#Chapter four

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part four: a familiar stranger

word count: 2.2k (sorry)

warnings: none, i think

three | four | five

Y/N stood behind the counter, arranging a new batch of books by the window, her fingers brushing the spines absently. The scent of fresh coffee mixed with the fragrant blooms that lined the shelves, creating an atmosphere that felt homely.

She was distracted, humming softly to herself as she dusted off the shelf when the door jingled again. Looking up, her eyes widened slightly at the tall figure stepping inside—a man in a dark suit, his posture casual but commanding. Her heart skipped a beat.

It was him – the man from the other night.

She recognized him instantly, though she couldn't place his name. That face—the sharp jawline, the slight stubble, the cool, collected demeanor—had stayed with her since that awful night in the alley. She still hadn’t quite figured out what had happened, or why she couldn’t shake the memory. His face lingered in the back of her mind every time she found herself alone, but the thought of him often made her skin prickle with unease.

She froze for a moment, unsure what to do. He wasn’t looking at her yet, and he seemed absorbed in browsing the shelves, his hands casually brushing over the books. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Hey, you!”

Lando's head snapped up, his hand twitching for his holster as his eyes locked onto hers for a moment. Lando kept his expression neutral, though his mind raced until he could finally place where he’d seen her before. His brows furrowed then – he hadn’t given her his name. He had left her with nothing: no reason to remember him, no reason to seek him out. 

Unless… 

No. She was looking at him with something almost like gratitude.

The girl looked different then the last time he saw her– not pale and shaking, not clutching a cup of tea like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. She was standing behind the counter of the small shop, wearing an apron dusted with flour and smelling faintly of cinnamon and roses.

Oh, and she was looking right at him.

A slow beat passed. Lando tilted his head slightly, schooling his features into something neutral. “Do I know you?”

She waved, stepping forward through the swinging gate, shifting slightly on her feet like she wasn’t sure if she should be doing this. “I—uh, I don’t know if you remember me—”

He let out a quiet laugh. 

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.

The Brit allowed recognition to seep into his expression. “Yeah, yeah! Of course I do,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “How are you?”

She brightened at that, clearly relieved. “Oh! Good. Yeah, um—” she gestured vaguely toward the shop, where books lined the windowsills and flowers spilled over wooden crates.

“I—uh—” she faltered, awkwardly pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, clearly realizing only after she had called out to him that she didn’t actually know his name. “I just—um—” She gestured vaguely, eyes darting to the street like she was suddenly unsure about everything.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, playing along. “You just…?”

She hesitated, then let out a nervous little laugh. “I just—wanted to say thanks.”

Lando raised a brow, feigning curiosity. “For what?”

She blinked up at him, almost as if she was debating whether or not she’d imagined their last encounter entirely. “The other night,” she clarified, soft but certain. “When I… you know. Sort of… had a moment.”

A moment. That was one way to describe it.

Lando allowed an easy smile to curve his lips, playing the role easily—the kind stranger who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

She wrung her hands nervously, trying to pick the right thing to say. “I work here. And, well, I saw you passing by, and I just—I felt bad about not thanking you properly before, and since you’re here now, I thought maybe—” She motioned awkwardly to the coffee bar. Her hands flailed a little, as if trying to physically grasp the right words.

Lando raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself.

She huffed, exhaling sharply before blurting out, “Do you want a free coffee?”

That… was not what he had been expecting.

He blinked. “What?”

“A coffee! Or, uh—” She hesitated, then pointed back to the menu boards. “I mean, we also have tea. And books. And flowers. I wouldn’t recommend eating the flowers, though, even if some of them are technically edible—”

Lando bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Or, um. A scone? If you like those. I mean, you don’t look like a scone person, but—”

She stopped herself, her cheeks warming. “Sorry. That was weird.”

Lando blinked. What the fuck.

This stranger who had seen something she shouldn’t have, who had been this close to being food for trees, and now she was… offering him free coffee. 

She was worrying about whether or not he was a… scone person?

Something twisted in his chest, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He wasn’t sure whether it was amusement or exasperation. For a moment, Lando just stared at her. He had been expecting to have to keep an eye on her from a distance. To make sure she hadn’t started asking too many questions, hadn’t put together the jagged pieces of what she had seen that night.

But here she was, looking at him like he was just some good Samaritan who had done a kind thing. Not the monster who had left blood on the pavement.

She gestured at the display case just beside them. “I also made cinnamon rolls earlier? They’re, um, not burned. So that’s a plus.”

He stared at her, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

She was odd, and noticeably so. There was a softness to her, like she wasn’t used to talking to people for too long. But she was also determined in that way people got when they had made up their mind about something.

It seemed she had made up her mind about him.

Lando should have walked away. Should have brushed her off, ignored her, let her exist in her little café world and left it at that. The smart thing to do would be to walk away. Instead, he found himself saying, “I wouldn’t say no to a coffee.”

Her whole face lit up. “Really?”

Lando smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, alright,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “Surprise me.”

As she spun around and practically bounced into the backroom, Lando followed along the counter, shaking his head. 

She doesn’t remember my face. 

Good.

Lando watched as she hurriedly started making something, moving with a little too much focus—like she wanted to get it right. He leaned casually against the counter, surveying the shop. It was small but warm, shelves lined with books and carefully arranged bouquets of all sorts of flowers from lilies to chrysanthemums to peonies.

It suits her, he thought.

She quickly ducked behind the counter to prepare the coffee. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Her hands fumbled a bit as she worked—milk, no milk? Sugar?—she couldn’t decide. She didn't want to mess it up.

But as she focused on pouring the hot liquid, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. He was still standing there, leaning against the counter, watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. She almost wanted to go back up to him and apologize for how weird she was being, but instead, she took a breath and tried to settle herself. She could do this. She could just be... normal.

"How’s your day been?" she asked suddenly, giving him a tentative smile. 

Is she being too friendly? Not friendly enough?

“I mean, I don’t... I don’t know what you’re in town for, but…” she gave him a once over,” —like business or something?”

Lando chuckled lightly, scanning the passing people through the large windows with an analytical gaze. “Yeah, something like that,” he replied absentmindedly, leaning back against the counter. “Mostly just meetings n’ shit. Nothin’ too excitin’.”

The coffee machine hissed, a brief distraction from the awkward silence that lingered between them. For the first time in hours, the knot in her chest loosened just a little. Surprisingly, it was him that broke the silence. Turning his attention back to her, he suddenly asked, “Why books?”

His question about the books caught her off guard, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that books were the one thing that hadn’t ever failed her. She clung to them like a lifeline, especially nowadays.

“Margot lets me do pretty much whatever I want,” she laughed lightly, clearly fond of the elderly shopkeeper. “I… uh, like to read, so I curate some stuff for here, and then if anyone finds something they like, they can just buy it.”

“D’you have a favorite?”

To his credit, he almost appeared genuinely curious. But Y/N had given her bookish rants to enough people to know how boring they were, so she gave him a smile anyway.

She hadn’t noticed how intense his eyes were – geodes of green and gray and gold. It took a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with him. His gaze was always direct, as if giving the person in front of him his full attention. Something about it made her feel nervous, analyzed.

“I… I don’t know. There’s this one I really like. The Night Circus? It’s a fantasy — sounds dumb, I know— but it’s not just about magic. It’s about… well, people, really.”

Lando’s eyes glimmered, his head tilted in interest. “Fantasy, ay? Didn’ think you were the type, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” she laughed weakly, smiling a little easier now. “It probably sounds cringey, but that one… it’s different. It’s dark, but beautiful. Like… it’s about choices. And sacrifices. The kind of things people don’t think about until it’s too late.”

He appeared to consider her words, nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve got a thing for dark, complicated stories.”

She laughed. Before she could think too much about it, the next words were already out of her mouth. “You’re one to talk.”

Lando smirked, but there was no malice behind it, just acknowledgement. “Fair enough. I s’ppose I’ve got a bit of a story m’self.”

The way he said it, with such casual ease, made her wonder. But before she could ask, he went on, his voice soft and steady.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.”

His words were simple, but there was something in the way he said it. A beat passed before she finished making his drink and slid it toward him, smiling nervously. “Here you go. I hope you like it.”

Lando took a slow sip, keeping his expression unreadable. He could feel her eyes on him as he did.

“...So?” she asked, her voice almost hopeful.

He let the silence hang just long enough for her to start rocking on her feet. Then he gave a small nod. “Not bad.”

She visibly relaxed, pleased with herself.

Lando smirked against the rim of the cup. 

She had no idea who she was dealing with.

“You’re a good person.”

She looked up from the counter she’d been wiping at.  

Well that was unexpected.

“You’ve got a way with words,” she laughs softly.

He shrugged, the motion effortless. “I’m good at getting people to trust me.”

Just then, for a second, her pulse quickened. His words hung in the air, almost too heavy, too meaningful. But he didn’t give her too much time to think about it. Before she could think too hard about it, she watched him slip back into his suit jacket with a pensive look on his face.

"What do I call you?"

The question hung in the air for a long beat.

Lando’s heart skipped—just a beat. His brain moved fast, calculating options, weighing the risks. He could lie, give her a fake name. But there was something about her that made lying feel wrong.

He considered his options, the name he might give, but all of them felt too close to the truth. Out here, in the open, surrounded by people. It was all too exposed.

Lando opened his mouth, and the lie came naturally, like a practiced reflex. "I go by… Liam."

Liam. It wasn’t far off. Close enough to feel realistic, yet distant enough to keep his true identity unknown.

Her eyes sparkled, expressing brightening at that. "Liam. That’s nice. A strong name."

He just nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the tightness in his jaw. His phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

"Well, Liam, it’s nice to finally know your name."

And for a moment, Lando almost believed her. For just a moment, it almost felt like he was just a man in a coffee shop, having a drink with someone who wasn’t afraid of what he was capable of.

It wasn’t long before he realized how dangerous that thought was.

Because she didn’t know.

"Yeah," he said, his voice quieter now. "Nice to meet you."

He needed to leave before he started thinking too much. But as he turned to walk out, she stopped him again. "Liam," she said, her voice softer this time, as if testing the weight of his name in her mouth. "Will I see you again?"

Will you?

The only answer that felt honest was the one he couldn’t give. Instead, he smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—and nodded.

"Maybe." And with that, he stepped out into the evening air, leaving her behind as he headed back to the real world — his world.

[mirhashi]

SEAS UNFORTUNATE SOUL

(Sorry it’s a bit short)

Chapter 4

Poseidon walked down the halls of Mount Olympus. Athena, anytime she saw Poseidon, always gave him a look. She was the only person on Mount Olympus that knew Poseidon took Odysseus.

He kept walking when he heard a particularly annoying voice: “Poseidon! There you are! I thought you would have left by now.” Zeus walked over laughing. “I was about to, until your annoying voice called my name.” Poseidon sneered, looking at his brother.

“That’s not very nice, is it?” Zeus chuckled, “Come on, let’s have a drink. It’s been forever since we had one together.”

Odysseus was walking around the palace, bored out of his mind. His body was still in some pain, but it wasn’t as intense as it would have been weeks ago.

It was late, and he was about to go to the cell he slept in, which now had a lot of pillows and blankets for him to lie in. Poseidon decided to put them there even though he denies putting them there.

Suddenly Poseidon returned, making Odysseus jump. Poseidon fell to the ground completely drunk. Odysseus winces, moving over and checking on the god. “Odyy~ I think I,” Poseidon’s words were slurred, “you’re drunk out of your mind,” Odysseus whispered before getting the god to his feet and helping him to his bedroom.

He helped the gods into the bed. “Mm, you have soft hands~” Poseidon slurred as he lay in the bed. Odysseus turned to walk out when suddenly the god's arms wrapped around him, pulling him into bed with him. “Don’t leave—“ Poseidon whined, his chest pressed against the mortal's back.

Odysseus was tense, not liking the sudden contact. But as a little time went by, he relaxed a little.

He adjusted himself into a more comfortable position with Poseidon's head against his chest.

He gently ran his fingers through the god's hair slowly. A sudden sound rumbled from the god's throat. Purring.

Odysseus's eyes widened. “Oh my, you purr?” He chuckled softly, but the god was too exhausted to care.

The next day, Poseidon woke up with the biggest hangover ever. He grumbled. He finally realized he was leaning against something warm and soft. His eyes shot open, seeing himself sleeping against Ody. He yelled, falling back off the bed.

Odysseus suddenly woke up shocked. “What’s with the yelling?” he whispered while rubbing his eyes. “Why was I sleeping against you!” Poseidon yelled, sitting up off the floor, “I don’t know; ask yourself why you didn’t let me leave.” Odysseus grumbled, getting out of bed.

Poseidon hissed to himself, getting off the floor and quickly getting changed while fixing his hair. “No one shall know I was cuddled up against you like that, you hear!” He sneered, “Oh, don’t worry, but they will know that you purr.” Odysseus chuckled, running out of the room.

Poseidon's face turned red. He ran after the mortal. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Eleni helped get seaweed out of Odysseus's hair because Poseidon almost drowned him. “You two have been getting a lot closer,” she said, finishing up. “You think so?” Odysseus asked softly, not realizing it until now.

“Yea, some might say you two are starting to gain feelings for each other.” Odysseus shook his head. “I assure you it’s not that,” he chuckled softly.

Eleni finished braiding his hair. “I don’t even think you know that, Ody,” she said, walking out of the room.

The rest of the day Odysseus was in deep thought. He wasn’t gaining feelings for the sea god; he was in love with Penelope.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about all of that. He started to do some of his chores when Poseidon came over. He sat down and watched the mortal. “You know it’s not nice to stare,” Odysseus sneered.

“It’s nice when I’m staring at a man folding chitons completely wrong.” Poseidon chuckled. “Oh, and I’m assuming you know,” Ody sneered. Poseidon took that as a challenge.

He moved over and started to fold them. He folded them just like how his mother taught him.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Show-off,” he mumbled, annoyed.

From then on, Poseidon and Odysseus hung out a lot more. The nymphs and servants gossiping about the two. The little arguments they would get into were over small, stupid stuff.

Poseidon brought Ody to a little pool that was hidden under the palace. “Wow, it’s amazing down here,” he whispered, looking around. His eyes widened seeing kids running around. “It’s a nursery,” Poseidon said.

Odysseus stopped backing up. “No, no, no, Poseidon, you don’t understand. I can’t be near kids.” Ody started to panic, backing up.

Poseidon grabbed his hand. “Ody...it’s fine,” he whispered. “No, no, I killed one. I dropped him off Troy’s walls…” he whispered, his breathing picking up.

“Ody…you didn’t kill him.” Poseidon whispered, turning his head to look at a little boy who looked exactly like… “How...” Ody was shocked.

It was Astyanax.

[ranmacapss]

[Ranma ½] ✥ Chapter 4, Never, Never, Never

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Four • How Insensitive

TAGLIST FORM

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⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI AGENT OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU talk • SA, kidnapping, human trafficking (women and minors), Murders, Death, Weapons, Drugs, underground auctions |Mention of not sleeping and bad habits | Mention of SEALS missions | Fight scene • broken glass, giving and receiving blows, blood, falling from a building, mention of stabbing and strangling, head underwater - drowning.

ϕ

MONDAY, AUGUST 22

Manhattan 16th Precinct, 11:04 AM

The summer sun hung high over Manhattan, casting sharp shadows on the pavement. It was late morning, but the heat was already creeping in, making the air thick with the scent of exhaust and the faint lingering bite of freshly brewed coffee from a cart down the block.

Miles leaned against his car, a to-go cup in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling absentmindedly while he waited. He wasn’t in a rush. He knew Alexis would show up exactly when she meant to—never late, never early, just right on time in that way only she managed.

The month had flown by at lightning speed. It had been a game of coordination, chasing bad guys while maintaining a peaceful ground to work with the Special Victims Unit. At this rate, Miles was certain the Sixteenth Precinct had become more familiar to him than his own home. He saw it as a never-ending race. Wandering from his desk at the Bureau, to the SVU bullpen, to the sometimes darkest streets of the city. It was the cost of working with Alexis.

It was a heavy, complicated case: an entire ring to dismantle, traffickers to track down, victims and future targets to protect. Time was running out, and they'd dragged on long enough as it was. Though other agents would have taken their evenings off, Miles spent his by his partner's side, seeking a gentle balance between work and a list of natural needs. And when he finally took a break, Alexis was always the last to leave.

As the navy blue SUV finally pulled up, the agent pushed off the car and turned just in time to see the woman step out. He didn’t need to see any more. Alexis looked like she hadn’t had a break in months. The usual sharpness in her green eyes was dulled by exhaustion, her movements a little heavier than normal, like she was running on fumes and sheer force of will. There was a stiffness in her shoulders, a tension she carried like it was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t new—Miles had seen it before, too many times to count—but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

—You look like hell. He grabbed the extra coffee he’d set on his roof earlier and held it out. Drink.

—You’re a saint.

Alexis didn't mind the slight burn in her throat. The coffee was hot and didn’t taste like anything she’d been served earlier. It wasn’t much. She could only feel the warmth relaxing her for a moment. Just enough to keep both feet on the ground.

—Nah, snorted Miles. I stopped being one a long time ago. I just know you well enough to know you didn’t stop to grab one yourself.

She took another sip, exhaling slowly as if the coffee was the only thing tethering her to reality. The day had started early, right before dawn. A sharp morning run, a shower and a protein bar had been enough to get Alexis on the road. From then on, it had been nothing but meetings, files and a liquid barely able to keep her awake.

—I had things to do.

—Yeah, like not sleeping.

Miles sent her a knowing glance, though his lips tightened in concern. Ever since he'd started working with Lexi, it had been the same old story. Evenings spent alone at the office, meals consisting of military rations and coffee, and a certain taste for workaholism. He already knew she hadn’t slept a wink all night, busy with reports and tactical fieldwork to catch their targets.

—I sleep, promised Alexis, lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.

—Sure. When’s the last time you spent a full night in your bed?

—My couch is comfy.

He opened his mouth to fire back, probably with some quip about actual beds and adult life choices, but the low hum of an approaching engine cut him off. A black SUV pulled up to the curb, smooth and precise, right behind Gray’s vehicle.

Lieutenant Olivia Benson parked with practiced ease, sunglasses down her nose, jacket slung over the backseats. The engine off, she was already moving, long strides and sharp eyes that missed nothing. Rollins was a step behind her, blond hair tied back, forehead glistening with fine droplets of sweat. For a brief moment, she could see her reflection in a mirror, finding in Miles a sense of familiarity.

—Morning, greeted Olivia, already sensing a curious vibe. Is this a bad time?

She pushed her sunglasses up on her head, pushing back her dark hair. The two agents stood right in front of her, a somewhat awkward silence between them. She glanced briefly at Amanda before turning her attention back to the feds. Miles wore a soft frown, lips pursed as if he’d been stopped dead in his tracks. Alexis was leaning against the hood, coffee burning in her mouth, wearing her usual look.

—We were just talking about comfy couches.

—Can’t say I’d put ‘comfy’ and ‘couch’ in the same sentence. Amanda raised an eyebrow, a smirk ghosting over her lips. What’d yours ever do to you?

—Nothing. It’s my bed that’s holding a grudge.

Olivia crossed her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. She caught Miles’ eyes for a second–enough to understand the depth of his thoughts. He was worried. Alexis wasn’t just any agent. She was his partner, someone who hadn’t emerged from Quantico with a college degree. A woman who had enlisted right out of high school, who had experienced combat zones, war, and who had never once revealed to anyone the reason for her departure from the Navy.

—Rough night?

—Rough month, muttered Miles, earning a stern look from the SEAL. What? If you wanted me to lie, you should’ve said so.

Gray just rolled her eyes, finishing her cup of coffee bottoms up. She didn’t need some barstool therapy sessions. This wasn’t about her. Or the fact that her bed felt too soft to sleep in, even after three years. A trafficking case awaited their full attention. They had to focus on that.

—We’ve been tracking Manovich and other guys for the past few weeks. Alexis led the way, her stride unhurried but purposeful as she guided everyone into the precinct. He was never the big fish, but he did exactly what we hoped–led us straight to his boss.

She reached a door, and without hesitation, held it open. Olivia and Amanda exchanged a quick, almost imperceptible glance, understanding each other without even using words. They weren't used to this, least of all from the feds.

Still, over the past few weeks, the unit had discovered Alexis's quiet, old-school manners. Opening doors, saying thank you and showing the same respect to everyone, no matter their position or whatever made them a unique individual.

They were still getting used to this. To her.

—Dmitri Kalinov. He’s been hiding out in a villa on Staten Island with his inner circle.

Alexis was the first to step into the elevator. She wedged herself at the back, arms folded tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. The small space forced her closer to Olivia than she’d like, the Lieutenant standing just to her left, close enough that the brush of a sleeve or the shift of weight felt magnified.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, and the hum of the precinct faded into an almost uncomfortable silence. That is, until Miles cleared his throat and picked up seamlessly, his tone a little warmer, a little more conversational.

—Kalinov used to run a private security firm back in Russia. Real high-end stuff–politicians, celebrities, oligarchs. Then he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. A few arms deals, some money laundering, and he burned too many bridges. Came here to start fresh. Now he’s got his hands in everything–drug smuggling, human trafficking, underground auctions.

—Auctions? asked Olivia, voice edged with disbelief.

—Not just trafficking. He sells people. Women, mostly. Some minors. His network’s tight, but we’ve seen enough to know he’s preparing for another event.

Alexis’ voice was sharp, a fierce edge in her eyes reflecting all the cruelty she’d carefully studied over the last few weeks to even have a chance of dismantling a ring of such magnitude. Reports from the coroner’s office, photos, old eastern documents she’d had to translate. The land was colder, further north, but the horrors had the same source: evil.

—And the villa? Amanda’s lips pressed in a thin line, fingers curling into a fist at her side.

—It’s his fortress. We’ve confirmed his inner circle is there. At least four victims too. The place is big: high fences, security cameras. He thinks he’s untouchable.

—He’s not.

The tension in the small cabin only increased at the SEAL’s firm conclusion. She remained focused on the glowing floor numbers, her expression tight. The other agent already knew what he’d find if he dared to look, he had watched his partner all too closely before. Instead, he just turned a little more towards Amanda, trading a tight smile with her.

Still, a certain someone couldn’t quite shake off the intrigue surrounding the brunette. Olivia’s gaze found her, studying the lines of exhaustion beneath the surface, the set of her jaw, the way her hands remained fisted at her sides.

The elevator jolted slightly as it slowed, the movements pressing them all just a little closer. Olivia’s shoulder brushed Alexis’, the brief contact sending a pulse of awareness between them. It was subtle, but it made the Commander’s spine straighten, a rigid line against the press of the metal wall.

—You look tired.

—Been a long week, replied Alexis, finally glancing toward the other brunette. I’ll sleep when it’s over.

—That an FBI thing or just you?

A ghost of a smirk touched Alexis’ lips. Green eyes focused on the way a few strands of Amanda’s hair were beginning to fall from her updo. She could breathe in slowly, away from the captivity of the woman’s gaze.

—Maybe both.

The elevator dinged, the spell of the enclosed space breaking as the doors opened to the bustling SVU floor. Miles moved first, slipping through the gap with a stride, the detective hot on his heels. Back in her corner, Gray invited the unit head to step forward first, arm braced to keep the doors open. She offered a simple nod to Olivia’s thanks, her face a mask of professionalism, prior to following suit.

The Lieutenant’s office had not changed since last time. The smell of coffee was ever-present, as was the sweet perfume of the person who worked there. Alexis couldn’t help but allow her gaze to wander, unconsciously mapping out every detail. Lots of folders, awards, framed photos. The little boy must have been barely four years old and had a smile that lit up the city. Yet even that couldn’t overcome the world’s wickedness.

—Kalinov’s got three points of entry at the villa, began Alexis, her voice steady. Front, back, and a service entrance through the basement. We’ve been monitoring the place for weeks. His guys are good, but not perfect. We’ve identified patterns in their movements.

—The villa’s got a full security system, stepped in Miles. Cameras, motion sensors, likely armed guards. We’re thinking a coordinated approach–FBI handles breaches, SVU focuses on victim recovery and processing.

Olivia nodded, briefly meeting Amanda’s eyes, before finding the commander’s tense face again. She stood on the side, allowing everyone enough room, her arms crossed, the shadows under her eyes more pronounced in the harsh overhead light.

—And if Kalinov decides to go down swinging?

—We make sure he doesn’t get the chance.

ϕ

MONDAY, AUGUST 22

Staten Island — Kalinov Villa, 06:04 PM

The villa loomed over them, its stone facade cloaked in shadows as the late afternoon sun dipped behind a line of pines. The air was thick with salt and the distant murmur of waves crashing against the rocky shores. Tactical teams worked their way in with precision, dark silhouettes against the crumbling elegance of the estate.

Alexis moved through the first floor, her Glock steady in both hands. Her breaths were measured, her steps a careful rhythm on the aged hardwood. She swept each room, eyes sharp and unyielding, every corner a potential threat. Behind her, just a few feet away, Olivia mirrored her pace, their unspoken coordination an uneasy truce.

—Ground floor clear, signaled Miles through the comms. We’ve got Kalinov’s men in cuffs. No sign of the boss.

—Roger that.

The commander stopped near yet another door, waving to her colleague of the day to keep an eye on the corridor. Olivia positioned herself, weapon in hands, and didn't move again until she felt a tap on her shoulder. Another room without Kalinov's presence. It felt like a manhunt. A long and bumpy road, in the care of a woman who had spent years carrying out operations of this kind.

It was a far cry from anything Gray had ever experienced. There were no bomb threats, no war material pointed at her, not even mines under her feet. Still, Olivia could feel all the intense energy emanating from behind her. There was something about the way the brunette walked, so silent that the lieutenant doubted she was even there at one point.

She was the first to step onto the wide landing that overlooked the grand foyer. There, extensive bookcases lined the walls, stuffed with antique and Russian books, whose covers echoed the rugs on the wooden floor. There was a small lounge, a desk and a few plants. The kind of place that’s quite comfortable if you forget the numerous trafficking activities held there.

As she approached the railing, Olivia spotted Miles on the floor below, directing officers and agents, his voice firm but calm. A line of suspects had already been placed against one of the walls, with the task force keeping an eye on them. As they did so, Amanda, Carisi and Fin led each of the victims out of the same fortress that had held them captive.

The Lieutenant, clearly distracted, heard the commotion before realizing what had provoked it. The impact echoed through the space, a harsh thud followed by the rapid shuffle of feet and the harsh scrape of furniture being shoved aside. She turned around just in time to see both Kalinov and Alexis crash into the ornate bannister of the villa’s grand hallway.

The two hit the polished hardwood floor, the impact rattling through the bones of the old house. Their target recovered quickly, twisting beneath the woman and slamming an elbow into her ribs. Alexis grunted but didn’t lose her hold, her grip like iron as she rolled them over and forced his face against the floorboards.

—Stay down, she commanded, her voice low, dangerous.

Except Kalinov wasn’t the type to surrender. With a growl, he planted his feet and bucked, sending her off balance. She hit the bannister again, wood splintering under the force. The Russian was already on his feet, fists raised, eyes cold and calculating.

He struck first–a jab, then a cross, as she weaved under the blows, her movements sharp and economical. She countered with a brutal hook to his jaw, the sound of knuckles on bone echoing through the hall. He stumbled for a second, retaliating with a sweeping kick. What he hadn’t expected was for the brunette to catch his leg and twist it until his knee gave a sickening pop.

The commander watched him collapse to the ground, howling from utter pain. The man was relentless, already pushing up to the glass coffee table to retrieve a heavy vase. In a matter of seconds, almost desperately, he hurled it straight at her. The porcelain shattered as it collided with her shoulder, causing a slight tingling sensation on her skin.

Alexis hissed at the sharp sting of pain, but it only seemed fuel to her. She charged him, her shoulder slamming into his chest. They crashed again, this time shattering the glass of the furniture, creating hundreds of tiny pieces that still reflected the sun. The rest was an explosion of blows, a gentle dance between giving and receiving.

From the corner of the room, Olivia didn't know precisely where to look. She was doing her best to follow the movements, weapon in hand, determined to find a shooting angle. Only the fight was faster and tougher than she'd ever experienced. Gray and Kalinov both had blood on their faces, their fists clenched and ready to strike again. He was flying her from one side of the room to the other. She used the computer screen to punch him in the face before stabbing two pens into his thigh.

Before Olivia could react, Alexis charged at their target and dragged him through the window with her. They tumbled through the air, glass shattering as their world turned into a chaotic swirl of sky, shards, and fresh air before they plummeted into the stone fountain below. Water exploded around them, the force of their fall cracking the basin. Alexis hit first, the shock of icy water stealing her breath. Kalinov landed on top of her, his weight pinning her down as they both scrambled to find footing in the shallow pool.

The trafficker didn’t waste a second. His hands were around her throat, fingers digging into her skin as he forced her head under the splashing water. Alexis barely heard Olivia’s cry as she struggled beneath the surface. Her vision blurred, bubbles rising to the surface with her last gasp. Outside, her hands never stopped moving, finding the edge of the fountain and using it as leverage. She brought her legs up, boots connecting with Kalinov’s chest and offering a solid push that sent him reeling backward.

The air had never tasted so good. Back at the surface, Alexis barely had time to get up and gasp for air, water streaming from her hair and clothes, before he charged again. She met the man with a spray of water to the face, blinding him for a split second. It was all she needed. Makes him unaware of his surroundings–her every move.

She surged forward, her first connecting with his nose in a wet crunch. Kalinov’s head snapped back, blood mingling with the water. Next came a swift elbow to his jaw and a tight grip on his collar that helped her slam his head against the stone edge of the fountain. The impact left a crimson smear against the pale stone, Kalinov’s body finally going slack as the water lapped his head.

—Gray!

Olivia's voice echoed again from the broken glass on the top floor. Alexis didn’t respond. Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving as she released the target’s collar. She stood in the fountain, water dripping from every angle, a dark silhouette against the pale stone and clear sky.

Slowly, she raised her gaze to her day’s partner and found only worry plastered on her face. The Lieutenant's eyes were full of questions. She'd gotten used to the idea of the federal agent's career, but she'd never imagined she'd be at the forefront of such a fight. Was this her daily routine? Did she consider it a heavy struggle like Olivia did, or was it just one of those days?

—Target neutralized.

ϕ

TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

Manhattan 16th Precinct — SVU Bullpen, 9:17 PM

Dmitri Kalinow was dead.

This was the first successful co-operation between Violent Crimes and the Special Victims Unit. The major trafficker and his entire network had fallen. His men were in custody, his operation dismantled and his victims taken to hospital. It was a win. Justice, finally, had a chance to breathe.

The day following the raid had been long and trying. The villa had been seized–agents, officers and technicians from various departments engaged in a hunt for evidence. The paperwork had piled up, interviews had stretched into the late hours, and by the time the clock hit 9 p.m., exhaustion sat heavy on everyone’s shoulders.

The precinct, however, hummed with an unusual lightness. The end of a hard-fought case called for a celebration, and as the last files were signed off, Olivia stood in the bullpen, a rare, genuine smile on her lips.

—Alright, everyone. Bar down the street in twenty minutes. First round’s on me!

There was a beat of silence before the room came alive with murmurs of approval. Everyone had been through their share of tough cases, but it was true this one was enough to put some people off. Though the FBI had handled the drugs, weapons and organized crime part, Olivia's unit had been present for each of the young women who had fallen victim to Kalinov. Four of them were still in the heart of the villa, as planned. Others were not so lucky and had been murdered. And yet others had been discovered during interrogation - names, dozens of them.

Miles leaned against a desk, arms crossed, watching the energy shift. There was something different about the air tonight. It wasn’t just the end of another case–it was the kind of win that didn’t come often. A dismantled operation, a dead trafficker, and victims who could finally have a shot at something close to justice. Cases like this usually ended with frustration, loose ends, loopholes that let monsters slip through the cracks.

This time, they had won.

—Langford, Gray–you in?

The agent barely had time to glance at his partner. Alexis was already pulling her jacket from the back of her chair, ready to leave. She shook her head gently, car keys in hand.

—Can’t. Gotta get home to my boy.

The words were casual. Alexis hadn't meant to catch anyone by surprise, but she did. Rollins watched from her desk, eyebrow raised in curiosity, as Sonny emerged from the last file he’d been working on. Even Fin–who rarely engaged in idle speculation–made a small sound of interest. The woman who had struggled with their main target the day before had someone waiting for her at home?

It was Olivia's reaction that Miles found most intriguing. It was subtle, but it was there–the slight pause, the way her head tilted ever so slightly at Alexis’ words. He could sense a hint of disappointment, as if the brunette had hoped to enjoy the SEAL's company for a while longer.

—Your boy, huh? Olivia echoed, her voice carrying the same tone she used when pressing a suspect. Didn’t know you had someone waiting on you.

The commander barely looked up as she zipped her jacket, shrugging one shoulder. Miles could practically hear the gears turning in Olivia’s head. She was taking in the faint bruising along Alexis’ knuckles, the way her left wrist was wrapped, the shadow of a cut just along her temple. The remnants of her fight with Kalinov–of the moment she and the trafficker had gone crashing through a second-story window and landed in the villa’s fountain below.

She moved stiffly, a little slower than usual, but she hadn’t complained once. Hadn’t even acknowledged the bruises. If anything, she seemed to wear them the same way she wore anything else–like they were nothing more than another part of the job.

—Yeah. He’s a handful.

Once again, the words came to her easily, so naturally, and yet there was an undeniable finality to it–no opening for further questions. That didn’t stop anyone from wondering. Didn’t stop Olivia from watching her walk out the door after waving them all goodbye, files and duffel bag in hands. She was looking, not just at the bruises, but at Alexis herself.

And Miles didn’t miss that.

—She’s got a boyfriend? asked Amanda as soon as Gray was out.

—Or a kid. Either way, I wouldn’t have bet on it.

Fin said nothing, his gaze falling on a silent federal agent. If anyone here knew Alexis better than anyone else, it was probably Langford. They were partners, spending their days and nights together, protecting each other. Of course, he knew.

Miles exhaled slowly, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. He knew they were waiting for him to confirm or deny, to give them something–anything.

Instead, he just smiled.

—What can I say? She’s full of surprises.

ϕ

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @certainlychaotic @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @hi-i-1

[dawntilduskclan]

Chapter title is a reference to the Cats song yes

And here we meet Nightstar's mother and Duskstar's mate, Starlingblaze

Also, I wonder who that Pantherpelt is in the flashback 👀

I apologize for how long it's been between updates. But I'm really excited to get back into this story and share all the things I've worked on it.

Previous / Next

[boonalina]

Excerpt from Chapter 4 of my LMK Successor AU

Mei's goodbye to Macaque:

Yes, I know that Mei was wearing a bag on her back, but I was too lazy to add it in. Plus, it would make the pic look way too detailed for just white board drawings.

Also, I got new markers! So now Mei's green actually looks green on camera.

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

(Author's Note: I rewrote this a couple times and changed it up, yet I still consider it a first draft. So, there are probably some mistakes. Sorry about that! Enjoy :3)

Chapter One - A New, Weird Home

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Chapter Three - A Bully This Way Comes

Chapter Four - An Unfamiliar, Familiar Place

The sound of a strong, steady, rhythmic rain falling pitter-pattered against her bedroom window, which created a soothing ambiance. The faint light from the bathroom filtered underneath Cara’s door that left lingering rays of light from under her door. Suddenly, her cellphone lit up with a message from her best friend; the soft glow lit her pale features, which softened her face ever so slightly, but then it became a deluge of messages in Rowan’s distinctive way. With the cracked window, it allowed the aroma of fresh rain to linger in the air, and it rejuvenated her senses in all ways. Cara felt a sense of calmness as she read her friend’s message about homework, demanding teachers, and how annoying her brothers are, finding it amusing how different her life might have been if she wasn’t an only child. Even the mere thought of it caused an annoyance to grow in the pit of her stomach; and rightfully assumed it was better she had no siblings.

Rowan’s text barrage finally ended with a singular question: are you sleeping? Your lights are off.

You know I have a curfew every freaking day. Cara’s eyes rolled as she typed that.

Dude, that sucks every freaking day.

Their nightly routine of messaging late into the hours has become a comforting part of the day, with a smile that grew ever-wider as they chatted. Far past when she would finally close the cover of her book, and well before her mind could settle into a peaceful sleep. As for her mother’s-imposed curfew, no matter how much Cara complained that it was far too early. Mother made it quite clear it would not change until her thirteenth birthday.

They talked for just over an hour before Cara’s eyes finally grew tired enough to droop. With the exhaustion of the day, hell, the entire week consumed her and demanded sleep. That’s when a familiar shadow appeared from under the door, visible through the broken light beams, and scampered over into the middle of the room, where the shade-mouse cleaned its face with its tiny paws. Squeaking softly which had Cara stirring under her blanket, yet it did not wake her fully, as she had disappeared into that twilight state of consciousness where not fully asleep, not fully awake, yet lingered just enough in this world.

Then, with one more insistent squeak, Cara’s eyes shot open just as the shadow-mouse climbed up onto her bed. Where it stood for a moment, its beady, black eyes stared deep at the girl but did nothing for the moment. Until it climbed upon her with a weight more than any shadow or mouse should have.

Cara groaned, “go away, okay? I’m tired.”

Several furious squeaks followed in reply as the mouse jumped up and down, but Cara did not budge. Not until the mouse jumped off the bed and ran through the door. She let out another groan, curiosity would always win, before Cara kicked the covers off of her. “Fine,” she spoke to no one.

Once up and out of bed, Cara summoned all of her sneaky-sneak skills and tip-toed from her bed over to the door. She pressed her ear against its cool surface; subtle, soft vibrations, and the occasional groaning and moan of the house and its foundation. All muffled by the constant rain, yet Cara heard snoring and soft breathing, and her parents had to be asleep.

So, when she opened the door with its familiar—creyeak!—to the darkened hallway, that faint light from the bathroom lit her way. There at the top of the stairs stood that shade-mouse, who scrambled down the stairs once her eyes laid upon it. Unlike before, Cara did not hesitate as she sneaked downstairs and listened for any sign that her mother had woken up. Yet she couldn’t wait for long and scampered down the rest of the steps to where the mouse stood in front of the door. Where once a padlock held it shut—mother’s attempt to keep the curious Cara out—now sat open with said lock sitting discarded nearby. A faint music box melody, instantly recognized by her, emerged from the dark depths.

Somehow this space used for storage any other time, seemed to change at night, or as Cara sat there and thought, perhaps it only changed at night for her. To open its way to something deeper, even more insidious than anything anyone could imagine in what was, or perhaps is, depending on the time of day, just a cubby space filled with dust, cobwebs, and an old, long forgotten cigarette crate.

Instead of a weird, nauseous feeling that would gather in the pit of Cara’s stomach whenever she got scared, it was replaced by a warmth, a very comforting warmth she had not felt in some time. It carried with it a strong nostalgia, as she hadn’t felt it since before her grandmother passed, when she would hold Cara while reading a book to her even if the young girl didn’t understand any of the book at the time. Now, however, her mind slipped back into those times; she went to bed so many times with the adventures penned by Mark Twain, Ernest Hemmingway, and even Mary Shelly’s scary stories. Her parents protested it then, but Cara smiled when she remembered grandmother not caring. Oh, how long ago that was.

With her eyes closed, Cara could almost feel her grandmother’s warm, safe hands—markedly different from how her mother ever felt—as they rubbed her back just like grandmother used to do whenever Cara was sick or upset. Then, somehow, those warming, comforting hands pushed her with such unknown strength that forced Cara into the darkness where the door slammed shut behind her—the padlock clicked into place

“Shit!” It was all that came out of Cara as she sat there in the complete darkness.

Off in the distance, but in all truth Cara couldn’t tell if it was even just six inches from her, a speck of light revealed itself as a tiny pinprick that grew and grew until it overtook her and blanked out the world in utter white so bright she had to close her eyes.

Before Cara could open her eyes, everything smelled like home. Not like where she lived now, but home, a totally different concept that Maine could never become. An almost persistent aroma of freshly-baked cookies that both her aunt and grandmother would make on a daily basis, along with the strong smokiness of grandfather’s cigars that permeated from the mid-seventies recliner that sat beside the equally-as-old couch.

It was picture perfect. The same wood paneling on the walls, which grandfather installed himself between shifts at the fish processing factory. Various pictures hung off hooks, nails, and screws—majority did not make the trip with the family to the east coast, left in the care of her aunt. Everything was in its place, from the dust-covered ceiling fan that had not seen any use in her lifetime to the thin crimson carpet stained beyond measure from over the years. Both home and yet, never would be again. And somehow, someway, Cara found herself standing in this slice of time and place. She knew that this was not real, even if every one of her senses disagreed with her. It was just a forgery in the darkness of the void.

Taking far too long to look around at the nostalgic filled scene, Cara heard that same music box song playing from the kitchen. It dug a pit deep into her stomach as dread filled every fiber of her body. Followed by a distinctive humming, that same type of hum both her grandmother and aunt would hum while in deep focus as they cooked and baked.

Cara stepped into the kitchen; very much still looked like it did in the seventies, with the same ancient lime-green refrigerator that hummed ever-so-softly in the corner. Matching green countertops and cupboards, scrubbed clean of any grease and dust to perfection. The stainless-steel sink sat empty—grandmother would never allow a dirty dish to sit for more than three minutes. With a black natural gas stove where she would simultaneously cook on, bake with, and light a cigarette as she did both. The music had stopped, and Cara just realized this while she gazed around the tiny kitchen.

“Oh, hello there. I always love guests,” came a voice which sounded neither like a man nor a woman. It dwelled within the shadows of the doorway that led into the laundry room. “Can you see me? You can, can’t you? Well, I’ll be damned. Do you know how long it has been? I mean, you can see me, right?”

She gave a slow nod as Cara watched the outline of a figure appear from the shadows. Taller than any man could be, and one wondered how it even fit inside the room. Vaguely human-shaped, Cara felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as her stomach churned and everything inside her screamed at her to run—where would she go, anyway?—where its eyes should be, sat two bright orange-red orbs that seemed as expressive as any other. A slit of a mouth grew into a wide, disconcerting smile as it glided towards Cara as if on a pair of roller skates.

Scrambling backwards away from whatever it was, Cara answered, “y-yes, I can see you. What are you? W-where am I?” In the facsimile of her old home, there seemed to be no quick escapes. Even as she glanced through the window, Cara saw nothing but the black nothingness.

“Please, do not be afraid,” it whispered yet emanated from all-around Cara.

“I’m not,” she lied. “What are you?”

“That’s not a simple answer,” it retorted as it sat on a chair that stood beside the oval-shaped dining table. “Depends on who you ask. The ancient people that used to live where you live called Atsolowas, but not exactly correct in what I am. I’ve been around for a lot longer than they were.” It stared at Cara, as if it wanted to study her features. “Sit down, will you? I promise I don’t want to hurt or scare you.”

As Cara sat down, taking in the familiar yet strange room—dust motes danced in the fake moonlight which lit up the room, the scent of old linoleum and faded memories filled the air—she inquired, “do you live here in my old home?”

It laughed and laughed with a riant energy as its fingers tapped against the tabletop, bristling with such mirth and joy. “No, no, no, my dear girl,” it finally spoke up. “I just hoped it would make you more comfortable.”

“More weird than comforting but fair. So, why am I here? Am I, like, your prisoner or something? Was hoping for a more Narnia-like experienced if I ever got pulled into a different dimension.” At this point, her hair no longer stood on end, and the only pit in her stomach grumbled at its emptiness.

Another laugh came from it. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there was no grand scheme. Do you think everyone can look through the Door Under The Stairs and hear my music box? Maybe once I realized you held The Sight, that I just wanted a friend,” as it went on, its tone suggested a lot more behind its façade.

“The Sight?” Cara cocked her head. “What’s that?”

It inquired with a smile across its non-lips, “have you ever seen something or felt something no one else could?”

Nodding, Cara remembered the will-o’-the-wisp she had seen since moving to Mount Desert Island, but beyond that, there always existed something weird that even right at this moment, she couldn’t put into words. She didn’t discount it could be a bunch of bullshit as well.

“So, you just wanted a friend?” She dead-panned.

“Perhaps I just wanted to lure you in and consume your itty, bitty soul.”

Cara scoffed as she looked at the figure, rather unimpressed. “If’n you wanted my soul. You would have taken it already,” she stated rather matter-of-factly. “So, I gotta wonder why you brought a twelve-year-old girl to some random no-place just to hang out and make friends? Are you some sort of creeper or something?”

“What’s a creeper?”

“You know, those people who like to diddle underage kids or something. They are awful people, you know? My cousin Stacy had a teacher like that, thankfully she never had to deal with it,” Cara rambled on as if it was an old friend.

It took on an indignant look, as much as a shadowy figure could, and scoffed before it rose out of its chair and floated in tiny circles around the kitchen. “What? Gods, no. Here I thought I was an evil bastard.” Yet it seemed to take it to heart, and an anger welled up inside of it that was beyond palpable.

Cara stood up and took off from the kitchen towards the living room, where when she crossed over the threshold the shadowy figure appeared on the couch. “Want to leave? You can go right ahead through the front door. I won’t stop you.”

There existed nothing beyond the front door. Nothing at all but that inky darkness that once encompassed Cara. Who let out a sigh and asked, “okay, so what you are is something ancient, strong, and evil—”

“I’m not anymore evil than you are.”

“Fine! So, you are ancient, strong, and not evil, but you must still have a name.” Cara cocked her hand on her hip, biting her bottom lip as she stared daggers at the thing.

It formed itself into a real-looking brown field mouse, not at all like the shadowy form it took earlier. This one would be hard to distinguish from an actual rodent; large round ears that twitched occasionally, a pink nose with several whiskers, and the demon-mouse raised its little paws as it cleaned itself. Then it raised up; its beady little eyes peered into Cara’s.

“Maybe I just want to be a pet mouse,” it chuckled betwixt its words.

This time Cara had to join in with a laugh of her own. “My pet?” She scoffed. “First of all, my mother would never allow it. She’ll toss your ass outside to be eaten by stray cats. Secondly, why me?”

“The Sight,” was all it said, and Cara had no time to contemplate on what that could even be.

When dawn finally cracked the horizon the following morning, Cara opened her mismatched eyes to that singular beam of light that always streamed in and struck her face. She groaned, bemoaned with several mumbled, incomprehensible words, turned over without a single desire to wake up. Until she heard something far-too-familiar—the squeaking of a mouse—and she bolted upright. After a thorough search of her room: under the bed, all corners of her wardrobe, through the mess on her desk, she found no mouse.

“I’m losing it,” she muttered while running a hand through her unruly reddish-blonde hair.

Then there came a rapping, a gentle tapping, from the other side of her bedroom window, much like a bird pecking at the glass. It repeated over and over with an unwavering insistence until Cara stood up. Outside the window there sat no bird on the sill, just a fog so thick that it seemed beyond natural, as one could not see more than several yards ahead, other than the forest. Where the forest was barely visible through the mist, with only a faint blue light giving any kind of movement within. The wisp looked different this time, instead of the little ball of fire she had seen before. This time, it took on an almost humanoid form, like that of a child. It didn’t float this time. Instead, it stood there and seemed to stare up at her.

“You have The Sight,” that same voice from last night spoke to her. “Not everyone can see wisps. Especially as they were and not as they are now.”

The mouse appeared on the desk beside her; it looked up at her with its beady, intelligent eyes. Before squeaking and climbing up her arm to sit on Cara’s shoulder. “I do not know much about them. The island stretches back to the mists of time, before humans and dinosaurs. When there were only the old gods and the cosmos. The Wisps? They are both and neither.”

“What? You don’t know?” Cara asked.

“I only know so much. There’s a lot I do not know as there’s a lot in this world, and the other, that make themselves rarely seen or heard. I just—”

Before the mouse could continue, there came a knocking on the bedroom door. “Cara, wakey-wakey! I’m making chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Come on down, please.”

“Shit, my parents. They can’t see you,” Cara’s attempt to hide the panic in her tone failed miserably.

“Nary a soul will see me, unless I want them to, or if they got The Sight. I hope your parents don’t have it.”

“Doubtful” — Cara shook her head as she left the window and moved the mouse down onto the desk — “but I am going to shower and I’d rather not you come with. I need to clear my mind before I even think of seeing and talking to my parents.”

She wouldn’t tell them anything at all, but even so, Cara needed to refresh every sense and take some time to think. Something that a shower was perfect for, and what she was in dire need of.

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa

If you would like to be a part of the tag list, please click here and interact with the post, or just send me a DM. Thank you.

[mtqcomic]

#282: Destined

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Phew! This one took ages!

I've wanted to take a stab at drawing the planet Terraria from space for a while, so this was a great opportunity to finally try it! No idea how I managed to pull off the skull, though. Oh, and for the record, this actually is a poem with a coherent meter—but only in Soulsong.

[kittylittersmoothie]

While Chapter Three of the B&B rewrite (finally) nears completion... here's a sketch of the Chapter Four scene that inspired the entire fanfic.

⚠️TW: SH implied; some blood (in graphite)

❗Spoliers for "Brews & Bandage" and its new rewrite

[its-wabby-stuff]

Oh look, a completely innocent chapter. There couldn’t be some secret overarching meaning for the whole plot. No, no.

[ranmacapss]

[Ranma ½] ✥ Chapter 4, Never, Never, Never

[vicetrevni]

I have a theory that the orphans aren't actually real.

Even if they were truly down there for that long, being in cryogenic sleep doesn't stop aging. Or the fact that they need things like food and water. So they are most likely *all* dead, if not used to create more toys after the Hour Of Joy. Or maybe the Prototype is going to use the dead bodies to transfer themself and Poppy, thus completing the full experiments and ending the cycle of life and death for them.

I just don't see the kids still being a thing, it's just a tactic to keep Poppy here and the Prototype is delusional enough to do all this to keep her from leaving. Because if the kids *are* somehow still alive, it would be even worse than them being dead the entire time.

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: March 19…

After Gary saves Quinn from her ship that was about to crash, the Infinity Guard hijacks the power system of the Galaxy One and Gary has to harvest the energy from a nearby star ready to explode to reignite the ship and escape. “Chapter Four” premiered on this day, 7 Years Ago.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Fireheart didn’t have much time to mull over Whitecloud’s words; the next evening, before anyone had a chance to leave camp, Bluestar walked in and silently jumped onto the meeting stump, sitting down and waiting for everyone to notice her and circle around.

“What do you think’s up?” Greystripe whispered to Fireheart as he and Ravenwing joined him.

Fireheart just tilted his head in acknowledgement. “We’ll see in a moment.”

“The time’s come,” Bluestar called when everyone was close, “for Frostfur’s kits to become apprentices.”

Surprised chatter bounced through the crowd. When Fireheart glanced at Frostfur's way, she was slightly frowning and muttering to herself, “I could’ve sworn we had another half-month to go…”

Sitting close by, Speckletail too had a look of confusion and—if Fireheart wasn’t mistaken—slight frustration. Fireheart didn’t get a chance to ask her about it before the buzz settled down and Bluestar called, “Kits, come forward.”

Fireheart was nearly pushed over by Brightkit as she led Snowkit up to the front of the crowd, which was in the process of backing up to give the litter space. Thornkit and Brackenkit soon followed, and the kits began shuffling around to stand in a line (as, of course, ordered by Thornkit).

“Bit disorganized,” Teaselfoot murmured to Mousefur beside him. “Did she not tell them what to do?”

“Huh,” was all Mousefur said. She had the air of mild disappointment. “I was hoping she’d talk to me about mentoring. I guess she’s already got her list settled.”

Speckletail’s eyes narrowed just a fraction and she looked Mousefur’s way. “She didn’t talk to me, either. I think—”

“Thornkit, step forward,” Bluestar said loudly, cutting her deputy off.

The brisk little tom marched a few steps closer, standing with his chest puffed out.

Bluestar leaned down a bit to talk to him. “Are you ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

Thornkit gave one firm nod. “Am. I am.”

“Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Thornpaw.” Bluestar’s eyes flicked to one side of the crowd. “Your mentor will be Dustpelt. I entrust him to teach you diligence and honor, and pass down everything he knows.”

Dustpelt blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly and trotted into the empty ring, meeting with Thornpaw, who looked a little lost. Bluestar definitely hadn’t told him what to do the way she had told Fireheart when he received his own name. Dustpelt saved it by whispering something to Thornpaw. Quickly, the two touched noses and Thornpaw nodded respectfully to his new mentor before following him back to the edge of the crowd, where they stood together, the little tom’s eyes wide and sparkling.

“Brackenkit, step forward,” Bluestar said now, and was quickly and eagerly obeyed. “Are you ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

“I am!” Brackenkit shouted, earning a few titters.

Bluestar nodded once, not looking particularly amused herself. “Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Brackenpaw. Your mentor will be Willowpelt. I entrust her to teach you focus and clear-headedness, and pass down everything she knows.”

Again, the new mentor had a look of surprise, and again she took it in stride and went to meet her apprentice. Brackenpaw’s tail flailed about in excitement and he almost banged his nose into Willowpelt’s, just barely catching himself in time.

“Call their names,” Bluestar said to the crowd as the pair moved away. “Welcome Thornpaw and Brackenpaw to apprenticeship.”

The Clan immediately cheered, “Thornpaw! Brackenpaw! Thornpaw! Brackenpaw!”

The brothers, standing next to each other, shared a glance, and in that glance was the very same overwhelming wash of joy Fireheart had felt when he’d first come to the Clan, and again when he’d been named a warrior. Granted, Thornpaw looked a little more stoic, but the happiness was palpable.

“Brightkit,” Bluestar said when the cheering was done.

Brightkit did not walk forward so much as bounce, and when she remembered to stop, she was vibrating with glee.

“Are you also ready to train to serve your Clan, and care for your Clanmates the way they have cared for you?”

Brightkit bounced on her pads. “I am! I am!”

“Then with StarClan’s blessing, I name you Brightpaw. Your me—”

Brightpaw poorly contained a squeal of joy that came out as an energetic whine. Again, the crowd rippled with amusement, and she ducked her head. “Sorry.”

Bluestar, to her credit, did not scold her—in fact, she didn’t react at all, simply continuing with the script. “Your mentor will be Mousefur.”

Fireheart immediately turned his head to the dusky molly. She straightened up, eyes wide and ears perked in delight.

“I entrust her to teach you wit and tranquility, and pass down everything she knows.”

Mousefur quickly wove around the cats in front of her and went to meet her apprentice. Both of their faces shone with joy, and Brightpaw whispered something that Mousefur snorted at before she led the apprentice to the edge of the crowd.

“Now, Snowkit,” Bluestar continued, and at this the crowd went dead quiet. She made eye contact with the little white tom and beckoned him to walk forward with her tail, which he did. She returned her attention to the rest of ThunderClan. “Snowkit is a special case. He cannot hear the oath he’ll take to become an apprentice, and he will require a mentor that can learn to communicate with him, and teach him to communicate better with all of us, and us with him in turn. Therefore, we will do this oath a little differently.”

Her eyes roamed over the gathered cats… and they landed on Ravenwing. The black tom suddenly stiffened.

“Ravenwing, join Snowkit,” she said.

Ravenwing didn’t move, but his tail immediately started shaking. “Wh– um– …Why?”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “Because you are going to be his mentor.”

The shaking swept over every hair on Ravenwing’s body. Fireheart watched in shock (as did everyone else) as Ravenwing gasped and trembled even harder, until it looked like his unsteady legs were about to buckle.

He barely managed to find his voice. “I– no, Bluestar, I ca– I c—”

“Come forward and meet your apprentice,” Bluestar snapped.

Speckletail stood up, looking between the panicking Ravenwing and the annoyed leader. “Bluestar, did you talk with him about this?”

Bluestar ignored her, simply glaring at Ravenwing like a rabbit still in its burrow.

The poor tom was visibly fighting to control his terror, but he still shivered and breathed shallow breaths. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused.

Fireheart, sitting next to him, eased his side on Ravenwing’s. Greystripe scooted closer and mirrored the gesture, nearly drowning the oddly scrawny tom in his warmth. When Ravenwing’s head snapped between them, Fireheart gave him as encouraging of a nod and a blink as he could, and Greystripe whispered, “You got this, bud. We’re right here.”

Ravenwing gulped down another chestful of air, screwed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, and then barely managed a nod back. Despite his shaky legs, he stood and shuffled past Willowpelt and Brackenpaw. Fireheart tried to mentally send his support to the skinny warrior as he stood by Snowkit. The kit looked up at him, his excitement fading a little to concern.

“Though you can’t hear me,” Bluestar said to Snowkit, “I know you will agree to what your littermates agreed to: training to serve your Clan, and caring for them as they have cared for you. Therefore, I name you Snowpaw, and your mentor will be Ravenwing.” She now looked to the warrior in question. “Ravenwing, I entrust you to teach him wisdom and carefulness, and pass down everything you know to him.”

Ravenwing, fighting to breathe normally, turned to Snowpaw, and with a quaking paw gently nudged him to stand. Snowpaw did so, his pretty blue eyes shining again. At the eye contact, something in Ravenwing settled just a little, and he managed to lessen his shaking enough to touch his nose to Snowpaw’s. The apprentice straightened up and beamed, giving his mentor a nod like his siblings had done to theirs.

“Welcome, Brightpaw and Snowpaw, to apprenticeship,” Bluestar said, not waiting for the pair to move.

Again, cheers. “Brightpaw! Snowpaw! Brightpaw! Snowpaw!”

Snowpaw didn’t acknowledge the cheering, but he did bump his head against Ravenwing’s shoulder, purring quietly. Ravenwing nervously blinked at him when he pulled his head back.

The crowd dispersed, chatting among themselves or congratulating the apprentices on their ceremony. Fireheart tapped Greystripe with his tail and led him over to Ravenwing and Snowpaw.

“She– she didn’t tell me,” Ravenwing stammered out to his friends. “I just– I could’ve told her– I can’t mentor, I’m not—”

“None of that,” Fireheart said, gently but firmly. Ravenwing quieted, staring at him. “You can do this. And if you need help, you’ll have me and Greystripe around any time.”

Greystripe nodded. “And really, you’re the best one to teach him. Frostfur’s got a couple signs for him already, doesn’t she?”

Ravenwing sighed out a trembling breath. “I mean, yeah? I’ve seen her, but I don’t know how many signs, or what they mean—”

“I can help with that.”

The toms turned their heads, gradually followed by Snowpaw, as Frostfur padded up to them. Snowpaw went up to meet her and she licked his ear, nodded and blinked twice.

“I’m sorry you didn’t know ahead of time,” she said to Ravenwing. “I didn’t either. I would’ve talked to you and given you a headstart on communicating with him.”

Fireheart chanced a look back at Ravenwing; to his surprise, at Frostfur’s words, he seemed to have calmed down a little, saying with focus in his eyes, “I’d– I’d appreciate everything you can give me.”

Snowpaw looked almost upside-down at Ravenwing, still purring. Ravenwing slowly gave him a blink, and Snowpaw fluffed up, looking back now to his mother.

“He’s starting to understand lip-movement,” Frostfur said, gently ruffling her kit’s head. “But that’s still slow-going. He’s got pel* signs that he knows, and they should be enough right now for you to start with.”

“Can you share them with us, too?” Fireheart asked, Greystripe nodding in agreement. “We want to help however we can.”

Frostfur gave him a grateful face, but still spoke to Ravenwing. “This, what I just did—” she blinked twice with a nod “—that means ‘yes’. Or ‘well done’. He’ll know the difference. You can just nod for yes, but you have to nod and blink for ‘well done’.”

Focus burned brighter in Ravenwing’s eyes, and he leaned forward a bit, nodding for her to go on.

“For ‘no’, you can just shake your head,” Frostfur continued. “If you want to make him understand you’re not happy with him, put your ears back, too. He reacts pretty well to discipline, but don’t be cruel to my son.”

“Of course not!” Ravenwing blanched. “No, I’ll– I’ll be kind, of course. What else?”

“He also has ‘stop’ and ‘go’.” Frostfur folded her left ear back and lifted her left paw and lowered it just enough to leave it in the air, then did the same to the right, with the right paw landing on the ground again. “In that order. ‘Stop’ is for when he’s being too rowdy or when he’s doing something he shouldn’t. ‘Go’ is to let him have fun or do something he wants to do. He’ll check in with you with a head-tilt.”

Ravenwing nodded. “How do I tell him to ‘go’—like, to walk or crawl forward, when it’s time to show him how to hunt?”

Frostfur twitched one side of her mouth. “I haven’t gotten to that one yet. I think maybe you can work with ‘go’ and change it a little. Tap the ground twice, perhaps?”

“That’ll work.” Ravenwing paused, eyes squinting a little, then asked, “What’s the sign for ‘prey’?”

“Well, for food-prey, I’ve been pretending to chew three times.” Frostfur exaggeratedly opened and shut her mouth. Fireheart noted that she was rotating her jaw like a deer chewing—maybe that would keep Snowpaw from thinking she was talking out loud. “For huntable prey, I’d say he’ll get it best if you do something to pretend you’re hunting.”

Ravenwing hummed in thought. “…Maybe I can chatter my teeth. I’ve seen your kits do that when they were pretending to hunt each other a time or two.”

“Hey!” Mousefur called, and trotted over to the little group, a bouncing Brightpaw in tow. “Ravenwing, we were going to show the chriil** the territory. Do you and Snowpaw want to come with us?”

“Oh—” Ravenwing startled, glanced back at Fireheart and Greystripe, then said to Mousefur, “Uh– yeah, we’d like that. I was just getting some signs from Frostfur.”

“Oh, good idea.” Mousefur gave him an approving nod. “We can wait a little more, if you want.”

Ravenwing looked at Frostfur for her deliberation.

“I think you’ll be okay with those right now,” she said warmly. “Thank you for this, Ravenwing. I can see you’ll do well with him.”

Ravenwing weakly breathed a chuff. “I’ll try, at least.”

With that, he nosed Snowpaw to get his attention. When the little tom looked his way, he cocked his head in the direction of the rest of the apprentices at the camp entrance. Snowpaw nodded eagerly and followed after him as Mousefur led them back to the new trainees, Ravenwing glancing back once (weirdly past his friends) and relaxing his steps a bit.

“Maybe we should go with?” Fireheart said to Greystripe. “In case he needs support—”

“Don’t do that.”

The toms and Frostfur almost jumped in surprise, even though Whitecloud’s voice was low and raspy. He had approached without any of them seeing him and was sitting politely, waiting to be acknowledged.

“This is something he needs to do himself,” he elaborated after a moment of letting the surprise settle. “He has your help in many things in his life, but now is the time for him to grow on his own.”

“But—” started Greystripe.

Whitecloud shook his head. “You can always help with training on your off-nights. But Bluestar gave him this challenge for a reason. He’s smart, as you know, and very quick to pick things up, and you know that too. Let him do this alone. Give him the chance to come out of his shell.”

“I think I agree with that,” Frostfur said to the boys. “He can always ask me about signs if he needs to. You two just focus on yourselves for now.”

Fireheart tip-tapped the sand anxiously. “But what if he panics again, and we’re not there?”

Whitecloud gave him a calming tail-wave. “Have some faith in him. He’s not as fragile as he thinks he is.” His voice dropped even further. “You know better than anyone that he’s a lot more capable than he looks.”

The investigation was all his doing, Fireheart thought immediately. He drew in a breath, sighed and nodded. “We’ll try too.”

Greystripe grimaced, but copied the nod. “If he’s struggling still, then can we step in?”

Whitecloud purred. “Yes. But let him get through the initial struggles of first-time mentoring. He’ll learn on his own.”

Fireheart exchanged a look with Greystripe, both worried but cautiously optimistic. Whitecloud tilted his head to them and then walked off, heading to speak with Speckletail. Frostfur looked over at where her kits had gone, eyes fond and a bit sad.

He’ll be okay without you, a voice in Fireheart’s head gently told him. Like Whitecloud said. Give him time.

Even with his own subconscious encouraging him, Fireheart had to fight to not hurry out after his friend and offer support. He flexed his claws to get his anxiety out.

“He’ll be okay,” he said out loud.

Greystripe, looking equally less-than-confident, only sighed softly in response.

 *”Pel”: a vague amount between five and eight.

 **”Chriil”: plural of “chrii”, meaning “little changing cat”. Essentially equivalent to calling a young person “kid”.

[mtqcomic]

#277: There Is Life

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You know, I still haven't actually included Maezala's name in the text, which means it isn't fully canon. I could still rename xem to Carl. You never know.

Alright, I know I literally made a bonus post recently just to talk about the few sprite edits I've made, but this one might be my favourite one yet. I wasn't planning on using this outfit for Maezala outside of this flashback, but I might have to bring it back just so I can use this sprite again...

[greenhousethree]

Chasing chapter four - Feint

She stood there in her towel a little longer, pressed up over the sink the way she remembered watching the older girls do. Longer, curvier bodies than she’d ever imagined herself fitting into, impossibly grown up. Women. Searching for imperfections, she’d assumed— anything they could magic or pluck away before slipping on higher skirts and fuller bras. But maybe instead they’d been doing what she was now, studying themselves to figure out whether this was it— a glimpse beyond the fleetingness of adolescence— if the person staring back was the one she had grown into, not one she would grow out of.

Reflections, rain, and revelry.

Many, many thanks for all of your check-ins/questions during this unexpected hiatus; they've truly meant the world! This one's long and a little heavy— prepare for teenage riffraff and two parties for the price of one— and if you're craving more scenes with a certain green-eyed someone, stay tuned for chapter five!

Listen below for Hermione's party soundtrack and Ginny's character theme!

Playlist can be found here. 💫

Songs for chapter four (real bangers here): Maybe Sprout Wings - The Mountain Goats Begging for Rain - Maggie Rogers Flying Sails (Ginny's Theme!) - The Gothard Sisters Bones - Radiohead I Hope I Didn't Just Give Away the Ending - New Radicals

P.S. - Quick update on the progress of this fic:

Life and work have been a runaway train these past months, but I'm finding more time for ~balance~ (read: writing) and am hoping to keep that going. That said, I won't continue promising quick updates because I'm terrible at delivering those, but rest assured this fic isn't going anywhere, and I'm looking forward to posting more regularly. Thanks a million to all of you following along; answers to asks are forthcoming 💕