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bokettochild · 7 months

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Febuwhump Day 18

@nancyheart11 you asked me for a Twilight Whump for this one, so I did my best! He wasn't talking, but it's a little tastier with the spice of another perspective >:)

I hope you enjoy!

Rating: Gen

Wordcount:

Summary: They talked about wandering off alone, but that doesn't exactly stop certain people (AKA Twilight) from not doing it again. Maybe Warriors is taking it too personally, but Mask's pup is giving him a headache. He just wants all his little brothers safe in one place, is that too much to ask?

(Note: I have not proof written this. My apologies, but half my keys aren't working, so typos are probably there.)

They do not run off alone, they just don’t! It’s not so much a rule as something that everyone understands, so why in Hylia’s name is it still so hard for the others to actually do? Warriors resists the urge to hiss at himself; he is not Mask or Wild, he is not a feral little creature that can’t use his words, but by Hylia’s Wings does he wish he could get away with it sometimes!

They’d talked about this! Not at length, and yes, his opinions had been very quickly dismissed in favor of discussing the ability of their enemy to shapeshift, but he’d expressed his disapproval with running off alone in the middle of a battle!

But who really listens to him anyway?

No, the captain stops in his tracks for a moment to shake off that thought, that’s not fair. Most of the other heroes listen. For Wind it’s second nature, and Time too, most days, listens without thinking about it. Even as an adult, the other respects his experience in leadership and knowledge of fighting and working with others. Four, even for his faults when it comes to actually working with and not simply around other people, still hears him out when he speaks. Sky and Hyrule both respect him for his title of knight and the work he’d put in to earn it, and even Legend, who despises soldiers, will respect his decisions and follow the plans he’s set. Yes, there's some disconnect, which is to be expected when working with a new team of people that aren’t accustomed to each other just yet, but they’re trying. Most of them are trying.

Twilight and Wild are their own story.

The captain’s teeth saw against each other as he ducks through the underbrush, following the faint trail left by big paws and the even bigger tracks of a moblin. How can a person be so determined to keep others in line and behaving, to keep others in the group safe and obeying the rules, and yet they themselves trod all over them?

Granted, he is also currently separate from the group, wandering off alone, but he’s not the only one and everyone else knows what he’s doing. He’s tracking Twilight while the rest collect themselves and make camp. Wild had offered to do it, but after the last time, he just can’t trust the kid to actually come back; Wild’s proved where his loyalties lie, and it’s with the rancher, not their group. When asked to make the choice, they all know what it would be.

He told the champion to stay.

He doesn't know if he’ll be listened to, since that’s also the other point of struggle here, but he’s done all he can. He’s a good tracker, used to picking up the slightest sign of enemy activity, and his reasoning of being their current medic and thus the best choice in the case Twilight had gotten injured in some way, seems to be reason enough for most of the rest. There’s offers of course, to have someone go with him as backup, but looking over the tired men and boys in camp, he turns them all down. They need the rest, and time to recover from their own injuries and exhaustion. As a soldier, he’s been trained to push his limits, his exhaustion, his pain, his physical abilities, and ignore all barriers until his assignment is completed. The others may be heroes, ones who’ve faced odds that soldiers could never imagine, but they’re not likely to have experienced that sort of pressure and he wouldn’t want them to.

They need their rest. He can get his once his duty is done.

Now if only Twilight wouldn’t make it so hard by having wandered off to Nayru knows where!

A hand drags through his hair, disrupting it, but it doesn’t matter. Yes, there’s a small voice that hisses to fix it, one that sounds a bit like Proxi, but these heroes care even less for how he looks on any given day than for what he says.

Still being unfair, Link. They aren’t all bad. They’re good kids.

Sure, they’d probably all take offence at being called kids but that’s what they are! The youngest are very young and even Time, their eldest, still looks to him through force of habit for guidance and aid. At most, he’d say the oldest most of them could be is twenty, early twenties for the rancher and skyloftian, but that’s still young enough to still be tripping over themselves in an effort to understand adulthood. They are, in his mind, still kids, and they’re mostly good ones, so he really can’t go lumping them all together as not giving a darn when they very much do. Not about his looks, thank Hylia, but about what he has to say? Most definitely.

Again, it’s just Time’s pups who don’t.

Goddesses, they take after their old man to an extreme level! It feels like just yesterday he was chasing down the little scamp, explaining the importance of comradery, of trust, of teamwork. Just yesterday, he was tilting brilliant blue eyes up to meet tired ones and asking, nearly begging, for the kid to please just give his way a chance.

He sort of doubts such methods will work on his kid’s much older pup though.

Twilight and Wild are similar in that they are stubborn, but they’re also much older than Mask had been, and neither is desperate for the stability the young boy had sought. They have Tie and each otehr, their own little bubble, separate from the rest of the heroes, and while both have an obvious respect for his skill, that’s about where their respect for him ends. They don’t look up to him, don’t admire him, don’t see him as anything more than another hero in their group, which is nice as far as not needing to babysit them goes. He’s glad that they don’t need him to keep an eye on them, that they’re stable enough mentally and in their perception of themselves that they don’t need someone else to support them, and if they do, they’ve already found that in each other. Still, having even the smallest of ways to get through to either of them would be nice.

He’d thought that experience with the army would help connect him with the champion, that maybe a bond with Time could be something he could connect with the rancher about, but so far, no dice.

His feet skid slightly on some leaves, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. Right, he needs to find Twilight. He can worry about driving home the idea of not running off alone when he’s sure the other is still alive. Granted, they didn’t see the black lizalfoes, or anything they think might have been another form of the beast, in this last battle, but it doesn’t take the most powerful of monsters to lay a hero low, especially if they don’t have anyone to watch their backs.

The paw prints change to boot prints with the same seamlessness as they’d become paws at the beginning of the trail, and blood, crimson not black, spatters on the ground in an arc that indicates a swinging blade right where the moblin’s feet shift into a spin to face its pursuer. The trail of blood falls to the left of the trail, which means it could be delt by the left-handed hero or by the opposing monster, but considering the sudden turn, his money is on the rancher being the injured party here.

By habit, his hand falls to his bag, assuring himself he’s got his med kit close at hand.

By the three, these boys could save themselves so much pain if they just covered each others’ asses! Next time they get to the ranch or any place where they can stop for a little, he’s asking Time to help him arrange a training session for these kids. Maybe with their unofficial leader’s support, he can even get the two pups in on the session. As is, he’s sure Wind and four will be willing, and Sky will most definitely be his most valuable asset in teaching them. Good grief, whatever the Knights Academy on Skyloft is teaching, they're doing a great job, because that boy melds seamlessly in with whomever is closest to him!

That may or may not be why he keeps close to the skyloftian, but who can blame him for wanting the assurance of having someone to watch his back when he’s so busy trying to keep an eye on all the others all the time?

Twilight could have used the same, and blood specks along the trail as he goes. The steps become distorted, shuffling over each other in what’s clearly a break from the chase to fight. Here though, seven or eight paces from the initial blood spatter, more footprints join the mix. A bokoblin- no, two of them. The rancher’s steps disappear for a short moment, but with some looking around he finds them again. A flip or a throw landed him behind his foe, but he’s pushed back, heels dragging as they shuffle backwards into the woods as the enemy presses forwards against him.

More tracks join the mix; an ambush.

He grits his teeth, pushing forwards, ignoring, for the most part, the trail of the monsters in favor of following boot prints that press heavily to the dirt at the heel and toe, running, now pursued rather than the pursuer. The rancher will have known to try and limit the area of approach from his foes by darting into the trees. At best, he’d have circled around to pick them off from behind, but the prints don’t indicate as much. The speed of the different monster types will change have changed the tides of the fight though, with the bokoblins moving faster, prints fading out entirely as they likely fell and faded to miasma, leaving behind a moblin trail that continues, joined by more of its kind. He’d estimate at least three, maybe five of the creatures.

Not great odds for one already injured rancher.

He picks up his own pace. There’s no sounds of battle ahead or anywhere close by, not that he can hear. Granted, cannon fire in the war has definitely damaged his hearing enough that he could just be missing it, but he chooses to believe that there’s nothing, if only in the hope that Twilight will somehow be headed back along the trail towards him already, instead of being even further out, still in the middle of a fight.

He doesn’t stumble across the rancher walking along the path though. No, he follows the fight, the footprints, trailing through the trees until there’s nowhere else to go. A wall of earth, steep enough to be a struggle to climb for anyone currently being chased, rises up and the footprints spin about to face those following after. He doesn’t keep track after that though, because the moment he sees fur and brass armor that catches the fading light, he knows his search is done.

“There you are, rancher.”

The urge to steal Time’s thunder and call the other man a pup- not with the affection of the now older man but with all the ire of its original connotation among his own people, is strong, but he resists. That would be considered out of line without context, and he doubts Twilight even knows the source of the nickname he so values from his mentor.

Knowing it means a young person who’s annoying but not yet unbearable, yet, would probably kill some of that magic.

So, he bites his tongue, keeps his impulses to himself, and moves to the side of the younger man, who’s currently slumped against a tree, breath strained but still there as dark eyes, a shade or so darker than Time’s own, flutter slightly with an effort to stay open.

“Cap’n?”

Darker or not, there’s definitely a lot of Time- of Mask, in the rancher’s face, and it makes staying mad with him a bit of a challenge when he’s looking so pathetic. “Got yourself in quite the situation, haven’t you,” he hums, kneeling at the younger’s side and taking his time with a once over. The rancher’s tunic has taken damage, but his concern is where crimson leaks from the tears, not where blades have slashed through only to be halted by chain mail. Yes, the bruising won’t be fun, but his concern is something he can fix, anything that Twilight will actually need help with.

There’s a wince from the other. “Not my intent.”

“Never is,” he unclips the bag from his belt, eyes falling on a nasty looking gash just below the cut off of the chainmail’s sleeves. There are some light scratches over browned features and an injury to the leg that leaks slowly into the earth below, but the rancher’s armor looks to have done its job well.

“The others?”

“Fine.” He keeps his attention on slipping the bracer from his brother’s arm, on unbuckling and sliding away the leather, the underlying glove, and then rolling up the sleeve to get at the injury he needs to treat. Wound care fills his mind, not answers, not talking. That can come once he’s assured that the other is alright. Much as the man drives him mad, he’s still Time’s kid, and still a fellow hero, still a brother, still someone who doesn’t deserve to suffer just because he’s particularly good at being stupid and reckless.

“Wild?”

“Fine.” He repeats, sucking in his cheeks as he sees the damage done without fabric blocking the way. Claws do so much more damage than blades, and the chances of infection are higher too. Not as much as with bites, but it’s still not preferrable.

“The kids?”

He huffs, turning to grab for his kit, looking for anything he might have to quickly clean the wound. “You’d know if you didn’t run away mid battle.”

Hurt crosses sloping features briefly, not for the prodding at the wound site, but from his sharp tongue. Regret stirs briefly at his heart, but like his ire, he pushes it down to keep his head clear and his mind focused on his work as their team’s current medic.

“Yer upset.”

The urge to tell the kid ‘no shit’ is very strong, but he bottles up that too. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the wound, on wiping it down and looking for anything that might have gotten into the cut.

Twilight’s ears flick back, not appreciating having his words ignored. If there’s one thing the rancher is accustomed to, it’s answers when he speaks. Wild always answers, Time too even if it’s not verbal, and the younger ones always respond to. Being met with silence, both verbally and in body language, must be new to him. “Did somethin’ happen?” And when he still doesn't answer, “Wars, what’s goin’ on?”

“They’re fine, now hush.” It’s a deep cut. Not as bad as the axe wound, but not light by any means either, and it will need stitches. He keeps his needles in a bottle, clean and ready for use, for this reason. Mask used to fuss that it was a waste of a good bottle, and the thought lightens his heart just slightly as he pulls it out and grabs the needed supplies to close the wound in the rancher’s arm.

“No, Wars-” there’s a straining from the body beneath his hands, but Twilight doesn’t successfully pull himself up, and his face flashes white for a moment before he slumps again. It seems the mighty rancher has spent all his strength in fighting alone, nothing left to use to so much as sit up by himself.

“Stay still,” he sighs, pushing down, entirely unnecessarily, against a shoulder. It’s for the sake of the man’s pride, he tells himself, to pretend to play along that twilight can get up on his own right now. “Let me work.”

Work and bottle up his frustrations enough that he can talk afterwards.

Twilight, however, has no such intentions of likewise staying silent. “Captain, what’s goin’ on?”

“I said stay still.”

“Are they hurt?” Blue eyes bleed worry, the same desperation his mentor used to let slip, sometimes still does when it’s his pup in trouble or hurt. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you actin’ like this then?”

The urge to growl again rises, and again he shoves it down with pursed lips and clenched teeth, focusing his energy on starting the stitches and hoping the pain of them will be enough to distract the younger man from his line of questioning. It doesn’t work though.

“Wars?”

“Twilight,” his voice snaps without his allowing it, eyes flicking up to meet midnight blue, “I’m trying to focus. Stitches aren’t easy, believe it or not.”

They’re familiar and he’s done more stitches in his life through human flesh and zora scales than his baby sisters have in their needlework projects that Maither gives them. He won’t admit that though, not if it gives him an out from having to talk. Honestly, some days, he really misses having Proxi around to speak for him when he’s stressed. She was always much better at that sort of thing than he was.

Twilight falls quiet at his words though, but he still feels those eyes fixed on him, searching his face even as their gaze is broken with a flinch or a huff of pain as the needle pressed through flesh and pulls the two edges of the cut together. He has to stop a few times to dab away blood and clear the area for the next stitch, but he’s quick about his work. In and out, twisting the thread together to close the wound, moving on to the next stitch and watching as the flesh pulls together again over where blood leaks out.

He's done before he’s ready to talk again, but bandaging is something they’ve all done, and he can’t say that actually takes so much focus as to stop him talking, and Twilight knows it, already pressing again with the questions. “Wars-”

A scoff escapes, puffing hair out of his eyes to clear them, even though having it to hide behind would be much more preferable. “You really are Time’s pup, aren’tcha?”

A tick. “What does that mean?”

He ties off the ends of the linen wrap, tight enough to hold but not so much as to cut off circulation. “You’re a worrier and a fuss pot.”

Heavy brows crease in answer, but Twilight doesn’t actually have a foot to stand on when it comes to opposing his words. Instead, the rancher just stares at him, waiting until Warriors turns his attention to the injured leg, arm finished.

It’s only once he’s gotten a start on treating the cut there (this time from a blade) that the rancher’s voice rises again, guarded and wary. “You’re mad at me,”

He doesn’t answer.

Rather than guess why, Twilight pushes ahead. “I couldn’t let that moblin escape. We don’t know what’s out here, and letting it terrorize a village jist wouldn’t do. You know that, Wars.” When there’s no answer though, the country accent keeps rolling, pitching slightly, straining. “There was a whole ‘nother camp out here, one that might have attacked us in the night!” And then, when still no answer sounds from his lips, “You would have done the same.”

“I would not.” He clips, snipping his thread and briefly glancing over at wide eyes. “I would have attended to my men and then pursued the enemy when we, as a team, were capable of doing so Wandering off on my own is what nearly lost us the war. So, as a rule, I won’t be doing that again unless I absolutely must.”

That shuts the rancher up, recognition dawning in midnight eyes that falter and fall as he turns his attention back to tending wounds.

There’s no more pushing done by either party, and it’s quiet as he works save the hisses and hitches of the younger man’s breath in pain as stitches are laid and bandages wrapped. That done though, the quite is almost overwhelming, even to him, and he finds himself sighing at it, crouching before his pup’s pup and resisting, with a lot of effort, the urge to hook a finger under the other's chin and lift that gaze to meet his own, like he’d done with his own kid what feels like only yesterday. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself, but gentles his gaze all the same. It’s not that hard, not when faced with familiar features drawn up in a soft scowl that, were it Mask, he’d teasingly call a pout. “I’m not mad,” a disbelieving look meets his own at the words, but he pushes his tone a bit firmer with the next ones. “I’m frustrated, but we can work over that later, preferably after we’ve all had dinner and some rest. For now, we should head back to the others, before your cub starts thinking we’ve dropped off the face of the world or something.”

A furrow forms between dark brows, too sharp teeth, wolf teeth he muses to himself, gnawing at the other's cheek lining. It’s a bad habit, and he’s sure the man knows it, but he doesn’t correct it. That’s not his place.

He can guess what’s troubling Twilight though. “Can you stand?”

A huff, a little smile that’s flustered enough he can guess the answer. “Not really.”

He knew it. He doesn’t hold it against the other though, instead, shifting to kneeling at the man’s side, shuffling about as he must before giving a waring of his intent. “I’ll carry you then.”

Alarm flashes clear as day over the rancher’s face. “Cap, I don’t-”

“I’m stronger than I look,” he assures, although it doesn’t seem to do any good. No doubt, twilight’s staring at his slighter frame and remembering his own bulk, but honestly, he’d served for years in the army. If he couldn’t haul an injured soldier any distance, he wouldn’t be worth the rupees he earns.

Getting Twilight up on his back with no help from the weakened rancher or anyone else is a bit of a mess, and there’s some slipping and struggle which the rancher no doubt sees as proof that this is no good, but despite protests, he keeps at it until the other is slung over his back. Twilight is heavy, much more so than the other boys would be, but it’s not his first time hauling an Ordonian to safety, and the bulk of his brother just means he moves a bit slower than he would otherwise.

Twilight’s grip around his neck is weaker than is ideal, but in the long run, it’s probably better that way, because it means his breath doesn't get cut off as he heads back to camp.

Like he said, once they’re there, when they’ve had something to eat, and probably after the rancher downs a potion from his cub’s bag, they’ll need to talk. This time, he will not accept having them change the subject or redirect. This time they will discuss going off alone.

After though. After they’ve had time to catch their breath. And he supposes, shaking his head, after Twilight wakes up again from the doze he’s apparently fallen into.

Good grief, the man even snores as loud as his mentor!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu twilight #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #ketto writes #dad warriors #he is not ready to be a grandpa guys #but is very weak to the puppy children in this group #he will not admit it #but he is #yes i am referencing the update like a madwoman #it's free warriors and twi angst though!#can you blame me?

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pixies-and-poets · 2 years

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That streaming thing could actually work with DK, Rabbid Cranky and RK staying aware of where Rabbid Peach was and what she was doing during Sparks Of Hope(better than my idea anyway-)

Ok both you and @emilocalisto basically said the same thing at the same time, it's very important that those three stay in touch with RP and Beep-0, I think we all agree! :3

I like to think the cell/internet service could cross dimensions even if DKA is in a different dimension (after all, the SoH battles are supposed to take place in the "darkmess dimension" anyway), if Rabbids can travel dimensions physically I'm sure they would have figured out a way to send data.

I bet RP texts RK all the time, and it can take him forever to respond while trying to use his massive gorilla bunny paws to text and try not to make typos, so he just uses emojis most of the time

RP: OMG soooo bored in the ship rn... What r u doing

RK: 🍌

RP: Not surprised lmaooo hey wanna come to the next battle? I'll go w/ gargantu-fan

RK: 😍

#mario rpgs #mario plus rabbids #mario + rabbids #alter answers

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

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Don’t Mess With Cats

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: When you find the most beautiful cat on the streets of New York City, you decide to take him in and give him a home. Little did you know, that cat is Loki Laufeyson, the very person your boss Tony Stark is looking for. Deciding to lay low for a while, Loki lives with you for nearly three months. And then you go missing. Still in cat form, Loki teams up with Tony and the Avengers to find you. While simultaneously having to keep his true identity a secret and grapple with his blooming feelings for you, can Loki find you before it’s too late? Chapter Summary: Transformed into a cat after the Battle of New York, Loki gets taken in by you. Chapter Warnings: typos, I’m sure A/N: Ok, so I forgot to advertise this, but uh, here *throws new series into the void* Updates every Monday. TAGLIST FOR THE SERIES IS OPEN! Hope you enjoy! :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedficrecs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163 @lokislittlesigyn @wolfish-trickster @electroma89 @jgun2001

(strikethrough means I can’t tag you; message/ask me to be added to a tag list) MASTERLIST

The light shining in his eyes was blinding, and Loki blinked against it. It was rather unnecessary, thought the God. After all, he was complying. Relatively, anyway; he couldn’t stop his witty remarks, even if he tried. But he held out as long as he could, and now it was time for the tell-all.

“So?” questioned the voice from the other side of the table. “Are you finally ready to explain yourself? How exactly did all this happen?”

Loki looked right into the camera and it’s small, blinking red light with a crooked sort of grin. “Now that, is a long story...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki wondered if Thor could have handled a crushing defeat as gracefully as he did. Then again, Thor probably wouldn’t have wanted to lose, unlike his brother. At least Loki’s mind was his own again, even if his body was still aching for more reasons than he wanted to remember. But he was free.

The Avengers hadn’t kept a close enough eye on him. Really, it was their fault that he slipped away. Besides, he’d done something he was sure they would never in a million years guess.

He shapeshifted into a cat.

Perhaps it should have been odd to take on an animal’s shape, but it was second nature for Loki at this point. His paws moved swiftly over the sidewalks and into an alleyway. Though being a cat was a great cover, he couldn’t use his magic to teleport himself away in that form. Checking around him, he prepared to change back to his usual form, but before he could shed the sleek black disguise, you were crouching before him.

“Hey there, little guy,” you smiled, offering him a small part of your cheese stick. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing out here all alone, huh?”

He harshly meowed and hissed, but didn't do anything to actually hurt you. He realized he was probably a bit too well groomed for you to think he was a stray. Despite his best effort, he couldn’t help himself from sniffing at the offered food.

“That’s right,” you smiled with a soft voice. “You can have it.”

Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he put the snack in his mouth, chewing carefully. After all, he wasn’t used to Midgardian food. Unfortunately, it was rather delicious. Even worse, he preened under your attention when you went to pet his head. He even went as far as to walk against your palm, letting you pet all along his back. He just hoped it was only his feline form that was lowering his inhibitions.

“Want to come with me, huh boy?” You carefully picked him up. He was too tired of fighting to resist. “There you go,” you whispered, petting him once more.

After examining him, you began to walk with the small, now purring bundle of warmth in your arms. Upon closer inspection, you found he had a number of scratches and cuts on him. You kept whispering calming reassurances to Loki. Even if you didn’t know it, he really needed it.

Next thing he knew, you’d brought him to the vet. He resisted a bit as they took him back into a checkup room. Once he saw you were going to be allowed to go with him, he calmed considerably. He held still as they searched his body with a scanner, but there was no microchip for them to find. Without a collar, he was deemed a stray, and you left with him in your arms again.

“Don’t worry, boy, I’ll take care of you,” you said, scratching behind his ears.

That evening you took some photos of him, and the next day you put up missing cat posters. Despite the fact you were hoping to keep him, you wanted to make sure you weren’t keeping him from his family.

A week later with no reply, you made a trip to the pet store, stocking up on everything you’d need. Except for the collar. You hadn’t exactly figured out a name for your new friend yet, and vowed to keep a careful eye on him until then.

On the matter of names, you were currently trying to figure one out for him. Loki sat on the windowsill, tail lazily swishing back and forth as gentle rain tapped the window, blotting out the view with large drops on the glass. You tapped your chin with the capped marker as you tried to figure out some more ideas on your white board.

As you wrote down another possibility, Loki leapt from his perch to a low bookshelf before reaching the ledge of the white board. You’d printed Muffin, Mittens, Dusk, Shadow, Ebony in a bulleted list.

“So, what do you think? I’m leaning towards Ebony.”

He meowed in protest and began rubbing up against the board, erasing the options. He looked at you as if to say “Really? This is the best you can do?”

“Alright", you laughed. “I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas then."

He quickly looked around, trying to find a way to communicate with you. He had a plan: Stay here and recuperate. Then, when the search for him had died down a bit, he’d leave. Maybe he’d even be able to briefly thank you for kindness, in some way or another.

Suddenly, he realized the TV was on, and he was just in luck; they were reporting on him. He hopped on the television stand and began trying to signal his name to you on the banner with the headline. You looked at him for a minute, perplexed that he seemed to have such a deep understanding of what you were saying. Then something lit up behind your eyes.

“I’ve got it! How about Mischief?”

Loki glanced at the screen, seeing the word there. He supposed it made sense you went for that instead of his actual name. After all, he’d just attacked the city. Well, he thought, close enough. He meowed in approval and rubbed himself against your legs. You picked him up, scratching behind his ears and earning a purr.

“Well, Mischief, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

And somehow, Loki found he couldn’t agree more.

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afoolandathief · 3 years

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So, instead of working on Something Wicked or Those Horrid, Horrid Things, I basically wrote 2,500 words of what's essentially fanfiction of my own work.

Some spoilers for Those Horrid, Horrid Things, since it's set about seven years in the future from the story.

Will I do anything more with this? Who knows?

Also there's probably a shitload of typos and other issues since I just wrote this in like a feverish state and it's after 1 a.m.

TWs for blood and gore, some language, sort of some slight acephobia, some awkward moments of people being half-dressed, and brief mentions of vomit and dead animals:

For a long, long time, Fenrisúlfr Lokison had thought about what he would say to Tyr Odinson the next time he saw him.

Of course, he had thought that would be when the sun and moon disappeared, and all the world had met its end.

Instead, the son of the All-Father appeared out of a copse of trees in almost the same way he had first appeared to Fenrir as a boy — except now he was older and much, much angrier.

Tyr had always been brave. He had also always been fair and just. Which was probably why he gave Fenrir a moment to defend himself, issuing a battle cry from the trees and running straight towards a wolf the size of a large ship.

It was incredibly stupid. Fenrir reflexively swiped a massive paw and batted Tyr several yards across the forest floor. He felt his outstretched claws catch and rip something underneath Tyr’s armor before he landed.

And then Tyr Odinson was on his back, intestines and blood and all sorts of things that made Fenrir nauseous pouring out of him. And yet he still held his sword high, ready to fight to the end.

It would be a quick end. Fenrir could snap him up in one bite. And he was very, very hungry.

But instead Fenrir shifted into the form of a young man — only a year younger than Tyr — and stepped closer to inspect his childhood friend’s wound.

“Put your weapon down, Tyr,” he said, his voice still a deep growl even in this form.

Tyr’s face had grown pale and slick with sweat, but he shook his head.

“Fine,” Fenrir said. “It won’t matter, soon. You’ll pass out from the blood loss.”

He really hoped he wouldn’t, though. If Tyr went to sleep in this state, Fenrir wasn’t sure he’d wake up.

He knelt down in front of him, easily pushing back his left arm until he dropped the sword. Tyr swung his right arm, which was, of course, empty of a weapon. Fenrir’s stomach lurched as he caught him by the forearm, unable to look away from where it ended.

It had been six, maybe seven years since Fenrir had taken Tyr’s hand, and now he had gone and wounded him again.

His eyes swept to the gash in his stomach, and he nearly vomited.

Tyr noticed.

“Still can’t stand the sight of blood, eh, Fenrir?” he asked, with what would have been a smirk if he had the energy to form one.

“I can -” Fenrir shut his eyes and took a breath. “I can — with animals, now. Have to eat, after all.”

He’d been traveling in the woods of Jotunheimr for some time. It hadn’t made much sense to go to college or get a job after high school, back in that little pocket of time and space in Midgard his family had found a home in. Not when he knew what was coming in a matter of years.

Ignoring every instinct and shred of common sense telling him to leave, he dug out some rags from the pack he kept on his human form. Removing what was left of Tyr’s armor and shirt, he pressed them against the gash the way his parents had taught him before he’d left home.

“What are you doing?” Tyr asked, his voice becoming worryingly slurred.

“Saving your life, you ass,” Fenrir said, as he wrapped the last of the bandages tight around his waist.

Tyr was taller, and had built up a bit of muscle as he’d grown up, but he was still slimmer than Fenrir. Not to mention Fenrir had the power of a giant warg stuffed into the body of a man.

He picked him up easily, scooping his arms under his shoulders and the crook of his knees.

“So,” Tyr managed to get out, his eyes half-closed. “Where we going?”

Fenrir twitched his shoulders under the cloak his dad had stolen from Freyja all those years ago, and two enormous wings unfurled along his back.

“Somewhere safe,” he said.

The peak of the roof cut sharply into the moonlit sky, but Fenrir managed to land with his cargo still somewhat intact.

“I can stand,” Tyr said to him, a bit more coherently than when he had been bleeding out on the forest floor.

Fenrir nodded and helped him to his feet. Tyr was an Aesir god, and they were of hardier stuff than humans.

But they were still mortal, and the steadily growing stain on Tyr’s bandages was making Fenrir queasy.

His knees crunched against the gutter as he knelt at the edge of the roof and bent over, reaching down to test the window, then the next one. Each of them was locked.

“Do you have the strength to hang off the roof and climb through a window?” Fenrir asked.

Tyr nodded as though Fenrir had asked him the most inane question imaginable.

Fenrir pulled at the last window and felt it slide upwards. It was the worst one to enter the house through, but it sounded as though they wouldn’t have any nasty surprises upon entering.

“Slip in there as quiet as possible,” he said to Tyr. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He winced the entire time, but Tyr swung through the window one-handed and landed with only the softest pad of his feet. When Fenrir got inside, he saw him staring wide-eyed across the darkened room.

The massive form of his mother was splayed across one side of the bed. She was snoring, with the bulk of her forearm thrown over her head. On the other side was his father, who was also snoring, but in loud fits and starts instead of a steady pattern like their first wife.

The two were both reaching towards Sigyn, who was somehow sleeping peacefully in the center of the bed, her willowy form angled for equal contact with both of them.

“That,” Tyr began in a whisper. “That’s Angrboda, the wolfmother, the Jarl of Ironwood.”

“My mom, yeah,” Fenrir said.

“And Loki, the Trickster God.”

“My dad.”

“And the Goddess of Loyalty -”

“Their wife, Sigyn, yes, Tyr,” Fenrir said. “I brought you to my parents’ house.”

Tyr glanced over at him.

“You’re telling me the Father of Monsters, wanted for the murder of my brother, has been hiding out here?”

His dad’s scrawny arm shot up and they both jumped. But Loki only let out another loud snort before turning over in bed.

Fenrir wasn’t sure if they needed to be so quiet. Both his parents and Sigyn should have gone deaf after sharing a bed for all these years.

He led Tyr out of the room down the hallway, passing the open door of his siblings’ room.

Jormungandr’s heat lamp was still on, illuminating the sleeping eighteen-year-old stretched out and hanging off the top bunk of the bed. He was snoring at a volume that could rival his father’s.

“Is that -” Tyr started. “Is that the Midgard Serpent? In human form?”

Fenrir rolled his eyes.

“That’s a pain in the ass, in pain-in-the-ass form.”

The room hadn’t changed much since Fenrir left, although Jormungandr had acquired several more swim trophies and posters of his beloved video games and cartoons. The bottom bunk where Fenrir had slept had been replaced with the desk, which had been moved to make room for Narfi and Váli’s shared racecar bed.

“You really should be more scared of those two,” Fenrir said, gesturing to his two sleeping half-brothers. The twins looked deceivingly peaceful tucked in together, but Fenrir knew better.

A horrible sound — like dead tree branches rubbing together, or corpse nails scratching on a coffin — brought both Fenrir and Tyr out of their thoughts.

“Psst.”

Fenrir tracked the source to where his fifteen-year-old sister was standing at the other side of the hall.

“Psst,” Hel repeated. “Fenrir, get over here.”

Tyr stared back at her.

“So,” he said. “This must be the Queen of the Dead.”

“Yes,” Hel said. “And unless you want to join my domain, you both better get over here.”

Hissing more complaints under her breath, Hel dragged the two of them into her room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Fenrir glanced around the room. It had only grown more horrifying over time, with various dead things laid over the top of Hel’s vanity dresser, and Nidhogg snoozing on her bed in his chihuahua form. He had at least mellowed with age, if only a tiny bit.

He glanced back at his sister. Her half-black, half-white hair was scraggly, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“You’re up late,” he said.

She shrugged.

“I like the nighttime,” she said. “Besides, school’s out, so there’s no reason to be up early.”

Fenrir had forgotten about summer vacation. It was easy to lose track of time in the woods of Jotunheimr, with only the changing temperatures and leaves to take note of.

“Sleipnir’s back from college. She’s staying in the guest room.” Hel added, as though she wasn’t making conversation with her long-gone brother who’d appeared in the night with an Aesir god. “Anyway, you’re going to want to shut up and keep still in the next thirty seconds.”

He was about to ask why, when he heard the grunting and padding of his father down the hallway. Hel brought a finger to her lips until there was the familiar shut of the bathroom door.

“They always get up to pee at this time,” Hel said, making Fenrir question if she really had only been staying up this late once school was out.

She sat herself on a chair in front of the vanity, her eyes running up and down Fenrir and the bloodied, bandaged man he’d dragged home.

“You’re in trouble,” she said.

“Hel -” Fenrir began.

She held a hand up, and Fenrir swore all the shadows in the room moved with it.

“I know this is Tyr with you, Fenrir,” she said. “And — given he’s a son of Odin and the one responsible for tying you up at fourteen — we both know mom and dad will kill him on sight.”

“Hel, he’s currently bleeding out from where I clawed him open,” Fenrir said, his voice fighting around a lump growing in his throat.

They each jumped as a knock echoed from the door.

“Hela,” Loki’s voice said from the other side. “Is someone in there with you?”

Fenrir shook his head at Hel, biting his knuckle as his sister seemed to weigh her horrible choices in her head.

“Uh, no, daddy,” she finally said, her voice swinging into a high-pitched, sweeter tone.

“No boys in there?” Loki went on, their voice lilting playfully. “Or girls? Or any sort of paramour I should be worried about?”

“I said, no, dad,” Hel said, her voice suddenly stilted and lower.

Loki chuckled from behind the door.

“Don’t know what I’m going to do with you, princess,” they said. “I’ll have to fight them off, soon.”

Hel stared at her lap, her brow furrowed into a deep rut on her forehead.

“You alright?” Fenrir asked, once their father’s footsteps had padded back down the hallway.

Hel chewed on her lip.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just — they’ve been making these jokes for like the past year, and I know they don’t mean any harm by them, but it’s just weird because -”

She paused, and several comments his sister had made growing up rose in Fenrir’s mind.

“Because you’re ace,” he said.

He brought his hand to his mouth as soon as he said it.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Hel,” he said. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“No, I mean, you’re right,” she said. “Didn’t know it was that obvious.”

Then she giggled like a nervous teenager, which was the most disconcerting thing Fenrir had ever heard from the half-dead girl.

“Does dad know?” he asked.

Hel shook her head.

“No one knows,” she said. “And dad’s the last person I want to find out.”

She stood up and paced the room, rubbing her chin, before gesturing to Fenrir.

“I’ll patch up your boyfriend and keep him a secret,” she said. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about this.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my sworn enemy,” Fenrir said. “And, fine.”

He hadn’t intended to tell anyone, anyway, but if it kept Hel quiet, he wasn’t going to object.

Hel took Tyr by the hand and sat him in her chair.

“So,” Tyr said, sounding disturbingly more disoriented again. “You know -”

He paused and waved his hand in the air.

“Magic?” Hel asked, as she undid his bandages. “Yes. I’m going to get these organs of yours back in place. It’s not your time yet, Tyr Odinson.”

She turned back to Fenrir.

“Remember the spell Sigyn used to disguise herself?” she asked. “Made her look familiar to herself, but you kind of forgot that? I’ll do the same with him.”

Fenrir nodded, for some reason relieved Tyr’s features wouldn’t be completely erased.

“We’ll call him Thorin Sigurdson,” she went on. “An einheri who grew bored with Valhalla and left, and that’s when you found him. That’ll explain why he’s familiar with Asgard and Odin but not much else. And plenty of soldiers lost arms before dying in battle.”

“That’s brilliant, Hel,” Fenrir said.

She rolled her eyes.

“Well, yeah,” she said.

Her magic worked surprisingly fast, and soon Fenrir had a healed Tyr with slightly different features, like a slightly-wrong copy of the Aesir god.

Which was good, because he could hear footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Alright, I definitely heard someone this time,” Loki was muttering.

Fenrir looked back at Tyr and realized there was one problem.

“Tyr, you don’t have a shirt,” he said.

Tyr glanced down at himself, apparently still struck stupid by blood loss.

“Well, guess not,” he murmured.

Fenrir was already pulling off the overshirt he had grown accustomed to wearing in Jotunheimr.

“Here. At least have something on.”

Tyr shoved the shirt back.

“No, your clothes all smell like wet dog.”

Hel was slouched on her bed, petting Nidhogg and observing the chaos unfolding before her.

“He’s not wrong, Fenrir,” she said.

Fenrir let out a growl he wasn’t proud of and proceeded to shove the shirt over Tyr’s head.

The door burst open.

“Hel, I don’t mind if you have someone over, but you still need my permission to -”

Loki stood in the open doorway, staring at their oldest son gripping the shirt of a strange young man standing opposite from him.

Fenrir sensed Tyr bristling next to him. Which could have been because he was facing public-enemy-number-one of the Aesir and the bringer of Ragnarok, or — much to Fenrir’s stomach-churning chagrin — because his dad was wearing an open robe with nothing underneath but their underwear and an oversized Metallica t-shirt Fenrir was fairly certain had been stolen from his mother.

Loki continued staring at Fenrir and Tyr, taking in the son who’d been gone for months, maybe years. Then a smile cracked wide across their face.

“Bodie, Sigyn, get out here,” they shouted down the hall. “Fenrir’s home! And he’s brought his boyfriend.”

#those horrid horrid things #fenrir #tyr #myth loki #hel

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kellyvela · 3 years

Note

GRRM has said in interviews that he’s purposely played with the romantic tension between the hound and Sansa. What do you think the endgame purpose of the unkiss and that playing is meant to be for?

This is all what he said about the matter in question so far:

The Hound and Sansa, romantic or platonic? It could be very different things to each of those involved, mind you!

JUNE 24, 1999 THE HOUND AND SANSA

Moreta12: I understand, I’ve heard your opinion on that. In ACOK, it seems that the relationship between the Hound and Sansa had romantic undertones. Is that true?

GeoRR: Well, read the book and decide for yourself.

Moreta12: I’ve read the book and I’ve debated those particular scenes with a few others. Half say that it’s romantic and half say it’s platonic. I’ve taken the romantic stance.

GeoRR: It could be very different things to each of those involved, mind you

Moreta12:Yes, but it seem like evidence points towards romantic undertones. Will the Hound appear later?

GeoRR: Yes, the Hound will be in STORM OF SWORDS. In fact, I just finished writing a big scene with him.

[Source]

When will Sansa be “legal”? **ºª@”¡¿x<%$!&?

OCTOBER 05, 1999 AGE OF SEXUAL RELATIONS IN WESTEROS

The nature of the relationship between Sandor and Sansa has been a hot topic on Revanshe’s board. Sansa’s youth has been one focus of the discussion. What is the general Westerosi view as to romantic or sexual relationships involving a girl of Sansa’s age and level of physical maturity?

A boy is Westeros is considered to be a “man grown” at sixteen years. The same is true for girls. Sixteen is the age of legal majority, as twenty-one is for us.

However, for girls, the first flowering is also very significant… and in older traditions, a girl who has flowered is a woman, fit for both wedding and bedding.

A girl who has flowered, but not yet attained her sixteenth name day, is in a somewhat ambigious position: part child, part woman. A “maid,” in other words. Fertile but innocent, beloved of the singers.

In the “general Westerosi view,” well, girls may well be wed before their first flowerings, for political reasons, but it would considered perverse to bed them. And such early weddings, even without sex, remain rare. Generally weddings are postponed until the bride has passed from girlhood to maidenhood.

Maidens may be wedded and bedded… however, even there, many husbands will wait until the bride is fifteen or sixteen before sleeping with them. Very young mothers tend to have significantly higher rates of death in childbirth, which the maesters will have noted.

As in the real Middle Ages, highborn girls tend to flower significantly earlier than those of lower birth. Probably a matter of nutrition. As a result, they also tend to marry earlier, and to bear children earlier. There are plenty of exceptions.

[Source]

Unreliable Narrator

JUNE 26, 2001 SF, TARGARYENS, VALYRIA, SANSA, MARTELLS, AND MORE

[GRRM is asked about Sansa misremembering the name of Joffrey’s sword.]

The Lion’s Paw / Lion’s Tooth business (*), on the other hand, is intentional. A small touch of the unreliable narrator. I was trying to establish that the memories of my viewpoint characters are not infallible. Sansa is simply remembering it wrong. A very minor thing (you are the only one to catch it to date), but it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory. You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom… but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on.

[Source]

(*) It was Arya who misremembered the name of Joffrey’s sword tho…

Unreliable Narrator 2.0

OCTOBER 05, 2002 SANSA’S MEMORY

[Note: This mail has been edited for brevity.]

… this is an inconsistency with ASoS more than an outright error. In ASoS, Sansa thinks that the Hound kissed her before leaving her room and King’s Landing. In ACoK, no kiss is mentioned in the scene, though Sansa did think that he was about to do so.

Well, not every inconsistency is a mistake, actually. Some are quite intentional. File this one under “unreliable narrator” and feel free to ponder its meaning

[Source]

Unreliable Narrator 3.0

NOVEMBER 27, 2007 GEORGE R.R. MARTIN ANSWERS YOUR QUESTIONS

Here’s a really particular question (which I realize means it probably won’t get asked in a general interview): In A Storm of Swords, there is a chapter early on where Sansa is thinking back to the scene at the end of A Clash of Kings when The Hound came into her room during the battle. She thinks in the chapter about how he kissed her, but in the scene in A Clash of Kings, this actually didn’t happen. Was that a typo or something? —Valdora

GRRM: It’s not a typo. It is something! [Laughs] ”Unreliable narrator” is the key phrase there. The second scene is from Sansa’s thoughts. And what does that reveal about her psychologically? I try to be subtle about these things.

[Source]

Sansa may be dead but Alayne is alive

APRIL 15, 2008 FUTURE MEETINGS, POVS, ARYA’S ROLE, EASTERN LANDS, AND ASSASSINS

[Will Sandor and Sansa meet?]

Why, the Hound is dead, and Sansa may be dead as well. There’s only Alayne Stone.

[Source]

A lot more dangerous than romantic

AUGUST 2, 2009 AS SER JORAH MORMONT…

weltraummuell: The Hound Oh please don’t cast an old guy for the Hound, his scenes with Sansa are so romantic and erotic, I couldn’t bear if it’d feel creepy all of a sudden. Well, that’s me making demands. LOL

GRRM: Re: The Hound Old guy? No, but… the Hound is still a whole lot older than Sansa, and was never written as attractive… you know, those hideous burns and all that… he’s a lot more dangerous than he is romantic.

kestrana: The Hound Yeah its a “girl always wants the bad boy” kind of thing although Sansa seems to pull something else out of him. It feels so wrong sometimes but I want to see them together again tee hee.

weltraummuell: The Hound Hehe, George, maybe you didn’t intend it, but he turned out to be a very erotic character to female readers. Especially since he’s mutilated and dangerous. Makes him unpredictable and vulnerable which is the most explosive aphrodisiac for a girl’s fantasy. ;)

weltraummuell: The Hound And I know from discussions on other board other women feel just the same about Sandor. He’s an absolute favourite with the ladies!

halfbloodmalfoy: The Hound LOL, you’re such a man. To many of us women, dangerous *is* attractive.

GRRM: The Hound But no one has any love for poor old Sam Tarly, kind and smart and decent and devoted…

[Source]

I played with it but I didn’t get the answer I was waiting for

JUNE 22, 2012 SWORD & LASER VIDEO PODCAST

GRRM: I am sometimes surprised by the reactions, of women in particular, to some of the villains. The number of women over the years who have written to me that their favorite characters are Jaime Lannister or Sandor Clegane [the Hound] or Theon Greyjoy… All of these are deeply troubled individuals with some very dark sides, who have done some very dark things. Nonetheless, they do draw this response, and quite heavily, I think, in the case of some of them, from my female readers in particular.

Veronica Belmont: I’m a big fan of the Hound, myself, actually.

Tom Merritt: Of Sandor? Really?

Veronica Belmont: Yeah, the Hound… Maybe it’s not because I feel any compassion towards them, I’m not really sure what the attraction is. Ah, I’m not going to call it attraction, actually. Let’s just say it’s a fascination, perhaps.

GRRM: [Chuckles] Well, I mean, fascination is one thing, but some of these letters indicate that there really is like a romantic attraction going on there. And I do know there’s all these people out there who are, as they call themselves, the “San/San” fans, who want to see Sandor and Sansa get together at the end. So that’s interesting, too.

Tom Merritt: The TV show has sort of played with that a little, and probably stoked those fires.

GRRM: Oh, sure. And I’ve played with it in the books. There’s something there, but it’s still interesting to see how many people have responded to it.

[Source]

I played with it but I didn’t get the answer I was waiting for 2.0

JUNE 23, 2015 GRRM Q&A AT THE SCIENCE FICTION BOOKSTORE IN STOCKHOLM

Question: “Is there any fan reactions that you have been surprised by, like is there a character that’s more popular than you thought or have people been shocked by something you didn’t think we would be shocked at?”

GRRM: “I’m reasonably certain what people will be shocked by. I knew that the Red Wedding would provoke a big reaction and it did. I was pretty confident that, you know, throwing Bran out the window and then killing Ned in the first book would get reactions, and indeed they did. All of those worked exactly the way it did to the extent that things that have surprised me, they tend to be smaller things. I guess I… Maybe I should not have, I don’t know. How do I phrase this without getting myself in terrible trouble… I guess I don’t understand women, but I was definitely, you know, way back when, surprised by the number of women who reacted positively to characters like Theon and the Hound as dashing, romantic figures. The san/san kind of thing took me by surprise, I must admit, and even more so the women who, and there are some, who really like Theon. So that surprised me.”

[Source]

Unreliable Narrator 4.0

DECEMBER 2016 ASKING GEORGE R.R. MARTIN ABOUT S@N/S@N

My question is regarding Sansa Stark. Her sexuality has evolved through every book and yet the memory that seems to stick the more with her in this regard is the night of the Blackwater. So I was wondering if you can expand on your view on what this is, since as before that night her interactions with Sandor Clegane weren’t really physical.

The night of the Blackwater, yes. Ahhh… Well, I’m not going to give you a straight answer on that hahaha… Uhmmm, but I would say that ahhh… you know a television show and a book each has its own strengths and weaknesses; there a re tools that are available to me as a novelist, that are not available to people doing a television show. And of course there are tools available to them, that are not available to a novelist, I mean they can lay in a soundtrack, they can do special effects, they can do amazing things that I can’t do, I just have words on paper. What can I do, well I can use things like the internal narrative, I can take you inside of territories… thoughts, which you can’t do in a TV show… Ahhh… You just have the words they speak, you see them from outside because the camera is external, while prose is internal, and I have the device known as “unreliable narrator”… Ahhh… Which again, they don’t have. So, think about those two aspects when you consider that night of the Blackwater.

[Source]

Do with it what you will.

#anon asks #sansa stark #the so called unkiss #grrm #asoiaf

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

Hey love your metas! I want to ask about Sansa dealing with her sexual assaults and trauma. The way she mismemorised the traumatic events, do you think she gonna misremember any other similar traumatic events in future? Do you think her family will help her remember these events n dealing with it?

Hello Anon,

Thank you ♡

I recently wrote about Sansa dealing with trauma, particularly sexual assault trauma.

Here is the post for anyone interested.

And here is another one.

Almost every meta, essay, analysis, etc, about the so-called “un-kiss”, has been written from a sexual perspective. For the majority of this fandom, either shippers or not, Sansa remembering a kiss instead of the sexual assault she suffered and later having nightmares with her assaulter being in bed with her, CLEARLY means that she is having sexual fantasies with her assaulter, that she is expressing her dark, repressed, hidden, deepest desires about her assaulter, that all this is part of her sexual awakening.

But every time GRRM has been asked about the subject, either from a sexual perspective or not, he consistently tagged Sansa misremembering things and events as “unreliable narrator.” Lets see.

In chronological order:

JUNE 26, 2001

SF, TARGARYENS, VALYRIA, SANSA, MARTELLS, AND MORE

[GRRM is asked about Sansa misremembering the name of Joffrey’s sword.]

The Lion’s Paw / Lion’s Tooth business, on the other hand, is intentional. A small touch of the unreliable narrator. I was trying to establish that the memories of my viewpoint characters are not infallible. Sansa is simply remembering it wrong. A very minor thing (you are the only one to catch it to date), but it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory. You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom… but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on.

[Source]

It is very curious that the person who misremembered Joffrey’s sword name wasn’t Sansa, it was Arya:

The big man shrugged. "I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The butcher's boy attacked a prince of the blood."

"That's a lie!" Arya squirmed in Harwin's grip. "It was me. I hit Joffrey and threw Lion's Paw in the river. Mycah just ran away, like I told him."

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VI

But despite the unreliable narrator’s identity confusion, what I understand from George’s answer is that misremembering a minor detail like Joff’s sword name “it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory,” like the “un-kiss” for example, that George mentioned next.

At the same time, the “un-kiss” will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on.

Take note that George’s answer is from 2001, after ASOS was published, so by that time he already knew about the existence of the shippers that want Sansa with the Hound being together in a romantic/sexual relationship. You can check this fact by reading the questions and answers from 1999 compiled in this post. But he still mentioned that the meaning of the “un-kiss” was “a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on.”

So much for the so-called “evident”, “canon”, “endgame“ ship and ASOS being “their ship’s book” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

OCTOBER 05, 2002

SANSA’S MEMORY

[Note: This mail has been edited for brevity.]

Well, not every inconsistency is a mistake, actually. Some are quite intentional. File this one under “unreliable narrator” and feel free to ponder its meaning...

[Source]

Here George’s answer is more succinct: the “un-kiss” is not a mistake, it was intentional, file this one under “unreliable narrator.”

* * *

NOVEMBER 27, 2007

GEORGE R.R. MARTIN ANSWERS YOUR QUESTIONS

[Source]

Here George gave us little clues:

[The un-kiss] is from Sansa’s thoughts [an internal thought for herself, she is not telling anyone that the Hound kissed her]

What does that reveal about her psychologically?

I try to be subtle about these things

Also take note how GRRM repeatedly highlights the word “subtle” regarding the “un-kiss”:

but just now it’s a subtle touch (After ASOS but before AFFC)

I try to be subtle about these things (Shortly after AFFC)

This is a stark contrast with the majority of this fandom, either shippers or not, that interpret and believe that Sansa remembering a kiss instead of the sexual assault she suffered and later having nightmares with her assaulter being in bed with her, CLEARLY has to do with her sexual awakening, that the “un-kiss” means that she is having sexual fantasies with her assaulter, that she is expressing her dark, repressed, hidden, deepest desires about her assaulter.

And I wonder, since Sansa has similar dreams with Ilyn Payne and often feels naked around him:

As the headsman looked at her, his pale colorless eyes seemed to strip the clothes away from her, and then the skin, leaving her soul naked before him. Still silent, he turned and walked away.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

She dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a man climbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. All she could do was huddle behind her door and listen, trembling, as he came closer and closer. It was Ser Ilyn Payne, she knew, coming for her with Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. There was no place to run, no place to hide, no way to bar the door. Finally the footsteps stopped and she knew he was just outside, standing there silent with his dead eyes and his long pocked face. That was when she realized she was naked. She crouched down, trying to cover herself with her hands, as her door began to swing open, creaking, the point of the greatsword poking through …

She woke murmuring, “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t,” but there was no one to hear.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

Once she dreamed it was still her marrying Joff, not Margaery, and on their wedding night he turned into the headsman Ilyn Payne.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

Does this mean that Sansa is having sexual fantasies with her father’s executioner as well? Does this mean that Sansa has dark, repressed, hidden, deepest desires about Ilyn Payne too?

I think that the “un-kiss” has to do with Sansa’s internal thoughts, how her mind works, how her mind deals with unpleasant/disturbing events. So in order to decipher its meaning we must ask ourselves about Sansa’s psychology, she is a deeply traumatized child by many events: Her direwolf’s death, her father’s death, the disillusionment of her Prince and the Queen as high moral figures, the disillusionment of the knights as fair heroes, the psychological, physical and sexual abuse she has suffered so far. The “un-kiss” is a subtlety from the author, this can’t be as easy as “Sansa has the hots for the Hound”.

Sansa: All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Sansa: Almost raped by the Hound during the night of the Blackwater Battle, he invaded her bedroom, pushed her to bed, put a dagger at her throat, requested a song from her under threat of death.

There is a song called “Off to Gulltown” that says:

Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho. I’ll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho. I’ll make her my love and we’ll rest in the shade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho.

Sansa: The Hound kissed me during the night of the Blackwater Battle.

Fandom/Shippers: Sansa fancies the Hound uhhhhhhhhh

Sansa: Has unpleasant memories of the “un-kiss” feeling soiled by it.

Sansa: Has a nightmare about Tyrion and the Hound in bed with her the night after Marillion attempted to rape her.

Fandom/Shippers: Sansa fancies the Hound and have fun dreams with him uhhhhhhhhhh

It's really all that easy?

George hates to be predictable:

I spoke earlier about how predictable stories bore me. And we’ve all, you know, seen the stories where the hero, you know, he seems to get in trouble—he’s all alone, he’s surrounded by twenty foes, but he’s the hero! You know he’s going to get out of it; you’re not really engaged. I want you to be engaged. I want you to feel what the viewpoint character is feeling. If the viewpoint character is in trouble, I want you to be afraid, I want you not to know whether he’s going to get out of it. And I think the only way to do that is establish very early in the books that you’re playing for real, that anyone can die, and if the character’s in a life or death situation that he might not survive it. That these are not superheroes, these are not Indiana Jones. These are fallible human beings who are vulnerable to death and betrayal and all that. To my mind, that makes the stories much more suspenseful and gripping and emotionally involving.

(...)

I also liked the idea of the story not being predictable. Too much of fantasy is too predictable, you know? They say we write the stories that we want to read. And I was a reader long before I was a writer, and as a reader I love stories that take me to places that I don’t expect, and I hate stories where you read the first five pages and you know exactly what’s going to happen for the rest of the book. Those stories bore me very quickly, and I don’t want to bore my readers or indeed bore myself in writing, so I try to, you know, create a fairly complicated thing that’s full of twists and surprises and unexpected turns, but all of them rooted hopefully in human nature and arising out of the characters and the desires and wishes and dreams of those characters.

—A Dance With Dragons: George R. R. Martin

And he is always distracting us:

There are some mysteries in these books. There are some things that I’m gonna reveal later on that I’m planting clues for. There are some later plot twists that I’m foreshadowing. There are things that are gonna happen in Book 5 and Book 6 and Book 7 where I’ve planted a seed for it in Book 1. But I don’t necessarily want to give away my hand. So, what do I do when I plant the seed? Well, I plant the seed, but I try to do a little literary sleight of hand, and while I’m planting the seed, my other hand is up there waving and is distracting you with some flashy bit of wordplay or something that’s going on in the foreground, while the seed is being planted in the background. So hopefully the seed is there, the foreshadowing is there, but maybe you won’t notice it, because it’s surrounded by so many other things.

—The George R. R. Martin Podcast, Episode 7 (9:17)

Transcription provided by this post.

Think about it!

* * *

DECEMBER 2016 ASKING GEORGE R.R. MARTIN ABOUT SAN/SAN

[Source]

Here George was asked directly, by a shipper, about the “un-kiss” and Sansa’s sexuality, and he stuck with his classic “unreliable narrator” answer.

George also repeated these things:

I can use things like the internal narrative

I can take you inside of territories… thoughts

Prose is internal

I have the device known as “unreliable narrator

His comparison between a TV Show and a Book is very telling:

You just have the words they speak, you see them from outside because the camera is external, while prose is internal.

Also, it seems that he is done with questions about Sansa’s sexuality, as you can see from the chronology of questions and answers in this post.

So, the “un-kiss” and any other misremembering from Sansa has to do with her psychological state, not with her sexuality in particular.

Sansa did something similar with the Trident incident, where her direwolf Lady, part of her soul, was killed by her own father using his sword Ice.

She remembered the facts exactly as they happened when she told her father about it. But later she started to blame Arya and Cersei, but exculpates Joffrey, her future husband:

Sansa and Septa Mordane were given places of high honor, to the left of the raised dais where the king himself sat beside his queen. When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what they'd done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey's doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She accommodates and compartmentalize a lot as a way to cope and survive every unpleasant, disturbing and traumatic event that already happened to her in her short 13 years.

So to answer your specific questions:

Do you think she gonna misremember any other similar traumatic events in future?

I think so. This is sad because it means that Sansa will experience even more traumatic events that she will have to deal with...

We need to wait to know the “un-kiss” true meaning. She romanticizes the Hound’s rape attempt against her and made it into a kiss, just like a song called “Off to Gulltown” that describes a non-con/sexual abuse situation against a maid, like her.

Inside her mind Sansa decided to remember the good things that men like Tyrion and the Hound did for her. In her first AFFC chapter (Sansa I), she thinks:

When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her.

When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety.

When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort.

Only in her nightmares the true slipped out:

And she dreamed of her wedding night too, of Tyrion's eyes devouring her as she undressed. Only then he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. "I'll have a song from you," he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. "I wish that you were Lady," she said.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

But after Marillion’s attack, Littlefinger forced kiss and Lysas’s death she is starting to join the dots. For an instance, when she hears Littlerfinger using the same sexual innuendo than Marillion, “Let me warm you”, she realizes that Petyr Baelish is bad news:

Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

"I won't." He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he'd gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her; Ser Lothor was Petyr's man. "You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

The whole passage from her first AFFC chapter (Sansa I) is very revealing:

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and . . .

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too . . . and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle . . . but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

As you can see Sansa is starting to realize that the persons that help her, can also hurt her and have ulterior motives to help her, that the help is not unconditional and always has a price.

So I think she will reach a point where she would be able to do the same with all her abusers, she will realize that men like Tyrion, the Hound, Dontos, etc, have helped her but at the same time have hurt her, Tyrion accepted to marry her and almost commit marital rape, the Hound attempted to rape her and repeatedly abuse her psychologically and physically, even Dontos, always requesting kisses.

Do you think her family will help her remember these events and dealing with it?

Most probably. Meeting Jeyne Poole again, for example. Knowing what Littlefinger really did to her, and all his crimes against House Stark.

I really hope for that moment of realization, when she can stop lying to herself, when she can clearly see all those men as her abusers and that she owns them nothing.

George, please! She had enough already... Give her some peace and quite! Give her true friends and her family back!

Thanks for your message.

#anon ask #sansa stark #anti sandor clegane #anti tyrion lannister #anti petyr baelish #anti littlefinger #anti sansa's abusers

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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Sansa is my favorite character. Hands down, she is one of the most the most interesting POV's for me. Her lapses in memory are particularly interesting & how GRRM says it's setting up for a bigger lapse. I have a creeping inkling lately after reading her chapters. Sansa doesn't seem to think back with guilt on telling Cersei Ned's plans. WE know it didn't change Cersei's plans but I think Sansa buries it. Do you think this may come up & be her "lapse" in memory? I worry about her... Am I nuts?

Hi anon!

I don’t know. Her telling Cersei about Ned’s plans is likely to play into the conflict between her and Arya when they reunite but she does acknowledge that she was being willful and she does acknowledge being deceived in her trust in Cersei.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

(ACOK, Sansa I)

It is not Sansa’s fault that the adults around her were playing a game of lethal politics and Ned never warned her, and I’m pretty sure that Sansa not dwelling on it is actually a simple case of not taking the blame for something that wasn’t her fault.

I’m not sure why this would be subject to a massive memory lapse. What would it accomplish, story-wise, for her to have forgotten this and then remember it? This un-information doesnt’t carry much narrative weight.

I actually doubt the popular fanon that the emphasis on unreliable narrators is meant to “set up” a big future memory lapse for Sansa in particular.

It’s hard to find quotes on this, but these seem prominent:

It’s not a typo. It is something! [Laughs] ”Unreliable narrator” is the key phrase there. The second scene is from Sansa’s thoughts. And what does that reveal about her psychologically? I try to be subtle about these things. (Entertainment Weekly November 27, 2007)

Or here:

[GRRM is asked about Sansa misremembering the name of Joffrey's sword.]

The Lion's Paw / Lion's Tooth business, on the other hand, is intentional. A small touch of the unreliable narrator. I was trying to establish that the memories of my viewpoint characters are not infallible. Sansa is simply remembering it wrong. A very minor thing (you are the only one to catch it to date), but it was meant to set the stage for a much more important lapse in memory. You will see, in A STORM OF SWORDS and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom... but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it's a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on. (Taken from here, June 26, 2001)

The main take-away here is that GRRM wants us to know ALL the POVs are unreliable narrators.

The other thing is that he talks about Sansa’s psychological approach to trauma: rewrite, re-interpret, romanticise. Which is really something that points at the situation she rewrites being traumatic (as opposed to romantic), not Sansa’s supposed psychological instability, as some people like to surmise.

She is not alone in this. It is how Westeros employs metaphor. A “kiss” becomes a metaphor for a knife at your throat, which is an image that comes up in the novels again and again and again. A war of succession becomes a “Dance of Dragons”, a swordfight is compared to sexual intercourse. This play of images is as important as the mismemory.

It’s also important to note that it is NOT Sansa who misremembers the name of the sword (it is Arya who recalls it as Lion’s Paw instead of Lion’s Tooth in ASOS, Arya VI), nor is that the only example of edited memories. Jon does it with Ygritte’s “maidenhood”, Arya misremembers her age when she first killed (eight v. nine or ten), Cersei misremembers how much Sansa revealed to her in the first place. Surely there are plenty other examples.

So actually, the memory lapse he claims to be setting up may not even be about Sansa specifically. It may involve her, but it may also be as distant as, say, historical memory involving the Long Night, or another character, or a memory involving the past that has already been brought up, etc.

I’m not saying it cannot be about Sansa or a future memory loss, but I think we can easily broaden our horizon on this.

What I am certain about is that Sansa’s “Horrible Act of Betrayal(tm)” is nowhere near big enough to warrant the “much more important lapse in memory” treatment GRRM is teasing.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #mismemory #unkiss #betrayal #asoiaf speculation #unreliable narrator #grrm interview #asks

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smokin-gun · 3 years

Text

(With Endwalker looming ahead, I’ve been trying to write out some story for Nyx while I battle some pretty awful depression. Don’t expect greatness, but here’s some reading. I apologize for any typos since this was written on my phone.)

“Front Gate Breach… Did you fucking HEAR ME? Aleksander… answer your fucking pearl!”

“Aleksander…ALEKSANDER!”

“I ain’t feckin’ Aleksander… Bu’ ye ‘ave more problems than yer front gate bein’ breached…”

—————————————

**Fourteen suns earlier**

A large, three-toed foot caused dust to rise each time it plodded along a cracked and thirsty ground. Patterns rippled across its surface as if it tried its best to replicate the surface of the sun, the water scattering and snuffing out into the thick air before it could fully hide below.

The warking of a Chocobo, and a consequential cough as the dust choked it’s lungs, caused its rider to pull back the reins harshly before he joined it on the dried sands. A strong hand plucked the leather bits off the saddle and close to his waist as his boots added to the crunching around them.

A thick lilt was almost inaudible as a gust of wind enveloped them, “Jus’ think. Las’ time ye were here, ye wanted i’ t’be hotter”. The blonde Miqo’te elbowed the massive red bird next to him and it squawked in protest, head arching as it snapped close to his arm. “Believe me, dunnae plan t’be ‘ere longer’n we ‘ave t’be”.

The Seeker’s body was mostly covered by a scarf that clung around his neck, pulled up around his face so that the only things visible were the points of his ears and a determined amber visage. Bare shoulders rippled with ink work and tanned skin looked the slightest bit darker than usual. Thick work boots, laced tightly, treaded upon the dried lake beneath them without a hitch. A pair of hip-hugging leather pants were held aloft by a belt lined with more ammunition and tools than were likely necessary, but they were arranged enough that they weren’t burdensome.

The most noticeable detail about the man was the weapon that held closely to his back. It had a very obvious plethora of uses, but the form it held was that of a scythe, high above his head and glistening in the sun. Its wicked curved held an almost antique charm to it, but parts of it paid homage to the gunblades and firearms known by only Garlemald itself.

The thought of a homecoming for Grace made Nyx smile, the crooked grin creeping into the dimples close to his fangs. He often wondered whose weapon he’d recovered all those seasons ago and the thought of someone wanting revenge for improving its design made his tail twitch in excitement.

He’d already been traveling for some time, searching for the most remote entry to the empire that brought dread the world over. It wasn’t his first rodeo, but he wasn’t expecting the extreme change in climate. The last time he’d been in the hellscape, it was covered in a ridiculous layer of ice and snow, frigid to the point that he thought he’d die in his sleep if he had to take shelter somewhere. Thankfully, the destrier of a bird that he often figured would abandon him at his worst came through in a surprising series of events.

The current mission was something new. Knowledge that his father was, indeed, alive was jarring enough on its own. Unfortunately, the old man was found to be working under the Garleans either against his will or perfectly free. He’d said something that kept Nyx on his toes and his head swimming. A history in Garlemald… Had he really been holed up there this whole time or was it some sort of misunderstanding?

The Destrier jerked to a halt suddenly and Nyx’s eyes snapped forward and out of his own mind. A massive shadow crept towards them over the invisible horizon. Where the heat rose and swam with its false hope of clear oceans, a massive structure flew through the air like a giant crypt… Blood red hues clung to a black material that looked too organic to be leaving the land, like a great vulture, sickly and lurching.

Both sets of eyes followed it for a moment before they realized the thing was headed their direction. Nyx felt his heartbeat in his ears as he flashed glances around them. No cover. Not even the smallest hint of foliage. His bird companion seemed to understand the predicament, and like clockwork, began to run in the opposite direction from the Seeker. A few expletives escaped his lips before he sprinted after it.

As the structure loomed directly overhead, both of them fell to the ground, Nyx’s hands covering his head and the destrier’s beak pressed into the dirt as if two ilms of sand hid his entire body. It was in that moment that they both realized the massive Flying Fortress had continued on as if it hadn’t seen them at all. It was on a mission, perhaps seeing them or not.

The Miqo’te rose to his feet, dusting himself off as he looked over to his companion. The bird shook its head and fluffed up twice its size before it shook violently, dust shooting in all directions. If he hadn’t just experienced the massive craft, Nyx might have chuckled at the animal. Instead, he reached out and took the reins of the oddly compliant companion, tugging him forward and onward towards their original destination.

-——————

Suns passed by them like the slow, steady creep of death was behind them every step of the way. No signs of civilization showed itself and a few times Nyx questioned his ability to track his way. Even the usual stubbornness of his Chocobo had ceased and it simply went along with whatever the Seeker had him do, hoping that he’d find mercy on them both and head back towards Ishgard.

The horizon started to disappear for what was likely seven suns into their journey. Oranges and reds were swallowed up by deep purples and the smallest hint of real hid at the base of what looked like distant mountain ranges. The first signs of terrain change.

As before, the pair simply stopped where there were after Nyx made a few marks in the dried earth with a boot so they wouldn’t be disoriented come morning. A few rods and a tarp made for an easy shelter, but an odd wind had started to blow in once the sun had disappeared behind the range in the distance. The last gasps of orange cast an eerie glow on everything that could be seen, which wasn’t much.

Nyx had just laid out beneath the lean-to when he shot straight up. Chittering? Or howling… The wind that pushed dust along with it muffled a noise several malms away, but he knew he wasn’t hearing things as the great bird near to him raised its head and turned to face the same direction he’d looked.

/Skkkkkkeeeeee…. Aaaa…./

“Seven Hells… Damask… on yer feet… looks like we’re gonnae ‘ave company…”, the Chocobo clacked its beak as it stood, a foot pawing the ground as if readying itself. Nyx slid forward and out of his temporary bedding, a hand sliding out to grasp at the great scythe that hid beneath a blanket. As his fingers gripped the length of steel that made up the vast majority of the weapon, the tattoos along his arms glowed with a bright blue, the ornate details rippling down his flesh until each one had joined the first.

The Seeker took on a wide stance and his ears flattened at a new sound. His hearing was much more valuable than sight since the sun had disappeared entirely. All he could see were the crimson feathers of the beast beside him…. Which didn’t make the click, click, clicking sound surrounding them any less formidable.

He heard it every now and the. With the rushing of the wind, but it mostly drowned it out. One sounded behind him… then a few fulms away. A flash of silver and gold shone briefly in the light from his body, and then disappeared in the dust. He turned just in time for a flash of teeth and barely managed to side step it, although he found himself grazed by an unsightly appendage.

Again. A flash of teeth and another round of flailing claws breezed past him. This time Damask caught it with a kick of strong legs and the blood curdling scream they’d heard in the distance became disturbingly close for comfort.

“Aye, we’ve gotta get oot o’here… they’re underground. Damask, let’s go!”, he reached out just as another massive jaw lurched from the sands in front of him, sending the Chocobo hurtling to the side with a sickening thud. Thankfully he’d only been knock led away as far the Seeker could tell, but he was down for the count. It was time to draw them away or the bird would be a meal for what was likely four or five very hungry sand worms.

Nyx turned on a heel and ran in whatever direction fate would have him. A blur of blue was all he could see with inhuman screams sounding behind him. They reacted to sounds, to vibrations. Each step elicited a noise from them and it was obvious he’d become the hunt. The weapon in his hand dragged the ground as the Miqo’te continued forward. Added noise ensured they would follow but one misstep would be his last. Every now and then he knew he heard them breach the surface and then dive back underground.

Stopping would be suicide, and though his legs felt like they were on fire, he continued. The chase seemed endless and he knew he wouldn’t have much longer unless Lady Luck was on his side. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he’d definitely be disappointed if his story ended before he’d gotten answers.

Just as his mind had convinced him he’d need to come to terms with being eaten by massive worms in the deserts of Garlemald, he found himself tripping and connecting rather harshly with something metal. It echoed with the collision which also made his ears ring. “Fuck’s sake!”.

When he managed to open his eyes, realization struck hard and heavy. It was the supply crate that he’d hid in many many moons ago when he’d had to breach a laboratory. The writing on its side had a bunch of gibberish about medical things he’d rather not spend time on. With no hesitation, he rushed to the front of it and flipped up a metal door that rose with a little force. When he managed to get inside, he slammed it shut just in time to hear something outside colliding with it in a similar fashion to his discovery.

They had intentionally crashed themselves against, one after the other. The crate shook violently each time but somehow managed to hold its own. He was safe, for now.

#nyx ashkala #ffxiv #mateus #crystalrp #crystal data center #final fantasy xiv #character progression #oc development

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skeptycats · 4 years

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Vicky Archives #4

CODE OF THE CLANS - A little light humour

Vicky Holmes, the former editor of the Warriors series, has been doing short extract readings on Facebook since the start of the UK lockdown back in March. There’s some really cool anecdotes hidden within some of these videos, so I decided to begin penning them down for posterity and easy reference.

I won’t be transcribing filler, hedging and false starts but I’m including some amount of preamble just to be comprehensive.

A little short one this week! My health is a little poor at the moment so it’s a couple days late anyway, but I hope you enjoy!

---

Hello! It is Tuesday, March the 31st, last day of March, and I’m in a bit of a down mood today, I’m sure a lot of us are. The realities of lockdown are setting in, I’m bored, I want to go shopping - and I never want to go shopping! I’d just like a change of scene.

I decided today to go for some light relief. I’m going to do a reading from Code of the Clans, which was I think the first book I wrote completely on my own, so I storylined it, brainstormed it, and actually did all the writing on my own. It’s a lot harder without Kate or Cherith to help because obviously I was responsible for all of the words, but I was also able to play with the Erin Hunter voice myself. It was lovely, and I really enjoyed it.

Code of the Clans is something which we call non-fiction. Obviously it’s still fiction, but it was delving into the world behind Warriors. The structure, the heritage, the religion. It was just a pure exercise in fantasy, it was a delight.

I’m going to read a short section from Code #11, which is ‘boundaries must be checked and marked daily. Challenge all trespassing cats.’ I’m going to read a short scene in which Whitestorm teaches border tactics to some familiar faces when they were apprentices. I can remember when I wrote it I was smiling, and giggling to myself. I’m probably going to do the same now, so forgive me for effectively laughing at my own jokes. We all need a bit of humour today.

Is every cat here? Firepaw, Graypaw, Ravenpaw, Sandpaw, and Dustpaw? Dustpaw, stop trying to push Firepaw into the brambles. I’m not blind; I can see what you’re doing. Firepaw, go to the other end of the line. Sandpaw, he does not have fleas! Stand still, all of you.

As Lionheart told you, we’re going to practice border defense today. You can be the patrol, and I’ll be a deputy from another Clan who’s crossed the boundary. Who’d like to lead the patrol? Don’t look so terrified, Ravenpaw. I won’t make you be the leader if you don’t want to be. Graypaw, why don’t you have first turn? If you could just pick up that stick in your mouth and use it to draw a line across the sand, we’ll call that the border. Sandpaw, it doesn’t matter that the line is wobbly. Boundaries aren’t whisker-straight, code are they? So, you’re on that side, walking along on a dawn patrol. Off you go, patrol!

Did you really need to yawn like that, Graypaw? Oh, I see, it’s because it’s the dawn patrol, and you’re tired. Well, let’s pretend you all had a really good night’s sleep and are full of energy. Now, what should you be doing? Yes, sniffing, tasting the air—what for? That’s right, Sandpaw. ThunderClan border marks. And what else? Yes, Firepaw. The border marks of the other Clan. But only where the two borders meet. Beside the river and the Thunderpath, it would be bad news to find any scents of RiverClan or ShadowClan, because it would mean they’d crossed over from their side. So keep sniffing.

Maybe not that much, Sandpaw. Have a good sneeze and you should get the sand out of your nose. So, border marks, border marks. Can you smell both sets? Good. But what’s this? A cat from another Clan has ignored the marks and stepped over your border?

No, Ravenpaw, I didn’t mean we were actually being invaded. The cat from the other Clan is me. See how I just stepped over the line in the sand? What are you going to do about it? Wha . . .whoa! Stop treading on my ears!

Well, yes, Dustpaw, launching an attack and knocking me back across the border is one option. But is it wise to take on a cat twice your size? Or a trained warrior with more experience than you? The purpose of a patrol is to assess the situation and report back to your Clan leader. You won’t be able to do that if your pelt is clawed to shreds at the farthest part of the territory from the camp. Any other ideas?

How about asking what I’m doing? I might have a valid reason for crossing the border, especially if I’m alone. That’s right, Graystripe: [TN: Vicky points out the name error here] What do you want? is a good way to start. Don’t be too hostile: Remember, you are in the stronger position, because this is your territory and you have the right to defend it. Unless I have a very good explanation for crossing your border, I don’t have any rights at all. What do you think my reply might be?

Yes, Ravenpaw, I might need your help. My Clan might have been invaded, we might have serious trouble with prey, or we might have sickness that needs your herbs. All these reasons would mean that I am weak, so you can allow me into your territory but never out of sight.

If I am hostile, then meet me with hostility—which isn’t the same as aggression, Dustpaw. You’ve started with a strong challenge—What do you want?—and now you need to give me some sort of warning. Ravenpaw, what would you say?

Hmmm. If you’re going to threaten to claw a cat’s ears, you should try not to look so terrified at the prospect. Firepaw, would you like to try? Ah, yes, I like that you indicated the rest of your patrol. It’s always good to let the enemy know they’re outnumbered. Sandpaw, put that fire ant down. No, I don’t care that Firepaw might not know what it is. Now is not the right time to show him—and he certainly doesn’t need to get bitten by one.

So, you’ve challenged the trespasser, warned me that there’s a whole patrol here that can take me to your Clan leader if that’s what I wish; what next? That’s right, Graypaw, let me—the intruder—speak. If I can’t give you a convincing explanation for what I’m doing on your territory, if I don’t ask to be taken to Bluestar at once, then chase me off with no more questions. Don’t provoke a full-scale war—chasing means chasing, not catching and clawing. Just make it clear that you will defend your boundaries from any kind of invasion, even one paw across the border. A good warrior is always ready to fight, but only if it’s absolutely necessary: A good warrior will seek a peaceful, claws-sheathed solution first.

You will all make good warriors one day. Don’t look so doubtful, Ravenpaw. You need to find only a little more courage to be as good as your denmates. Your hunting skills are excellent— Dustpaw, you’d do well to watch him. Who knows? You might even lead this Clan one day!

Now, back to camp, all of you, and leave this old warrior to enjoy the sun in peace.

BEHIND THE SCENES

That was fun. Always cheers me up to revisit some of the humour, and there was a lot of humour in Warriors. Both Kate and Cherith excelled at introducing some comedy, especially around kits interacting with the older cats.

That’s something I was very aware of when I was writing the ‘non-fiction’ books like Code of the Clans and Battles of the Clans. It’s very easy to think of Warriors as super intense and super involved and traumatic and emotional, but you can’t sustain that. It’s exhausting to write and it’s exhausting to read, just as it’s exhausting to live. I think at the moment there’s a danger that we’re all sort of living on a bit of a knife’s edge, living on our nerves, and I’m certainly starting to feel that. It’s okay to take a break, with your writing and with your general day-to-day life. Laughter is the best medicine, literally. Writing about kits just gives me the giggles every time. And yes, it feels self-indulgent to laugh at my own jokes, but hey, I’m on my own, I have to make my own jokes.

It was very interesting there because of course I spotted a typo - one of my famous errors! - that Graypaw had been referred to as Graystripe. Obviously I wrote Code of the Clans when we were probably on series two at least, if not three, so I was thinking of these cats as their warriors names, and obviously forgot I was supposed to be calling Graypaw ‘Graypaw’ there. I have obviously made lots of mistakes over the years. I think my favourites are the fact that Heavystep died and comes back to life several times, and Rowanclaw started off as a she-cat and then pops up as a tom. So we could perhaps claim the first transitioned fictional cat? But it was an honest mistake.

One of my fondest memories from going on tour is when I would turn up in a bookshop and some very earnest little child would turn up with a book full of post-it notes, and they’d solemnly say that they’d pointed out all the typos and errors in the book and marked them with post-its, and would I like to take the book away so I could do the corrections. No, is the short answer. I’m sorry for the mistakes, but it’s not up to me to correct them. That’s the publishing, that’s further down the line. We have corrected errors in some books, but it has to be big mistakes, you have to go in and change the printing plate. All I can humbly say is ‘I’m sorry’. I’ve written a lot of words, they’re not always going to be the right ones.

#vicky archives #warrior cats #warriors #whitestorm #code of the clans #not designs

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olicity-fanwork-exchange · 5 years

Photo

For: @mel-loves-all

Hi Mel, I hope I do this justice. I see you like the supernatural world with magical historical love. I took inspiration from the Underworld movie without the vampires. Not much of a dabbler in soulmates/empathy stories; I wouldn’t know where to begin. So, I mixed some werewolf love, wolf-like pups, Oliver and Felicity around their last moments of their pregnancy with Mia. Hope you like.

- @cruzrogue

For everyone else: General Rating. Here is the synopsis:

Oliver comes home from a jog while also preforming a perimeter sweep. He finds that Felicity while due to have their daughter has befriended two large stray wild dogs that could pass off as wolves. The female is also pregnant which makes the whole ordeal crazy. Felicity shrugs at the dangerous factors as she’s been reading a supernatural love story about a werewolf pack where the Alpha male seemly is in love with a human.

The werewolf series stars: Jonah – Meglaine – Lorrelle(human)

Dogs names: Fido and Frida

Typos/grammar are my own! Hope you enjoy!

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Heavy breathing. Cutting through the thick woods.

A foot imprint left against the soften mudded side off a small creek behind the wooden cabin as the runner in sweatpants looks around to not see the large wolf like creature tracking him since he first started his daily early morning jogs. The dated paw prints telling him that it hasn’t been around this section of the land since their introduction. Maybe seeing a human had it scurry off and it makes the man inspecting those tracks sigh in some relief.

Hearing the swirl of leaves scrapping against the rugged terrain until some become airborne Oliver looks at the scene as nature shows the power it holds with just a gust of wind. Taking another glance at the old paw print almost the size of his hand he starts his jog back to the cabin. Time to make a healthy breakfast even though it will accompany fruit loops or lucky charms or some other sugary cereal that his bedmate will require other than the egg whites he plans on making anyways.

Cutting through the woods back onto the small path he makes it back quickly just to stop in his tracks as he sees the approaching view. The beating of his heart increasing tenfold as he takes in the scene that could come out of a horror film. Two large wolf-like-dogs surround Felicity. He’s planning on running at them. Maybe even being lucky to tackling one of them giving his wife time to get to safety. As long as his wife is safe, he’d do anything.

Before he is able to put his thoughts into action, he hears his wife’s laugh. He stops to reassess the situation and notices that both animals are now heeding to his wife’s command. Maybe these large what might be dogs aren’t so wild after all? Still being cautious he keeps his distance not wanting to spook them while Felicity’s hand is quite close as the smaller of the two canines sniffs her hand.

When the opportunity comes, he calls out to Felicity. Felicity looking up from the two fluffy four-legged grey-white crossbreed dogs as she holds her smile seeing that her husband has come back from his morning run.

“Morning Oliver.” He makes small calculated movements towards them not knowing anything other than meeting the larger one since his first jog around the perimeter of the property.

“Felicity, why don’t you go back inside.”

“Why? I want to introduce you to Fido and Frida.”

Oliver looks at the hounds as they seem to be as startled to his presence as he is to theirs.

“Felicity! Please its dangerous to be out here.”

Felicity gives him a weird look but does do as he asks. She begins her ascent up the stairs to the back deck of the cabin. The female dog is right behind her as Frida nudges her human companion up the stairs.

“Okay, okay. I know I’m wobbling but unlike you I’m using my two legs.”

Oliver doesn’t know what to make of that conversation she is having with the dog. He has another set of eyes that are locked onto him. Needing to pass Fido safely and then Frida to get inside. He has many questions regarding how she met them and he’s trying to keep his emotions in check as he moves away from these larger dogs once he knows Felicity is safe with a closed door between her and her newly acquired friends it seems.

As he enters through the front door placing the keys onto a dish. He walks hurriedly to find his wife rummaging around a cabinet for her breakfast cereal.

“Do I want to know how…”

Felicity stops him midsentence as she turns her head slightly from the cabinet, she feels like having chocolate flavored cereal today. “Before you start. Met them when you went out for supplies that day it was raining.”

“That was almost a week ago.”

“I know.” She shrugs as she finally turns towards him with the chosen box. “I saw how you handled that raccoon in the garbage. Knew you’d be way to overprotective.”

“You’re nine months pregnant Felicity. Keeping rabid animals away from you seems like a good idea.”

“Oliver, I’ve been cooped up in this place like Rapunzel. No WIFI. Barely a working TV station and I only have the small selection of books the previous owner of this place found alluring.”

“I thought you were enjoying that werewolf series you found.” Oliver gives her a sweet smile, “We will be getting the whole technological hook up just putting together the blueprints and what we will need.”

“I am. But I hate this damsel situation very much so.”

“Fine. I can understand your frustration. Look you have pointed out I’m not the one carrying a soccer field around with me. But eating healthy…”

She moans and gives him her famous pout she wants chocolate cereal to whatever else he’ll make for her. “Well she is a kicker, and let’s add gymnast.”

“Fine.” He can’t argue with her when she keeps using the magic pout with him. “I’m making some add-ons to that measured bowl of sugar you seem to live on.”

Felicity shrugs as she knows she’ll have to eat some of that fruit and protein he’ll push on her.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Days later, Felicity has her head against one of the plush pillows her husband made sure for her to have. She’s sitting out on the deck with Fido by her feet. Oliver just finished building a little pen for Frida to place near the fireplace where they are expecting Frida to have her pups.

His reluctance to have these wild animals around is short lived as his wife would find ways to spend time with the pregnant dog. The moment he sensed it is a losing battle he took them both to a local veterinarian place to have them checked out. Indeed, Frida is also at the last stretch of her pregnancy.

Learning how daring his wife is in befriending these dogs had his blood pressure rise up at how crazy the whole thing is and how she didn’t even think twice about her and their baby girl’s safety. It drives him mad that she can reason things like her welfare and good nutrition off like secondary concerns.

Felicity replaying her story to her husband a little differently than actual events as he finds himself sitting, pacing, looking at her with trepidation, and finally just back to sitting and allowing her to finish the tale. He tries his hardest to not interrupt her story.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

-Flashback

The day started relatively normal like most days so far…

It starts with him leaving her cozy in bed as he heads into town to get supplies. Oliver went out to stock up their pantry.

Felicity can’t wait to meet her baby. If not only to get more mobility. She aches sitting down, standing up, and even when laying down. Luckily, she’s had a relatively easy pregnancy but she can’t wait to see her feet again.

Oliver left her in bed to read another chapter or two of a love-story between a handsome werewolf and a human doctor who is figuring out slowly that the mysterious stranger she met is different. The description of the woman named Lorrelle fits all the facts of what is considered attractive but Felicity just doesn’t connect with this character as she seems dull and impressive but she is the destined love of the handsome Jonah Wilde the male protagonist of the book. As Lorrelle keeps finding herself in his world and danger seems to follow this female she meets a young quirky female that is written to support both of these characters in having it lead to an epic romance. Jonah using his friendship with Meglaine to help hide from his love interest what they are for who could love a werewolf. Putting the book down, Felicity slowly frees herself from the bedcovers as she feels an appetite for yesterday’s leftovers. Hopefully the yummy food hits the right spot so she can head back to bed and read some more.

Now standing before the fridge looking at the remnants of last night’s meal. Oliver and his MasterChef production the man decided to make meatloaf and being she’s been talking about chicken cacciatore he seemly added it to the menu. She knows he has been as bored as her but the excitement of meeting little Mia is an overwhelming feeling that practically drums out all the other things in their lives.

Taking out the rest of the meatloaf because as much as she enjoyed the chicken yesterday the smell of the meatloaf has held her senses since seeing it just sitting on the third shelf in the fridge since grabbing the milk for her Lucky Charms hours before.

Grabbing a plate and placing a generous portion to be nuked in the microwave she smiles while rubbing her round belly.

“Mia we are so lucky daddy is such a great cook.”

Just as she places it into the microwave oven, she hears scratches against the outer door and pauses. It’s quiet for about a minute until the scratching happens again and she knows she shouldn’t but her curiosity always gets the best of her and she looks out the cabin door window and sees an enormous fluffy white dog she assumes is a dog scratching the exterior door. The levity of how the rain isn’t as heavy as it was merely when Oliver left her in the cabin. The drizzle light pinging of water as it hits against the wood on the deck while glimpsing the poor animal’s wet fur her heart constricts.

Not thinking much of it she takes a piece of the meatloaf and cuts it into pieces. She isn’t crazy to just open the door. Oliver would kill her if the enormous white dog hurts her or their baby metaphorically, she thinks. In actuality he would most likely read her the riot act of crazy things we don’t do. He wouldn’t understand seeing an animal in need truly pulls at her heartstrings and how could she just turn away from helping another soul that is suffering. No. It would be outrageous not to help. Isn’t that the basis of how they fell in love. Helping others while becoming friends, partners and eventually into lovers. Besides she doesn’t think the dog is dangerous or rabid he or she just might be hungry and here she is bound for gluttony is about to eat more than what she really needs.

Speaking at the door knowing the dog is hearing her. “Hi, are you hungry?” She only hears more rapid scratching against the frame. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes.” As if on cue the dog barks.

She opens the top part of the high Dutch door and slowly gives a piece of the meatloaf. “Are you a girl?” No movement as the fur ball happily sits waiting for another piece she has in her hand. “Okay. Boy?” and when it barks, she lets out with a laugh. “Boy it is.”

Letting another handful fall she sees he doesn’t catch it into his mouth bet lets it drop onto the deck. He isn’t eating it and Felicity raises an eyebrow wondering what he is doing. With its nose he drags the meat to the edge of the deck and allows for it to fall. “Okay.” She mutters to herself knowing that asking the dog why he did that would give her no answers.

Observing him tears fill her eyes suddenly catching the collar on him, it looks like he’s outgrown it. “Poor boy. You don’t have a home.” She realizes she doesn’t have a home too as she also ran away with Oliver. Unable to be safe in Star City. Tears fall freely and she just looks at the poor dog that probably needs affection to.

Hearing a sudden howl that matches her cry that is not coming from the white bundle that sitting on the deck observing her. Becoming alert to there being at least another dog outside. Maybe she should close the door and wait for her husband. All this could be more than she can handle. Though the little whines coming from under the deck make it hard to do just that. She can’t be a cold-hearted woman to potentially another wet, cold, hungry doggie. She waits a little longer and she feels she made the right choice as she sees the smaller of the two damp dogs limping making itself known to her as the bigger dog runs down the steps towards his friend.

Felicity can hear the little whiny sounds from the smaller dog and without thinking she grabs the plate of food and the kitchen towel and goes outside. At first the bigger dog growls at the human who is up on the deck looking down. Felicity can see how much the larger dog cares for its companion as he’s nudging the smaller dog back under the covering of the stairs that is keeping it semi-dry.

Grabbing a small handful of food, she drops it. “Here sweetie.” The smaller one chomps it down. She alternates between throws as each dog has a piece. When she runs out of food she wonders if she should get more but decides against it. Heading to the door she hears a bark and looks down the stairs as the smaller one starts hopping slowly towards her.

He stops just a stair away and Felicity can see it too has a snug collar. Letting out praise “Good boy.” It gives the weary dog courage to climb up one more step to sniff her shoes. Slowly she brings out her palm and lets him sniff it.

Seeing the most beautiful grey-blue eyes looking at her. She decides that maybe a few more edible treats are what these two needs. She pets the top of the head and tells him she’ll be right back. Opening the door and knowing that there are a few meaty meals in the fridge she makes short work of getting it ready for the two sweet pups that are now sitting on the deck.

She finds out the smaller one isn’t a boy after all as she cuts the tightened collar that probably hurt this sweet girl. Looking at the little name tag as she reads, “Frida” she looks at into those mesmerizing eyes looking back at her. “Hi Frida.” The dog licks her face.

It takes a bit longer to convince Fido that taking the collar is a good idea. His is starting to embed itself into the poor dog’s neck. “Oh, poor Fido. But now you’re free.” As she stands up slowly from her position, she feels fatigued so she wishes them well and goes inside. Shortly after the rain starts picking up again and she hopes they are somewhere safe.

She changes into what she can and lays back onto the bed. Oliver is due back soon. Closing her tired eyes, she dreams of two happy fluffy white fur-balls.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Coming home Oliver places the supplies on the counter and wants to check on his wife. He misses her and seeing that she is okay will make him feel better. He knows he’s been mother hen and hoovering around her making sure she gets all the needed bed rest. Basically, keeping her off her feet. She grumbles and is always telling him she can handle it but it’s so cute how she tries to even get off the bed without his help. Her large belly betrayers her as she tries to prove her point and he keeps his wit constantly trying hard to keep a smile for gracing his face so she doesn’t get grouchy.

Moving around the bedroom as he tidies up, he checks her forehead to see if it’s warm. He wasn’t expecting her to have damp clothes sprawled around the floor. With her still sleeping soundly he just gives her a light kiss and goes back to the kitchen to unpack.

Taking the cold items from the bag and pulling the fridge door handle he begins moving items to make room when he sees the two platters, he made last night that are almost empty. “What?” He doesn’t expect both the chicken and the meat dish to be almost empty. He moves to open the dish washer and sees the newer dirty plates. He can’t believe she’d eat that much. “Okay.” Though he has caught her eating junk food in alarming rates so it isn’t impossible he thinks. Shrugging he continues putting the products away.

She wakes to catching him talking to their unborn child. It is the purest of moments when he does this. The words he says are full of hope and she can hear a longing in his voice to hold, to love, to protect fiercely. She is truly lucky to have this journey with a man who has such a deep rich heart. She knows that he knows she is awake but he makes no movement while he is still in a whisper-like moment with his daughter sharing a secret that only he can hear. As his lips lightly kiss her belly where his daughter is making her presence known he finally rises up enough to reach Felicity’s lips for a sweet peck.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. How was your trip into town?”

“Uneventful. Mrs. Baker says hi.”

“That’s nice.”

“Just nice? Maybe I should take back the freshly made mint chocolate ice cream she made for you.”

Felicity’s eyes widen with excitement. “She made me ice cream?”

“Yes! She also told me her daughter will be back in town tomorrow to check up on you.”

Felicity nods she likes the midwife enough and her mother Mrs. Baker is a sweet older lady that has been helping out since they arrived here.

“I want Mint chip.”

Oliver grins as he thinks to himself how lucky he got to have such a precious woman in his life. “Okay, a scoop of ice cream it is.”

“Ah…”

“Just one scoop before I make dinner and you’ve already had a feast this afternoon.” She gives him that puzzled look. “Half the chicken is gone and only a small portion of the meatloaf is left. I know you can eat but that was a lot of food. We don’t want a tummy ache, right?”

She waves her head no but she’s hungry. She barely ate any of that meatloaf or chicken as she entertained her guests. “Umm… about that?” She thinks maybe telling him would be a bad idea especially after the whole raccoon debacle of her husband chasing a raccoon away with a broom. Oliver seriously thought about getting his bow if Felicity didn’t talk him out of how ridiculous he was being. He moved the outside garbage barrel away from the house as a happy medium. “Umm… sure one scoop be fine. What do you plan on making for dinner?”

“A pot roast, do you have any requests?”

“No that sounds good so how about that ice cream?” Giving her another kiss before he goes on his way.

-End Flashback

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

As she finishes the story Oliver is by her on the extra chair on the deck.

“I now know why you were disappointed that there wasn’t going to be enough leftovers. I honestly thought you didn’t like the dish.”

“I’m sorry you went into overdrive to make another meal. Even when I said that dinner was delicious.”

“Felicity, baby we can’t omit things to each other just so one of us doesn’t get riled up.” Oliver moves to her oversized lounge chair making sure she comfortable in his arms. “There is going to be a million and one things that could set us both off just in raising Mia. We need to be a united front. I’m all in with you. We are a team, right?”

“Right. But…” She can hear him hold his breath waiting for her to go on. “But, it’s just hard to disappoint you. You’ve been this strong rock for me and making you worry is the last thing I want to do.”

“Felicity, I know the feeling.” He takes her hand into his squeezing it lightly. “Though right now you’re very passionate and yes a little careless for my tastes.”

“See even when you’re scolding me you keep from saying I’m a hormonal mess.” He shakes his head at that but is happy she didn’t add the weight portion of her deprecating mumbles.

“I love you so very much.”

“Love you too.”

“Now let’s get you back in the house. I think Frida will have her pups tonight.” Looking at the female dog who hasn’t left the box he’s made as she is licking her backside.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

After the third and final puppy is born. Oliver pets Frida. Frida’s has been accommodating to the humans cleaning her babies. Even with Frida being smaller than Fido, she is a very large Czechoslovakian Wolfdog and Oliver took the time to read as much about this breed. Having such large prey animals near his pregnant wife made him nervous. Learning their temperaments because Mia is his primary concern. He knows Felicity trusts his word and if he thought these two wolfdogs pose any dangers at any time that he’ll have no problem sending them all to the pound. Felicity jokes that once they’ve assimilated into his everyday life and he falls in love with them he’d do his hardest to protect any newcomer into his family. She may be right. He is a big softy when it comes to family.

Felicity hands him the last cleaned puppy to be placed back into the litter of greyish-white cuteness. “Wow! They’re so big already.” Making a face. “Ouch.” Thinking of when she’ll be at this stage giving birth to her own daughter she asks, “Do you think Mia’s head will be huge?”

Oliver looks from Frida now licking her babies to his wife. “I think she’ll be proportional to a normal baby her size.” He takes the now extremely dirty towel from her as she begins to pull the gloves off, he had her wear. “And no. She won’t be a puppy or some hybrid werewolf she’ll be a good mix of us.” He looks at her giving him that dubious look. “Felicity, neither of us are canines no matter what that weird site says.”

“Yea, yes I know. I just been reading way too much into that world.”

“Maybe when I go to town tomorrow, I’ll get some non-supernatural books for you to read. Maybe a fair maiden and her hunky mate in some historical romance series.”

“That’s sweet but I need to continue reading about Jonah Wilde. I’m half way in and fully invested. Though I’m not really feeling why he is in love with that doctor. She’s so one-dimensional.” She gives the gloves to him to toss out being that she’s having a hard time trying to rise from the comfy armed chair.

“Let me just get rid of these and make sure there is plenty of water for Frida and make sure Fido isn’t going to barge in and disturb us all.”

“He’s been quiet since he became a father. Maybe you should have a talk with him.” She looks at him shaking his head in bewilderment but nods knowing doing this will make her happy.

“Okay, but before I handle Fido, I want to make sure you’re comfy in bed. You’ve had an adventurous evening and I know you must be exhausted.” Filling a water bowl, he brings it close to where Frida can get to it with ease. He isn’t tired but he can’t wait to just wrap his arms around his wife but that is usually after she falls asleep. He’s found that going to bed together Felicity has a harder time finding the right position to sleep. She places to much emphasis on making sure he has some room that it’s just easier for her if he isn’t in bed and just sitting there listening to her babbles before tucking her in.

“Okay.” She struggles a little before his strong grip helps her up as they move slowly to their room. “Mia’s also been quiet tonight. I guess maybe my excitement for the new pups exhausted her.”

“Maybe.” He makes sure she is steady on her feet before letting her go. “I do hope she’ll be a good girl tonight and let her mom sleep throughout the night.” He hears Felicity make a ‘pfft’ sound indicating the moment she gets into a nice sleeping rhythm her daughter will make sure that her existence is known.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

An enchanting amber color of the flames radiating from the fireplace casts the only light in the large room where Frida sleeps alongside her pups. With the occasion cries of her babies they feed and sleep an ongoing process since being born a few hours ago.

Just a few feet away Oliver finds himself moving his hand to stop the soft caress against his face. Moving his head slightly as the pillow he used to sleep on slides further away. He came here when he just didn’t want to disturb his wife from a fitful sleep. No matter how much the term bedrest is used it seems his wife just couldn’t find tranquility to fully get the rest she deserves. Seeing her finally looking peaceful he couldn’t disturb her. That may be due to all the excitement of Frida having her litter and how much the dog allowed her human companions to clean and welcome each new pup to the world. Seeing his wife so happy put him at peace.

Sharing a few words with Fido last night as the dog decided to hang with him and not keep Felicity company. The dog watched his human host throw a blanket and one pillow near a wall that observed the new instant family of five. Oliver’s face meets with a cold hardwood floor. Groaning as he makes an unintelligent noise while waking up to a furry tail brushing his head every once in a while.

“Okay boy.” Oliver swats the furry tail from hitting him again. “We need to learn boundaries.”

“Does that mean we are keeping them?” Felicity’s voice is heard coming from the hallway. Fido excitedly already leaves Oliver’s side to the human he seems to prefer. “Hey boy.” Oliver is right behind Fido as he stops the dog from leaping to lick Felicity in the face.

“No! Down!” sighing loudly. “Felicity what are you doing out of bed?”

“I noticed my husband wasn’t in our bed.” Felicity looks at Oliver controlling Fido before he is able to look back at her.

“You finally were having a good night’s sleep I couldn’t wake you up.”

“So, literally sleeping with the dogs is…?”

He just shrugs but keeps a strong hold on Fido. “You should still be in bed.”

“I’m pregnant not sick.” Felicity holds out her hand so Fido can lick it. “How’s Frida?” Just as the name is uttered Frida comes around and Oliver groans. “Hey momma.”

“Felicity, please go back into the room before one of these pooches gets overexcited.”

“You can be so grumpy. Okay fine.”

Oliver commands them to sit and both obediently do so as they watch their mistress walk back into her room. He has to give credit where its due whomever trained them did a great job. Though abandoning or neglecting such wonderful dogs makes him want to knock some sense into the irresponsible pet owner. Bloomfield is a small town but it has a veterinarian shop which posted a flyer of Fido and Frida. Now they wait to see if anyone comes forward.

He walks into their room and sees Felicity sitting on a stool he uses to plop his feet. She’s trying to grab the book on the floor to no avail. “Honey, let me get that.”

She makes a disgruntled noise as she tries one more time.

“You don’t need to prove that you’re not helpless. Last time I checked you are carrying our perfect child one more thing you can do that I can’t.”

“Oh please!”

“There is no contest. I wish you could see yourself like the way I see you.”

“Oh my.” A small grin forms before she sports a larger one. “It seems we went full circle.” She looks at him kneel down and grab the supernatural romance book.

“Full circle?”

“Yes, my beloved pupil whom has become the master. I am so happy you’ve come to see yourself like the hero I always knew you were.”

He lets out a huff an amusement as his wife is always surprising him with words. “I am the lucky one it seems but we need to get you back in bed. Do you need to relieve yourself?”

“Oliver, honestly?”

“I know. I know I can be a little much but helping you is my everything right now. Beside I’m going to be heading out for my morning run with Fido and I want to make sure the ladies of the house are all good.”

“Just make sure to feed me some granola I’d be fine until the main breakfast.”

“Of course, which sugary substance are you craving?”

“I might go with Fruit Loops.”

“So how is the story coming along?” He hands her the book as she’s finished sliding back into the bed and replaces the blankets back on herself. “Did the doctor find out that Jonah is a werewolf?”

Felicity rolls her eyes as she moves to the pages and she begins to read, “The darkness clouded where her eyes tried to get a good look at the beast. He was huge. A part of her scared but she held her stance feeling it wouldn’t harm her even though it tore two men apart coming to her rescue.” Oliver sits on the bed as Felicity’s facial features animatedly help tell the story. “She needed to touch his coarse muscles. Muscles she has never seen on a mere man before. The medic in her saying it was for practical medical knowledge. The red-blooded woman knowing it was for her own cardinal desires.”

“Well at least she likes a side of him enough.” Oliver states.

“Oliver, she isn’t describing Jonah at all.”

“Huh?” Now he is lost. “Okay then who is she describing?”

Felicity flips the page and reads out loud again, “Within the darken walls as the raging werewolf hiding in the shadows from the doctor are both alerted to the authorities heading their way the beast makes a brave jump to escape. Fleeing as fast as it could run until the beast grew tired and the mortal flesh began to overwhelm and make the creature lure in stillness as its frame became petite and a woman emerged. Yet again, protecting Lorrelle from a vicious attack.”

“Oh! Why did Lorrelle think that Meglaine was Jonah? I mean she still doesn’t know Jonah is a werewolf?”

“No, she doesn’t think he is a werewolf. She thinks he is to conceited to be the wolf even if she likes him and she’s seen the werewolf and Jonah at the same time. She doesn’t like Meglaine. Thinking that she is a threat to her growing relationship with him.”

“Yet it is the woman she dislikes who saved her this time.”

“Exactly, she does that because she cares for Jonah a lot you know in that platonic way.”

“Platonic huh?”

“Yes.” She gives Oliver a look. “Lorrelle is the heroine of the story, it’s her he will fall in love with.”

“Come on you can’t really believe that.” Oliver shakes his head at the woman who could play that once upon platonic friend but in reality, the course of their lives was meant to be more, become more. “I’m reading it all differently but I’ll let you continue reading and you can tell me when it shows the true path.”

“Oh, really and what do you think will happen?”

“Jonah will realize it is Meglaine that he is in love with.”

“Sure! Like the author would setup an elaborate story for Lorrelle and Jonah to becoming lovers only for him to realize a woman he barely has any significant care for is the one he really loves.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, go get me my granola and be on your merry way.”

“Yes, ma’am. But don’t count the heroine off so soon. It seems Meglaine will do whatever it takes to protect the people she loves. If Jonah presumably loves Lorrelle the woman who truly loves him doesn’t want to see him hurt. Evening protecting someone who brings pain to her heart.”

“Sure. You are such a sap sometimes.”

“For you always.” He gives her a kiss and heads to get her a small snack to begin their daily routine once again.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Days later…

Felicity wakes up to an abundance of little squeals from Oliver’s side of the bed as her eyes adjust to the little light coming into the room, she notices Frida’s head just over her belly. Oliver always leaves the hallway light on when he leaves for his morning run enough that it won’t disturb her sleep but enough so she doesn’t need to reach for the lamp to see her footing.

“What do we have here?” She doesn’t need to move much to know that all the puppies are on the bed with her. “You’ve been a busy mama this morning.” She pets Frida’s head as the girl happily makes a low-pitch content moan.

They found out last night the previous dog owner passed away and the dogs were with him on his unfortunate accident. They became strays shortly after laying with their dead master for as long as they could. Wandering off into the seclusion of part of the regional woods near their home. The son of the deceased wants his dad’s dogs or a nice payout. Their prized possessions he intends to sell them. The man is not privy to the puppies’ existence nor will he ever be. Oliver has offered the man a decent bid for them both. He can’t see Fido and Frida split up and he really wants to change their names. As of this morning, they are proud dog owners.

Felicity did tell her husband once they wormed themselves into his heart, he would never be able to let them go. They will have to decide on the puppies’ perfect names later in the meantime they get all these fluffy balls to play with. At least the canine family is intact and no selling is in the immediate future Frida and the mistress of the house can have their young in peace.

They’ve talked about dog names and as simple as it was to both agree easily on human names like Lucas or Mia for their own child it has been the opposite for the little pups. Oliver calls out different names for Fido trying to see what name fits but nothing has stuck so far. Felicity thinks as they’re out running her husband is probably trying once again. She shrugs and is quite fine for now having a blast calling them all different cutesy names until maybe some stick.

Turning the bedside lamp on she squints a little and Frida moves to lay beside her and make time for her little ones to feed. Grabbing the book, she still has to finish. Her investment in time has been to the pups they are so adorable. With only a few more chapters left she wants to see how Lorrelle will take to finding out the man she’s been seeing is actually a werewolf.

Flipping to the bookmarked page she starts to read.

“Oh.” Felicity says as she reads the line that Meglaine gets shot saving the doctor once again. “Why does that doctor always have to put herself in dire situations? Jonah told her to stay away. Sheesh.” Annoyingly flipping the page to see Lorrelle run into Jonah’s arms weeping. He seems lost a little stunned that his friend most likely will die when he purposely pushed her away thinking she was jealous of his happiness.

Felicity closes the book with tears in her eyes. She didn’t think Meglaine dying would hit her so hard. It is just a fictional character but Felicity wants to know more about this endearing werewolf who captured her heart. She knows the backstory of the lead characters of the story but this wonderful bright woman she needed more of. How could the author of this story short change the reader? Now fulling crying making Frida howl in mock pain to.

“Felicity!” Her name shouted as Oliver runs through the living room to check up on his wife. His breathing heavy expecting the worst but as he comes to a halt, he sees Frida anxiously rubbing herself on his wife. “What is going on?” He looks at the three puppies and back at his wife who is still crying and wiping at her face. “Let me get the tissues.” He’s out of the room for a mere moment as he gets back with a box and hands her a few. “What happened?” Sitting by the edge of the bed near her waiting for an answer.

“Meglaine is probably dead.”

“What? Who?” It dawns on him quickly as all the conversations they’ve had about these werewolves. “Hey, hey. It’s just a story. Are you sure?” He wants to sound comforting at least.

“She was shot with a silver bullet.”

“I’ve been shot a few times myself and I’m still here.” He knows he shouldn’t joke but it slipped from his lips anyhow.

“That’s not funny Oliver!” She sniffling trying to control her tears.

“So, the story is over? She died?”

“Um… No! I closed the book and broke down I don’t think I can read any more.”

“Felicity, honey. If you don’t finish, you’ll never know.”

“Better than knowing she dies; she was my favorite and I didn’t know much about her.” She lets out a sniffle. “Jonah never apologized for telling her she’s basically a pest. How can he be so dense?”

“I don’t know honey.” He kisses her forehead. “Are you okay? If you need me to sit here with you for a while…”

“No. Go take your shower, I’ll be okay. You know how easily I cry nowadays I’ll be fine.”

“Okay then, after I’ll make us some breakfast. Sound good?”

“When doesn’t food sound good?” She is almost always famished. He pecks her lips and looks at the family on the bed. “I’ll come and collect these three shortly.” She nods as she turns to give them her attention. Surely these fur balls will help her dreary mood after having her heart torn out from reading.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Frida makes a whiny sound not wanting Felicity to get out of bed. “Okay, I know my belly is a nice pillow but I need to pee.” Finding herself rolling slower off the bed than usual just to be mindful of the three little squirming babies on the bed. Oliver let them stay a little while longer as she begged him while being overrun by yapping balls of delight. He rolled his eyes at the antics but left her to play as he went to make breakfast.

Once her two feet are planted on the rugged floor, she makes small slow strides towards the bathroom wishing that soon she’ll have her daughter in her arms. Just as that thought enters her mind, she feels a popping sensation with some fluid running down her legs.

His voice just a few feet but with a wall between them. “Felicity, you better not have left the bed unescorted.”

He stops in the hallways as an unrecognizable look on her face practically has him start the slow-motions of processing what he thought he was ready for. Everything they have been taught the whole process foreign yet very familiar because he has practiced this moment over and over even to the point where his wife gave him an ultimatum to stop or she’d smother him in his sleep. He didn’t take her threats serious enough with her hormonal dismay of how much his hoovering faux labor drills could annoy her and landed up with some bruises, she wallops a good fisted grip. Yep he learned personal boundaries quick while still remaining the doting husband while making sure everything was set for this moment.

“I think we are having a baby.”

This is it. He’s already on the phone calling the certified midwife as he’s helping Felicity back into their room. Leaving the phone on speaker as he grabs the special sheets to place on the bed just under the comforter as his wife places each puppy onto the box Oliver brought into the room to collect them before making breakfast.

Everything is on autopilot. Locking the excited dogs in a special room that has the door reinforced just for such occasions as he makes sure everything is sanitized as he follows a list of things that is recommended. The contractions are mild but he knows it can be a long labor just as easy a short one.

He is a mess of nervous it ranges from excitement to all these crazy what-ifs that just keep dawning on him. He just can’t wait to meet Mia. Making himself breathe in and out before joining his wife. He doesn’t need her to feel his all over the place energy so he tries to calm down and lucky for him he hears a set of tires coming down the private drive and he heads to meet the woman after he calls out to Felicity telling her that their helper is here.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Felicity knows that soon she’ll be meeting her baby girl and excitement washes over her. They… She planned a natural birth due to keeping a low profile and she doesn’t think using an epidural would be wise with how her chip in her back is situated. Dr. Schwartz did recommend their midwife if that is the route they were taking so here she is now pacing in her room when Oliver would rather have her off her feet. Being stuck on the bed isn’t what she needs so she’ll continue pacing until Abigail tells her it is time to lay down.

Insistent on wearing a sweater even with how both Oliver and Abigail tell her that she’ll be uncomfortable Felicity is insistent on wearing the red comfy shirt keeping the autumn chill from her bones.

Being fully dilated in such a short time span a joke’s made that Mia Smoak Queen is as impatient as her parents.

Felicity is to wrapped up in breathing and listening to Abigail as they work to have little Mia join them. Oliver is right there holding her hand and leaving small kisses on his wife’s head as she’s miraculously having his baby. He loves her so much and being here is the only place in the universe he wants or needs to be. His heart is full of such happiness that a part of him wants to burst and maybe when his daughter is finally here tears may soon follow as his world is complete. A dream of his fulfilled.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you so much. I’ll love you even more when this baby’s out of me.”

With that he can’t hold his impassive face from showing happiness at how she can pull a smile from him on a moment’s notice.

Moments more of breathing and pushing has them welcoming their baby girl. He is holding his squirming child as the rest of birthing practice is happening and when he gives the child back he gets to cut the umbilical cord right after the baby is weighed and cleaned. Oliver is back at his wife’s side as Abigail finally gives the beautiful baby to her mother. He can’t contain his happiness as he watches how Felicity looks down at their blessing.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Days later when things are calmer, Oliver doesn’t know how much Fido and Frida will take to Mia but he’s prepared as both are leashed and ready to leave the room. These two have been scratching at the door with intermediate howls that it has been a miracle that Mia hasn’t cried because of them.

The little swaddled princess comfortably in her crib as the two dogs sniff her scent. Felicity is observing from the wooden bench by the window smiling wildly at the scene. She’d never thought the sight of Oliver Jonas Queen a man whose reputation proceeds him is in total serenity showing his daughter to their pets. Two wolf-hybrids that will most likely be overprotective of this precious child and in helping ease Oliver’s mind of the ground’s security. Who would have thought the Queens would find themselves in a town having a beautiful daughter and being surrounded by fluffy greyish white balls of energy? Not her in a million years if you asked her seven, five, or even three years ago she’d call you crazy.

Now she is married to the love of her life and has two large breed of dogs that already wormed themselves into her own heart. Snow and Luna both named by Oliver and his wife couldn’t be happier with the names. ‘A blanket of snow and how the moonlight hits across Luna’s eyes making it magical.’ Those were his words as he’d been appreciating all the little things once again. For now, cut off from the world and he’s like a little kid with them at times and it’s almost like a dreamlike moment.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

With Oliver busy with the dogs and installing cables to give his wife the technological setup she desires. It has been a struggle being without reliable connection and soon she’ll be able to setup something that if Oliver does leave to help with Team Arrow business again she’ll be able to completely be in her element and help them stay safe.

Now with her family busy it gives Felicity a moment to finish the book. Her lower back bothering her since Mia’s delivery she been basically bed bound still busy working on her company with her trusty notepad, Oliver doesn’t even bat an eyelid on her technical stubbornness as long as she allows herself healing time and doing those physical therapy sessions by his side he’s okay.

Placing the book on her lap, she’s been dreading to finish but her husband is right that she’d be bothered if she doesn’t see the journey of Jonah, Lorrelle, and Meglaine through. Bringing a big box of tissues this time she is ready as she flips to the last page she read. “Okay. Here goes.”

‘Meglaine lies prone as the bullet is withdrawn from her upper chest cavity. Whispers in the hallway outside the makeshift surgery room seem sullen as one of their own may die tonight. No one knows why she saved the doctor. As Lorrelle became more ingrained into Jonah Wilde’s life his friendship with Meglaine dwindled he still leaned on his friends help in his endeavor but things weren’t serene. Some within their circle mused that she was madly in love with him and would do anything to make him happy others saw that the quirky girl just kept her oath to protect the clan from outsiders doing her best to keep humans from finding out of their existence.’

Felicity just moved the pages along it was clear the author was dragging Meglaine’s death to push Jonah to understand that he needs to tell Lorrelle who he is. Needing her to save one of his clansmen. Sighing audibly at the likely outcome she partly jumps when she hears Oliver’s voice.

“Hey honey, I brought you a snack. How’s the reading coming along?” Looking at her disappointed face. “That good huh?”

“My girl’s death is being dragged out and its really bumming me out.”

“Well Mia’s still asleep and the dogs are basically sun bathing so how about I read to you?”

“You’d do that?”

“For you, you must know by now I’d do anything for.” He moves the plate to sit comfortably on her lap and takes the book after she points to where she left off. Reading a few paragraphs, he can see where the story is heading and its nothing like what Felicity has painted. Jonah is truly in conflict there is a reason he hasn’t told Lorrelle his secret and it’s because not even he realized it until holding Meglaine’s limp hand in his. The woman dying needs more than the healer in his clan who isn’t really a professional medic. Oliver sits on a side chair by the window letting his wife enjoy the snack while he reads.

‘Dr. Byrde slowly enters the makeshift medical room slowly a little horrified that the patient isn’t in a hospital. Realizing now that it was… no is this woman that saved her from the evil man’s clutches witnessing the bullet meant to silence her take out her savior.

“Alright let’s get to work. I’ll need some assistance, anyone who has medical knowledge. I also need you out of here.” She looks at Jonah pained expression of wanting to be here. “Jonah, please step outside. Let us do the best we can, please!”

He nods and backups slowly but before leaving begs. “Please save her. Please save my friend’s life.” In that moment Lorrelle knew that the leader of these people had a soft spot for this woman.

“I’ll do my best.”

It felt like a lifetime as Jonah paced the packed hallways of catacombs under the city. Many who care for her are praying as others hold their stance waiting and hoping she pulls through. Meglaine has reached so many of her clan with grace, humility, hope, and strength that brought a togetherness that the possibility of her no longer being among them holds a certain sadness.’

“You do see where this is heading?”

“Alright she probably doesn’t die.”

“Probably? Hmm Hmm.”

“Jonah doesn’t love her.”

“Jonah doesn’t fully realize he loves her. There is a difference.”

“Like what? Like you and I difference?”

“Well…” Oliver let’s out. “That isn’t entirely true with us. I like to say I knew for sure by the moment with the Count but I tried so hard to fight it for some silly notion of protecting you from me.”

“How did that go?” Felicity moves the finished snack plate to the side as Oliver slides onto the bed.

“Is that your way of rubbing it in? That we could have all this sooner?”

“Nope. We weren’t ready than. As much as it pains me we had a few more bumps in our road before we got here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Gosh I love you so much.”

He sighs happily as the get comfortable and he moves the book to a good spot to continue reading. Meglaine pulls through and as Oliver thought Jonah realizes his love for his friend. Boasting to his wife that he was right and Felicity just rolls her eyes. Just typical the man found love and with such knowledge that everything in his world just makes sense.

With the happy ending in the first edition of the book series Felicity can’t wait to read how Jonah and Meglaine relationship blossoms. Oliver even spoiled it by sneak peaking at the third and final book that their love produces some pups. Yes, she can’t wait to read the rest of the series.

As for their own love. They know their hearts belong to each other and whatever life hands them they know love can conquer all.

The end!

Thanks for reading! :)

#ofae #ofae fanfic #ofae fanart #submission

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furry-monster-trash · 5 years

Text

Acornbreeze x Crowfeather

I had the day off from work today and got bored. Really bored. So I wrote this. It’s a warrior cats story. Acornbreeze is my OC and Crowfeather is of course from the actual books. Several more of my OCs are mentioned throughout (most of the cats mentioned in this story are my OCs). If anyone wants to hear more about them, please feel free to ask, most of them were created years ago by a younger me but I do still have a lot of the old files with stuff written about them and would love to add more to their characters/personalities. I apologize for any typos/grammar mistakes - this was written in like 5/6 hours.

^^^ That’s Acornbreeze. The artwork above is from: https://neikoish.deviantart.com/art/CREATE-A-CAT-Flash-Game-166489725

I am in no way claiming that artwork to be mine, but the character, Acornbreeze, is. Acornbreeze was not born a ThunderClan kit. He and his brother, Hawktail, were given to the clan by a loner she-cat, one who was much too old to take care of kits. Bramblestar had accepted the kits into the clan and raised them to be ThunderClan through and through, the way Firestar would’ve wanted.

Smaller than his brother, Acornbreeze showed a quiet determination to prove his strength in combat and more than made up for it with his quick wits and blinding speed. His past mentor, Ivypool, had trained him to use his speed during battles and quickly shaped the young Acornpaw into a fierce opponent.

The tom currently found himself on a dawn patrol, trailing behind Brackenfur and Cloudtail, two of ThunderClan’s most senior warriors. Soon to be elders. The younger cat thought to himself, eyeing the graying-toms in front of him.

The patrol approached the WindClan border, sniffing around and finding nothing of use or of danger to the clan. “It’s been quiet recently,” Cloudtail said. Every time the white tom spoke, Acornbreeze could hear the age seeping through his voice.

“Yes, well, WindClan has no quarrel with us currently,” Brackenfur replied.

“But even ShadowClan and SkyClan have been quiet,” the white tom retorted with a flick of his tail.

“RiverClan?” Acornbreeze rarely ever went near their border.

“Hostile, but technically not doing anything harmful to us.”

The brown and white tom huffed in response, his eyes trailing back over the WindClan border. He didn’t know what he was looking for if he was looking for anything at all, but he couldn’t help but be drawn towards the moor.

It was then that a WindClan patrol made their way up a small hill towards the border themselves, and the three ThunderClan warriors found themselves facing Crowfeather, the WindClan deputy, Smokehaze, and Icefoot. Acornbreeze recognized Icefoot from gatherings, her light cream pelt and one white paw were a dead giveaway. Crowfeather, of course, rang some bells inside the warrior’s head. After all, he was the deputy of WindClan. Smokehaze just seemed like an ordinary warrior to the tom and he paid no mind to her as the three came to the border.

“Brackenfur, Cloudtail,” Crowfeather addressed the two senior warriors, his gaze then fell on Acornbreeze, who remained silent.

“Crowfeather, always a pleasure.” Brackenfur dipped his head in respect. His head turning to follow the black tom’s line of sight. “Ah, this is Acornbreeze.”

The deputy flicked his ear, but made no comment about the long-haired tom before him, “What brings you to our border?”

“Routine check,” Cloudtail explained.

“Everything seem to be in place?” Icefoot asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

“Of course. Does everything seem alright on your side?” Brackenfur eyed the cream she-cat warily.

“We’ve recently had some trouble with RiverClan, that’s all.”

Acornbreeze had tuned out the boring border conversation, his eyes locked on the strong black tom before him. It was no secret to ThunderClan that the warrior was into toms, he never kept it a secret, and fiercely defended himself whenever prosecuted for his attraction. He found it shocking that he was not the first to enjoy the company of the same-sex, and was relieved when all of ThunderClan didn’t bat an eye when he began to show feelings for Stormcloud.

Crowfeather, while engaging in idle conversation with Cloudtail, flicked his gaze over to Acornbreeze, clearly noticing the younger warrior’s staring. Acornbreeze met Crowfeather’s blue eyes and then turned away, ears folded back in embarrassment.

“Anyways, don’t you think we’ve bothered these WindClan cats enough?” Acornbreeze asked, wanting to get away from the deputy who now has his own gaze locked on the brown-and-white tom.

“Indeed,” Brackenfur seemed pleased to leave, “We must check our RiverClan border.” The ginger tom dipped his head to the WindClan warriors and then led the other two toms away.

That night Acornbreeze found himself on the moor, his body stretching as far as it could go with each stride he took. While his heart belonged in ThunderClan, and always would, he couldn’t help but have a patch of envy for the WindClan cats. Acornbreeze’s body was lithe compared to those of his ThunderClan companions and even compared to his brother’s. He was made for running, for speed. He was always able to catch the fastest squirrels, the most agile rabbits. When he had been an apprentice, he had wished he was given to WindClan instead, but his loyalty to ThunderClan had grown stronger with each moon that passed.

Acornbreeze awoke from his dream and felt Hawktail’s telltale prod in his stomach, “You were kicking in your sleep again.”

Acornbreeze muttered a quiet apology to his brother and turned around, curling his long tail around himself and drifting back to sleep. When his eyes opened, he was running across the open moor again, only this time he had a companion.

Crowfeather ran beside him, matching his pace stride for stride. The ThunderClan tom purred and pushed himself further, running ahead of the handsome deputy who was now struggling to keep up. Acornbreeze felt his claws tear through the ground as he crossed the border into ThunderClan territory, never slowing down as he began to weave through the trees like a stealthy fox.

Crowfeather, less comfortable under the trees, had slowed down to take in the forest around him. Acornbreeze noticed that his running partner had slowed to a light jog and he fell back to join him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Crowfeather nodded, stopping dead in his tracks and looking up at the tree-tops, “So green and lush. I can hear more prey here right now than I can find in a full season back on the moor.”

“Our forest is a blessing,” Acornbreeze agreed. He watched with amusement as the WindClan warrior gazed upon his green home.

“No wonder ThunderClan always seems to prosper,” the black tom commented.

“We have plenty of prey, yes, but many mouths to feed. Sometimes I feel as though we have too many kits,” the younger warrior sighed softly.

“Must be nice in battle, to have so many friends forming your ranks. WindClan, at the time, is small. Harestar is trying his best to keep everyone calm.”

Acornbreeze, yet again, felt a paw waking him up. He opened his eyes and glared at the she-cat who dared to wake him up from such a dream. “What?” He asked Cinderheart.

“Squirrelflight wants me to lead a hunting patrol, and you’re an excellent hunter, so get your lazy butt up.” Cinderheart turned and walked away before the tom could respond.

Acornbreeze sighed and stood, stretching out his legs as he arched his back. Following after Cinderheart, he found most of the clan to be awake already. Bramblestar offered the young warrior a curt nod as he walked past him towards Jayfeather’s den.

Once out in the forest, Acornbreeze gave a small greeting to Wolfshade, who was also joining the hunting patrol. The three cats padded out into the deeper part of the woods, their footsteps light as they searched for prey.

It didn’t take long for Acornbreeze to spot a rabbit crouched near the base of a tree. He motioned to it with his tail to alert his fellow clan-mates that he was going after it. Acornbreeze crouched low to the ground, stepping lightly on his toes as he crawled forward, his fur nearly blending in with the forest floor. The tom stopped himself about a fox-length away from the rabbit and bunched the muscles in his hind legs when a pinecone fell from the tree above and startled the rabbit.

Giving chase to the fleeing prey, Acornbreeze extending his body as far as it would go, claws unsheathed. I won’t let you get away! He was approaching the rabbit at a high rate of speed and with a final pounce, he landed squarely on the rabbit’s back. He killed it swiftly and stopped to catch his breath.

“May I ask why you’re hunting on WindClan territory?” A familiar deep voice asked from behind the warrior.

Acornbreeze turned around and saw Crowfeather looking at him, a blank but somewhat amused look on his face. “I uh, what?”

“The border,” Crowfeather gestured towards the thin line of trees and bushes that marked the ThunderClan-WindClan border, “is over there.”

Acornbreeze felt the tips of his ears grow hot with embarrassment, “I’m so sorry Crowfeather. I was chasing this rabbit and must’ve crossed over without noticing.” He looked away from the deputy and down at his own paws.

Crowfeather let out a soft murr of laughter, “I know, I saw you chasing it. Quite the impressive feat. I never knew that ThunderClan cats could run so quickly.”

“Some of the elders say I’ve got Runningwind’s spirit in me,” Acornbreeze explained. The brown-and-white cat then looked across the border into his own territory and then down at the rabbit he had caught. He had caught it, yes, but he caught it on WindClan territory. “You should take this back to your clan,” he said.

“Why? That is your kill.”

“That I caught on WindClan territory, where I shouldn’t even be. It’s no problem, really. I’m sure I can find a few squirrels or something back in the trees.” Acornbreeze pushed the rabbit towards the black tom.

Crowfeather narrowed his eyes slightly, as if not believing the generosity of the ThunderClan warrior. “Very well Acornbreeze. I find it odd that you are not fighting more for this prey, but I will not question your motives. Now, go back to your own territory.” While Crowfeather’s eyes were friendly, he dropped his tone to show that he meant business.

Acornbreeze dipped his head and then ran back over the border, casting one last glance at the dark deputy and locking eyes with Crowfeather before walking back into the forest.

Acornbreeze walked back into the ThunderClan camp with two squirrels hanging from his jowls. Hawktail saw his brother return and raced over to meet him, “Bramblestar wants to talk to you.” “But, I have more prey buried in the forest.”

“That I would be happy to get for you,” Wolfshade’s smooth voice came from behind the warrior. Acornbreeze smiled at the black tom and flicked his tail along Wolfshade’s flank in thanks as he left back out of the tunnel.

“Do you know why Bramblestar wants to talk to me?” Acornbreeze turned back to face his brother.

Hawktail shrugged, “He didn’t seem upset if that’s what you’re asking.”

Acornbreeze sighed softly and then headed for Bramblestar’s den. He walked through the thin layer of hanging lichen that protected the den and blinked a few times to adjust to the darker lighting. “Um, Bramblestar? Hawktail said you wanted to see me?”

Acornbreeze waited near the entrance of the den before he saw a large shape move out from the back of the cave. The tabby tom came closer to Acornbreeze and sat before him, “Yes, Acornbeeze, I did call for you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I need you to do something for me,” Bramblestar started.

“Anything, Sir.”

“You know how I feel about you calling me ‘Sir’. I am your leader, but I am truly no different from you,” Bramblestar sighed, “But in any case. I need you to deliver a message to Harestar.”

“The WindClan leader? Why? Is everything okay?” Acornbreeze questioned.

“I hope so. You’re the fastest runner here, that’s why I’m sending you. I need you to ask Harestar about RiverClan. Our patrols yesterday found RiverClan scents on our side of the river and today Lionblaze found scents even further into our territory. Brackenfur also mentioned how Icefoot had mentioned that WindClan had been having some trouble with RiverClan recently.” Bramblestar informed the younger warrior. “I’m trusting you here Acornbreeze. Keep your claws sheathed.”

“Of course Sir, I mean, um, Bramblestar. I’ll leave right away,” the warrior dipped his head and then sprinted out of Bramblestar’s den and out into the woods. The thick-furred tom didn’t stop until he reached the WindClan border, where he stopped to taste the air for any sign of patrols. When he found none, he walked over the border and into the moor.

Unsure of where he was going, he tried to locate the camp by scent in the unfamiliar territory. He dragged his nose along the ground in hopes of finding some form of a scent trail. He needed to find the camp, and fast. “Back so soon?”

Acornbreeze jumped at the voice and turned around, fur ruffled, to face Crowfeather. “Why are you always out of camp?” The ThunderClan cat asked.

“Harestar has ordered double patrols, and I don’t particularly want to be near my clanmates.”

“Clanmates, or one clan mate?” Acornbreeze had noticed the black tom’s hesitation to finish his sentence.

Crowfeather flicked his ear, “One. Now, what brings you to WindClan territory for the second time today. Surely, you’re not hunting more rabbits?”

Acornbreeze shook his head, “No, Bramblestar sent me with a message, or more of a question really, for Harestar.”

“One that couldn’t wait for the gathering?”

“It’s about RiverClan,” Acornbreeze explained.

At the mention of the fish-loving clan, Crowfeather tensed and his tail bristled, “What does Bramblestar want to know about them?” His voice had darkened.

Now, this is the Crowfeather everyone always talks about. Protective and hostile. “Bramblestar wishes to know if WindClan is also having trouble keeping RiverClan on their side of the borders,” Acornbreeze continued.

Crowfeather dropped his tail and narrowed his eyes at the tom, “Follow me, I’ll explain along the way.”

The ThunderClan warrior fell into step beside the darker tom and listened carefully, “We’ve been having some trouble with them recently. As Icefoot said when we met on the border, they can’t seem to pick a scent marker. At first, it just seemed like a stray apprentice got too close, but recently it seems like groups of warriors are crossing over into our territory. We never catch them, Crouchfoot thinks it’s because they’re coming over at night. But, ShadowClan is the nocturnal clan, not RiverClan. About a week ago or so Finchpaw said she spotted a black and white warrior on our side of the border.”

“Ravenbranch?” Acornbreeze interjected.

“That’s my guess. He’s the only black and white warrior I can think of in RiverClan. Unless Badgerpaw is having some fun over on WindClan territory,” Crowfeather mused.

“No, Badgerpaw is too afraid to even go near the borders. He never wants to risk crossing one.”

“Merely a joke Acornbreeze,” Crowfeather purred softly, “I know that Badgerpaw would never dare cross into our territory. ThunderClan has been respectful of our borders ever since Bramblestar became leader.”

Acornbreeze decided not to speak on the sly comment made about Firestar. “So what is Harestar going to do?”

Crowfeather eyed the warrior and flicked his tail. Acornbreeze nodded in understanding, he couldn’t just expect the WindClan deputy to give everything up to him. “We’re almost there.”

Crowfeather pulled slightly ahead of the ThunderClan cat, giving Acornbreeze a nice view of the black cat’s pulsing muscles beneath smooth fur. He felt a blush rise up to his cheeks as he stuttered in his steps.

Crowfeather looked over his shoulder at the tom, “Not used to flat ground?” “Not really. Roots and rocks are always a danger in ThunderClan territory,” he replied.

Crowfeather chuckled and turned back, turning and heading down a slight hill into an open hollow in the ground. It was then that Acornbreeze could smell various scents hitting him at once. A lot of cats he didn’t recognize, and a few he did. Icefoot and Spruceheart being among them. Spruceheart was an apprentice at the same time that Acornbreeze had been, and the dark brown she-cat had proven to be a good friend. Loyal to her clan, but friendly enough to have conversations with Acornbeeze at gatherings.

“Wait here. I’ll go get Harestar,” Crowfeather ordered.

Acornbreeze nodded and sat down on the barren land below him. His paws ached from the amount of running he had done today. For a few brief moments, the tom was allowed to collect his thoughts. Especially his impure ones. Crowfeather is a WindClan cat! Doesn’t mean he’s not attractive though...

“Acornbreeze, is it?” The brown-and-white leader asked as he exited the hollow with Crowfeather in tow.

“Yes, Sir.” Acornbreeze confirmed, “Bramblestar sent me.”

“So Crowfeather said,” Harestar eyed the warrior cautiously, “Speak then.”

Acornbreeze shuffled his paws on the ground, “Bramblestar wants to know about RiverClan. ThunderClan has been having issues with them on our side of the border.”

Harestar sat down across from the tom and nodded, “We have had the same issue.”

“Does WindClan plan to do anything about it?” the ThunderClan warrior couldn’t help but ask again.

“Does Bramblestar wish to join forces to push RiverClan back to their territory?” Harestar asked, suddenly the leader seemed a lot more interested in the conversation.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Bramblestar seemed a little hostile when he gave me the message, but shedding blood has never been the ThunderClan way.”

“Not when you’ve been around,” Crowfeather corrected.

Acornbreeze felt his cheeks heat up, “I suppose so.”

“Why did Bramblestar send you?” Harestar asked.

“I’m the fastest runner in ThunderClan,” Acornbreeze answered. He was unsure what this had to do with RiverClan.

“Save for your long fur, you look like a WindClan cat,” Harestar commented.

“I uh, thank you?” The warrior tilted his head. “What does this have to do with RiverClan?”

“Simply a comment,” Harestar flicked his tail, “Now, if Bramblestar is willing to fight beside us, then I would be happy to share some more information.”

-------

Acornbreeze bit into the mouse before him, savoring every bite. His talk with Harestar had gone as well as Bramblestar had thought it would. After several more journeys to and from the WindClan camp, it was concluded that if RiverClan didn’t stop their trespassing by the half-moon, then both clans would send a patrol of warriors out to stop RiverClan themselves.

The half-moon was tonight, and Lionblaze entered the ThunderClan camp with claws unsheathed. Acornbreeze didn’t even need to hear what he was about to say. ThunderClan and WindClan were going to battle RiverClan.

“Tonight we meet up with the WindClan patrol as the sunsets. I will send a pawful of warriors, strong ones, while some will remain here to help guard the camp in case of any unexpected trouble,” Bramblestar had begun explaining the plan to his warriors, “Going with me to RiverClan will be Lionblaze, Berrynose, Leafshade, Ivypool, Whitewing, Spiderstripe, Dogpelt, and Acornbreeze.”

The brown warrior looked at his leader with shock. Me? Not Hawktail? He was surprised that Bramblestar would choose speed over strength. “We leave at sunset.”

Sunset came too soon for Acornbreeze’s liking. He was at the back of the patrol, nerves clawing at his paws with each step he took. The closer they got to the WindClan border, the more nervous he got. Once at the border, the ThunderClan warriors only waited a few moments before the WindClan patrol met them. Acornbreeze eyed the warriors carefully. Among their ranks were Harestar, Crouchfoot, Leaftail, Smokehaze, Spruceheart, Finchpaw, Cedarpatch, Willowflower, and of course, Crowfeather.

Acornbreeze nodded at the WindClan deputy, who returned the gesture with a hint of a smile on his face. Harestar and Bramblestar exchanged a few words with each other and then began moving their respective patrols out towards the RiverClan camp.

Acornbreeze padded alongside the black deputy, their strides even and silent. They both said nothing as they walked beside one another, their pelts occasionally brushing against each other. If either one didn’t like the feeling of the other pressed up against them, they didn’t speak out about it. As the patrols came closer to the RiverClan camp, the clan leaders instructed their patrols to flank both sides of said camp.

Acornbreeze stalked alongside Berrynose, keeping his ears perked in case any RiverClan cat alerted the camp to their intrusion. Once the patrols were in position, every warrior waited for the signal to attack. Acornbreeze dug his claws into the ground and crouched low, ready to pounce and shred the fur off of any RiverClan warrior who got too close.

Bramblestar started the battle with the flick of his tail and piercing yowl. The camp below became a flurry of cats in a matter of seconds. RiverClan warriors poured out of their den and into the center of camp to defend their land, and Acornbreeze spared no second to leap onto the back of Lizardtail, a light brown tom. His claws raked down the warriors back, who yowled and threw off the attacking ThunderClan warrior.

The two locked eyes and charged at each other. Acornbreeze felt the warrior’s sharp claws slash alongside his flank and he growled in pain. Twisting mid-stride, he latched his teeth into Lizardtail’s hindleg and bit down as hard as he could until the RiverClan warrior was batting furiously at Acornbreeze’s side to get the tom to release his leg. Acornbreeze then thrust his head to the side, dragging the tom along the floor and reared into the air as he released Lizardtail to deliver a crushing blow to the RiverClan warrior’s chest.

Lizardtail snarled and lashed out with sharp claws, catching Acornbreeze across the muzzle before Acornbreeze could land. The ThunderClan warrior stepped back and shook his head of the blood dripping down his face. Lizardtail spun around and charged once more at Acornbreeze, only to be tackled by Smokehaze.

Acornbreeze quickly turned to face the thick of the battle, looking for another RiverClan warrior to attack. His eyes locked on Ravenbranch who had Whitewing pinned. He charged the thick tom, knocking him off balance and using the surprise to dig his claws deep into Ravenbranch’s haunches. The RiverClan warrior rolled, crushing Acornbreeze beneath him and then used his hind claws to rake down the ThunderClan tom’s stomach.

Acornbreeze felt his fur grow wet with his blood and he shook rapidly beneath Ravenbranch, who sneered in the warrior’s face. Acornbreeze looked to the side and saw Crowfeather throw off Duskfur and look over at the staring ThunderClan warrior. Suddenly caught in the gaze of the handsome dark tom, Acornbreeze lurched forward and threw off Ravenbranch.

Darting behind the slower RiverClan warrior, he dragged his claws down the black and white tom’s side, feeling blood well up under his claws. Ravenbranch twisted and lurched forward, slow enough for Acornbreeze to move back and slash his claws across Ravenbranch’s ears. The tom hissed and backed away, lashing out with his forepaws. Now on the defensive, Acornbreeze looked for a way in and waited for Ravenbranch to lash out again. When the black-and-white tom did, the ThunderClan warrior surged forward and sank his teeth into the forepaw of the RiverClan cat. He bit down until a crunch could be heard.

Ravenbranch flailed and pulled himself away from Acornbreeze, turning tail and running out of the camp. It was then that Acornbreeze had spotted Crowfeather again, this time pinned underneath Mistystar herself. The tom snarled and ran forward, pouncing with every ounce of muscle he had to knock the RiverClan leader off of the WindClan deputy. Mistystar screamed in surprise as she was knocked off balance and onto her side.

Acornbreeze then pinned her head to the ground, his claws digging into her cheek and using his hind paws to trap her beneath him. He snarled low in her face, his fangs flashing in the dim light. Mistystar struggled underneath the ThunderClan warrior, but it was clear that she had gotten several wounds from her previous bouts earlier in the battle.

Acornbreeze dug his other forepaw’s claws into her shoulder, digging deep and dragging down to weaken the clan leader. When a deafening yowl came from near him he saw Reedwhisker, the RiverClan deputy, making his way over to defend his leader.

Crowfeather leaped in front of Acornbreeze then, hissing and lashing his tail through the air. The two deputies met on their hind-legs, grappling at each other’s shoulders and struggling to bring one another to the ground. Reedwhisker lurched forward and bit down on Crowfeather’s shoulder. Acornbreeze flinched for the deputy. Crowfeather, however, showed no pain and pushed forward with all his strength to pin Reedwhisker to the ground, sinking his teeth into the other black tom’s neck and holding him there.

When the RiverClan warriors noticed their deputy and leader both being held down, the battle slowly stopped. Pelts bristled in the low moonlight and heavy panting could be heard from every corner of the clearing.

Bramblestar shouldered his way through the bleeding crowd with Harestar right on his heels. “Keep your warriors out of our territories.”

“We need more land,” Mistystar spat from underneath Acornbreeze’s grip. The wound that the ThunderClan tom had inflicted on her side was clearly weakening the RiverClan leader, as her struggles got weaker. “Our queens bear kits that we do not have the space to provide for. We lack food to feed our entire clan.”

“ThunderClan has more warriors and apprentices than RiverClan, and yet we do not seek out territory in other Clan’s land. The next time we meet in battle, I won’t tell my warriors to go easy,” Bramblestar threatened. He then nodded his broad head at Acornbreeze, who hissed in the face of the RiverClan leader before releasing her and falling back into his ranks.

“WindClan and ThunderClan fought together today, the next time we meet, we will bring more warriors. Keep your fishy paws out of our moor,” Harestar snarled.

ThunderClan and WindClan then pushed their way out of RiverClan, leaving behind a bloodsoaked camp.

Crowfeather limped up next to Acornbreeze, “I saw what you did with Ravenbranch. Brutal.”

“He was asking for it,” Acornbreeze shrugged, “Are you okay?” He asked once he noticed the large wound on Crowfeather’s shoulder.

“Reedwhisker got lucky,” Crowfeather held his head up high.

Acornbreeze stifled a laugh and nodded, “As did Ravenbranch,” he said referring to the claw marks on his stomach that were leaking blood.

“You fought well against Mistystar,” Crowfeather panted, it was clear that the blood-loss was getting to the warrior.

“Sit down,” Acornbreeze ordered the WindClan deputy. The two patrols were crossing near ThunderClan territory, where the two clans would divide once more. “Jayfeather is up ahead a few fox-lengths, you are in no condition to walk to the WindClan camp.”

Crowfeather blinked at the ThunderClan tom and then nodded, “Harestar!” He called after his leader.

The brown-and-white leader turned and ran over to his deputy, “You’re going to be okay Crowfeather.” “I know, Harestar. But I do not think I can make it back to our camp. With Bramblestar’s approval, I will go to their camp to rest for the night under Jayfeather’s view and return in the morning.”

Harestar flickered his eyes over Crowfeather and then looked at Bramblestar, who nodded. “As long as someone stays with him, it is okay with me. We may have fought as allies today, but that does not mean our clans are friends.”

“Couldn’t agree more. Crowfeather, you may stay with ThunderClan tonight. I expect to see you back before moonhigh tomorrow.” Harestar then dipped his head and turned to lead his warriors back to the WindClan camp.

“Acornbreeze, Crowfeather, the two of you stay here. I’ll send Jayfeather to you once he’s done treating Ivypool’s wound.” Bramblestar addressed the two.

“Is she alright?” Acornbreeze asked his leader.

“She’ll live but Fallenspots managed to claw her back a bit more than most can handle,” Bramblestar assured the tom. “I’ll let Jayfeather know the two of you are over here. Alderheart is treating wounds back at camp.”

The moon was still high above the pair of toms as they sat waiting for the blind medicine cat. Crowfeather was leaning against a tree, using the thick bark to support most of his weight. Acornbreeze noticed at the deputy was struggling and he padded closer to Crowfeather, eyeing Jayfeather who sat a ways away pressing cobwebs to Ivypool’s spine.

The ThunderClan warrior sat across from the dark tom, who opened his blue eyes to look at Acornbreeze, “How’re you holding up?” The brown tom asked.

Crowfeather panted as he spoke, “Thirsty, admittedly. But I’ll live.”

“Your shoulder is still bleeding quite a bit,” Acornbreeze inched closer to look at the wound.

“It’s slowing.”

“Not quick enough,” the warrior said leaning forward and licking Crowfeather’s wound gently.

“What are you doing?” The deputy asked, shocked.

“Helping, now sit still,” Acornbreeze grumbled. He leaned forward once more and began a rhythmic lapping across the bite mark that sat in Crowfeather’s shoulder. His gentle tongue cleaning the wound of the blood that leaked out and applied a gentle pressure to stop the wound.

Crowfeather, finding himself enjoying the sensation of Acornbreeze essentially sharing tongues with him, pushed himself forward as well and began to lick across Acornbreeze’s side. Acornbreeze had nearly forgotten about the wound on his flank that Lizardtail had given him, but made no move to stop the deputy from cleaning away the blood that stained the white parts of his fur.

Acornbreeze had become so lost in the soothing sensation of Crowfeather’s tongue that he didn’t notice Jayfeather walking up to them.

“Separate love birds so I can ensure neither of you dies,” Jayfeather ordered, lifeless as ever.

The two toms said nothing, but Acornbreeze was almost certain he could see the blush on his dark cheeks. Jayfeather moved in front of the ThunderClan tom to apply a series of herbs to Crowfeather’s shoulder. The only thing that Acornbreeze could recognize was cobwebs.

“Maybe don’t go picking fights with cats you can’t beat,” Jayfeather grumbled, pressing a firm layer of cobwebs to the deputy’s wound.

Crowfeather growled lowly at the comment but said nothing. Acornbreeze gave the deputy a sympathetic glance before Jayfeather turned to face Acornbreeze, “Lay down mouse-brain. I can’t tend to your stomach if you’re standing. Lucky for me, Crowfeather here already took care of your other wound.”

Acornbreeze blinked, startled that Jayfeather could possibly know that. The medicine cat sighed, noticing the lack of movement and the silent pause. He reached out with a silver paw and shoved Acornbreeze off balance, “I can’t see but I can smell and hear things.”

The brown-and-white warrior let out a small huff of surprise and then exposed his stomach to the medicine cat, allowing for the grumpy tom to tend his wounds. “Not that it’s my place but the two of you shouldn’t really be sharing tongues like that.”

“Sharing tongues?” Crowfeather scowled. It was clear that the black tom didn’t see their grooming as anything more than a friend tending to one another’s wounds.

“Yes, mouse-brain. Sharing tongues. You know...Like good friends or mates do,” Jayfeather snorted.

“Are you implying something medicine cat?” Crowfeather’s tone had turned dark.

Jayfeather flicked his ear but said nothing as he finished cleaning Acornbreeze’s stomach wound, “No patrols for at least a week. You’re confined to camp.” he said to the warrior.

“Thank you, Jayfeather.” Acornbreeze lightly touched the tom’s flank with his tail. Jayfeather left without another word. “Sorry about him, he’s always grumpy.”

“He thought you and I were sharing tongues,” Crowfeather seemed insistent to prove that that was not what the two cats were doing.

Acornbreeze heaved himself up onto his paws and shrugged, “Jayfeather can believe whatever he wants. For now, let’s get you back to our camp so you can rest.”

Acornbreeze fell asleep to the soft feeling of Crowfeather’s fur against his, their bodies cozy inside the ThunderClan medicine cat den. His eyes opened, and he half expected to see warm rays of sun filtering through the brambles that blocked the medicine cat entrance. Instead he found himself surrounded by a pool of white, not a cat in sight. “Hello?” he called out.

“Hello young warrior,” A deep voice answered from behind the tom. Acornbreeze turned around and saw a cat he did not recognize. The cat before him had soft green eyes, and striped tan-ginger pelt. His jaw was disfigured and sat crookedly to the side. “My name is Crookedstar. I ruled RiverClan in the old forest.”

Acornbreeze froze, this was Crookedstar? He had heard infamous tales of the RiverClan leader, the one who ruled his clan with discipline and strength. “I don’t understand, what are you doing here?” He asked, stuttering.

“You fought my clan today,” The leader sat down next to Acornbreeze with a huff, his eyes shining bright, “You fought well.”

Acornbreeze tilted his head but said nothing, wouldn’t Crookedstar be angry that he had defeated his old clan and current clan leader? “Mistystar is an old leader, she lived through her nine lives with strength and justice.” Crookedstar continued.

“But, she has faults, as does any other cat. I can see you sleeping next to Crowfeather as clear as any other cat,” Crookedstar purred softly, his head turning towards the sky that was now filling with a beautiful glaze of black and blue, “But I fear that Mistystar’s judgment has been blurred, clouded over by years of life.”

Acornbreeze blushed at the comment about him and WindClan’s deputy, but he quickly changed the subject, “Wouldn’t her experience make her a better leader?”

“Oh, it did. She was once a fine leader to RiverClan. Brave and thoughtful, always putting her clan above anything else. But now,” the tom paused, “Now I am not so sure.”

“Why not? Isn’t she your kin?” Acornbreeze had remembered how Mistystar, once Mistyfoot, was Bluestar and Oakheart’s daughter and was therefore related to the wise RiverClan leader before him.

“You know your history,” Crookedstar praised the ThunderClan cat, “Yes, she is my kin. But her time to join StarClan came a long time ago. She was supposed to be struck by lightning, thus taking her last life and allowing her to join us.” “She’s alive though...right? Or was I fighting a ghost?”

“She’s no ghost. She managed to fight her way through the lightning and continue leading. But her time is now. Reedwhisker is a capable warrior and will make a fine leader. He cannot lead if Mistystar refuses to die,” Crookedstar said, his voice hollow.

“No offense, Sir, but why are you discussing this with me? I’m a ThunderClan cat, born of a loner,” Acornbreeze tilted his head in confusion.

“You bested her in combat today, proved your strength, and proved that she is no longer fit to lead RiverClan. For the safety of RiverClan, and all the clans, Mistystar must die.”

“You’re asking me to...kill the RiverClan leader?” Acornbreeze stood and faced Crookedstar, his pelt bristling, “A warrior never kills unless he has to!”

“Warriors also do not find mates outside of their own clan, and yet that has not stopped you,” Crookedstar eyed the warrior.

“Who are you-” “I can see you and Crowfeather. StarClan sees all. Onestar has been watching your relationship with him closely,” Crookedstar wrapped his tail around his paws, watching the tom before him blush.

“I basically just met him like one moon ago,” Acornbreeze pointed out, doing nothing to stop the full-body blush that flooded him.

“That has not stopped anything or any cat before.”

“We’re not mates,” Acornbreeze muttered.

“Continue down this current path and see how long that lasts. But, this is all besides the point. Mistystar needs to die. It pains me to say that, truly it does. Mistystar was a fine leader, a great warrior, and loyal RiverClan cat, but it is Reedwhisker’s time to lead,” Crookedstar said.

“How and when am I supposed to kill a clan leader?” Acornbreeze had calmed, but stress oozed out of every word.

“You battle at the RiverClan camp has angered Mistystar and her warriors. It will not be long before more blood is shed.”

“How do I know you’re not some Dark Forest cat trying to persuade me?”

Crookedstar blinked at the tom and then stood, “Wait here.” He turned and padded off into the stars. Acornbreeze took his moment of solitude to pace, going over everything the past RiverClan leader had told him. And, he took a moment to consider his budding relationship with Crowfeather.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He whispered to himself.

“Nothing that hasn’t been seen before,” a new voice spoke softly. Acornbreeze lifted his head and washed his eyes over a beautiful ginger tom. It didn’t take him long to figure out who Crookedstar had brought with him.

“You’re...You’re Firestar!” Acornbreeze’s eyes widened and he froze in place. Here before him, was ThunderClan’s best leader. And one of the best in the history of the clans. A kittypet turned warrior turned leader. The one who had killed Scourge, lead the clans to the lake, and ended Tigerstar’s tyrannical rule and thus ended the battle against the Dark Forest.

“Yes, young one, I am,” Firestar purred in amusement, sitting down and studying the brown-and-white warrior. “Crookedstar has told you your destiny. Now you must follow it. StarClan told me and showed me many things when I was living. Showed me pools of blood and told me horrible prophecies that needed to be fulfilled in order for the clans to live in harmony. Temporary as the harmony may be, those moments of peace are what drive clans to great strength, to prosper and grow. Now it is your time Acornbreeze, your time to make your mark.”

“Why not Hawktail? He’s stronger than I could ever hope to be,” Acornbreeze sighed.

“When the time comes, you’ll understand,” Firestar dipped his head to the warrior and then touched his muzzle to the tom’s cheek, “You’re stronger than you realize.”

Acornbreeze shot up with a shock. His stomach and flank burned with the sudden movement and an unfamiliar weight rested across his tail. He turned to see that during the night he and Crowfeather had intertwined tails and nestled closer to one another.

“If you keep moving like that, your wounds will reopen and if that happens I’ll tell the entire clan about you and Crowfeather,” Jayfeather’s sour voice called from the other side of the den. While Acornbreeze was sure that Jayfeather was joking about that last part, he didn’t want to incur the wrath of the medicine cat. Instead, he laid down next to Crowfeather and rested his head on his paws, watching the sun climb through the top of the den.

As the sun slowly began to shine down over the ThunderClan camp Acornbreeze felt Crowfeather stirring awake. The dark tom stretched his forepaws out in front of him, wincing as he irritated his shoulder wound. Acornbreeze turned his head to look at the deputy, muttering a quiet greeting and then turning back towards the camp that was slowly awakening.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the highrock for a clan meeting!” Bramblestar’s study voice echoed out across the clearing. Cats from all dens emerged from their slumbers to listen to their leader.

“Come on,” Acornbreeze nudged Crowfeather to his feet, ignoring the WindClan cat’s questioning gaze and pushing him out into the clearing. The two sat next to each other and Acornbreeze could feel some other cat’s gazes on him, not that he cared.

“It is with great happiness that I announce that Squirrelflight is expecting kits,” the ThunderClan leader held his head high with pride as yowls of congratulations echoed from the cats below him, “But with these kits, she has decided to step down from being clan deputy for an indefinite amount of time. She has made this choice herself, I am not forcing her to relieve her duties as deputy.”

Murmurs of shock weaved its way through ThunderClan. Squirrelflight had always been a noble deputy, and everyone expected her to become leader once Bramblestar lost his last life. Bramblestar silenced his clan with a flick of his tail, “And so, I must appoint a new deputy,” he paused, eyes scanning the clearing as if he was evaluating his choices one last time, “Ivypool will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”

The she-cat looked up in shock, the fur on her tail bristling slightly. She was genuinely surprised that Bramblestar had chosen her. Ivypool dipped her head towards her leader, “I promise to give my clan all that I have and I will greatly accept that honorable position.”

Bramblestar smiled and leaped down from the highrock, thus dismissing the meeting. Cats swarmed Ivypool, congratulating her and muttering about how Bramblestar had made a wise choice.

Acornbreeze purred as he watched his mentor blush. In all his time training under her, she had never shown an ounce of pride, as if she was incapable of receiving praise. “Bramblestar made an excellent choice,” Crowfeather spoke up beside the warrior.

Acornbreeze nodded in agreement and wrapped his tail around his paws as he watched Ivypool.

“Cherryfall, take Badgerpaw, Graymask, and Shellfur to patrol the ShadowClan border. Hawktail, you take Wolfshade, Skypaw, and Thornclaw to hunt, and Mousewhisker you take Bearpaw, Sparkfire, Birchfall, and Poppyfrost to the RiverClan border. Do not engage with any RiverClan warriors if you see them,” Ivypool’s voice was firm, calm. The cats before her nodded and left with their respective patrols.

Acornbreeze turned away from his former mentor and walked over to the fresh-kill pile, beckoning Crowfeather with his tail. The WindClan cat hesitated before following after him. Acornbreeze picked a mouse from the pile and sat down next to Crowfeather, handing him another mouse. “Are you sure I would be welcomed to eat?” “You fought beside us yesterday, risked your life alongside ThunderClan warriors. Eat something,” Acornbreeze laughed, brushing Crowfeather’s flank with his tail. The dark tom looked around and saw no one even giving him a second glance. He shrugged and bit into the fresh mouse, purring at the taste.

“It is rare for me to eat such rich prey,” Crowfeather admitted as he took another bite.

“The forest here is plentiful with food for us and food for our prey.”

“Must be nice.”

“But we also have the risk of foxes and badgers more so than the other clans. It does not weaken us, but we must always be vigilant,” Acornbreeze explained.

“We are lucky on the moorland to rarely see predators. I am sorry that your clan must live in fear because of them,” Crowfeather pressed his body against Acornbreeze’s. The brown-and-white tom purred softly and pressed back.

----

Several moons had passed since the battle against RiverClan. Mistystar spoke nothing of the conflict at gatherings and neither Bramblestar nor Harestar seemed to be willing to change that. Tigerstar and Leafstar remained none the wiser to the heated tension between the three other clans.

Squirrelflight had kitted, giving birth to two she-cats and a tom: Eaglekit, Honeykit, and Creekkit. Acornbreeze watched from across the clearing as Eaglekit took his first shaky steps outside the nursery. Bramblestar purred loud enough for almost every cat to hear and Alderheart and Jayfeather watched the kit with close eyes. Eaglekit had the same dark coat as Bramblestar, with distinct white and black markings that made him stand out amongst his ginger sisters.

“Cute, aren’t they?” Hawktail asked his brother, sitting next to him.

“Oh, yes, very much so,” Acornbreeze purred gently as he watched Honeykit, the most adventurous of the kits, step over her brother to run up to her father.

“Do you want kits one day?” Hawktail looked at Acornbreeze.

“Maybe one day, but it seems as though ThunderClan has more than enough kits at the moment.”

“A mate then?”

Acornbreeze flicked his ear and pondered the question. The only cat coming to mind being the handsome WindClan deputy, “Not likely,” he answered, flustered.

“Juniperbelly and I are mates,” Hawktail said as if it was nothing more than a comment on the weather.

“You and-and Juniperbelly?!” Acornbreeze leaped to his paws, looking at his brother who sat there with a dumb grin on his face.

“Yes, me and Juniperbelly. No kits anytime soon, I promise,” the larger tom laughed.

“I’m just surprised is all,” Acornbreeze said quieter. Juniperbelly had always been a shy she-cat. She always wanted to talk things through rather than resort to violence and she had been that way her whole kithood and apprenticeship. Everyone was surprised when she didn’t ask to be made into a medicine cat. But, she had proven herself a warrior on her second night of having her warrior name when she pinned down Stonewing, a formidable ShadowClan warrior, and gave him more than a few scars.

“I was too, but we kept getting sent out on patrols together and the more we talked the more we realized we almost...belonged together,” Hawktail was smiling brightly.

Acornbreeze congratulated his brother, pressing against him and nipping his ear the same way they did as kits. He only stopped when Bramblestar approached the pair. “Hawktail, I heard about you and Juniperbelly, congratulations.”

“Thank you Bramblestar,” Hawktail grinned.

“If you will excuse your brother, I need to speak with him for a moment.” “Of course,” Hawktail dipped his head and walked over to a group of warriors sharing tongues.

Acornbreeze tilted his head, “How may I assist you?”

“Jayfeather says that StarClan has spoken with you, is this true?” Bramblestar sat down across from the warrior, occasionally looking away to watch his kits.

The slender tom paused for a moment, considering his word choice carefully, “Yes. How does Jayfeather know this?” “A cat from before StarClan told him that you were part of something larger. Something that doesn’t even involve ThunderClan,” the tabby narrowed his eyes.

“I am...not sure if I am allowed to speak of what StarClan told me, but it bodes nothing ill for ThunderClan if that is what you are asking,” Acornbreeze said.

“Then who does it involve?”

Acornbreez glanced down at the ground, remembering Crookedstar’s words about him and Crowfeather. “WindClan. In a positive way.” And RiverClan...not so positive.

“Anyone in particular from WindClan?”

Acornbreeze shook his head, refusing to mention the deputy by name.

“Well, keep me informed. RiverClan is up to its old tricks again. I’ve sent a patrol to speak with Mistystar to see if this is an accident, or if she’s being deliberate in trying to provoke us.” Bramblestar’s claws dug into the dirt.

“And if she is trying to provoke us?”

“Then I won’t leave warriors in camp next time,” Bramblestar snarled.

----

Acornbreeze felt as though the whole camp was on edge. When Bramblestar’s patrol came back, Mistystar said she had been none the wiser of any border issues. That had been nearly a moon ago and while RiverClan generally remained on their side of the border, at least once a week a faint scent could be spotted on trees inside the ThunderClan territory.

Every warrior had spent the past few weeks with claws unsheathed and apprentices were getting battle-ready. Acornbreeze couldn’t help but notice Bearpaw, a large black and brown pointed tom. Even as an apprentice, he was nearly the same size as Lionblaze. If Bramblestar sent ThunderClan to attack RiverClan, this would be Bearpaw’s first battle.

Acornbreeze tried to distract himself from RiverClan by tending to the elders and playing with the new kits. He showed a keen interest in Honeykit, who always seemed to be looking for trouble. “I think I see a future mentor,” Bramblestar joked as he watched Acornbreeze toss a ball of moss at his daughter.

Before Acornbreeze could respond the pounding of paws drew him and his clan leader towards the entrance of the ThunderClan camp. Brackenpaw, a light brown WindClan apprentice, burst into the heart of the camp, “Please, help us! RiverClan has attacked our camp and it seems like Mistystar brought the whole clan with her!” The apprentice shouted, his voice layered with fear and exhaustion.

Crowfeather! Acornbreeze drew his lip back in a snarl thinking about someone harming the deputy.

Bramblestar stood in an instant, “ThunderClan warriors, to me!” he shouted as he raced after Brackenpaw. ThunderClan warriors pelted behind their leader, claws unsheathed.

Acornbreeze ran ahead of his clan, unable to help himself and for once being proud of being faster than his sturdier clan-mates. He kept pace with the apprentice, noticing the gash on his left ear.

Acornbreeze had arrived at the WindClan camp several fox-lengths before his clan and wasted no time throwing himself onto Silverpool, a pretty silver RiverClan warrior. He dug his claws ferociously into her shoulders and she yowled, rearing up off of Hootwhisker, who scrambled away. She snarled and went to roll, but Acornbreeze remembered the previous battle with RiverClan and leaped off of her.

The two cats hissed at each other, backs arched as they circled and waited for an opening. Acornbreeze barely even noticed his clan-mates joining the battle as Silverpool crashed headfirst into him and sank her teeth into his forepaw. He screeched and leaned forward, biting hard on her ear and feeling blood drip into his mouth. The she-cat dropped away from his muzzle, releasing his forepaw and shaking her head as Blazejaw tackled her from the side.

Acornbreeze looked around the clearing, searching for Crowfeather. He saw him locked in a fierce battle with Oatleap, who was using his RiverClan weight to keep the deputy down. Before Acornbreeze could help Crowfeather Podlight had attacked him from behind, raking his claws alongside Acornbreeze’s flank.

The ThunderClan warrior reacted in an instant, twisting and catching the side of Podlight’s head with a powerful blow. Podlight went crashing to the ground and struggled to get back up, as Acornbreeze pinned him and leaned back for a defeating bite. The gray tom under him pressed his hind legs into Acornbreeze’s stomach and shoved him off with impressive strength. Before the two warriors could clash once more, Bearpaw leaped down and landed hard on Podlight’s back. He sank his sharp teeth into the warrior’s neck and Acornbreeze was certain the apprentice was going to kill the warrior.

His heart soared with relief though when Bearpaw released Podlight, the RiverClan warrior stumbling away, blood pouring from his neck. The strong apprentice was blood-stained and battle-hungry, barely giving Acornbreeze a second glance as he raced back towards the battle.

“Crowfeather watch out!” A warrior called from behind the ThunderClan warrior and Acornbreeze spun around just in time to see Mistystar pin Crowfeather to the dirt floor of the WindClan camp. She hissed something in his face that Acornbreeze couldn’t hear and then slashed her claws along his dark chest.

Crowfeather yowled in pain and struggled beneath the RiverClan leader. Acornbreeze heard nothing other than the blood pumping in his ears and his heart raced in his chest. He wasted no time in sprinting over to help the handsome tom, tackling Mistystar the same he did before and pinning her to the ground.

She spat in his eye and used her loose forepaw and slash across Acornbreeze’s shoulder. When the time comes, you’ll understand. Firestar’s message rang clear in the brown-and-white tom’s ears and he glanced over at Crowfeather who was bleeding steadily from his chest. The ThunderClan warrior roared in Mistystar’s face and sank his teeth deep into her neck, nearly gagging on the blood that flowed from the inflicted wound. Mistystar flailed under Acornbreeze, her attacks on his shoulders and stomach getting weaker with each passing moment until the RiverClan leader went limp in his grasp.

Acornbreeze staggered backwards, her blood dripping from his muzzle. He waited for a moment, expecting to see Mistystar revive with more fury than before, but she remained motionless. “Mistystar is dead!” A RiverClan warrior called out from the thick of cats.

The battle stopped in an instant, RiverClan warriors suddenly wailing in grief and sticking their tails between their legs. WindClan looked proud of their ThunderClan ally. Acornbreeze couldn’t read the expression on Bramblestar’s face when he put the pieces together. It didn’t take anyone long to see that Acornbreeze had killed the leader.

Reedwhisker limped up to the tom and flattened his ears, “RiverClan will remember this,” his voice was a low hiss as he picked up Mistystar’s limp body in his jaws and took his beaten warriors out of WindClan camp.

Crowfeather pushed himself up, unable to stand, but forced himself to sit. He looked at Acornbreeze with a look of relief, his eyes fogged over with exhaustion. Kestrelflight ran over to the deputy and pressed cobwebs to the flowing chest wound, “He’ll live, he just needs to rest.” the medicine cat said.

Acornbreeze padded over to the dark tom and looked at the wound himself. “You saved my life,” Crowfeather’s voice was shaky.

“I killed a clan leader though...” Acornbreeze felt a blanket of guilt fall onto his back.

“Nothing is certain in a battle, anything can happen. For her to lead her warriors to battle with only one life left was foolish of her,” Crowfeather responded.

Acornbreeze said nothing but locked his pale blue eyes with Crowfeather’s deep river ones. The two said nothing, but both knew that they felt something tugging at them.

“ThunderClan, it is time to leave,” Bramblestar announced to his clan.

“Thank you for your aid Bramblestar. Many more lives would have been lost if it weren’t for you and your warriors. As it stands we have already lost Whiskertail, who died defending the nursery. We are allies,” Harestar paused his speech.

“Not friends,” Bramblestar dipped his head in acknowledgment and took his warriors out of camp.

Acornbreeze paused his departure to look at Crowfeather one last time and saw the deputy watching him with soft eyes. He stifled a purr and walked behind his clan.

Acornbreeze’s paws felt heavy as he entered the ThunderClan camp. Alderheart walked over to him but the warrior told him to worry about someone else and that he would live. “Acornbreeze, in my den, now.”

The brown-and-white warrior heard Bramblestar’s summoning and swallowed hard. Guilt and fear plucked at his fur as he walked into the leader’s protected den. He sat down close to the exit, awaiting the worst. Would Bramblestar exile him for killing Mistystar? Killing a warrior is supposed to be a last ditch effort and killing a clan leader was something else entirely. How could Crookedstar have wanted him to do this?

Ivypool also sat in the den, her eyes cold and betraying nothing of the conversation to come. She seemed unaffected by the death of Mistystar and waited for the clan leader to start. “You killed Mistystar,” Bramblestar began.

Acornbreeze nodded, not taking his eyes off of the cave floor.

“Why?”

He shrugged. Pure instinct had taken over his body. Seeing Crowfeather laying there, bleeding to death, Mistystar showing no signs of stopping, it hurt him and gave him the strength and rage needed to carry out the task.

“Answer your clan leader Acornbreeze,” Ivypool spoke up, her voice sharp.

“It was instinct. I didn’t even pause to think about it. It just happened,” the tom admitted.

“Why such rage?” Bramblestar continued.

Because I think I’m in love with a WindClan cat and seeing him get hurt made me blind with hatred. “I don’t know. She has caused so much aggression these past few months.” “Warriors don’t kill unless they have to.” Ivypool reminded him.

“I wasn’t born a warrior,” Acornbreeze spat. He wasn’t sure why he was so defensive all of the sudden, but this interrogation made the fur on his spine stand up, “Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a warrior at all.” Bramblestar stood and came a mere mouse-length away from Acornbreeze, “Don’t ever say that again. You are a ThunderClan warrior. We took you in and raised you. You and your brother!”

“My mother didn’t want me, and the warrior code says you can’t turn down a kit in need. You were following orders,” Acornbreeze had stood up now too.

“And I believe you were as well tonight,” Bramblestar forced his pelt to lie flat and smoothed out his voice. “Your dream from StarClan,” he paused, “It had something to do with Mistystar, didn’t it?”

Acornbreeze sat down, claws digging into the earth, but fur now resting against his back, “Yes.”

“Who did you speak to?” “Crookedstar.”

Ivypool flicked her ear.

“He was once a great leader and everyone was sad to see him go,” Bramblestar spoke fondly of the RiverClan leader, “If he willed for you to end Mistystar’s rule, then so be it.”

“He said that Mistystar had been the leader for too long and that it was Reedwhisker’s time to lead RiverClan. StarClan had sent a final blow to Mistystar, but she survived, much to the surprise of everyone. Crookedstar said that it was me who would finish off her last time, that I would know when the time was right,” Acornbreeze confessed, leaving out the part about seeing Firestar.

“When you saw Crowfeather about to die,” Ivypool posited.

“Yes.” Acornbreeze shivered.

“You care for him. Something you and Leafpool have in common. He is a wise warrior and will make a great leader of WindClan one day, but caring for him to level that you do is against the warrior code.” Bramblestar reminded the warrior.

“Mistystar was born of a ThunderClan warrior with a RiverClan father. Her adopted mother, Graypool, was RiverClan and WindClan. Firestar was a kittypet, Pinestar was a warrior who gave up his last life as a warrior to live it out as a kittypet, Graystripe has been mates with both a RiverClan cat and a kittypet. Purdy was a loner we took in. ThunderClan took in Brokenstar when he was exiled. Warriors from all clans trained with the dark forest. Cats from every clan break the warrior code, why should anyone give a rat’s tail about what I do now?” Acornbreeze snarled lowly in defense of himself.

“How did you know all of that?” Bramblestar stood there, shocked.

Acornbreeze blinked and saw a ginger shape move from behind Bramblestar and into the darkness of the cave. Firestar. “StarClan told me. Every warrior has probably broken the warrior code at least once.”

“That does not justify your actions,” Bramblestar countered.

Acornbreeze huffed and sat down, suddenly feeling like an apprentice that was just told to clean out the elder’s den. His ears flattened in embarrassment. “What now?”

“No need to sulk Acornbreeze, you are a ThunderClan cat and your loyalties must lie with ThunderClan,” Bramblestar said.

Acornbreeze curled his lip, but said nothing in return, “May I leave?” “Yes,” Bramblestar sighed.

The warrior turned and left, he walked straight out camp ignoring the stares from his fellow clanmates.

He pelted through the forest, feeling rage and guilt wash over like a flood. He found a tree on the far edge of the ThunderClan territory and leaped up, landing gracefully on a branch Acornbreeze laid down.

The branch shifting alerted him that someone or something had sat next to him. He craned his neck and saw Crookedstar staring back at him.

“You did well.” The leader praised.

“I murdered a clan leader and now my own clan leader doesn’t trust me,” Acornbreeze huffed.

“Yes, but you likely saved RiverClan’s future.”

“What about my own future?” Acornbreeze asked, his eyes drifting over to the moor.

“Crowfeather is fine young warrior, you chose well. You saved his life, that won’t be something that he or WindClan will forget,” Crookedstar meowed.

“Do I belong in WindClan?”

Crookedstar shook his head, “No. ThunderClan needs you.”

“And yet I feel drawn towards the moor.” “You are drawn towards Crowfeather, same as he is to you,” Crookedstar claimed.

“He, what?”

“He is drawn towards you Acornbreeze. Find where you heart is calling you and run towards it, not away. Your clan will understand.” Crookedstar dipped his head and then faded into the shadows.

Acornbreeze turned back towards the moor and nodded to himself. He leaped off the tree and ran into the open plains, his nose and ears searching for Crowfeather. Crowfeather was close to death the last time Acornbreeze saw him, so he was probably still in the camp.

Acornbreeze turned to head towards the WindClan camp and only slowed when the camp came into view. He crouched low and tried to see if anyone was even near the entrance. Blood was splattered all over the camp and Acornbreeze could make out the pelts of Emberfoot and Breezepelt. So Breezepelt is still with WindClan.

Acornbreeze went around to the side of the camp, downwind so hopefully they wouldn’t smell him. He also hoped that the recent battle scents would disguise him. Peering through the broken bracken he could faintly make out the medicine cat den. Acornbreeze purred softly and ran around to the backside of the medicine den. Checking his surroundings once more he went down the small slope into the den.

Acornbreeze perked his ears when he saw a large black shape sleeping in the corner of the den. “Crowfeather,” Acornbreeze whispered.

The tom groaned and turned over, blinking the sleep from his eyes, “Acornbreeze?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here?” the deputy asked, sitting up with a grunt of effort.

“I had to check on you,” Acornbreeze explained.

Crowfeather felt the tips of ears heat up, “I’m okay. Kestrelflight says I’ll live.”

“Good,” Acornbreeze pressed his muzzle to Crowfeather’s cheek. The darker tom purred.

“Crowfeather, I need to replace the dressing on you-” Kestrelfight froze when he spotted Acornbreeze “On your wound.”

The two toms looked at each other and waited for the medicine cat to say something. Kestrelflight walked over and carefully removed the cobwebs from Crowfeather’s chest, essentially ignoring the ThunderClan warrior. The deputy winced and leaned against the wall of the den when some blood began to well up on the surface again.

“Can you gather some marigold for me? It’s yellow,” the medicine cat addressed the ThunderClan warrior without ever looking away from Crowfeather.

Acornbreeze blinked in shock and then began looking along the stockpiles of herbs and roots. He quickly found the bright yellow flower and brought it over to Kestrelflight, “Chew it slowly into a poultice and then put that poultice onto Crowfeather’s chest.”

The warrior blushed at the order but began to crew the herbs carefully, trying not to swallow any of the bitter flowers. Acornbreeze spit the crewed marigold onto his paw and came closer to Crowfeather, locking eyes with the weakened deputy and placing his paw gently on his chest wound. Crowfeather winced and tried to move away from the ThunderClan warrior, only to stop himself and nod as an affirmation to continue.

Acornbreeze continued to smear the herb all along Crowfeather’s chest. He was able to feel the calm heartbeat of the deputy under his paw, and the smooth feeling of his dark fur. “That’s enough.” the medicine cat gently shoved the warrior to the side, applying a layer of cobwebs on top of the wound.

Acornbreeze sat off to the side as Kestrelflight worked on Crowfeather. “So bad news Crowfeather.”

Acornbreeze perked his ears and leaned forward. StarClan please let him be okay!

“He’ll live, don’t worry,” Kestrelflight flicked his tail across Acornbreeze’s face, “But, I can’t have you doing your deputy duties for a few weeks.”

“What? Why not?” Crowfeather snarled.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood and can barely sit up. You are in no position to be leading patrols or organizing anything. Harestar has already been informed of this and called a clan meeting while you were asleep. While you recover Flinthaze will take over your duties. Once you have recovered, and only once that happens, you will be returned to your deputy status. Harestar lost a life during the battle against RiverClan. He has five left.” Kestrelflight spoke freely, almost like there wasn’t a ThunderClan warrior in his den.

Crowfeather’s eyes narrowed and he let out a hiss of frustration. “Fox-hearted RiverClan warriors. I should flay every one of them!”

“And you can, in a few weeks time. You must let your chest heal.” Kestrelflight said softly, “As for Acornbreeze, why are you here?”

“To check on Crowfeather,” he didn’t even bother lying.

“Like a mate would do.”

Acornbreeze blushed heavily and flicked his tail, “I uh, no?”

Crowfeather looked at the ThunderClan warrior and blinked slowly. “Kinda?” Crowfeather posited.

“Seems that you two have some things to talk about,” Kestrelflight meowed, “I will tell no one about you being here,” he said as he left his den.

Acornbreeze looked at Crowfeather, waiting for the dark tom to do something.

“I’m glad you came to visit me,” Crowfeather admitted, locking eyes with the ThunderClan warrior.

“I just...I had to know you were going to be okay,” Acornbreeze breathed out, coming closer to the WindClan warrior and pressing his nose to Crowfeather’s cheek. Crowfeather pressed back against him, rubbing his cheek against Acornbreeze’s. The two purred together.

“Nightcloud will be mad if she sees this,” Crowfeather said half-jokingly.

“She’s always mad,” Acornbreeze said, remembering the black she-cat from gatherings.

Crowfeather laughed and then coughed, bending over in pain.

“Hey, don’t strain yourself,” Acornbreeze fretted, helping Crowfeather upright and licking between his ears, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“We’re not just friends are we?”

Acornbreeze hesitated, thinking over what both Crookedstar and Bramblestar had said to him. “No, I don’t think we are.”

“You’re a ThunderClan warrior though,” Crowfeather sighed.

“And you’re WindClan,” Acornbreeze added, laying his tail on top of Crowfeather’s.

“How could this ever work?” Crowfeather asked, pressing closer to the brown-and-white tom.

“I’m sure Bramblestar would take you in. You’re a loyal warrior, fierce and intelligent,” Acornbreeze supplied.

“I’m a loyal WindClan warrior though. Bramblestar isn’t Firestar,” Crowfeather said, dejected.

Acornbreeze wasn’t sure what to say. His heart felt like it belonged with Crowfeather and he felt safe next to the dark tom. He rested his head on Crowfeather’s shoulder, silent. Crowfeather understood and licked the back of Acornbreeze’s head comfortingly. “We’ll find a way. One way or the other, I will be with you Acornbreeze.”

Acornbreeze purred in response, intertwining their tails and laying down next to the injured warrior, “Love will always find a way.”

#guess who's still warriors trash #its me #i am #i can't believe i wrote this #warrior cats #monster writes #my story #my writing #my ocs #acornbreeze #crowfeather

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bramblemask973 · 6 years

Text

Power of the Clans - Prologue

Fire... Fire..! Fire! FIRE! Kin and kin will drown the forest in blood. Lives will be lost to the claws of battle. Fire alone will save the Clan when kin is no more. Fire alone will save the Clan when kin is no more! A Warrior Cats AU where the Clans have powers and the Fire Alone prophecy means a little more than it lets on.

AO3 link FF.Net link

Proofreading? What's that?

Welcome to Power of the Clans! A WIP self indulgent Warriors AU where each Clan has its own power and the Fire Alone prophecy has a different meaning. SkyClan has wings, ShadowClan uses shadows as portals, ThunderClan controls lightning, WindClan controls air and RiverClan controls water.

If you notice any typos or hard to read sentences, please let me know! ~Jeli

The sun was nearing the end of its reign in the sky when they finally reached the outskirts of the forest. A light breeze shuffled the leaves in the canopy above, and the distant sound of birdsong made the air seem that much lighter. The first steps onto the sun-warmed grass brought a new energy to her aching muscles. Home, again. Finally. It had felt like such a long journey, and though they’d only been gone overnight, it felt like days.

The newly appointed Spottedstar padded onto the rocks at the top of the gorge, bounding down from them onto the path below. Shaking out her tortoiseshell fur and taking a quick moment to note the cats at the riverside, she looked back up over her shoulder to make sure her companion followed. Duskfeather had travelled with her overnight, and hadn’t left her side for a single moment. He was the best cat she could have taken with her on the journey to the Moonstone. The tom leaped down onto the rock beside her just as a greeting came from above, drawing Spottedstar’s attention.

“Spottedmask! Duskfeather! You’re back!”

Daypaw rushed to the edge of the gorge, nearly taking herself off of it as she flared her wings to stop. Crouching on the lip of the rock, her tail puffed up, flicking with excitement. The cream tabby grinned as she looked down at them, amber eyes wide.

“Or are you Spottedstar now?”

“That’s right.” Spottedstar purred, tucking her wings close to her sides to give Duskfeather room to stand beside her. Duskfeather’s green eyes gleamed warmly as he raised his tail in greeting to his apprentice. Daypaw’s grin only widened and a mischievous look crossed over her face for a moment as she opened her wings and straightened up.

“Awesome.”

Almost immediately, Daypaw leaped past them onto the Rockpile and then down to the riverside, nearly flattening Dustface in the process. Spottedstar shared an amused look with Duskfeather before she turned and headed down the path deeper into the camp. Many moons of paws had travelled this path, wearing it down into the rock to make a safe passage for cats of all ages from the pit of the gorge to the top. She’d walked it many times from her kithood to last night, but now it felt different. New.

She didn’t have much time to think about it. Daypaw’s yowling had gained the attention of the rest of the Clan, and faces were peeking out of dens and appearing from behind the gorge rocks. A ginger tabby queen, Redleaf, peered out from the nursery, the sounds of barely born kits crying behind her. Her brother Cardinalfur sat beside the fresh kill pile at the bottom of the gorge, his tabby markings mirroring hers despite his darker fur, wings folded neatly over his back. His feathers weren’t quite as neat – the hint of green spattered here and there from the herbs he stashed in between them made his feathers appear ruffled and unkempt, despite being the cleanest in the Clan.

Feeling pride burn in her chest, Spottedstar glanced around, taking in the rest of the Clan. Shadefur had just landed, a fresh mouse clamped in her jaws. Behind her was Fangwisp, the newest warrior, licking his lips to clear the drops of river water from his mouth. Speckleheart appeared around the corner, three mice hanging by their tails from her teeth, her silver pelt dusty and ruffled. As Spottedstar reached the Rockpile and leaped up onto it, Dustface had Daypaw pinned, the apprentice squirming her protest.

SkyClan. Her Clan.

Heart beating in her chest like a woodpecker on bark, Spottedstar flared her wings as she stood tall, pulling breath in for a yowl.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Rockpile for a Clan meeting!”

A shiver went through her spine to the tip of her tail, and for once she was glad for her long fur to hide the fact that it was beginning to prick up along her back. She had dreamt for moons about being able speak those words, and it sent chills through her body to finally do so. She really was leader, and there was no turning back.

Her call had drawn out the remaining cats from their dens. Dustface finally moved off of Daypaw and nudged her to get up and sit properly. Cardinalfur jumped up onto one of the lower rocks of the Rockpile. Shadefur sat down between Duskfeather and Fangwisp. Redleaf took a glance back inside the nursery before she sat in its entrance, not willing to leave the kits. That was fine. Spottedstar didn’t expect her to, not after only giving birth last night. She was glad to see the queen was strong and safe, and the kits sounded the same.

Forcing her nervousness down, Spottedstar let her tail flick as she took in the faces of the Clan. Her Clan. They all trusted her, looked up to her to guide them, to keep them safe. Was she ready for this? Probably not. But she wasn’t alone. She had all of them.

“Cats of SkyClan,” Spottedstar began, pausing for a moment to swallow the rising dread in her throat. “As the Sun begins her descent and the Moon rises, we mourn Hawkstar as he travels with them on his way to StarClan. He was a fierce and devoted leader, and we will honor him in the stories we tell to our kits, and generations on. Hawkstar!”

The cats immediately raised their muzzles to the sky, calling out the old leader’s name to the sunset. A bittersweet pain started in her belly as she watched them. Hawkstar had passed the day before from an old infection that never healed properly, fighting for every breath. He had lived a good long life, though, and was an old cat when he died. Spottedstar lifted her eyes to the sky, letting the Clan chant his name until they faded back into silence of their own accord.

“StarClan has granted me their blessing and my nine lives so that I may continue in Hawkstar’s place as leader of SkyClan.” Wings tucked close to her sides, Spottedstar turned her gaze back onto the cats below. “I offer you all nine of them as I ask for your loyalty and your trust. I pray that StarClan can guide my paws to bring us to greater heights, so that SkyClan may thrive long after I have given all of my lives to its service.”

It was then that the Clan erupted into their own cheering, this time of her new name. Spottedstar’s worries suddenly vanished like the wind, warmth spreading over her fur again. They accepted her. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if they hadn’t. A few moments and then she stretched a wing for silence, finally able to do what she’d wanted since arriving back at home.

“But I cannot do it alone,” Spottedstar purred, pulling herself to her full height and looking up at the sky. “I, Spottedstar, leader of SkyClan, say these words below StarClan and Hawkstar, so that they may hear and approve of my choice. Duskfeather will be the new deputy of SkyClan.”

The Clan burst into cheers and purrs, Daypaw nearly leaping out of her skin as she howled her mentor’s name. Duskfeather just looked stunned, his eyes wide and fur rising along his spine. He stumbled as Shadefur gave him a shove with her head that nearly pushed him off of his feet, but quickly recovered, padding towards the Rockpile and climbing up beside Cardinalfur. The medicine cat grinned and touched his tail to his friend’s.

Finally the meeting was over. Spottedstar leaped down from the Rockpile, blinking as the Clan swarmed around her, offering kind words and purrs. It took a bit for them to disperse, but she made her way over to her new deputy and the medicine cat beside him. Cardinalfur stood up and grinned, giving her a friendly lick between the ears before stepping back.

“Congratulations! I knew you’d do great. I hope it wasn’t too disrespectful that I couldn’t go.”

“Dawnstep didn’t mind. She knew you had to worry about Redleaf,” Spottedstar smiled. “I’m glad the kitting went well. Redleaf seems alright.”

“After the first scare, it didn’t go too badly. She’s still nervous, though. It’s her first litter, so I told the Clan to leave her be for a few days. That goes for you as well, leader or not.”

“I’ll leave her be. I can speak with her later.” Spottedstar sat down beside them, suddenly exhausted. Now that the exhilaration of the day was over, the length of the journey caught up with her. Duskfeather shifted a bit closer, nudging her shoulder.

“If you’re going to the Gathering, you should get some rest. You haven’t slept since the Moonstone.”

“I’ll rest, its fine. I’m going to lose a life from being tired.” Spottedstar stood up and turned towards her den, but then glanced back up to Cardinalfur as Duskfeather nodded and walked away. He seemed lost in thought, eyes staring into the nursery. Following his gaze, Spottedstar froze. A soft glow was coming from inside the nursery, flickering like firelight. She blinked, and the glow was gone. Just the stone wall from before. Fur prickling along her spine, Spottedstar stood up again and shook her head. Maybe she was more tired than she thought.

“Get some sleep, Spottedstar. I feel like we have a long night ahead of us.” Cardinalfur whispered, giving her a strange glance before he turned away and headed for his den. Spottedstar watched him go, her tail flicking. Her first day as leader wasn’t even over yet, and he was already giving her strange cryptic messages.

Perhaps they both just needed to sleep.

***

The Gathering was going well. Brackenstar of ThunderClan and Sharpstar of ShadowClan had both welcomed her graciously, while Creekstar, RiverClan’s leader, offered some kind words in Hawkstar’s passing. Dewstar hadn’t come up to the Great Rock yet, but she was on her way. The view from here was brilliant. Spottedstar couldn’t help but flutter her wings to get some of the tension out of them. She could see every cat from here, which means every cat could see her.

Duskfeather seemed to be settling well with the other deputies. Sootcloud, ShadowClan’s deputy, was sitting beside him. By the looks of it, they were swapping stories, and looking quite comfortable. Cardinalfur was picking herbs from his feathers to give to the WindClan medicine cat, a ginger tabby named Ivyclaw, who had brought some of his own to trade. Everything seemed peaceful. Quiet.

This is how it should be. Peace among us for moons. How long could it last?

Spottedstar shifted over to let Dewstar leap up beside them, and a quick nod to Sharpstar let him know the Gathering could start. The ShadowClan leader let out a yowl for silence, waited a moment for the Clans to settle down, before he began to share his news.

Everything was going quietly for a while and it was Spottedstar’s turn to speak all too quickly. She gulped as Brackenstar shifted out of the way for her to step up, and as she did, a sudden harsh wind cut through the calm air of Four Trees. Stumbling, Spottedstar steadied herself and glanced down to the cats below, before her spine prickled and every muscle in her body stiffened. Every cat in the clearing went silent as the other leaders and medicine cats did the same. Nobody dared speak to break the silence, the wind picking up and clouds beginning to billow overhead.

Suddenly it wasn’t wind anymore. Voices, a dozen ghostly voices blew around the Clans, in every cat’s ears. From the smallest apprentice to the oldest elder to all of the leaders, every single cat’s fur prickled as the word of StarClan burst into their ears.

Fire…

Was StarClan taking back their blessing? Surely they wouldn’t do so now, in front of all of the Clans. Spottedstar looked frantically down to the cats, eyes widening as she caught sight of the glow again. The same glow from the nursery, the same firelight, except this time it was coming from the belly of a RiverClan queen.

Fire…!

The orange markings of a ShadowClan tortoiseshell warrior flickered.

Fire!

A WindClan apprentice’s eyes burst into flame.

FIRE!

A ThunderClan warrior’s tail swished anxiously, a blaze following in its trail.

And StarClan screamed.

Kin and kin and kin will drown the forest in blood. Lives will be lost to the claws of battle. Fire alone will save the Clan when kin is no more.

Fire alone will save the Clan when kin is no more!

#Warriors #Warrior Cats #Warrior cats AU #warrior cats power au #power of the clans

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polandspringz · 5 years

Note

“I- I can’t see! I can’t see anything!” With rat hunters?

Fun fact: I had a dream that inspired the plot of this, and the prompt just happened to work for it. Also, I didn’t beta this at all so I pray that it doesn’t have any really bad typos.

“We are sure to get discovered like this-!”

I was shoved forward abruptly, and my eyes snapped open, shocked by the sudden golden light that filled them. A polished white marble floor, heavy roman columns stretching up to the high dome shaped ceiling, I could see figures dancing between them, their bodies oversaturated in light but their movement just flashing by. One large chandelier extended down from the heaven that was the plaster ceiling above us, painted with angels and men alike. Music wafted throughout the room, harmonizing with the chit-chat and the clink of glasses and dishes.

As I squinted further up at the ceiling, everything slowly unfurled as I spotted the red paint that had been swirled over the faces of the humanoid figures. The chit-chat sounded more like squeaks and cheeps than voices of different tones intermingling, and the dancers entered the shadows of the columns enough that I could see their fur and their feral appearance. Although some of them were adorned with jewelry, the fact was still undeniable. I looked towards the orchestra.

I shivered as I spotted Rat King Cora on the steps beside the musicians. Humans that were likely forced into this very job, as their music was good, but lacked obvious heart and the craft you would normally hear. But, as I looked further up the cream colored staircase, my eyes widened.

“Ratmilian?”

“Poland, what are you doing?” I heard Vince mutter, and saw him standing beside a large buffet table to the left and back of me.

“It’s alright, I’ll talk to her-” The voice of Lab was cut off by a grumble, a suppressed growl, and then I saw Sals running up to me, fully dressed in their top hat and monocle.

“Sals?! Where am I? What’s going on?” I pressed my hands into her fur, holding on as a lifeline as I saw the big rat figures waltz around me. They seemed to be getting closer, and with every circle they made around the ballroom, I swore they were pushing me further back into the grand doors.

“We are going to attack Ratmilian tonight, don’t you remember?” I heard my sister say through our psychic link, and by the severity of her words, I knew why she was choosing it over her normal speak. If she said this outloud, it may be nothing more than growls to us, but the rats would hear her loud and clear.

“No, when was this agreed upon?!”

“Shh!” Vince shouted from the table. He gestured angrily towards the stairs again, “Rattul is in position.”

I was too distracted by the behind me opening up suddenly, and I almost fell backwards and through them with a shriek if it wasn’t for two arms covered in suede catching my fall. I was thrown back towards Sals, and saw Ratdito Chase sauntering in, Ratpacito seated on his shoulder. He had got out his formal cowboy wear for the occasion, or so it would seem.

“Saddle up boys, it’s time us ratslingers to wrangle up some rodents.”

With a tip of his hat and a flick of his wrist, his gun left its holster and spun into place in his hand. His gaze flickered to the stairs, and everyone seemed to follow as they took up a formation behind me. Rattul, normally always seen beside Rat King Cora, was just barely visible, a small squid swirling near the top stairs edge, approaching Emperor Ratmilian.

“You ready for this?” Someone asked me, but before I could turn my head and see who, I was overwhelmed by a flash of images.

Rattul would transform and move to strike the Emperor. The rest of us would charge forward and start firing indiscriminately. We wouldn’t be prepared for the rats rushing at Rattul, nor the number now swarming to the mass of Cora, swelling as they stomped towards us, a malicious glint in his eye.

Blood. A fallen cowboy hat, a broken dinner platter. A gored bear. Two figures with charred coats caked in blood. A robotic head sparking and laying separate from the body that was now being torn apart before my very eyes.

“What?” I gasped airily as the images ended, and no one seemed to hear me, because they all stepped forward once more. I took a step back, and walked into the darkness on the other side of the threshold. What did all of that mean-

“Here we go.”

My eyes widened in horror as I saw Rattul’s inkling form sprout from her small squid covered body, and she cocked her weapon directly at the Emperor’s head. Sals let out a roar, Ratdito a holler, and the rest of them a shout as they charged forward into battle.

Rattul fired, and the story from my mind was set in motion. The only battle cry I could muster was a tearful shriek of-

“Wait!”

I shot forward, sitting up and scrambling out of the blankets on my bed. My feet were entangled up and I fell on my elbow, my one hand extended as the adrenaline kept the image of my friends running forward just out of my reach. As the darkness of my bedroom came to pass and was processed by my eyes and brain, I crumpled, curling into a heap on the bed. I heard some shuffles, and then felt something wet nudge my arm.

Sals’ nose was tapping me. I hadn’t even noticed I was crying, but my body was racketed by soft sobs and as I sat up to look at my sister, every breath left my back aching as my stomach was sucked in and my rib cage rising rapidly. I could seem to stop or articulate, so she climbed up onto the bed and wrapped herself around me.

“Bad dream?”

“Yes, yes… very bad…” was all I could manage. As I pressed myself into her fur, I leaned my cheek against her back and tried to mimic her gentle breathing pattern. My cheek resting on her back, my arms looped around her as best as I could, and I followed each expansion and contraction as I tried to suppress the all too real imagery that I was still reeling from, “It was so bad… It was as if…”

Just as I was starting to calm down, a sharp pain went through the bone above my eye, and I felt a migraine coming on. I was going down.

“Ow, ow, ow… Ugh… Sals, what’s happening to me?”

“Do you have a fever?” She went to reach up and touch my forehead with her massive paw, but thought better of it, and settled them into her lap, “Alas, my body always runs a little bit hotter now, so I cannot check. Maybe Vince or Chase would know what to do?”

“No, I don’t want to wake them up right now,” I applied pressure to my left eye, and waved away Sals and what I hoped were her worries with my right hand, “Besides, I still don’t trust Ratdito, or Rattul for that manner. They’re too… new.”

Despite whatever my dream had shown me, I knew from Ratdito’s behavior that he was too wild, and it was less that I was worried about him exploiting whatever ill-state I was in and telling Cora and more that I was fearful of him feeding me something poisonous all for the sake of causing a mess amongst our ranks. Rattul, while she was reliable, to get to her I would have to go near Cora, and at this time of night I didn’t want to disturb either of them.

And, our mission as of late had been to take out Cora, not Ratmilian, so why did my dream show me-

“Do you want me to take you to Lab then? Or we can have Ratchard and Pigeonbach pass on the message and he can-”

“Sals,” I said, exasperation taking over as I slid off the bed, “I want to go on a hunt.”

“Now? With who? I thought you didn’t want to wake anyone up?”

“We won’t be waking anyone up. Just us, Sals.” I walked over to the one dresser in the room and changed, shoving my feet into my boots and slinging my cape around my shoulders, my glasses went on my face last. I glanced at the tip of the fountain pen on my desk, glistening in the moonlight from one of the high windows, “We should stop in the armory first. I’ll need something small, even a knife will do.”

I barely waited for her after that. I marched out of the room and began to trek down the hall. As a prisoner, I probably should have been more cautious of guards spotting me, but I couldn’t care less with the state of mind I was in.

I needed to take my confusion out on something, and running it Rat King Cora’s suite and charging him without any backup didn’t seem too smart.

“Sals, watch out!” I shouted orders as my sister mauled several large street rats in our usual alley. Even though I had picked up a small gun, I was still sticking towards the entrance of the small passageway, only moving in when I needed to scoop up the bodies that Sals defeated. Lab wanted more rats, and I am sure he would be happy we got some, even if we did a hunt without his permission.

Pigeonbach flitted about above in the air, keeping an eye on Ratchard as he scampered through the chaos, trying to find his way back to me. I hated having to send out our friends as lures, but after several successful hunts, it was harder and harder to find some bad rats hanging out late at night, as many wanted to keep their lives and let police handle it. Ratchard and the others new all the hideouts, and were able to trick groups and gangs into following him out so we could get our fill of bloodspill.

Sals heard me and jumped aside, just in time to avoid a strike from a rather large rat with crooked yellow teeth. It wasn’t often we got big ones, but Lab was always happy when we did. This must be the leader then, I thought as I decided that this would be a good time for me to strike.

“Sals, I’ll get him-!” I dashed forward, pulling my gun from out of my belt, skidding to a stop just in front of my sister and with two determined hands, I raised it and aimed straight at its chin.

Cora- no, Ratmilian stormed towards me, stepping onto Lab’s broken body and charged me. I turned and ran down the corridor, but was met by a dead end, a locked door. His enormous figure was illuminated by the yellow light of the ballroom, a black shadow in the doorway as he loomed closer.

“You did this.” None of the rats had ever spoken before, but Ratmilian’s voice was deep and raspy, a hiss full of malice and was made of a million squeaks spoken at once.

“I didn’t- what are you- What’s happening- ARGH!”

I dropped the gun and raised both hands to my eyes, stumbling backwards. There was a slash of movement in front of me, and then I felt the force of a mighty clawed paw slamming into my side, and I was thrown roughly into the concrete wall of the building’s side. My head smacked backwards, and I felt some of the stone break under my impact. A few ribs groaned as my abdomen began to throb and my knees gave out. My arms fell limply to my sides as I tried to look on, but red was quickly bleeding into my sight.

Sals had thrown me out of the way, knocking me aside just before the rat leader could get his mouth around my head, and she was currently grappling with his attack meant for me. I could hear Pigeonbach squawking above, and saw their little red form circling frantically. All around us, smaller rats lay still like scattered confetti. One gray figure dashed like a paint smear on space up towards me, and settled on my chest. I saw the glow of a little golden crown and the dirt covering his cape.

“Ratchard, what’s- what’s going on?” I tried to reach up and offer him some comfort. He looked pretty beat up, it must have taken him a lot to escape the clutches of the other ranks once they realized it was a trap. I folded my hands over his form and scooped him up, planting a quick kiss to his face before I set him down on the ground next to me. My eyes were still throbbing, “Sorry, I can’t really think right now.”

Sals managed to throw the rat backwards, flipping him so he sailed into the ground. They climbed on top and began to mercilessly attack, but not before sending another message to me.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

As if on cue, my vision went completely black, but a wave of red hot pain shot across my temple. I let out a scream and fell over, and I could hear Ratchard squeaking in panic as they jumped away from my form.

“I- I can’t see! I can’t see anything! Sals, I don’t- hnngh- Sals, I’m blind… I’m blind!”

A growl that was both verbal and passed through our link, then, “What did you do to her??!!!”

I pressed my hands harder into my sockets, now kicking and thrashing as the pain was dialed up, and I could feel it spreading all over me. I could feel Ratmilian, his claws sinking into my flesh, tearing apart each muscle, the little rats that made up his arm and hands chewing at my bone, my throat clamped down on before the pain turned to white and I could feel everything separating, my mind slowly fading-

A new rush of adrenaline kicked my body into action, and suddenly I was pushing up onto my hands, my head turned towards the noise of the battle. My mouth moved involuntarily, and with a single second passing, I screamed.

I heard the breaking of glasses and felt something clatter and crinkle in front of me. There was a high pitched ringing sound that continued to clang for thirty seconds before it faded, and as it faded the dark, dinghy colors of the alley seemed to swallow the white and chase it back to the center of my vision. Everything closed up and then I was left staring at the debris that remained.

Ratchard had dodged in time, so no glass had hit him, but I slowly took off my broken glasses, shaking hands trying not to drop them as I stared at the hollow frames. I could see a white trail of smoke rising into the sky, and Sals was standing a few ways back, likely having jumped away the moment the heat had touched her. Tucking the glasses into my pocket, I scooped up Ratchard and forced myself to my feet, stumbling towards the gun which I had dropped. As I stooped down to pick it up, I heard the shifting of Sals and felt the waves of discomfort flowing into me.

“Poland… You just vaporized-”

“I know.” I tried to keep my voice steady as I tucked the gun into my belt again, making sure the safety was on, and my other hand steadying Ratchard on my shoulder.

“You know? What do you mean you know? How long have you-”

“Sals… Please, I…” I took one last glance at the darkened spot where the large rat had been. We needed to collect the smaller, fallen rats, but I didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Lab would be sorry, but, a small voice in the back of my head told me that maybe, no matter what his goals were, he would understand that the health of his fellow hunters were more important. He called a few retreats himself, didn’t he? Surely he would understand, especially after…

“I need to tell Lab something… No, I need to tell the team something.”

As I hobbled out of the alley, Sals came up and nuzzled me onto her back. I decided to take her up on the offer, and latched my hands into her soft fur, and shut my eyes.

#ask poland #writing #rat hunters #ask prompt #my writing

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shipperbelle · 6 years

Text

Second rewatch of the Timeless done... can finally form complete sentences...

Before I begin, this is my blog which means it’s filled with my perspectives and opinions. So there’s that... Second note- my cat is being super lovey right now so if there are typos it'll be in large part because her paws or butt hit the keyboard... anyway on to my venting session:

Firstly, THAT FINALE WAS A PRIME EXAMPLE OF HOW A SHOW SHOULD FINALE! Every. Single. Thing. was ON POINT!

Harriet Tubman was an absolute gem. I literally have never heard half of the story they told on her, and I feel so happy that I learned more about this amazing woman. The second half, although not focusing on a historical figure, really highlighted the mistreatment of the Chinese and was extremely interesting. These writers know how to tell a story!

On to the good parts...the characters!

-Lyatt:

These babies have been slaughtering my feels since the pilot episode. There is so much chemistry between Matt and Abigail it’s almost painful. Like seriously. They just stand in the same room and its fire. Now. Wyatt has been battling a hard impossible situation since Hollywoodland. Honestly y'all. We learned Jessica was not only his wife, that he grieved for for six years, but also his high school sweetheart. That is a long history for any couple, even a couple whose relationship is as toxic as theirs, which makes the whole “he should've just broken up with her” argument so invalid. His decisions do not mean he doesn't love Lucy, nor does it mean that he's “too little too late”. Lucy got hurt. That much was unavoidable, but does that mean theres no going forward. HELL NO. If anything that pain will create a stronger bond, because almost losing Lucy for good is a hell of a motivator for Wyatt to do some hardcore groveling. But is she open to it?

That hug! That beautiful, glorious, and emotional supportive hug speaks soooooo much more than words. Her face when Wyatt FINALLY drops those three big words we've been begging him to say... and umm hello! Future Lyatt! Yea... I'm pretty positive she's more than open to some groveling from Wyatt and some amazing times with Wyatt.

People seem to be so hung up on Wyatt being jealous and possessive, which apparently is a bigger sin than actively trying to harm/kill, but lets think about this for a second. Wyatt is a man. And sorry, but men are not known for handling intense emotions particularly well. He's so torn between what he should do and what he wants, finding out his wife isn’t what he remembers is his wife, and is confronted with the reality that his relationship with Lucy is basically changed dramatically. Thats a hell of a lot for anyone to handle. So yea, does he lash out in ways that seem abhorrent? Obviously. Is it right? Hell no. Is it something that should cause us to pick up our torches and pitchforks? Well thats up to you, but honestly in the grand scheme of the show? No.

I’m hoping like all hell that we get a season 3 because after all this angst I am so ready to see some smooth sailing.

-Flynn:

Let’s not get it twisted. I do really love Flynn. I like the dynamic he brings to the show. I love how his character plays with the others. He’s a great addition to this season. However, no I don’t play into the idea of romantic g*rcy. Platonically speaking, it’s great. They both understand each other because of shared loss and can be someone the other can turn to. But I both don’t see it romantic, and hope like hell it never becomes romantic because:

-He literally put his hands around her throat and choked her! Threw her around like a rag doll. Held her at gunpoint. Shot at her. Kidnapped her. Etc,

Many people excuse this away because “he had his reasons” or “but he didn't actually kill her”. Ya no... sorry not ok. Ever. Reasons being he was grieving over his wife, or trying like hell to get her back... umm but he had the journal saying they would eventually work together which means he still went out of his way to harm Lucy.

Also... I’m over love triangles (and it would be a triangle because Lyatt has been building since the pilot and is so unresolved) and I really think at some point Lorena and his daughter will come back into play. (which would repeat this seasons dramatic storyline).

Riya:

SAVE RUFUS!!! These two absolutely killed it. Jiya became an absolute badass and it was great. Her scene with Mason at the end broke my soul a little bit... and I'm still not ok about Rufus (ill have to expel those feels a little later)

Random Thoughts:

For awhile I was so frustrated with how long the Jessica storyline was being dragged out. It seemed like something that should've taken maybe 3 episodes max to resolve. However, it now makes a little more sense. They had to keep her around to the finale because I truly think that next season Emma and Jessica will become the “big bads” of the season. She obviously has a deep history with Rittenhouse (as does Emma) and now there is no clear leader, which means either they work together or we’ll see Emma v. Jessica. Ok... I see you writers.

-She was drinking at least twice. Theres no way she could've known she was pregnant because it'd be super early (math is our friend), and I doubt there are sensitive early pregnancy tests laying around the bunker... She so not pregnant. She’s a LIAR!

-Emma- HOLY SHIT! I felt for her a lil in the Suffragette episode and thought (as most of us did) that perhaps she was coming around.. but NOPE. She went full on murderous megalomaniac crazy!

#timeless #nbc timeless #lyatt #Wyatt logan #I had so many feelings #still have so many feelings #seriously tho we need at least 5 more seasons #save rufus

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jonsa-creatives · 7 years

Note

Prompt! Jon & Sansa have married for political reasons. After the war, Sansa starts to become frustrated with Jon bc he won't do the do with her even tho he'll hold her in his arms & cuddle, etc. So one night she confronts him & tells him she'll take a lover if he won't make their marriage true. Jon gets protective of her & growly & telling her she's his & only his and starts touching her & they make love in the dirtiest best way possible. Basically Dom!Jon restraining himself until he can't

Hi Anon!

I am liking all the dom!Jon prompts coming our way and I can’t say I’m not tempted! But well, here I am filling another dom!Jon prompt we all love so much LOL so I hope you like this one Anon!

Unbeta’d so pardon the mistakes and typos if any!

Rated E for explicit.

Mood music inspired by Bad Things by Machine Gun Kelly ft Camila Cabello

~ Mod Elle

My Undoing

The wedding was all a blur as Sansa was in a daze for the most part. There wasn’t even a kiss between the both of them as Jon cloaked her with his white as snow fur cloak, one that he had commissioned for their nuptials. Next thing she knew, they were both seated side by side, watching their guests eat and drink merrily as the food and wine kept coming.

Sansa could only manage a few bites and took a few sips of the wine that was so generously gifted by King Tyrion from Kings Landing. She liked how it tasted and she understood why kings and queens drank so much. Perhaps a little more would numb her to what was coming next.

As if they read her mind, loud chants of ‘bedding!’ rose within the halls and had reached a level so deafening that Sansa wanted to run away and hide. Her tears flowed freely and Sansa wiped them away hastily, hoping no one noticed.

“No. There will be no bedding ceremony, my lords. Thank you for joining us and we hoped that you enjoyed the food and wine. Now, if you don’t mind, I think Lady Stark would like to retire for the night. I am sure she is tired,” Jon spoke and addressed for the loud chanting to stop. Sansa was relieved and smiled at her new husband as he held out his hand to her. He had become a stranger to her now, after his return from the war. Battle weary, scarred and no longer a bastard, this Jon was very much a stranger to her. He even spoke differently now. Sansa wasn’t quite sure she was entirely comfortable with it.

“Thank you. I was getting quite tired. I suppose I will see you.. soon?” Sansa thanked him as she stood up to leave. Jon nodded and turned his attention to the lords who were getting increasingly rowdy. Perhaps it was time for all to retire for the night. Jon had barely any energy nor the patience to spare in dealing with drunken lords eager to paw at his new bride.

Sansa settled in underneath the furs and clutched tightly at the waist of her smallclothes. She was a bundle of nerves as memories of her previous wedding night with Ramsay flashed in her mind.

No, Jon would never do that. He isn’t Ramsay.

The doors creaked opened and Sansa sat up, ready to greet Jon when he entered, smoothing her hair to make sure every strand was in place. she may look every bit a wife but she could not deny she still wasn’t ready for it. To be bedded by her cousin, now turned husband. The new Lord of Winterfell.

It was a marriage alliance suggested by Tyrion when news of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret marriage was made public throughout the seven kingdoms and how the baby boy that was born out of that marriage came down to Jon. He wasn’t a bastard after all.

Despite his new status, Jon had refused to rule as a Targaryen, constantly reminding Tyrion that he would always be a Northener, inside and out. Though the Northern lords weren’t too happy to receive him as such. The only way to appease them was a promise. A promise that they will no longer be subjected to Southern subjugation.

“There is a way.”

“And what would that be? The North would never have me near their kingdom,” Jon sighed as he sat with Tyrion and his small council. How he yearned to return home. Life in the South was not suited for him.

“The North won’t revolt if you were tied to house Stark. If Sansa was that link,” Tyrion suggested as he took a big gulp of wine from his half filled goblet. Jon stared at him and turned to Varys, who nodded in approval.

“Sansa? She will never have me! We were siblings-”

“Ah yes, but now you’re not are you? You weren’t even close, last I heard when Sansa once talked about her family while she was here at Kings Landing,” Tyrion continued as he pointed to Jon as if making a point.

“Well, cousin marriages are accepted and very common, my Lord. It would take some getting used to-”

“I can’t do that with Sansa! I can’t do it to her! After all she has been through, I just can’t,” Jon shook his head in adamant refusal.

“Well then, in that case, prepare for another civil war. After what D@enarys had accomplished since the Battle of the Dark Winter, they seek reparations for all that damage, all that hurt. My Lord. It is your choice, still. Marry Sansa or fight another useless senseless war. And this time, whose side will you be on?” Varys spoke and Jon winced as the truth of his words stung him. He was right.

“Send a raven. I’ll return to Winterfell in a fortnight.”

Tyrion smiled as he held up his goblet to Jon. “Send me an invitation, Jon Snow. Or is it Jon Targaryen?”

Jon smiled as he entered and saw an attentive Sansa sitting on their marital bed. She looked exquisite and every bit a princess, with her long copper locks falling softly down her shoulders and her silky robe that covered the smallclothes he was expected to tear off her. Jon turned away as he removed his cloak and doublet, undressing for bed. Tonight was going give him little rest and sleep, even though he was exhausted enough from earlier that day.

“Jon.. I could.. If you wanted to..” Sansa softly spoke, fingers in her hair twisting her locks nervously. It made her look even more beautiful than she already was. There was something about a shy and sweet Sansa that made his loins stir. Jon couldn’t deny that it wasn’t the first time he felt that way about Sansa. He had always felt that way about her, ever since they reunited at Castle Black years ago. Jon had those feelings deeply suppressed, in light of how inappropriate and forbidden it was, feeling that way about his half sister. Now, there was no reason for him to feel any inhibition - she was his to take. Perhaps, those feelings weren’t suppressed after all.

“No, Sansa. I won’t do that to you. Not tonight, not ever. Not unless you want me to. Whenever you’re ready.”

A deep sigh that came from her indicated her relief and Jon’s heart sank a little. But perhaps it could work, nobody needed to know and the North would remain peaceful and faithful to Lady Sansa. No civil war looming on the horizon. That was perhaps, enough for this marriage between them.

The days had come and gone and it was almost the last few months of winter, as Sansa and him maintained a calm yet playful friendship. He had grown to love her, as a wife, much to his dismay and the nights became more and more agonizing to him as he yearned so much to touch her, as a husband would. There was nothing to stop him, with Sansa only inches away, her shapely form laying next to him on the bed they shared for almost a year now. Tonight was just going to be another night he would take himself in his own hand, dreaming of Sansa bouncing on his hard cock, moaning his name.

“Jon?”

“Yes, Sansa?”

“It’s been a year that we’re married. Do you think the other lords are wondering why we don’t have heirs yet?” Sansa asked innocently as she sat at her vanity and brushed her hair. It was hypnotic to watch her, how he wished he could run his fingers through her soft red hair.

“Is that what you worry about often? That the lords think about how often we bed?” Jon smiled as he wiped a warm wet washcloth over his face and chest.

“No but if I were them, I would wonder, I suppose. Someone once told me that bedding was all that men ever think about,” Sansa giggled as she turned to Jon. They were no longer shy around each other, whether half naked or in their smallclothes. It was good progress, as Jon took notice.

“Is that what you assume I think about?”

“Well, don’t you? Especially now that you’re not getting… anything from me.”

Jon placed his washcloth down and walked towards Sansa. He knelt down and looked into her pale blue eyes that he often lost himself in.

“Sansa, listen to me. What we have, is enough. I don’t think of taking you like any common man would. I know… what he did to you and I do not want you to be reminded of that in anyway. No matter how long it takes, how you feel about me, I will never force you to do anything you don’t wish to.”

Sansa stopped brushing her hair and looked down. She wasn’t about to shed any tears, not anymore, for what Ramsay did to her. She was damaged and did not feel in any way a proper high born wife should be.

“Perhaps, you could find someone to do it on my behalf.. since you can’t even bear to touch me..”

Jon stood up and stared at Sansa, his ears burning at what he had just heard. Sansa watched him and as their eyes met, Jon suddenly felt overcome with a burning desire to sweep her in his arms and kiss her till dawn broke.

“Sansa, why would you say that? Do you want me to bed another?”

“Perhaps, since we don’t even touch each other. I know it’s hard for you to-”

“Is that what you want? Do you also wish to bed another man other than me?”

Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth when she realised how the conversation had angered him.”No, Jon! I would never-”

“Then stop saying such things. It won’t happen, it will never. You are my wife. You are mine as I am yours.”

Sansa looked up at him with her eyes shiny with tears. “Am I? Are you mine, truly?”

“Aye, I am.” Jon nodded as both their eyes locked onto each other’s once more. The familiar stirring deep within his loins greeted him again, this time more forceful and he felt himself growing hard. There was no denying how much he wanted to take her, to mark her as his. And his only. Jon’s gaze drifted to her soft pink lips and it took him every ounce of restraint, not to grab her by the hair and kiss her, as he watched her tongue flick across her lower lip. Sansa broke their eye contact and looked down, albeit briefly as she shyly returned his gaze.

“Show me, Jon. I want to know.”

It only took him a second before he pressed his lips against hers and parted them in a desperate search for her tongue. She tasted of berries and lemon and it only made her more delicious. His tongue brushed against her teeth as it tangled in a frantic dance with hers. Gods, how he loved kissing Sansa. It was better than he had imagined.

Jon opened his eyes as Sansa pulled away from him. She giggled at what had transpired between them and Jon could only smile back. He was desperate to have her on his mouth again.

“Will you have me then, my Lady?”

Sansa’s nod was all he needed to sweep her into his arms and throwing her on the bed. Sansa gasped but continued her girlish giggles at how peculiar he was behaving as a husband. Surely, no husband would act like this, like a ravenous animal in heat. Sansa was only half right, if she knew how hungry Jon was for her.

“Take this off,” Jon ordered as he tugged at the chemise she had on. It was thin and almost sheer but the way it clung to her curves was teasing him a little too much. Sansa nodded shyly as she meekly wriggled out of it. But it took too long for Jon and he wasn’t sure what came over him, as he pulled and ripped the fabric into two. Bare breasts with light pink teats greeted him and Jon devoured them, biting into her flesh as Sansa threw her head back at the new found pleasurable sensation.

“Uhh.. Jon..” her moaning his name was all he had ever dreamt about the past year they had been married. As Jon’s teeth scraped against her soft bare skin, Sansa writhed as he made her way down between her thighs. His hands roamed all over until they settled firmly on the curve of her buttocks, kneading the firm yet soft flesh as his pinky teasingly brushed against her puckered hole. A deep gasp from Sansa told him, this was all new to her and it made his heart swell knowing he was still her first in a way.

“Jon.. no.. what are you doing..”

“Shh.. I promise you will feel good, Sansa. I only want to make you feel good. Will you let me? I will never hurt you, I promise.”

Jon smiled as he watched Sansa who was watching him, kissing her belly and the inside of her thighs and as he reached her sex, Jon stared straight into her eyes as he clamped his hungry mouth over her folds. Sansa jumped and shut her eyes, overcome with the fire of lust that had taken over her body, giving Jon full control to do whatever he wanted. It made him even harder than he thought possible, at how sweet and delicious she tasted.

Jon hummed against her warm wet flesh as he sucked and nibbled on her luscious folds. Sansa cried out in ecstasy as his tongue snaked in, darting in and out of her inner walls, teasing her into yielding to him completely.

The pressure that grew from deep within her only grew the more Jon licked and sucked at her flesh. Her peak reached higher and higher as she clawed at his curls and it wasn’t until he pressed the flat of his tongue against her small nub that something exploded within her. It was mind-blowing and never in her life she dreamt of feeling that in her, ever.

“Ahhh! Jon.. oh gods! Jon!”

Sansa panted as she came down from her climax, her first one. Jon peppered her body with kisses as he crept up on top of her. For the first time, Sansa was in love - as she looked into the grey eyes that hungered for her, the lips that uttered her name so lovingly. She was his, completely - mind, body and soul.

“I will make you mine, Sansa. I will mark you so everyone can see how much you belong to me.”

Sansa nodded as Jon kissed her neck and winced as he nibbled hard on her skin. “Spread your legs open for me, sweet girl. I need you.”

She couldn’t see it but she certainly felt the stiffness that poked at her entrance. It felt large enough for Sansa to be nervous at its intrusion but she was well prepared, judging from how wet and slick she had become. Her body was ready and willing. Jon paused and turned his attention to Sansa, watching her reaction as he readied himself to enter.

“Sansa, you’re mine. Always remember that,” Jon whispered as his painfully hard cock pierced through her wet folds and found himself wrapped tightly within her inner walls. Sansa and Jon groaned in unison as both of them savoured the spine tingling sensation. Sansa felt full yet hungry for him and she never knew how bedding could feel this way. Sansa moaned wantonly as Jon started to move, rocking his cock in and out of her. It took all he had in him not to spill in her too soon but the way she moaned his name and how intoxicating her scent was, Jon found himself thrusting deep and hard into her, in chasing after his own peak.

“Ohhh! Jon… uhhh..I’m yours… always..”

Jon’s hand grasped her neck and pressed down gently, as he whispered into her ears. “I won’t let any man touch you, let alone look at you… You’re mine, Sansa. Mine.. mine.”

Sansa held onto his hand on her neck and shut her eyes as her peak washed over her once more, this time deeper and lasting longer than just a few seconds. Sansa’s body went limp as she felt as if she had died and went to heaven. It was almost like a little death as Jon’s cock pistoned in and out of her, pushing faster and deeper at every jab. “I love you, Jon..”

The three words that Sansa softly whispered into his ears were all that caused him to come undone. Jon howled as he finally let go and spilled into her hungry quim, as rope after rope of his seed shot deep in her, mingling with her juices. Sansa moaned along with him as she felt the warm fluid pool deep inside her inner walls. Jon heaved and panted for air as he stayed on top of Sansa, too weak to move. He had given her his all, if only she knew how weak she would make him.

She was his soft spot, his one weakness. He had no real fear and he had seen the worst and faced the worst in his life. He had scars and healed broken bones to prove it. That was, until now. If he had only one thing to be afraid of, Sansa would be it. She would be his undoing, that much he knew.

“I love you, Sansa. Always.”

Okay, okay I know this wasn’t very dom!Jon but I got carried away! Sorry Anon, Jon can’t quite help himself in turning into a soft romantic when it comes to his precious Sansa! I hope you still like it lol..

Thanks for the prompt!

#jonsa #jon x sansa #smut fic #anon prompts #dom jon x sub sansa #a little bit #jonsa fic

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