#cat writes sometimes

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[tossacointoyourarchivist]

Alright hear me out y'all-

Tav is just chilling at camp one day and a seemingly stray cat wanders up to them.

It's been a long day and everyone else is in their tents or heading that way. Perhaps they were a bit tipsy because they thought they could handle the second -or third- glass offered by Shadowheart. They should've known better than to try and keep up with her, Astarion had teased, but Tav is just grateful to finally see a smile on their friend's face. Finally happy to see life again, after all the darkness.

They remember hearing from Gale that cats show affection to humans by slowly blinking- something about trust, they think?

The cat has no problem approaching Tav, so perhaps not a stray or just a very brave one. It's quite large for a cat, even when accounting for its fluffy fur. It seems content to sit near them, carefully observing them like they're the most interesting thing there.

Tav hums, "Hello there, little friend," they keep their voice quiet and steady, even though they miss their family's cat terribly and have been starved of feline affection.

The tabby tilts its head and meows through a purr. Absolutely adorable.

Tav is just drunk enough to do this and no one's around to notice their silliness, so they relax against the tree they sit under and slowly blink their eyes at the cat.

Almost immediately, the cat responds with its own slow-blink.

Tav smiles and reaches out with a closed hand so the cat can acquaint itself with their scent, "Would you like to join me?"

The cat approaches, but before it can get too close, an explosion of golden light envelopes the creature.

If Tav had night vision, they might've noticed the blue-hazel of its- his eyes, or the small scars across his face but it's no mystery anymore.

Halsin stands tall before them with a warm smile on his face, "I'd love to."

[cordeliawhohung]

my partner just got back from a work trip and he bought a new laptop for me i am going to cry

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[saturnniidae]

How am I meant to think Hiccup doesn't have self destructive tendencies when he canoncially never fucking takes his prosthetic foot off to, at the very least, go to sleep

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[mapicccc]

coughs up blood

[of-the-eventide]

"You know... Even before you joined the Scions, you caught our eye quite quick." "Was it my good looks and pleasant personality?" "...I see what you're doing there... But no, most definitely not."

[fazedlight]

Hiding (Cat Grant musings)

The girl is hiding something.

It had been a frequent refrain in Cat’s mind, ever since Kiera’s interview. What kind of millennial goes around talking about how average and not-special they are? The girl was too smart to act braindead.

Was the girl a war criminal? Faked her death from some mafia and lived life under the radar? I mean, really, all this subterfuge, and for what? The girl didn’t seem to be trying to give an air of mystery, but Cat could smell a story. She was going to get to the bottom of this.

Then the new caped heroine arrived, and Cat kicked herself for not having seen it earlier. It had taken her an entire three days to figure out the identity of the second kryptonian. She supposed it could be forgiven - after all, Kiera was somehow younger than Clark Kent, and he had been an infant when his parents shipped him off to Earth and his planet died. The timeline was confusing, before her interview with Supergirl cleared that up.

The girl is hiding something.

Kiera had practically marched into the office when she declared “I want to be a reporter” with her entire chest. Which, obviously, Cat could spot talent when it was in front of her. But the bumbling superhero assistant had said that with such confidence. Where had that come from?

The girl is hiding something.

And then there had been this Mike, of the interns, that Kiera was dragging along. It was beyond Cat why Kiera thought that relationship was a good fit, from a man who only seemed to cause her aggravation at every turn. God, that trope was so tired and boring, perhaps some sort of indicator of a mental break. Technically Kiera was old enough for a midlife crisis... perhaps Cat could get a referral from her therapist…

“Two people I love are trapped on that ship, and if we destroy it…”

That’s when Cat realized, when the epiphany slammed into her. Yes, yes, Kiera was hiding her caped shenanigans, was hiding Mike’s identity, yadda yadda. But the biggest secret was what Kiera was hiding from herself. Cat wanted to shake the girl. A super and a Luthor? That would be a combination like the world had never seen.

Snapper was dealing with a lovesick puppy. No wonder he was so irritated.

Of course, reporter-hero aside, there were other things going in Cat’s life. Her role in the world felt increasingly narrow, increasingly restrictive, and she needed to see something new. A woman’s life and self-discovery doesn’t end at 30, as much as the media pretends otherwise. Besides, wasn’t there a time in every hero’s life when Gandalf needed to die so Luke could fight the Star War? Or whatever.

She was sure she’d be back. In the meantime, the world could see what Kiera - Kara - would become.

[wishuponroses]

I adore how Tatsuya Endo writes his characters, especially the women. They can be warm, soft, cute, cool, tough, scary... all, if not most, of his ladies in Spy x Family are equally wonderful in their own way, both in character design and personality.

[mavikiu]

Levy: oh no, I bought the wrong kind of cookies! Agh, I was so looking forward to them too...

Gajeel: I can grab you some more on my way home later.

Levy: But you'd have to touch the weird soft packaging with the squeaky noises, I know you hate that.

Gajeel: It's alright, you can touch me in return and I'll make squeaky noises. :)

[foodsies4me]

AWG but Alec has a warlock mark

Tagging @ariella9melody and @buglersholiday because you both asked for this prompt that ended up in Cat's POV because the majority of Alec's POV would have been a mixture of "don't speak to Magnus Bane", "don't speak of Magnus Bane" and "don't tell Catarina about Magnus Bane"

Catarina stares at the young teenager, barely more than a child, in front of her. She takes in the nervous way he’s clenching and unclenching his fingers, his eyes darting every so often to a smiling Magnus, who is discussing some last-minute details with Elder Musa.

The boy is clearly uncomfortable with Magnus being there and Catarina is still trying to figure out if that’s due to his parents or something else. She doesn't think it's the usual shadowhunter bigotry, though, which is a relief because she wouldn’t want him to fight to overcome self-hatred on top of everything he already has on his plate.

“So, Alec,” she says, “- are you fine with me calling you that? Or do you prefer something else?”

“Alec is fine,” he nods, eyes darting over to a slowly approaching Ragnor. “But - uh, I thought you were sending me back to the institute, so,” another look sent Magnus’ way and a sigh of relief when he leaves, “Why am I here?”

“I’ll make a portal for you,” Catarina reassures, trying not to scare the young teenager away or make him think they’re keeping him captive, “But you’re here so we can schedule a training regimen for you that wouldn’t interrupt your shadowhunter duties.”

Catarina tries to keep her voice even as she says this, trying to ignore the same impulse that had pushed several of the Elders to mention the word ‘kidnapping’ in more than a joking manner. Because it wasn’t enough for Alec to be in an immense amount of danger just by existing. No, the Lightwoods also had the fantastic idea of letting a thirteen-year-old patrol.

Alec furrows his eyebrows together, “Why?”

“To teach you how to control your magic,” Catarina says, confused by Alec’s sudden confusion. He had been the one to seek her out, after all, panic and fear were visible in every line of his body when he asked her for help because his glamour runes refused to work any longer.

Catarina had been confused at first, wariness and compassion in equal measure had put her on high alert, her magic scouring her surroundings for any other angelic signatures, which led to her only catching half of Alec’s explanation.

That confusion had faded the moment Alec had raised his shirt and twisted around to reveal white, opalescent scales that gathered into small diamond-like shapes along his spine. A warlock mark.

Catarina had been quick to contact Magnus and the other Elders despite the panicked request she keeps this between them. Something like a shadowhunter-born warlock, one that could bear runes unlike Tessa, was not something she would have been able to keep to herself. Not when that very fact put Alec into a world of danger.

Still, it had taken her nearly an hour to get Alec’s okay. The promise of blood oaths that would prevent her and the Elders from sharing the information with anyone else enough to finally convince him.

That's how they ended up in their current situation, though, Catarina is starting to realize there was some miscommunication somewhere down the line if Alec is asking her why she would help him train his magic.

“But you glamoured the…my back,” Alec says, eyebrows still furrowed in confusion. “That’s all I needed.”

Catarina gentles her voice, “Untrained magic is dangerous magic,” she says, repeating the sentence her own teacher had installed into her at a young age.

Alec somehow looks even more confused.“But I don’t have magic,” he corrects, breaking his parade’s rest to scratch at a spot over his chest. “I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if I had.”

“Maybe it’s weaker because of your angelic blood,” Catarina muses, walking over to her couch and inviting him over. “But I can assure you, you do.”

Alec presses his lips together, “I don’t want to be a bother,” he says, sounding old and painfully young all at once. “You mentioned you’re a nurse and I don’t want to take up your free time to accommodate my schedule.”

There’s something infuriatingly adult in the way he speaks, a maturity that comes from being forced to grow up past your age. Then again, she thinks sardonically, being used like the Nephilim equivalent of canon fodder will do that to you.

Seriously, a thirteen-year-old patrolling. Most warlocks wouldn’t let their children or apprentices brew a harmless beginner's potion by themselves at that age.

“I’m sure we can figure out something that would work out for the both of us,” she says, conjuring a pen and a notepad that she holds out to him. “Now, what about you write down your schedule and I write mine down.”

Alec does as ordered and starts writing down his weekly schedule to her growing horror. Starting at half past five in the morning, Alec's days seem to stretch well until midnight on the nights that he isn't patrolling and that will just not stand.

"As a nurse, I'm obliged to tell you that the recommended amount of sleep for a child your age is eight to ten hours a day."

"I'm a shadowhunter, not a child," Alec says with an assertiveness that doesn't come from defensiveness, but from being told the same words over and over again. "And I think I'm finished."

Alec hands her the schedule and Catarina tries to read the different categories Alec has written down: training, trainees, paperwork, Max and Leo, archery practice, patrol, sparring with Jace, sword practice, studying, rune practice, and story time.

"Training and trainees?" she asks, wondering what the difference is between both categories.

"Training is for Jace, my parabatai, Izzy, my sister, and I. The trainees are what we call my little brother and his best friend, they just turned three and are learning their basic forms. I'm helping them."

Catarina nods to show she understands. She supposes she can't fault Alec for wanting to be a good brother and help his little brother with his training, even if the thought of a three-year-old needing to learn how to fight is horrifying to even think of.

"And Max and Leo?"

"The New York Institute isn't a kid institute, so Max and Leo don't really have anyone to play with or keep them busy."

Catarina nods again to avoid asking about the amount of 'Max' as well as 'Max and Leo' time as well as 'Trainee' time that has been penciled in. Instead, she summons a cup of hot chocolate for Alec to have something to distract herself and him with. Then, after he's taken a few sips, eyes brightening in delight - and oh, she wouldn't have taken him for a sweet tooth - she asks about the strangest entry.

"What about paperwork? Is that similar to the studying and rune practice?"

Alec shakes his head, slowly lowering his cup on the coffee table, "No, it's just - when mom and dad are away to other institutes or in Idriss, I have to do the paperwork," he says with a careless shrug.

Catarina looks down at the schedule, looks back at the young teenager on her couch, and back at the schedule. Then, she bites down the question that is burning on her tongue.

After all, the answer is staring at her in the shape of a frankly ridiculous schedule that Alec wrote down without a second thought.

This means the story time entry, the entry that takes place twice a day at the same time every single day, right around what would be the usual bedtime for a three-year-old, is exactly what the word entails.

Catarina didn't think her personal opinion on Maryse and Robert Lightwood could sink any lower.

"Your studies are they with a teacher?" She asks, looking at the few spots those take. She wouldn't be able to ask him to do the paperwork he shouldn't be doing over at her apartment, but maybe she can convince him to take his studying sessions here.

"Not anymore," Alec says, "I just get the study material and the homework I need to finish. Why?"

"Well, then I suggest we broaden your studies during those hours," she says, circling the study hours on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday the days she usually has off. "That okay with you?"

Alec is still looking at her with a confused expression as if unsure of what to expect from her. "If that's easiest for you," he says, hand coming to scratch that spot on his chest again, "But I can adapt. I just have to be there for Max when he wakes up and when he goes to sleep, but the rest I can switch around."

Catarina had an inkling he would say something like this.

"Don't worry, this would work out the best for both of us," she reassures, hiding the anger behind a kind smile and another cup of hot chocolate. Then, she gives Alec his promised portal with a promise to see him on Thursday and dials a number she knows as well as her own.

Magnus picks up on the first ring. "Chocolate or alcohol?"

"Both. As well as a plan on how to murder the Lightwoods if you'd please."

"That bad?"

Catarina thinks of patrolling at thirteen years old, thinks of the hellish schedule and the fact that Alec is apparently single-handedly raising his little brother, is semi-raising his two other siblings as well, and all that on top of not quite running the institute in his parents' absence. .

"Worse."

[bardsandbees]

there’s a lot of things i love about fandom but in the case of the witcher fandom they took a named but dead character from a lambert side quest in the 3rd video game where lambert has a vague emotional attachment to said character and turned him into a fully fledged, three dimensional and beloved love interest for lambert. i think lambert says his name no more than twice during the whole quest. and yet the fandom consensus on not only aiden’s personality but also general physical appearance is incredible

[catwouthats]

Tolkien fans can be so bigoted that I’m always surprised whenever I open up LoTR and find that it’s a story about BIPOC coded little people saving the world from evil (with the help of an old ass little person who has DID bc of the horrors) and also a Native man getting his right to his ancestors land.

[nabesthetics]

Welp, began going through the Arcana blog, chronologically, and reblogging most of the ask arcana replies, concept art, lore tidbits etc. onto @arcana-crumbs , trying to kinda sorta categorize it all.

I'm about 200 pages into the blog (WHEEZE), 450 more to go. I don't recommend following it for now because I'm not timing these reblogs lmao, dozens of them in rapid succession.

It's also interesting to see how quite a few of these old posts don't really... match some of the later personalities and lore in the game. If Dorian simply reposted them today, some people (me included) would get annoyed lol. Reminds you that these things don't really have to be taken seriously, aside from a few fundamentals.

[rookflower]

Potential Thunderclan deputy candidates!