbed by an old, suspiciously stained knife you found buried down by the lake?" The youngest asked with a snarky tone, head lulling to look at the wolf shifter with a smartly quirked brow and matching smirk.

   "Oh, I don't know, try truck bed surfing while Manny was going fifty off roading?" Tank shot back, Dakota and Garrett breaking into a laughing fit when Ian tried to explain himself, only having heard the story from everyone else since they'd driven separately the night before to keep Dakota out of the sun.

   "We hit a divot and next thing we knew, we were missing one." Cassandra recalled.

   "He was fine!" Kevin said, valiantly defending the other host of their collective singular brain cell.

   "Neither of you were!" Tank suddenly howled with laughter, "I seem to clearly remember you screaming "I'm going after him! You guys go on without me!"  While you hoisted yourself over the tailgate, then Manny slammed the brakes and sent your face into a very intimate meeting with the dirt."

   "Yeah yeah, we get it, we're both the token dumb ones—pay attention! I brought a cup." Ian fished a light grey mug from his bag and set it atop the community table with a proud emphasis. The warehouse was silent for a few moments as they all stared.

   "...A cup?" Manny finally asked, his tone voicing everyone's confusion. Ian nodded once.

   "A cup." He stated. He carelessly chucked his bag over his shoulder and both Dakota and Tank snapped their attention towards it when it hit the floor, the sound of something definitely breaking reaching their ears. They looked back at each other with only mild concern before Tank shrugged with a face and lead them back to paying attention to whatever the knuckleheaded Ian Genner was explaining.

   "...ean, I've thrown it off Kevin's roof once or twice and it still hasn't even chipped!" He grinned and shrugged.

   "Ian," Garrett started.

   "Mhm, yeah?"

   "The handle is missing." Cassie finished. Ian went quiet, dramatic facial expressions dancing across his features as he moved his hands all over the place, unable to find a comfortable position before he settled on rubbing at the back of his neck.

   "Very good observation skills, Cassandra, but that's just a very minor, very unimportant detail—" He cut himself off with a sharp breath. "Who's placing bets? I've got money on the cup!" He announced, fishing eighty-three from his pocket and slapping the money on the table.

   "Last time I bet anything, I lost." Tank said plainly.

   "Eh, losing bets isn't the end of the world, Tank!" He replied with a smile. Tank remembered their stupid little "group vacation" out to Florida very vividly.

   "I wound up taking a swan dive off Madeira Beach bridge, just barely seeing on the way down that the ladder to climb back up was missing." They could still remember how that impact felt. Hitting the salt water from thirty feet up felt like concrete, and then they actually sank into it. Having to swim half a mile to the nearest land to get out, all in the middle of the night. It was fun, they still believe that much, but that was the last time they placed a bet without having any way of knowing the absolute outcome.  Not to mention, they weren't going to lose money to Ian of all people.

   Kevin gasped, mentioning with excitement that he still had the video.

   "I'm putting sixty on the knife," Manny pitched in with a sigh, pacing the way for everyone else, excluding Tank, to place their bets, too.

   "Thirty-eight on knife," said Cassie.

   "Knife for me, too." Dakota added, pulling seventy-one dollars from his wallet and adding it to the knife pool.

   "Even forty on knife from me," Garrett said, sliding is along the table towards the rest of the money.

   "Did you text the others?" Manny asked Ian, who nodded again with a dumb grin.

   "Jackie said she's not gonna do it, Brian said 'why the fuck are you always doing shit like this, knock it off before you lose a finger,' aaaand—" his phone chimed, "Scott says he's putting ninety on knife." He flailed his arms with a noise of betrayal, letting them go limp and smack his legs as they fell at his sides.

   "Why is no one else betting on this cup?" He groaned.

   "Because Tank's the one doing the stabbing," Manny answered, Kevin immediately shot straight up.

   "Two hundred on knife!" That had everyone stunned and sputtering.

   "Jesus, Copout, you even got that kind of money?" Cassie asked him, hazel brown eyes wide at his bet. The brunette nodded eagerly, digging his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out cash, and counting two hundred while still having extra to keep on him.

   "I don't like forgetting you're loaded," Manny sighed, Garrett agreeing with him.

   "Okay, so the way we're gonna do this is, if the cup wins, the money goes to Ian since he's the one who brought it. If the knife wins, the money goes to Tank since they found the knife." Dakota explained, everyone nodding along. Tank groaned a little at the thought of winning the bet and having to take all their money. They were the only one who didn't exactly like the idea, but the rest of them knew the money would go to parts and food for the whole group anyways, so they didn't mind in the least.

   Tank didn't like spending any money on themself even when it was their work earnings, they definitely weren't going to spend bet money on anything more than what the group needed or wanted altogether.  It was a little sad and frustrating to know Tank would spend as little on themself as humanly possible, but deep down, everyone knew Dakota would manage to convince them to treat themself a bit.

   "Wait- wait wait wait, just wait a minute!" Ian's frantic begging caught attention and he continued, pointing a finger at his best friend.  "One, I'm hurt that you would bet against me, Kevin. We're supposed to be two peas in a pod!" He exclaimed, narrowing his eyes at the policeman's kid.

   "Now I'm one pea in a pod and you're just piss in a pool," he shook his head disapprovingly for a moment before he got to his second complaint.  "Two, you guys can't gang up on me and let Tank stab the cup!"

   "Why? Afraid your cup's gonna break?" Garrett asked.

   "Yes! IT'S TANK!" Replied Ian, panic clear on his face. The present shifter chuckled a little at that.

   "Welp, too late! Bets are placed, rules are clarified, go stab that cup!" Manny clapped them on the shoulder and they nodded once.

   Tank turned the cup on its side and picked up the stained weapon, blade sliding against their palm as they flipped it around. Their brows pinched a little when they noticed their hand remained uninjured.

   This thing is dull as hell, they thought, wondering just how this was going to play out. Tank shrugged and held the cup in position. They raised the knife and slammed it down towards Ian's unbreakable cup with as much strength as they could.  A few cracks were the only sounds in the warehouse.

   "...Huh," was all Tank said as they pulled their hands away and looked at the image left behind. The knife went through the cup, sure, but it stayed there. Gravity pulled the handle until it hit the table with a quiet 'clunk,' the cup, having no choice but to follow, rolled to show the broken spots where its handle used to be.

   "The... the bet was 'if the cup broke,' wasn't it?" Cassandra asked.

   "Yeah..," Dakota replied in confusion.

   "So," Garrett started, scratching at his stubble. "What does that mean?" He gestured to the knife embedded into the cup. Neither were broken.

   "It means they've become one," Ian replied with a blank expression. "A life-changing invention..!"

   "We present to you," Kevin picked up the "life-changing invention" and held it in the air like a newly discovered ancient relic. "Knifecup." He whispered.

   "Knifecup..." Ian echoed. Minutes of silence fell over the group before Tank finally spoke up:

   "You guys just wanna blow the money at Terry's?" A series of eager agreements all jumbled together and off they went, Kevin bringing the announced "Knifecup" along with him.

   The next day,

Dumb(Kevin):

Guys I dont feel great

Cassie:

Tf did you do?

Dumber(Ian):

He made koolaid

Dako:

Was it bad or something?

Dumb:

No

Dumb:

I drank it out of Knifecup

Father(Brian):

ARE YOU SERIOUS?

Tank:

Who wants to start placing bets on how fast he drops dead?

Father(Brian):

TANK

Manny:

Fifty on tomorrow morning.

[angelasscribbles]

WIP Wednesday 11.17.21

Ready for this? Or is everyone still sad about the finale? Rest assured, I will continue to churn out content for TRR gang for months, if not years, to come!

I am currently working on four chapters from four different series! See the spoilers below the cut.

Complicated Part 17: Bachelorette Party

“Oh, please. That’s what she gets for being friends with that sniveling, simpering piece of common American trash!” Madeleine snorted derisively.

Cassie barked out a short laugh at that, “You might want to be careful who you’re calling trash, Madi. That American is going to end up being your queen and you’ll wish you had treated her better.”

Now it was Madeleine who laughed, “In what universe? We are two weeks away from the wedding! In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’m going to be queen and my first act will be to ban that bitch from my court!”

“You mean Liam’s court.” Cassie’s voice had gone ice cold.

“Same difference.”

“You know, I never pegged you as delusional Madi.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I can’t believe you still think that Liam’s going to actually marry you. He’s not. He doesn’t love you and he doesn’t need you anymore. He loves Riley and he would move heaven and earth to protect her!”

“I know!” Madeleine giggled, “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Cassie froze, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My Best Friend’s Girl Part six (as yet untitled)

By that point, we were spending most of our time together anyway. Hell, I spent more time with her than Liam did. A lot more. Not that I was counting. Ok, maybe I was counting a little. It just didn’t make a lot of sense to me. They barely saw each other; how could they be so sure they were in love?

Hinge: Thanksgiving in Valtoria (this is a very small snippet because I’ve already posted two others, in last week’s WIP Wednesday and in the WIP Game ask.)

“I’m sooooo excited that you made it back in time for Thanksgiving dinner!” Riley gushed.

“Wouldn’t miss it, love.” Liam smiled indulgently as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. Three years together and she still made his heart skip a beat when she smiled at him. He would give her anything, making it home for Thanksgiving dinner was a small thing.

Heir Apparent Ch 3 (as yet untitled), here are two snippets from this upcoming chapter:

The Palace

He closed his eyes and envisioned her holding a newborn wrapped in a blanket made from the finest cashmere, embroidered with the royal crest, him by her side, smiling proudly as the cameras flashed, introducing Cordonia to its newest prince or princess.

It would solve all of his problems. Having broken his engagement to Madeleine, he was under enormous pressure to marry, for the purpose of producing an heir. The problem was, he didn’t want to marry. Or more to the point, the only woman he wanted to marry had married someone else. He couldn’t help it that he still loved her.

Valtoria

“Drake! Are you going to tell me what happened?” She had a sinking feeling she already knew.

She had to run to keep up with him, his strides were longer than hers and he was taking the steps two at a time. By the time she made it to their bedroom, he had already emptied his pockets and was headed for the bathroom.

“Drake! What happened?!” She demanded.

“What the hell do you think happened Campbell?” He snarled as he brushed past her and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door in her face and locking it.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for him when he finally emerged from the shower. He walked out, one hand holding the towel around his waist closed, the other combing through his hair. Water droplets still clung to his rock-hard abs and the towel was draped low on his hips, a hint of public hair barely visible. In the moment before he looked up and saw her, his expression was one of distraction, her eyes traced the curve of his cheek, the hard angle of his jaw, the fullness of his lips and her breath caught in her throat.

Then he looked up and caught her eye. She could feel his walls go up as a guarded expression snapped into place and she felt an ache in her heart because she knew it was her fault.

[zacksfairest]

I am torn between "UGH IT'S BAD SCOOB" and "FUCK NU!CAP" and "zaresh?"

WIP Ask Game of No-Shame Support

oh boy these are three entirely different topics. i'll do a snippet of all three tho :)

UGH IT'S BAD SCOOB

context: this was/is supposed to be the answer to my conundrum in which cal kestis from jedi: fallen order would be the only jedi my mando-self would ever consider adopting

Cassie narrowed her eyes, standing up just a bit straighter. “Caed?” “I see it,” he immediately replied, all business once more. “I was watching the south end. Where did he come from?” “Northwest,” she said, still watching the young man. He was absolutely drenched, his dark hair hastily slicked back and away from his pale face. “The alley just off of the third stall from the end of the street.” The newcomer’s eyes finally settled on a vendor and he rushed over toward a table of spices, the dark gray poncho he wore fluttering slightly behind him as he moved. It hardly looked like it was of much use in this storm. Lightning flashed overhead, followed quickly by a rumbling clap of thunder that made everyone jump, including the young man. But something about the way he flinched seemed odd. Not out of place, not concerning, just… different. Cassie narrowed her eyes, watching him, his head hanging low as he examined what was undoubtedly a moldy and useless selection of spices. “Probably nothing,” she finally spoke up, her arms coming up to cross over her chest. Even she was starting to feel the cold through her kute. “Just thought we should mark him.” “Yeah, well,” Caedyc began, his voice grave, “you sure have something heading your way now.” She didn’t even get to ask what he meant, her HUD alerting her to movement at the far end of the street. Flimsy plasteel armor splashed with copious amounts of mud came into view, the aggravated, static filled chatter of Imperial Stormtroopers on the prowl coming into view. “Haar'chak,” she hissed, her body growing tense despite herself. “Is it our patrol?” Caedyc asked. “No,” she ground out, blinking several times in rapid succession to make her helmet scan the Stormtroopers. To confirm what she already knew wasn’t there. “The package isn’t with them.” “Osik!” he snapped, the genuine despair in his voice mirroring her own. It made her heart seize in her chest, the sensation almost painful. They had failed. The Stormtroopers continued to make their way down the street, fanning out to accost anyone and everyone they came across. They began to toss large crates and overturn tables, their blasters drawn and pointed at the merchants who tried to salvage their meager supplies. A single shot pierced the air, followed by a strangled, pain filled scream. Cassie’s head whipped toward the sound, the scent of burnt ozone already seeping through the filters in her helmet. A Gran merchant lay on the ground, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other outstretched in a silent plea for mercy. Things were going south fast. She had to get out of here. “Caed?” she called into the comms. Her arms fell back down to her sides, her right hand flexing anxiously, itching to grasp at the hilt of her vibrosword. The Gran whimpered pathetically as the Stormtrooper kicked him. “Find me a way out.” “No matter where you move they’ll see you,” he said, clearly agitated. “Your best bet is to stand your ground.” Her hand twitched toward the hilt once more. “Easy for you to say.” “They’re not looking for us.” “Is that for my benefit or for yours?” “They’re not,” he insisted, though that didn’t exactly answer her question.

FUCK NU!CAP

context: this is an 18 page, unfinished monster in which i insert myself and my friend into the scene in FatWS in which bucky is arrested and i was ready to wring the new cap's neck

“Sam.” A familiar voice broke through the din of the waiting area, and Cassie turned her back to Sam as she fished around in her pockets for a spare tissue. Eve immediately stood, to the rescue as always, tossing a wad of old McDonald’s napkins her way. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor, I’m James’ therapist.” Cassie almost laughed as she wiped at her face, praying she was still able to look presentable and not half-mad with anxiety. It was still so weird hearing Dr. Raynor call him ‘James.’ She knew he was only comfortable with a select few people addressing him by his nickname, but for some reason, in the midst of her teetering self-control in the middle of this Baltimore police department, it hit a note of utter hilarity in her. Thankfully, she was able to reign in the bubble of laughter that sat at the back of her throat. When Cassie turned around, Eve at her back, Sam was shaking the psychiatrist’s hand in greeting. She was tall, nearly matching Sam’s height, with long, russet brown hair and a stern face. She was all business as she met Sam’s gaze. “So nice to meet you,” Sam said, his gratitude clear and genuine. “Thank you for getting him out.” Cassie was about to make her presence known and voice a similar sentiment when Dr. Raynor replied, “That wasn’t me.” A brief but palpable confusion passed between the three of them—and then a man called out from the other side of the room. “Christina!” he said, surrounded by a flurry of cops and civilians alike. Cassie did a double take, and Eve muttered a soft ‘Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’ There, a mere few feet from where they stood, was John Walker. The new Captain America. He was decked out in his nauseating red and blue uniform, the shield slung across his back, and that infuriating ‘A’ within a silver star logo sitting big and shiny upon the right side of his chest. A weird design choice, if Cassie were being honest. If they wanted to drive home the whole patriot thing, shouldn’t they have placed it on the left side? Over his heart? Clearly they hadn’t consulted the best or brightest designers for this new look. Whatever. She could be petty later. Cassie vaguely heard Sam ask Dr. Raynor how she knew this clown, but she wasn’t really listening. She was too busy glaring at Walker as he approached, her entire body wound tight with nervous tension. He looked like a frat boy as he sauntered forward, days old scruff lining his jaw, his hair a ruffled mess, and a needless air of self-importance and overconfidence exuding from him that rivaled that of a college football quarterback. Not exactly the image you wanted to put forward for America’s golden boy, but what did she know? “I heard you were working with Bucky,” he addressed Dr. Raynor—Christina, he had called her—hardly even glancing in their direction, “so I thought I’d step in.” Cassie bristled at the use of Bucky’s nickname, and heard Eve’s disgusted scoff where she stood at her shoulder, but she did her best to push her newfound annoyance down, down, down into the very pits of her stomach. This was not the time or the place to broach that conversation. First, she had to introduce herself. Unfortunately. “Excuse me—” Cassie stepped forward, a polite smile plastered on her face. She had extended her hand toward him, intent on making this introduction as quick and painless as possible, but he merely threw up his hand, the sudden motion shocking her so thoroughly that she nearly tripped in the effort to stop mid-step. “No autographs right now, sweetheart,” he said, his voice loud and boisterous and grating. “Official Captain America business. Why don’t you hang around outside and my people will try to hook you up.” There was a beat of stunned silence between them, broken only by Eve’s disbelieving laughter. Luckily for all of them, or maybe just dear old John Walker, Dr. Raynor spoke up, obviously hoping to defuse this very precarious situation. “Uh, John,” she said, a hint of forced nonchalance to her voice, “this is Cassandra Theron, James’ long-time girlfriend.” To his credit, Walker had the good sense to look embarrassed for a split second, though not a moment longer. Within the span of a breath, he had recovered and that infuriatingly condescending grin was back in place upon his lips. “Ah! My apologies. I had no idea Bucky had managed to nab a girl for himself. It must’ve been hard for him to navigate the modern day dating pool, huh?” Cassie felt her eyebrow twitch, her smile beginning to falter. Oh, this was going to be far more difficult than it had any right to be. If she left this police station without being charged with the aggravated assault of Captain America, she would consider it a goddamned miracle. “Yeah, well,” she said, an artificially airy quality to her words, “I guess you could say we didn’t really meet under conventional circumstances.” “I’ll bet you didn’t!” he chuckled, as if this was some kind of inside joke. Cassie felt like she was going to faint from the effort to not outright scream. “I’ll have to get the story one day. We’ll make a night of it.” A laugh that sounded fake and awkward even to her own ears scraped its way out of her throat. Over my dead body. “Anyway,” he said, his attention back on Dr. Raynor. “I thought it would be good to let you know that Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” Cassie went rigid, she and Eve both flatly, and with no small amount of alarm, blurting out a sharp “What?” “We haven’t finished our work,” Dr. Raynor quickly replied. Cassie could have kissed her. “Who authorized this?” “Um,” Walker intoned, an obnoxious smile curling at his lips as he gestured toward himself. “He’s too valuable an asset to have tied up.” Cassie sputtered out loud, lurching forward before she could stop herself. “An asset? You—!” “Okay!” Sam stepped in, putting up a hand to keep her from launching herself at Walker’s throat. “Thanks for the help, Walker." “Sam, he can’t just—!” Cassie hissed, her head pounding, her anger at Bucky momentarily forgotten as a newly sprouted rage took root in her gut. “Is there a problem here?” Walker asked, but with none of the curiosity of a genuine question. It came out annoyed, as if this was all just the biggest inconvenience. An asset. A fucking asset. The word continued to ring hollow and loud in her skull, like the monstrous tolling of a cathedral bell. She immediately opened her mouth to reply, a vulgarity or two just waiting to leap off her tongue, when Sam spoke up, effectively cutting her off. “Not at all, man,” he said, a breezy laugh accompanying one of his charming smiles. “Just a stressful day. You know how it is.” Cassie tried again, but Sam merely shushed her, silently begging her to just let it go. He’s not worth it, she could practically hear him say. And he was right. She knew this, and yet still she wanted to scream, to yell, to wrap her hands around the neck of that star-spangled bastard as she howled over the injustice of it all. As she wailed and cried over the fact that even now, even after everything, Bucky was still just a weapon to be used, an asset to be unleashed. But she clamped down on her fury, biting at the inside of her cheek until the metallic, coppery tang of blood overtook her senses. He wasn’t worth it, she told herself, repeating it over and over again in her mind until it became fact. He was not worth her ire, not now, especially if the choice was this or Bucky in cuffs. That thought alone caused another rush of searing hot anger to flood her veins, but she merely bit down harder, welcoming the fresh taste of copper on her tongue. “Just do whatever you gotta do with him, then send him off to me,” she distantly heard Walker declare. “Got some unfinished business, him and I. You too, Wilson!” he called as Sam continued to bar her way, the new and improved Captain America turning on his heel to head for the exit. “I’ll be outside!” “I’m going to kill him,” Cassie bit out, her voice hardly that of a growl. “I’m going to fucking kill that flag draped pretender with my bare hands.” “Okay, all right, easy does it,” Sam said, looking toward Eve. “Feel free to step in at any time.” “You’re lucky I didn’t decide to snap his neck, Wilson,” Eve replied simply, continuing to suck on her lollipop. He rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot, Hex.” From the corner of her eye, Cassie saw Eve wave her fingers coyly. A small smile managed to pull at Cassie’s lips, and she felt her blood begin to cool. At least Eve agreed that this was all bullshit.

zaresh?

context: i wanted to write a piece from zaresh's POV, in the same vein of how the book series You is written from the POV of a crazy serial killer. i really do need to finish this piece

Oh, yes, the wretched harpies of Cicecta would seethe to see how lavishly he now lived. A lowly male drow, in possession of the finest baubles the surface had to offer? It would be enough to make them shriek with rage. And yet that was not his gravest sin, not by far. His greatest offense was still to come, and how he longed for it to come to fruition. A pleasurable shiver shot up Zaresh’s spine as he grinned broadly, his steps a tad lighter, the sting of the sun forgotten. Patience, he cautioned himself as he entered the marketplace. This endeavor was not to be rushed, and he knew that to do so would invite disaster. A gentle, alluring touch was required for this acquisition to be successful, and to make his move even a moment too soon would destroy the life he had created in this bustling city of culture and riches. It had been a long, long time since he had entangled himself in such a high risk scheme, but the reward… He licked his lips as he approached the grandiose fountain in the market’s center, the elaborate carvings etched into the gray marble’s surface clearly from that of the deft hand of a master craftsman. But it was not the elegant stonework of the fountain that caught his eye, but the figure perched upon its lip. With hair the deep red of the finest wine, Vaela Ceyoven stood out like a beacon in the lively crowd. It had been the first thing he had noticed about the young wood elf all those months ago in this very market. Such a fine shade, one rarely seen amongst the wood elves, and so very lush and thick. It begged to be caressed, to be threaded through his fingers as he pulled the locks taught in his grasp… Zaresh shook the thoughts clear from his mind as he smoothed his sharp grin into a pleasant smirk. The time would come when he could take part in such simple pleasures, but first he had to ensure the bait was perfect, the snare set and ready to snap shut on his prize. And what a prize she would be, his sweet Vaela. It was then that she turned slightly, revealing those bright, pine green eyes of hers as she scanned the crowd. She worried at her lower lip, her dark brows furrowed in… concentration? Anxiety? Perhaps anticipation. She was a skittish little thing, he had noticed, and it had taken much coaxing to get to this point.

[suzukiblu]

WIP Wednesday req for @breakingthespacetimewall; "Cassie gets a Pocket (or three)".

“What happened?!” Cissie demands, looking half-asleep but already rolled into a crouch with an arrow nocked. Her hair is perfect, somehow. Cassie actually doesn’t even know how she does that. 

“I–I–!” she squeaks helplessly, and the Superboy Pocket leans past her head and peers over at Cissie with a curious little croon, and Cissie stares at him in bewilderment. Cassie has the sudden awful thought that they’re all sleeping basically on top of each other, and maybe he’s not her Pocket, maybe he’s Cissie’s Pocket, and– 

“Oh!” Secret says, leaning down out of the hovering cloud over all their heads that she slept as to peer down at him, looking fascinated. “Superboy! Why are you so small?”

[suzukiblu]

Cassie gets a pocket!!

The Pocket Robin waiting patiently to be noticed in it is somehow so light on his feet that she didn’t even feel his slight weight on her thigh, and he’s just standing there with his body mostly concealed by the long fall of his cape, his bo just visible through the part in the front of it and his masked little face looking up at her with a familiarly assessing expression on it–her, and only her. 

It’s the same way she’s seen the full-sized Robin look at the plan, or the lead, or the target: that same razor-fine, razor-sharp, razorblade focus that he’s so far been reserving for the most important thing in the room and nothing else. 

Cassie doesn’t feel like she’s even the third most important thing in this tent, so that’s . . . that sure is a way to get looked at, isn’t it. 

Especially it’s a way to get looked at by a Bat.

[suzukiblu]

New wip just dropped? *Surprised pikachu face*

Could I have some Cassie gets a pocket or three on this fine Wednesday afternoon?

Secret points down at Cassie’s pillow. They both look down at it, and Cassie stares down blankly at the tiny Bart who’s standing in the middle of it in his costume the same as the tiny Superboy’s in his own, waving both his arms in the air over his head and looking impatient. He screeches something in Pocket-talk, waving his hands faster and hopping up and down in place, and the Superboy Pocket lets out a little cackle and swoops down to scoop him up and deposit him on . . . Cassie’s . . . other shoulder? 

Uh. 

What?

[suzukiblu]

pockets pockets pockets pockets please please please

“Shit,” she says, more reflex than anything, and immediately feels like a jerk for it. The Bart in her hair squeaks excitedly and starts high-speed chattering again, and the Superboy makes a grumbly little huffing noise. The Robin doesn’t look offended, at least, but she still feels like a jerk. He’s just–three. That’s three. And Robin is actually not that much less weird than Bart is, actually! And also, Robin comes with a Batman attached! Batman is a thing, with Robin! He is very, very much a thing! 

And she has to go to school on Monday with three boys as her brand-new Pockets! Three boys! Over one weekend! 

Cassie thinks she needs to lay back down, maybe. Just . . . retreat into her sleeping bag for a few years; deal with this when she’s eighteen and old enough to move out and get her GED and never go back to high school again. That idea just sounds pretty good right now.

[suzukiblu]

im already very excited for Cassie gets a Pocket (or three), so some more of that, pls!! ^^

“Uhhhhh,” Cassie says. Cissie frowns curiously, leaning forward and poking at the Pocket Bart as Secret peers in at him too. He chirps up at both of them, then zips around to Cassie’s other shoulder and up into her hair, babbling away in Pocket-talk. The Pocket Superboy floats up after him and they both settle right down in her messy bedhead, jockeying for space until they settle on Bart burying himself face-first in it and Superboy just lounging casually across his back. 

Cassie has absolutely no idea what’s happening here. 

“They’re not both mine, are they?” she asks incredulously. “They can’t be, right?” 

“Well, they’re not in Secret’s hair,” Cissie says dryly.

[suzukiblu]

“Cassie gets a Pocket (or three)” is so good!! I’m loving it so far!!

Cissie’s frown deepens. Secret tilts her head again. Cassie just feels–she just feels embarrassed. How the heck is she supposed to go back to school on Monday with two Pockets? Everybody’s gonna laugh at her! She’s not–she isn’t even cute, much less pretty or pretty enough for two boys to–to actually–! 

Literally no one in her entire grade has two Pockets. Only like nine or ten of them even have a Pocket at all–and that’s already a lot, for high school! When she shows up with two of them, especially after not having either of them on Friday, and especially when one of them looks the way Superboy looks– 

She literally does not even know how anybody’s going to react to that, but they’re definitely gonna.

[suzukiblu]

Pockets, pockets, pockets! Cassie gets a pocket, please

“. . . oh god, my mom’s never gonna let me come back to the cave,” she realizes a second later with a pained groan, covering her face with her hands. “Especially not overnight again!” 

“Why?” Secret asks, looking puzzled. “Are, um, ‘Pockets’ a bad thing?” 

“No, Cassie’s mom is just kinda uptight and it’s two teenage boys, one of who everyone knows has zero patience and even less impulse control and the other who everyone knows is a horndog teen idol who has literally never dated anyone under the age of twenty, as far as I know,” Cissie snorts, then–pauses, and frowns to herself. “Actually, has Superboy seriously never dated anyone under twenty?”

[suzukiblu]

Cassie gets pockets sounds great!

“Because there is absolutely no way ever,” she replies matter-of-factly, setting her bow aside. The Pocket pouts at her, looking offended, then zips to Cassie’s shoulder and makes a very deliberate point of kissing the side of her face. She feels a delighted and intimidated little thrill and turns bright red. “Well, that answers that.” 

The Pocket makes a face at Cissie, then hugs Cassie’s face. 

“Uh,” Cassie says, swallowing nervously. Does that answer that, actually, or is he Cissie’s Pocket and he’s just mad she thinks he's not?

[suzukiblu]

cassie gets 3 pockets for wipwednesday!!!

“I don’t know!” Cassie hisses at her, though that definitely makes her feel a lot worse. Superboy’s used to mature girls and–Superboy’s used to actual women, actually! Like, ones who aren’t flat as a board and actually know how to flirt with a guy and who don’t fight crime in goggles and kneepads and have, like, actually kissed a guy before! Literally any guy whatsoever! Literally any! Girls who actually need their sports bra, if nothing else! 

“Huh,” Cissie says, still frowning. “That’s sort of . . . like, weird, isn’t it?” 

“What?” Cassie says. briefly distracted from her doom spiral by the statement. “What’s weird?”

[suzukiblu]

Cassie gets a Pocket (or three), please? Love this theme!!

“Uh,” Cassie says. Wait. Superboy’s one thing, but Impulse? Why would . . . ? No, he definitely can’t be hers too, Pocket Superboy must just be doing that thing where Pockets wanna hang out all the time and–

Pocket Superboy settles back down on her opposite shoulder, looking very smugly pleased with himself, and the tiny Bart hugs her face and starts high-speed babbling some kind of squeaky little . . . something, she guesses. 

. . . okay then. 

Um.

[suzukiblu]

“Cassie gets a Pocket (or three)” looks SO good, may I have a snippet of that for WIP Wednesday please? <3

“Cissie,” she says as carefully as she can. “Tell me at least one of them’s yours or Secret’s. At least one.” 

Cissie winces. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she says, and Cassie despairs, then finally makes herself look down into her lap.

[suzukiblu]

Can we get Cassie some pockets please?

“Huh,” Cissie says, still staring down at Cassie’s lap. “Uh . . . Cassie?” 

“He’s got a little cape and staff!” Secret coos, clasping her hands together delightedly. She’s looking down at Cassie’s lap too. Cassie . . . Cassie thinks maybe she just . . . won’t, personally. Like. Just–she won’t. Not right now, anyway. 

Actually, maybe just never. Maybe just . . . literally never, ever, ever.