#yes… i finally drew him with cat ears

[computerillness]

2 chucks in 1 day? Woweee

[shotmrmiller]

i'll teach you love, don't worry.

simon x virgin f!reader 2.2k words oops

explicit smut mdni

cbf!simon teaches you everything.

he convinces you to let him be your first kiss. "don't ya wanna know how to kiss when finally get your first boyfriend?"

embarrassing, because you're in college yet still completely inexperienced.

when you bite your lip and give a subtle nod of agreement, a sly smirk graces his lips.

"don't worry love, i'll teach you."

the way he slowly slanted his lips over yours, his tongue gently sliding into your mouth, his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip before pulling away— breaths mingling as he rested his forehead against yours after the searing kiss had your knees weak. if it wasn't for him holding your body up, you would've crumpled to the ground.

-

cbf!simon convinces you to let him teach you how to masturbate. (and kinda eats you out.)

"ya gotta learn your own body first before letting anyone else touch ya."

when you bring up the fact that he'd be touching you for this, simon just said, "yeah, but i'm not jus' anyone, am i love?"

kneeling on the edge of your bed, his warm breath fanned over your bare cunt as he spoke. "ya wanna use the pads of your fingers to touch the little nub tha' peeks out from under your hood." doing as he said, you flinch at the sensitivity of it. "you're just not used to it, is all, you're alrigh'. now, i want you to start drawin' small circles on your clit."

when he sees you wince, he quickly grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. "oh. you jus' need a bit of lubrication, love. if you'd let me, i can help ya with tha'."

the word yes is scarcely past your lips when he's grabbing onto the supple underside of your widened thighs, gently urging you to lean back— arms instinctively supporting your weight behind you.

he leans forward until his mouth is inches from your cunt, and spits directly on it— the warmth of his saliva on your sensitive bundle of nerves makes your toes curl in response.

he tells you to touch yourself again. "use my spit to rub your clit again, it'll feel much better, i promise."

simon's face remained firmly nestled between your legs, so you would occasionally feel the bristly texture of his stubble grazing your fingers.

each little circle you drew on your slippery bud had the warmth in your lower belly get hotter, your limbs beginning to tighten along with the coil in your stomach. it's a euphoric pleasure that begins to build up, and up, and up. there's an obscene slick noise coming from underneath your fingertips, your thighs are shaking in simon's firm grip, spine curving and toes curling.

you're whimpering and panting, mouth slightly open, head thrown back whatever is happening inside of you. what you do know is that it feels like a rollercoaster and you're starting to reach the peak in the track.

you can feel your core throbbing, pulsing, clenching. your stomach is now painfully tight—

suddenly, your forearm begins to cramp— rapidly.

a pained yet aggravated noise slips from your mouth, and you slump back on the bed to flex your arm— stretching the ligament furiously because you have to stop your pleasure when there's a hot, slippery something in between your puffy folds, flicking at your aching clit and it does it again, and again, and again...

then you feel a suction on your pearl— you're pushed past a threshold you hadn't even known you'd hit.

all of your body's tension just floods out— you're plunged into a pool of blinding ecstasy.

you're letting out choked gasps as your spine tingles in bliss— it's a massive release of emotions, of stress, of responsibility, if only for a few seconds.

you lay in the aftershocks of your climax, limp yet you've never felt more rejuvenated in your life. there's a buzzing in your ears that fades as your soul comes back into your body, and you notice that there are still two rough hands on your quivering thighs— kneading them like a cat.

simon presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, and you jerk away when his facial hair prickles your delicate skin.

"tha' must've been somethin' else, eh? years of repressed—" You swing a sluggish hand at his head to make him stop talking, and when it connects, he returns the favor with a harsh suckle to your thigh.

"don't make me bite you, pet," he gently warns.

you grunt, then go through what just happened in your head.

"simon. did you use your mouth on me?"

he bites your leg in response.

-

cbf!simon teaches you how to give oral sex (per your request)

he all but ripped his trousers off, eager to get started. simon tells you to kneel on the pillow and find yourself face-to-face with his manhood.

it's fucking huge, there's no other way to put it. he's long, an easy 8 inches— he's so thick you can't wrap your hand completely around it.

jesus.

"look at me, pet," he commands.

you look up at him through your lashes, and he's dropping his head forward— covering his eyes, mumbling out a 'fuckin' hell'.

he takes a second to gather his wits, and then lifts his head again, to lock eyes with you.

"there is no wrong way t'do this, y'hear? the most important thing is tha' you enjoy it too. otherwise, i won't be enjoying it either, alright? now, personally, i like a little twinge of pain. so don't be afraid to graze your teeth on my cock, yeah?"

you nod and begin exploring.

the tip of your tongue licks at his glistening slit, pulling a hiss from simon. he tastes slightly salty, and something uniquely him, delicious. you pump his length with your fist, bunching up the skin on the upstroke under his flared head, then pulling down until you hit the base.

simon remains patient, never rushing you to take him into your mouth, or thrusting his hips toward your face. when you flick your eyes up at him, his dark eyes are glassy, outlined by long, straight lashes— heavy-lidded with lust. his crooked nose is stained with a tinge of pink, the same color as his bitten lips.

he's holding himself perfectly still for you, so you grant him respite. you put the entire tip into your mouth. simon lets out a strangled moan and immediately moves his hand to tangle in your hair.

you remember some of the bad porno videos and imitate what they did. you tease the bottom of his cock with the tip of your tongue, tracing the connective tissue that's right under his head. then you take him in further until he reaches the back of your throat, and the sensation makes you gag, forcing you to pull back.

there's a string of saliva connecting you two when he slips out of your mouth, and you close your eyes to breathe in through your nose. simon runs his fingers through your hair wordlessly, only speaking once you're ready to try this again.

"there's no need to take me in tha' deep, i could come from jus' your pretty lips 'round the tip alone."

you take in one more deep, calming breath before putting him in your mouth again and start bobbing your head. the groans that spill from simon's mouth invigorate you to keep going even as your jaw begins to ache, and your blowjob turns sloppy. there's saliva all over his trimmed pubic hair— your chin is slick with it too. you're drooling all over the hand that's wrapped around his base, and just when you are about to stop, simon begins to babble.

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck i'm so close please don't stop please please, fuck your mouth feels like heaven, god i've been wantin’ to do this with ya f'so long and it's finally happenin', fuck don't," he moans, "don't fucking stop, fuck, fuck—"

his cock swells in your mouth to what feels like an impossible size, one you can't handle so your jaw slackens. the edges of your teeth scrape along his rigid length. his upper body curls forward and lets out a long, guttural moan as he comes— cock twitching violently as he spurts thick, warm, ropes of cum on your tongue. it's so much that it begins to spill from the corners of your mouth, dripping down to your chin.

simon's panting harshly, his breath hitting your face when he swallows thickly, then tips your head up with an unsteady hand.

his voice is hoarse when he asks, "d'you swallow it?"

you keep your eyes locked on his as you do, then stick your tongue out of your mouth to show him. simon's gaze fixates on the display before pulling you in as he firmly grasps the back of your head and draws a tantalizing line across your tongue with his own.

later, you tell him to drink more water.

-

cbf!simon teaches you what it's like to be his (you've been his, why do you think the idiot that you met at the mall ghosted you?)

you're swollen and slick after the 4 orgasms simon gave you with his mouth and are more than ready to take him. it doesn't mean you aren't nervous about it.

"don't worry, love. i'll teach you what real pleasure is," and starts to slowly sink into your virginal channel. it's an uncomfortable feeling, and you can feel yourself trying to push the invader out.

"need ya to relax f'me, pet. the more ya resist, the more pain you'll feel. jus' give in, i've got ya," he coos. you nod into his neck and breathe in, letting your muscles go slack, and like a stone dropping into water, simon sinks to the hilt.

the sensation is too much, you feel too full, so you try to squirm away from under him, but he tilts your head back by the hair to give you a passionate kiss.

you experimentally move your hips and the delicious sensation that licks up your spine has you moaning in his mouth. simon pulls away, throws one leg over his arm, and starts to move.

his thrusts are complete, pulling out until only the tip is buried in your tender walls, and pushes until his balls are flush against your sweaty skin— the tip of his head softly pressed against the entrance of your womb.

simon suddenly changes positions, hooking your other leg over his arm, and begins to shallowly thrust halfway— hitting the sweet spot you didn't know you had until a couple of weeks ago.

he pushes into it with such precision that your vision is white behind your eyelids, and there isn't one coherent thought in your empty head.

"i've been dreamin' to put tha’ cock-drunk look on your face f'years," simon hums, "it's somethin' tha' i'll never forget. now give me what's mine, yeah?" and his hips begin to move with ardour. every drag of his thick cock is pushing you to one last mind-numbing orgasm, and simon knows it because he picks up the pace— he's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, almost as if it was his own. when your channel begins to flutter around him, he hisses through his teeth and looks down at where he disappears inside of you.

there are strings of sticky arousal that connect from your puffy lips to his pubic hair, the sounds your cunt makes are obscene, creamy, wet—

words fall from his lips unbidden.

"come around my cock, squeeze me with your tight cunt, fuck, ya feel so fuckin' good, c'mon baby, give it to me, c'mon baby, c'monbabyc'monbaby—"

you choke back a sob as you're slammed by an all-encompassing avalanche of bliss, nails digging into simon's shoulders as you milk his cock for all he's worth.

all of your senses are focused on the feel of simon pistoning into your abused hole, looking for his release. he fucks you straight through your peak, an incredible show of stamina until you're teetering on the brink of oversensitivity.

as you come down from your high, simon moves your legs that were dangling by his side, hooking them over his shoulders, changing the angle— hitting so much deeper than before.

it feels like his cock is rearranging your guts, and if you looked at your stomach, you'd see a lewd bulge in it. you're not sure how much more of him you can take, your nerves feel raw, exposed— but you hold on because the noises simon is making are something you've never heard before. those high-pitched moans are driving you insane. you honestly feel like you could come from them alone, but then his thrusts turn sloppy. after three brutal, spine-jarring thrusts, he finally stiffens.

his cock is twitching inside of you as he spills his essence, not bothering to pull out, mumbling softly about getting you a morning-after pill tomorrow.

simon gently removes himself from within you, dropping his heavy weight to your side with an oof, and drawing your overheated body towards him. the air in the room is thick and heavy— it smells of sweat and sex. the only sound that breaks the silence is the sound of your labored breathing until you whisper that you have to go to the bathroom.

he quickly gets up and carries you to it, then closes the door behind him.

simon spots the blood stain on his bed and is over the fucking moon.

he's your first and will make sure to be your last.

for my 🪐

[bonefall]

Do you have a design for Bright Storm? I'm fond of the wise older figure thing you're doing with her

I do NOW

Made her, as well as a revamp of my old Thunder Storm design (I last drew him like a year ago!!) in preparation for some character summaries I plan to bang out after finishing a couple drafts, but Bright in particular gets requested so much (anon you're like the 4th person) that HERE, lady girl and her son be upon ye

I'm thinking about doing the BB!DOTC character summaries in "family" posts, so they're all grouped together the way I plan them to act in the story. Every family is telling a little mini-story of its own, in a way, from the Frost family and their inventing prowess, to the Heart family and how the kits react to Bumble's exile, to the Storm family and how they grapple with Clear Sky's influence.

I wanted to make sure Bright Storm was very large and powerful looking, but in a round, kind of "humble" way. She downplays her strength, her intelligence, and even her better judgement.

So she has these big cheeks, fluffy primordial pouch, poofy tail, keeps her head low-ish. Tends to deny compliments.

I was commiserating with my partner the other day about how intelligent characters aren't allowed to be thick-bodied. So between my fat, beloved Bumble the translator and Bright Storm the wise woman battle strategist I'm feeding us both

I needed to "finalize" their stripe pattern, because I actually plan for TIGERSTAR to have the same one. I'm probably going to update my Tawnypelt and Bramblestar designs to have it too; if they don't look better with Goldenflower's.

I just like the irony and bitterness of it. That these ancient stripes, once so associated with compassion and righteous fury, turn into a "legacy" so divorced from what Thunder Storm and Bright Storm stood for.

Becoming a symbol for the idea of modern ThunderClan and the culture of the new times, not the principles it was founded on.

Also I HAD to do the design thing where Thunder Storm's stripes look like top surgery scars lmao, my beloved transmasc boy

Anyway, I've decided that Thunder Storm was a REALLY dark orange. It bugs me a little, especially in-canon, that he looks nothing like either parent. So in BB he's not too far off color-wise from his mama.

I also removed the old "mane" and replaced it with combination white chest + his father's shoulder burls. The mane is going to become a Forest Cat trait, which is why it's going to get so prominent in ThunderClan.

Instead, Mountain Cats have a REALLY high concentration of ear tufts in their genes. They're also huge and generally hairy.

Funny enough though they're also "oily." They come from the Lake Cat population which was pretty water-resistant because of constantly dealing with the lake, and they haven't lived in the Mountains long enough for natural selection to get rid of it.

It's going to become SUPER advantageous for those who move to the River Kingdom, but become less prominent in the other populations.

But for now, Mountain Cats are kinda... well, naturally 'stinky.' That's not a BAD thing to cats who are animals who LIKE strong smells, but it is a notable trait that I'd like The Wind Runner in particular to comment on.

Thunder Storm: "Well? What did she say?"

Bumble: "Ummmmmm......"

Thunder Storm: "be honest"

Bumble: "she says she smelled you coming when you were upwind. rudely."

99% of the time when I'm changing character eye colors, it's to make them NOT blue because there's too many blue-eyed characters in WC imo. BUT.

I think it was another tiny waste to have the narrative constantly stressing Clear Sky's blue, blue eyes, almost like they're hypnotizing, and then they never really comment on what Thunder's eye color signals to other people.

So I've got an idea; instead of amber, Thunder Storm has ELECTRIC BLUE eyes. Almost green, like his mother's minty ones.

Intense as his father's, but more focused. Sharp. Shocking.

Side note: in my research I actually learned it's easier for tripod cats to RUN than it is for them to walk. They can "canter" like a horse, but when they go slow they have to hop. Taking this into consideration.

I put a splash of white on the little bit of lower limb that Thunder Storm has on the leg, so it sticks out a bit more. I don't want it to be hidden I want it to be prominent

I also figured out a hilarious trick for Bright Storm to pull on Sky's Clan at some point lmao

Thunder's crew is in conflict with Sky's cats and the attacks are getting more and more frequent. They decide they need some extra time to carry out some kind of hunt or diplomatic mission, but Bright Storm only has a small group of cats to pull off a stunt with.

She knows she can't fight them head on, but she NEEDS to buy her son more time, so she hatches a plan.

Clear Sky values his intelligence and his ferocity very much. To a fault, even. He loves to outsmart his opponents and overpower them-- so Bright Storm gets all her cats to build a very large, very tall, nearly impenetrable wall out of briar thorns. There's only one way in; the well-guarded tunnel they've constructed in the front.

It would be a challenge for a lesser cat. But Clear Sky, clever devil he is, realizes they've made a fatal flaw; they've built their camp right next to the trees. His fighters don't need to jump over the wall or push through it, the oaks are their allies!

So, while Thunder's cats are all surely sleeping, he gathers his best men and come through the canopy. In well-trained patrols, they swoop down into the camp and prepare for battle.

and no one is there.

You see, there was only one way in... and only one way out.

And Clear Sky and his best fighters watch with HORROR as the tiny crew of guards seals that entrance up like the neck of a bag. There are no trees to climb INSIDE the wall, and it's too tall to hop out of. It won't hold them forever, but it will hold them JUST LONG ENOUGH.

Bright calls this little plan "Operation Timeout."

[love-islike-abomb]

Hysteria

Roman reigns x y/n

"hysteria when you're near!"

I don't know what this is... It was just a random idea🤷

Warnings: fluff mainly but some hints of smut, errors I may have missed.

Tag list: @reignsangel444 @acknowledge-reigns @mzv11 @marchm-langdon @msbluehaz3 @mandeelemons @niknakbucks92 @pittieprincess22 @queengreenarrowmia89 @vintage-pvssy @weirdgirl16355 @windhamsrotunda

_______

Drew and I's breakup had been a mutual thing. Neither of us thought the relationship was really going anywhere. It'd been almost 2 years and he had just started dating someone while I just kinda kept working on me and when the right person came along I'd know.

Solo had been trying to set me up with people but I wasn't interested... At least not in any of the ones he tried. Solo had started to catch on that I had a crush on his cousin. I tried to hide it as best I could but Everytime I saw him I smiled like a Cheshire cat. Even the other female wrestlers had noticed and they all would giggle along with me. We were like a bunch of school girls with a crush on the quarterback.

Solo finally approached me one day "spill it y/n! How long have you had a crush on my cousin?" He said crossing his arms in his usual pose. For a split second I froze but I knew eventually it was gonna happen "a while" I said fidgeting with my hands.

"how long is a while?" He asked.

I sighed heavily "6 months"

I looked up at solo amd noticed his eyes were looking at something else. I turned around and behind stood the very person I had just been talking about. I swallowed hard "how long have you been standing there?" I asked unable to look him in the eye. "Long enough to know you've had feelings for me for 6 months and never told me" he smiled.

"I'm kinda shy" i said. He lifted my chin with his finger "I don't bite...hard" he winked at me. "Y/n he's had a crush on you for a while as well but you were with Drew and he didn't wanna come in between you and you said you were gonna work on yourself. You never told any of us you had a crush on Roman" solo said.

"like I said I'm kinda shy and I didn't plan on it to happen it just kinda did. I see him out there In the ring and I know it's in character but Everytime he says 'acknowledge me' I wanna say 'yes da- um..."

Roman looked at me with that trademark smile and leaned towards my ear "baby girl I'll show you just how daddy I can be!" He growled. I bit my lip before turning around and looking at solo "thank you" I smiled and walked away catching up to Roman.

"so I wanted to officially ask you y/n... " He said "will you be my girl?"

I smiled "absolutely"

He smiled, turned around, put his finger up in his usual one pose and said "acknowledge me"

[wolken-himmel]

In which (Y/n) surprises Jack with a cat plushie with the pattern of a cactus, insisting that it fit him perfectly.

Although Jack rejects the plushie at first, he seems to grow fond of it rather quickly.

Request by @aislonely.

"By the Great Seven, what is this abomination?"

Jack looked at the strange cat plushie in your hands warily, and he wouldn't take it from you, no matter how much you urged him to. His ears stood up high as he continued to eye it; eventually, his face contorted into a grimace of confusion and disgust.

"It's obviously a cat with the pattern of a cactus," you explained and rolled your eyes playfully. "It couldn't have been anything else, Jack."

"Why does something like this exist—"

"I saw it in Sam's store the other day and had to buy it for you— because cacti are your thing!"

Although Jack couldn't deny that he felt flattered by your thoughtfulness, he still shook his head and pushed you away when you tried to plant the plushie into his hands. "But I don't need a plushie. I'm not a child," he muttered in frustration, especially when you wouldn't cease your attempts of giving it to him.

"Everyone needs a plushie," you insisted, but he didn't look convinced at all. So, you blew a strand of hair out of your face and rolled your eyes. "Fine... since you don't seem convinced... How about you keep the plushie for a week, and if you don't like it, then you'll just return it to me?"

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. "Why are humans so insistent..."

"Is that a yes," you asked hopefully.

"I suppose."

°°°

After a few days of the cat plushie simply sitting on his windowsill in his minimalistic room, Jack had finally decided to get a closer look at your curious gift. It was the last day of him keeping the plushie, anyway. And just because he found the plushie's concept silly and its use unnecessary didn't mean that he hated the poor plushie. No, the fact that you had actively thought if him when buying it — it actually made his heart flutter a bit in happiness.

So, just for your sake, and since he was sure that he wouldn't like it anyway, he eventually sat down one peaceful evening after training, and took a closer look at the strange object.

The cat smiled up at him happily with its eyes closed. Its fur was a light green, adorned with a few pink petals here and there; the pattern seemed to imitate a cactus in bloom, now that he looked at the cacti on his windowsill. But it wasn't just the absurd appearance that drew him in, but also the way how the plushie squeezed together in his hands, and how his hands glided along the smooth fabric easily.

And the best thing about the plushie was that he could smell a faint trace of your scent on it, but only when he buried his face in it and closed his eyes in utter concentration. Your scent brought him so much peace that he struggled to open his eyes again, and the softness of the plushie made it so that he didn't want to let go.

It didn't take long before he, with an iron grip on the cat plushie, threw himself into his bed and fell asleep promptly. And he couldn't deny that this was the best sleep he had had in the last weeks.

So, it was even worse when in the morning, he wasn't awoken by the sunlight streaming through the window but by your sudden appearance in his room.

And boy, the look on your face when you had caught him cuddling with the plushie in his sleep.

"Jack, you're so cute!!"

At once, the beastman had jolted upwards in alarm, his sharp eyes gazing around his room in search for the intruder. With the plushie protectively stowed away in his left arm, he raised his right hand, about to strike the culprit.

Never would he have thought that it was you.

You sat there, at the side of his bed, with large, watery, puppy eyes and were gazing at the Savanaclaw student and the plushie intently. Much to his dismay, your lips were contorted into a large, shit-eating grin, which is why he tried to hide the plushie beneath his pillow. But it was too late; you had seen everything, already.

"W-What are you doing here?" Jack stuttered out, breathing heavily.

The grin on your lips grew larger. "I just wanted to retrieve the cat plushie because a week has passed since I've given it to you. Remember my deal that I would take it back if you didn't like it?" You wiggled your eyebrows at him mockingly, especially when his head grew a bright red.

"Well, you can take it back," Jack grumbled and threw the plushie right at you with such force that you almost fell to the floor. Luckily, that didn't happen, but the air was knocked out of your lungs when the plushie landed in your arms. "I don't need it. It's useless. It would collect dust on my windowsill, anyway."

You raised an eyebrow at his antics. "It surely didn't look like it was 'useless'..." you grumbled and rolled your eyes. "But if you don't want this cute plushie, I'll just have to give it back to Sam... and someone else will buy it... and it will be gone forever."

"No!" Jack had cried out before realising.

"Hah, got you!"

His shoulders slouched forward, he exhaled in utter frustration and embarrassment. "Alright, maybe it grew on me a little bit..."

"I knew you would love it," you cooed. "And that's why you should keep it."

In a split second, the plushie had been ripped out of your arms and was now in the protective arms of its owner again. Although Jack looked relieved and happy, he couldn't help but glare at you threateningly as he muttered, "You cannot tell anyone about Mr. Snuggles, okay?"

"Mr. Snuggles—?" you snorted out before breaking out into a full-blown fit of laughter.

Jack attempted to silence you with a glare, but it simply wouldn't work. "H-Hey!" he cried out and petted the plushie. "Stop laughing, (Y/n)..."

[kastlequill]

knock, knock

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: when an unstoppable force meets a movable object tags: whumptober, first meetings, bank robbery, rescue, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, civilian!reader, miguel is a dork, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here

Work was awful; always was, always would be. But today differed in its awfulness.

Usually, work sucked because of power-tripping bosses, incompetent coworkers, and asshole customers. As a banker, you had grown accustomed to dealing with not-so-nice folks who were eager to withdraw funds or deposit a fat check. Today, however, went to shit for an entirely new set of reasons.

A blaster dug deeper into the small of your back. “Do you know where the vault is or not, lady?”

Robbing a bank. How original.

“Yes, I—” God, what could you even say? It wasn’t as if the nutjob would see reason. “I have the code. If you ease up a bit on the gun, I can open it for you. No one has to get hurt here.”

The few silent moments of deliberation filled you with unease. There was no telling how triggerhappy this guy was, nor how impulsive.

“Don’t even think about playing any games. I’ll vaporize you faster than you can scream for help,” he snarled directly into your ear, the fabric of his ski mask brushing against skin. The press of the blaster disappeared, and you exhaled in relief. “Lead the way.”

And so you did.

You were in no position to play hero, not when he could pull the trigger in a split second, and certainly not when your pay was barely above the minimum wage. Dying for a job that didn’t even care to provide you with a livable salary would fucking suck.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

As you started to direct the intruder to the back of the building, adrenaline mounting and mind racing, a blur of red and blue suddenly cut across the room. With its speed came a gust of wind that ruffled your hair and drew your full attention toward the flurry of motion. At the center of the chaos stood a man who you’d only ever seen on the news, whether as a still photo printed in the papers or as a shaky video on TV filmed by some random passerby.

Spider-Man. Easily beating the absolute shit out of the guy who had threatened you mere moments ago.

While they were both distracted, you tiptoed back to the front counter, crawled into the space between your chair and the desk setup, then pushed the emergency button that dispatched law enforcement. But you knew help wouldn’t arrive for at least another fifteen minutes.

The joys of living in Nueva York.

From where you hid, it was possible to glean a fragmented view of the fight, criminal versus vigilante. The latter threw the former around as if he were merely a ragdoll, and the sheer ease with which the hero did so reminded you of a cat pawing at a helpless mouse, wanting to have a little fun before the ultimate kill. They exchanged words as well as punches, but your hearing didn’t extend so far as to hear the specifics of their no doubt hostile, undiplomatic conversation.

Commotion raged on; pained groans accompanied by the subsequent splintering wood as the robber’s body crashed into another desk, followed by resonant thuds as unnaturally-powerful fists rained down on him. Spider-Man held little back and had no qualms delivering a violent retribution.

Not that you had any, either.

Finally, after what seemed to be an endless brawl—if such a one-sided beating could even qualify as a brawl—there was silence at last. Complete and utter silence. No heavy breathing from exertion, no agonized howls, no groveling for mercy.

Just quiet. The type of quiet that settled over a desolate city post-natural disaster, that permeated the air in a bloodied warzone post-surrender.

Until a throat cleared from somewhere above. “You in there?”

When you glanced up, the face that greeted you wasn’t by definition a face, but rather a mask. Red lines framed where eyes laid hidden, and the expression into which the markings configured told of slight concern. The outline of his hulking figure was illuminated by the flickering of a broken light, occasionally revealing to you a skeletonized spider emblem on his torso.

You found yourself wanting to absorb every little detail, every pattern and design, because you didn’t think it statistically probable that you would see him again. If the universe was feeling benevolent, then these kinds of events would happen only once in a lifetime. Prior to today, you’d not had the pleasure of crossing paths with Death, nor had you the good fortune of being in the vicinity of one of the most wanted men in the city.

A great deal had changed since this morning, however. And, to be quite frank, you were ready for the world to return to normal, eager for tomorrow to begin and end without misery or mayhem—

His knuckles rapped the counter overhead. “Knock, knock.”

What the hell. Was this guy for real? He didn’t give you the impression of being the funny type, but neither did he seem the kind of guy to participate in idle chatter.

“Who’s there?” you replied, curious yet cautious.

“A little old lady.”

“A little old lady who?”

“Bank telling and yodeling? Talk about being talented,” he remarked with a low whistle of admiration.

At the cheesy punchline, you crawled out from your hiding spot, stood, and stretched a bit to assuage the ache that had settled in your muscles as a result of crouching for too long. You dusted off your knees once much of the tension had dissipated then fixed him with an unwavering stare, raising an unimpressed brow.

“I’ve got one more for you.” Spider-Man put his hands on his waist and lifted his chin. While true that his features were obscured, you’d bet his eyes had become narrowed and intent, determined to evoke your laughter. “Knock, knock.”

Fine, I’ll bite. “Who’s there?”

“Police.”

“Police who?”

“Police hurry up, I need to take my lunch break.”

Lunch break.

You hadn’t had the chance to go on yours, too preoccupied trying to survive being held at gunpoint. Mortifyingly, this realization caused a salty wet trail to travel the length of your cheek, then another, and then a choked sob bubbled forth against your will.

The hero cursed something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath and sheepishly rubbed a hand down his masked face. Clearly, comforting crying civilians didn’t come naturally to him the way combat did. Although, in his defense, few had the energy to navigate a hysterical woman’s emotions after just starting (and finishing) a fight.

“I didn’t mean. . . The jokes are stupid, I know—”

“—no, it’s not that.” You waved off the unwarranted apology and attempted to put a lid on the accumulated stress that had decided to manifest in the form of frustrated tears. “I just realized I didn’t even get to eat lunch, is all. I always clock out at 12:30, but that asshole threw everything off with his shitty robbery attempt, so now it’s 1:07, and we’re only allowed thirty minutes, and I still haven’t had any food today besides a soggy bagel this morning, and I’m so fucking tired, and he pulled a blaster on me—”

The rant quickly devolved into hurried gasps for air, your chest heaving, your lungs not fully functional. How embarrassing to be rendered to a state of hyperventilation, especially since an infamous vigilante was around to witness your crumbling composure.

“Deep breaths,” Spider-Man murmured, pulling you by the shoulders toward him, your nose connecting with his sternum. To you, such was an act of humanity free from ulterior motives; this hug was the simple conclusion to everything that had transpired. A solace. “That’s it, just breathe when I breathe.”

Easier said than done, but you could appreciate the sentiment all the same. Some minutes later, your lungs had begun to expand and contract at a regulated pace, heeding his own rhythm.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. Was it safety, then, that caused this warm fuzziness to bloom in your chest?

You couldn’t recall when you’d last felt this comforted by another’s presence, when you’d last been this at peace in a world overrun with strife and conflict. There was no telling how long you stayed wrapped up in his steady embrace, your respirations synced. The very passage of time seemed to halt, the two of you frozen in this singular moment.

Only when the wailing of sirens began to draw nearer did he remove himself from you and vacate the premises, swinging from one building to the next, further and further away.

Only when he left your line of sight did you finally shut your eyes, preparing yourself to be questioned by the approaching news anchors and police officers.

fin.

[aftg-random-fun]

Andrew paused as he looked at the scene in the apartment. The couch was covered in blankets and all the stools and chairs were covered up too. The TV was on playing some film from the turn of the century with a laugh track. He knew the movie title of course, but that’s not what is important. The cats were darting in and out of the blankets chasing and batting at each other.

“What is this?” Andrew asked as he finally entered the apartment and closed the door. A rummaging sound came from the pile.

Finally an auburn head popped out from one of the blankets. “Andrew! Look what Matt showed me!” A crooked smile and gleam in his eyes. Andrew took off his Docs and bag before entering into the mound with Neil’s assistance. Inside the mound it was dark. “Where did I put the switch?” Neil muttered as he felt around near him. “Ah-ha! Okay, this part Dan suggested.” Neil explained as he clicked the switch. Above them the mound lit up with fairy lights. The lights twinkled and covered the top of the mound.

“Oh wow!” Andrew breathed. He lightly touched one of the lights. “What brought this up?”

“Matt was reminiscing about blanket forts he made as a kid and when I said I never made one he called Dan and we built this. I was thinking we could camp out here tonight.” Neil gestured to the makeshift bedding at the sides of the mound. “Matt and Dan also gave me a pile of DVDs and said that it was our homework to watch them all.” Neil pulled out a stack of ten DVDs. Andrew took the pile and started to card through them.

“I haven’t seen any of these.” Andrew admitted as he looked through the different animations. “Did any of these pop out to you to start with?” He laid them out on the ground so they could look at all of the titles.

“Matt thought we should start with A Nightmare Before Christmas or The Princess Bride.” Neil tapped the DVDs. Andrew tapped A Nightmare Before Christmas and grabbed the TV remote. Andrew turned the TV over to the DVD channel as Neil popped the case open. Once the movie was starting Neil wrapped them both into another blanket which goes to show that Andrew having blankets stashed in every room was a smart decision.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replied meeting Andrew’s eyes. Andrew reached around and hugged into Neil. As they moved into a better position for cuddles they moved the DVD pile out of the way. The movie progressed and drew both of them in from the visuals to the soundtrack to the plot. When the movie ended they both were tired and each had a cat on top of their laps.

“Want to stay in the fort tonight instead of moving to the bed?” Andrew asked since he could feel Neil’s breathing begin to even out.

“Yes, Matt and Dan said we needed to do that.” Neil agreed as he stretched like a cat before wiggling into the blanket more.

Andrew gazed at his junkie fondly before turning off the television and fairy lights. When he was done he laid down and looked at Neil’s face. He fell asleep counting the freckles that appeared on Neil’s cheeks from his time in the sun. They both slept peacefully in their blanket fort that night.

Of course, in the morning they awoke to both of their cats meowing for breakfast right in their ears.

End

[mayiwritesomething]

Love Is An Unfamiliar Name (Pt. 5)

Wordcount: 1k

Warnings: +18, spicyness, lots of teasing, allusion to sex, and a really small conversation about it.

A/N: my first smut writing, i tried my best to let it open to imagination, forgive me if it’s shitty haha. Btw i truly recommend this Depeche Mode song as a soundtrack to this chapter ;)

PART FOUR

———————-

Que sera, sera

You knocked on his door once, receiving no response. Doubting yourself—you weren’t the luckiest person alive—you double-checked the room, confirming it was indeed his. Knocking once more, anticipation and impatience coursed through you like fire; whatever you had a few hours ago, you needed more. "If he doesn't open this fucking door, he'd better never talk to me again," you muttered to yourself, battling sudden feelings of abandonment until the door finally swung open.

"Really?!" you exclaimed, your impatience evident.

"Sorry, I was tidying things up, so I..." Pedro's voice trailed off, tinged with anxiety.

You didn’t even hear his last words.

You wanted no explanations; you wanted him.

Without waiting for him to finish, you entered his room and grasped his face. “Stop talking.” You silenced him with a kiss, pushing him further inside and closing the door behind you. His momentary shock required no words: his lustful smile spoke volumes. Returning the smile, you kissed him again, momentarily apprehensive of his judgment but craving control, if only for now.

After a brief pause to catch your breath, while you were gripping his back as hard as you could, he trailed gentle kisses along your neck, whispering into your ear, "You've had your fun… Now it's my turn."

"Hmm… Just because I'm letting you to," you teased, tracing his lips with your fingers. His eager response and the intensity in his eyes mirrored your desire. "Okay, babe," he answered, gently pressing you towards the wall.

"Oh, look, he is a gentleman," you teased, meeting his gaze. His eyes locked on yours, and his body aligned with yours so you could feel him: holding you firmly yet tenderly, intensifying every sensation. Instinctively, you closed your mouth.

"I didn't catch that," he prompted, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “Say that again,” he said as you struggled to maintain composure, pride mingling with desire, urging you to assert yourself. "I said that...you are..." you attempted before his actions left you breathless, abandoning your attempt at asserting control.

"I…said that..." He drew closer, his lips trailing along your neck as you struggled to find the right words. "I said... that—ah—you are a..."

"I already grasped that part." You felt his smile against your skin as he peppered soft kisses on your skin, his hips pressing firmly against yours. Silencing yourself, you awaited his next move. He faced you: “Cat got your tongue?" he teased. “Do you remember when you first told me that, babe?" his fingers tracing your lips as you were trying to keep focused. “Do you?”

"Y..." You struggled to say such a small word.

"Yes, I do" you replied firmly, attempting to resist his advances once more. He recognized the vulnerability of your neck and placed a kiss just behind your ear, the sensation causing your hips to involuntarily shift. You clenched your jaw, once again you felt the goddamn smile as he whispered, "And do you remember why you told me that? Remember what I said about you?" Your nails dug into his back, and you noticed him biting his lip in response—a weak spot.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn't deny that he was better at controlling himself than you. Like a pleasurable punishment, he pressed his hips against yours, silencing your protests with his thumb over your mouth. He knew exactly how to proceed: planting wet kisses from your collarbone to your earlobe, where he muttered, "All bark..." His hand gripped your chin, turning your face to meet his mischievous gaze. "... and no bite."

"But—I got you…Speechless… as far as i can—" Your voice faltered as you locked eyes with him, his hand tracing your body and sending a rush of sensations through you. Unable to stifle a moan, you succumbed to the pleasure. As his hands now caressed your face, he kissed you with such fervor that thoughts of making him pay for that vanished from your mind.

Tightly gripping his back, a silent battle for dominance ensued once again—a kind of battle you both relished losing. Before you knew it, you found yourselves on the bed, pleasing each other unrestrained by any inhibitions, and your clothes were lost all around the room.

"Babe," he interrupted a lingering kiss, his hands exploring your body freely.

"What?" you replied, slightly annoyed.

"I don't want you to think I'm just after sex," he confessed, his sincerity apparent. The familiarity between you allowed you to recognize when he was lying.

"Wow… I wasn’t expecting that—Pedro..." you began, seeking to understand him. "Baby, you know women have desires too, right?" You continued, your hand cupping his face. "This isn't like you’re using me or anything; I want this as much as you do. If this is a one-night stand, it's up to us to decide... Is this a one-night stand?"

"I hope it is not," he responded, kissing your hand tenderly. Why was he doing this now?

"So why all this worry?" you asked gently, trying to reassure him.

"This whole situation feels weird to me," he admitted, his vulnerability shining through.

"Aren't I usually the one who overthinks everything?" You quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. You felt the same.

"I guess we've switched roles this time," he chuckled.

"Baby, que sera, sera... Whatever will be, will be," you offered, addressing both of you. You wanted to believe in your own words.

"You do know I speak Spanish, right? It is not like you need to translate," he teased.

"Fuck you!" you retorted, pushing him away, but laughter filled the room. "I'm being serious," you insisted, but he only laughed, drawing closer to you.

"I know... it's funny to see this side of you, my ice queen," he said, closing the distance with a gentle yet passionate kiss. Reciprocating, you sat atop him, your connection deepening as the night unfolded and you both got lost in each again.

 

“Que sera, sera

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see”

[gloryhrs]

⟡ 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑! ━━ 「 Uryu Ishida. 」

male reader. ʚɞ short (｡o_o｡)""

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ "HEY Uryu! Are we still on for our sleepover date?" You pulled your chair up to sit in front of the black-haired male whose face was stuffed into the book he was reading. "Of course, you’ve been planning this for a while right? I would be an idiot to miss out." He looked away from the book with a small smile graced upon his lips, he watched as your smile brightened and your ears perk up slightly. He knew you’d been excited about this small date you planned for a whole week, he could tell from your rapid speaking and energetic movements that you couldn’t wait to spend time with him again.

"Yes! I can’t wait to make forts, tell scary stories, and eat sweets with you!" You laughed whilst eating your lunch with the same bright smile on your face. As you continued to eat Uryu couldn’t help but admire you, everything about you was so bright till the point where he would have to cover his eyes because of your sunshine-like persona. You were quite sensitive as well, which explained why he treats you like fragile glass and distant himself away from you when he’s upset. He hated seeing you sad, especially if he’s the reason why you’re so down.

"Hmm? Where’s your lunch? If you don’t have any then you can have some of mine!" You spoke after swallowing another piece of your dumpling which made him snap out of his thoughts, Uryu watched as you picked the piece of meat up with your chopsticks and held it towards his mouth. Instead of denying your offer he slowly opened his mouth to taste the delicious-smelling food you cooked, as soon as the food reached his tastebuds Uryu felt a random burst of energy run through his body.

"Was it good?" You removed the chopsticks from between your boyfriend’s lips with a smile, "It was amazing, thank you." He chuckled at your hopeful reaction, you loved cooking for him. Seeing his reactions after he eats your food never fails to make you die from laughter.

"I’m glad you like it! Now here’s some more!"

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ THE sound of your laughter was the only one that could be heard from the Ishida household, the beautiful sound coming from Uryu’s room as the two males sat in the large fort they made. It was almost three in the morning when the couple decided to paint each other's faces, after staying up all night doing random shenanigans. "Stay still baby, I’m almost done!" You mumbled loud enough for him to hear as you sat on his lower abdomen with your lips often grazing against his. The male beneath you hummed softly with his hands positioning themselves on your waist, "Take your time, meine liebe." He closed his eyes just in time to miss your flustered state from the german pet name he gave you.

"Okay, you can sit up now!" You moved off his lap to reach for the mirror to show your boyfriend the multi-colored marking you created on his face, after getting a good look at his face the male couldn’t help but snicker at the countless cats you drew on his face. "It's adorable, I loved the way you drew whiskers." He yawned before kissing your cheek to show his appreciation for you. You loved the way he praised you for the smallest of things, it made you feel like the luckiest guy in the world. The Quincy yawned once more and shifted his position so his head was now laying in your lap.

"You’re so sweet Uryu, I’m so lucky to have you as my boyfriend." You ran your hands through his hair as he drowsily smiled whilst you removed his glasses so you could place a kiss on his closed eyelid and another one on his lips, which he immediately returned. "Goodnight, darling." You shifted yourself into a more relaxed position so your lover could now rest his head on your chest. "Goodnight, liebste." He kissed your lips one final time before drifting off into a deep sleep, with his lover holding him in his arms.

extended ending.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ "THOSE damn kids." Ryūken grumbled to himself as he made his way to his son’s room, the only reason why he didn’t go up to his son’s room and lecture him was that he had his boyfriend over. Now that the night is finally over he can finally talk to Uryu about his behavior, after meeting his destination the man opened the door and his eyes widened at the sight of the fort that took up all the space in his son’s room. "What the hell?" He questioned himself whilst stepping over the multiple candy wrappers, paintbrushes, and books. The man tsk’d under his breath before taking a peak in the fort, "Uryu you—" Ryūken closed his mouth immediately at the sight of the sleeping teens cuddled up with paint on their faces before him. Deciding to have a change of heart he closed the covers back and made his way out of his son’s room.

" Maybe I’ll just talk with him some other time."

©️ gloryhrs, 031223. — notes and reblogs are appreciated! (≧∇≦)/

[ponds-of-ink]

Short Springtrap One-Shot: “Explosion”

You can thank (and/or blame) @spaciebabie and @brytnoter for what you’re about to read. The title isn’t a joke, so do expect an explosion of mysterious proportions and some residual (but very heavy) angst.

Springtrap leaned against the wall. His eyes lazily scanned the area. No one else was around, save whoever was the poor fool who was running the cameras.

But, surprisingly, that wasn’t his concern tonight.

It was one of the technicians. His technician, to be exact.

Ever since that naive idiot wandered through that door, it had been an... interesting experience. He could still see that chatterbox swerving around the corner while he was getting his bearings. The flurry of non-stop introductions as his more outstretched arm got lifted into the air (which was impressive, given their height differences). Even the glittery pencil flying from line to line of that notebook made a stark impression... Then again, that last part most likely stuck in his mind because of Elizabeth having a similar pencil at school.

Details stirring up ancient memories aside, this encounter set up many, many more. And, to be quite honest, he didn’t like the drop-in visits at first. Maybe it was the inability to get the clearly-flustered rookie to shush and calm down. Maybe it was the prodding that the obviously-unknowing mechanics team required that unfortunate sap to do. It could’ve even been the simple fact that he hadn’t had proper contact in ages, though that seemed unlikely to him.

Whatever the reason was, all of that has changed now. By some miracle, this stranger had become... tolerable to him. Almost like a friend more-so than an annoyance. In fact, his undead heart was currently skipping at the idea of this person just waltzing in and saying “Hi!”.

He sniggered at his own excitement. However, the joy quickly dampened at the sound of his own voice. It was hoarse. It was frail. It was, in a matter of personal taste, absolutely abysmal for anyone to listen to– Let alone his new companion. Never mind the fact that it hurt to talk, anyway.

If the technician saw him in this giddy state and asked about what was wrong, mere gestures couldn’t convey it. Not with something as crucial as a “Hello, my friend!”.

Now his mind was returning to what his issue was with the technician. His posture slumped as all his previous internal arguments came flooding back in. He stifled a pained “whine” as he pinched the bridge of his nose. How in the world was he supposed to express any of this when he couldn’t even talk properly?

As his thoughts tried to regather, an unseen conversation reached his good ear. It was faint at first, but it grew louder as the squeaky thump of rubber boots drew nearer. Springtrap straightened up. He put his back against the wall and listened closely.

“...He’s been acting like this all evening?” a younger voice asked, making that undead heart race. Oh, dear, the moment’s nearly at hand.

“Yeah, pretty much,” a much older voice answered as shadows formed on the opposite wall. “I’d say keep your guard up, but not for the usual reasons. He might try to hug you if you get too close. Heh.. Lonely old loser..”

While Springtrap took offense to that last remark, he still clung to the wall like a frightened cat on a lighting fixture. The two shadows parted ways, both waving to each other at different times. The smaller shadow emerged into the room. “Hey, Springtrap,” the voice greeted, sounding much slower than usual. “You, uh, feeling okay? The security guy’s told me that you’ve been acting funny.”

Springtrap removed himself from the wall. He corrected his posture into its typical arrogant stance. Yes, of course, he was okay. What was he, lovestruck? Ha. Not in the slightest.

Unless being thrilled about finally getting a possible friend again counted, but he obviously couldn’t ask that.

The technician’s head bobbed left and right, muttering something under a thick Autumn scarf. “If you think you’re fine, then I guess we can start the inspection,” the figure explained, pulling down some safety goggles and setting down a red toolbox. “We’ll start with your legs, since you’ve been wandering everywhere.”

Springtrap hobbled towards the inspector. His heart skipped again, though his expression was dead-set on keeping up the begrudging facade. Thankfully for him, it was the standard servo procedure. Left leg up, down, then rotated. Right leg up, down, then rotated. “Well, it’s not a servo error,” the technician noted, jotting down a few words in that line-paper notebook. “Though I might want to double-check that with the arms in a sec. Let’s see how that pacemaker’s doing first.”

Springtrap’s ears raised. Uh oh.

“What’s the matter? You think it’s out-of-sorts?”

Springtrap crossed his arms. Well, no. That would be ridiculous.

“Then lower your arms and lemme check, silly! It’ll only take a moment!”

Reluctantly, he lowered his arms. He watched as that clueless human picked up a makeshift heart monitor, gave him a reassuring grin, then put the “stethoscope” as close to his heart as it could get. A green dot lit up, matching the changes in heartbeat that he was already feeling. He looked at the dot, then at his companion.

A gleam began to show beneath those safety goggles. “Hey, Springs,” the mechanic piped up. “Y-You, uh, got a crush or something? I’ve never seen your ‘pulse’ get that quick before.”

Springtrap inhaled slowly. It was time.

He raised up his hand to his chest level, then gave the poor soul a “so-so”.

So not necessarily a crush, but whatever was close enough in the... platonic?... side of things. Admiration, perhaps.

The technician glanced back at the monitor. The dot’s flicker slowed down to its normal speed. Then, the tiny machine shut off. “Y-Ya.. like someone?” came the inevitable question, though a little shaky.

Springtrap nodded. Yes.

“I don’t wanna pry, b-but... Who?”

He ruffled the frazzled mess’ head. Wasn’t it obvious by now?

The rookie gasped quietly. A full-on body tremble set in motion.

Going by marred instinct, he scooped up the small soul and kept ‘em close to his chest. He would’ve shushed the poor thing, but his vocal chords were already pained enough from being choked by emotion. So, instead, he gave his tenderest look (that he could muster, anyway) and gently nuzzled his shaking friend’s head.

But the trembling didn’t stop. It only increased.

Springtrap’s ears lifted. What? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sure, being picked up by a giant metal beast would be a shock, but the techie could certainly—

The trembling was now getting violent. Like a firework set to explode in mere seconds.

He had to act fast.

Settling “Techie” down, he hurried over to the nearest entrance. He banged his fist on the wall, waving his arm frantically. Either the guard would see him on the camera or the doorway, whichever would be more convenient.

Someone, anyone should be able to help stop the—

A loud bang sounded from behind him. All his schoolyard training from decades ago prompted him to dive onto the ground. He laid there, shaking. He dared not look back. Not until he saw the expression on that night-guard’s face. Then he would know if he should look.

Rubber boots clattered down the hallway. They stopped a few feet away. The hurried breathing above him slowed. The boots squeaked one after the other, as if the figure was changing positions. “I’m so sorry,” the night-guard said grimly. “‘Techie’s’ just shoes now.”

Springtrap slowly peered behind his shoulder. To his surprise, the room was only covered in ash and soot. To his dismay, the only thing left in that spot was that pair of boots.

He looked back at the night-guard. Why did Techie explode like that? What could he have possibly done to cause such a drastic event??

The night-guard sighed heavily. “Guess you excited ‘em too much,” he suggested dolefully. “Pretty sure ‘Techie’ had some sort of spontaneous combustion thing listed on some medical card. Wouldn’t be surprised if all that happiness just... triggered it somehow.”

Springtrap’s head lowered. He finally got a friend after all these years... Only to accidentally lead said friend to their death. He didn’t get a proper name. He didn’t get the chance to ask any specifics. He didn’t even get the chance to introduce himself with a new voice box down the line.

He thumped onto the tile ground, clutching his head. A sob finally broke through his vocal chords. Now he finally felt the damage he inflicted on others boomeranging back to him. And it was awful.

“On the bright side,” the night-guard added hoarsely, brushing away his own tears. “At least Techie finally fixed your voice.”

Springtrap stopped crying for a moment. He put his hand to his throat. Yes, it.. did feel less painful there now. Probably because of the...

His body turned away from the night-guard. The sobbing picked up again, but now it was much more audible. Never mind his audience of one. Never mind the fact that “Techie” could be roaming the earth as a very confused spirit. He had to grieve– And not just for the death he caused now.

[yunaffie]

The Good Old Days

Happy Ghost Swap Day! For @fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap event, I have a Yomiel & Sissel centric fic for my dear recipient, @puzzling-angel. This was a delight to write and I hope you enjoy!

Yomiel's ears filled with the sound of rushing blood, arms pumping and feet thudding sharply upon the asphalt as he raced along the pavement, his skin slick and glistening with sweat. When he reached the gate, he came to a halt and bent over, supporting himself with hands on his knees as he gasped. Once he'd managed to catch his breath, he straightened, reaching up to wipe an arm across his brow.

"Ahh." Stepping through the gate, Yomiel traversed along the path, reveling in the feel of the cool breeze that swept past, caressing his hot and sticky skin. He drew in a deep breath, pausing for a moment just to let it all soak in, the tranquility of an early morning, birds still singing from the treetops as the pale sun beat down, how soothing the fresh air of spring felt after a long run.

Once inside, Yomiel made a beeline for the fridge and took out a bottle of water, gulping down the contents. It was so cold and refreshing as it coursed down his throat. Just then, he heard the quick pace of footsteps. Turning around, he saw Sissel bustle into the kitchen. A smile lit up her face as she saw him.

"Oh, you're back, sweetie." Sissel came up to him and planted a kiss on his lips. "Did you have a good run?"

"Mm. Why don't you join me sometime?"

"Sure, when I have time. Maybe at the weekend?" Sissel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I'd better get off. Going to have an early start today. Hmm, maybe I'll do some shopping after work, get something for dinner. Does spaghetti sound alright?"

"Sure, sounds great. Have a good day at work." Yomiel leaned in to give her a swift kiss on the cheek. Sissel snatched up her purse, waving her hand at him before walking out the door. He continued to sip at the water, watching her as she hurried away toward her car.

As the sound of the car's engine faded into the distance, he was left feeling conscious of the fact he was now the only one in the house. With a long exhale, Yomiel set down the bottle. Well then, he supposed, it was time for a shower.

Inside the cubicle, standing beneath the cascade of scorching water, Yomiel began to feel a bit better and even started humming, lathering himself with a smile of contentment. It was so easy to just while away the time in here, letting the minutes pass by as he reveled in the sensation of the droplets hitting his skin, running along his bare, smooth skin in rivulets. It was the little things like this he had really come to treasure. Although, he wasn't sure Sissel would see it his way when it came to extra long showers. Oh well. Allowing himself a few more minutes, he finally stepped out and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself dry, passing by the cat sitting by the door and going to sit on the bed. Wait a minute...

Yomiel blinked. Yes, there was indeed a little black kitten with a red scarf sitting there by the door, watching him. As he continued to stare, the kitten mewed then came over to rub against his leg. In a flash, Yomiel found himself pulled into the familiar world of swirling black and red, face to face with the cat.

Sissel's ghost form nodded imperceptibly, tail waving behind him. "Good morning, Yomiel."

"Oh, uh. Yes, good morning," Yomiel responded. "So I guess you just let yourself in then?"

"I certainly did. You were in the shower, so I went right ahead. Popped open the window and squeezed through." Sissel tilted his head. "I hope that isn't a problem?"

"Of course not. You just took me by surprise, that's all. You know you're always welcome here." Yomiel knelt down to scratch Sissel behind the ears. Sissel started purring and butting his head against Yomiel's hand, eliciting a fond smile. "Anyway, I'm just gonna get ready. Won't be long."

While Sissel entertained himself by wandering around the house and playing with various things that were capable of being manipulated, Yomiel got dressed and grabbed himself some toast and coffee. He sat down in front of the computer and booted it up while starting on his breakfast. Sissel hopped up onto the desk, glancing at the screen.

"What are you up to now?"

"I'm just gonna check my email quickly. Don't worry, I've got plenty of time for you." Yomiel took a bite of toast, washing it down with a mouthful of coffee, clicking the way to his email in the meantime. "Oh."

"Hm?" Sissel's ears pricked up. 

"It's a response to one of my job applications." Yomiel took a breath before clicking.

Sissel watched Yomiel's face as he read the email, seeing his face slowly fall. His worst fears were confirmed when Yomiel's head dropped and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Yomiel. Hopefully you'll have better luck next time."

"Yeah." Yomiel released a long sigh. "Shockingly enough, not a lot of people are willing to hire someone who recently got out of prison after taking a child hostage. At this rate, it just feels like I'm never going to get a job because nobody wants an ex-con working for them." He placed his elbows on the desk, resting his forehead in his hands.

"Hey." Sissel came closer, rubbing his head against Yomiel's cheek. "I'm sure you'll find something soon. Maybe I can ask Detective Jowd, see if there's anything he could do?"

"Any help would be nice, I suppose. Just thought I'd try to get out there on my own, but it's not easy." Yomiel raised his head, giving the screen a rueful look. "Honestly, it's pretty frustrating. I keep trying and trying, but... ugh. I'm just so tired of this." A stinging sensation swept over the back of his eyeballs, prompting him to rub his eyes.

Sissel gazed at Yomiel, feeling a pang of sympathy. "I wish there was something I could do."

"All I can do is keep trying, I guess. But... honestly?" Yomiel slumped back in the chair, turning his gaze up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I feel like I just want to break down and cry. I won't do it when Sissel's around, though. I can't make her worry."

"You can cry now. I'm not going to tell anyone."

Yomiel let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Alright. Seriously though, I'm alright, just feeling kinda bummed. Wishing I could get a break already, you know? But I get it. I did a terrible thing, and I have to pay the price for it. I can't expect to have everything served to me on a platter."

"You know, I'm always up for hugs if it makes you feel any better."

"Well, alright then. You know, I'm really glad that you came to visit me on this particular morning." Scooping Sissel up, Yomiel carried him over to the couch and lay down with the kitten resting on his belly. Sissel stretched himself out and began to purr loudly while Yomiel ran his hand along his body. Yomiel was well aware that Sissel couldn't feel a thing and yet the little kitten still did his best to act as if he was truly experiencing these sensations and expressing his pleasure as would be expected from a living creature. Truly, he was a natural at this, but Yomiel supposed he would have to be. 

Sissel arched his back and stuck his legs out, flashing his paw pads. Yomiel couldn't resist the urge to grab hold of one of those little paws and poke at the pads, rubbing his thumb over them. "You used to be so ticklish. Whenever I did this before, you would always pull away."

"Well, I suppose I am willing to indulge you now. I take it you find my paw pads quite fascinating?"

"Heh. Kitty beans."

(Uh, that really doesn't explain anything, but okay...)

Yomiel continued to play with SIssel's paws, while Sissel lay still, slowly thumping his tail as he stared at Yomiel. It really was so comforting. His thoughts drifted back to the past, when he used to just lie there with Sissel, stroking and playing with him, listening to him purr continuously. Even if he couldn't feel the soft touch of his fur, or the heat radiating from his body, it had still brought him considerable comfort. Sissel had always been there, ready to listen to him, let him hold him in his arms, content to lie on his lap while the hours passed by. 

If he thought further back, he could remember what a playful kitten Sissel had been. The cat had mellowed in his later years, but when he was younger, he certainly hadn't failed to keep Yomiel entertained. Sissel used to just race around, pouncing on invisible things and chasing the toys Yomiel bought for him. His antics had rarely failed to bring a smile to Yomiel's face, just like right now.

"What are you thinking about now?" Sissel peered at him.

"Ahh. I was just reminiscing." Yomiel paused. "Thinking about the time we spent together, way back when you were still just a kitten. You used to run around, jumping on shadows, and you loved playing with toys. Even when you got older, you still liked to play. Do you still enjoy it?"

"Heh. Well, the little lady certainly does her best to keep me entertained and I do my best in return. Maybe it does get a bit old sometimes, but I'm not about to disappoint a lady. Anyway, if I've really had enough, I can always feign tiredness and pretend to fall asleep. Works every time."

"Heh." Yomiel's lips twitch. "You really were a handful as a kitten. But I appreciated it. It was a nice distraction from the dull monotony of my existence." He fell silent, staring into the distance. "I really appreciated it, you know. Every moment. Whether you were being absolutely bonkers, or during the quiet moments when you'd let me put you in my lap and just stroke you while you napped."

"Yes. I too felt the same." Sissel stretched his legs out. "It was always such a comfort, being in your lap, held in your arms. I was truly content, being by your side." He closed his eyes. "No matter what, you were always willing to pay attention to me, petting me, playing with me, whatever I wanted, and I really was... truly happy to be with you."

"We had a lot of good memories together, didn't we? Doing all sorts of things, like fishing. I bet you remember the fish."

"Oh yes. It was delicious."

"I had never even fished before in my life, but I learned to do it, for your sake. Turned out I wasn't so bad at it. It was a nice activity to pass the time too, which was just as well because I had way too much of that."

"You were always trying to find something to do, weren't you?"

"Mmm. Yeah. Even just going for walks, wandering around, carrying you around with me wherever I went. Remember when I first put you on a leash? You weren't so keen on that thing in the beginning but eventually you got somewhat used to it."

"Hmm. Yes, I do recall that. Though you'd mostly just carry me in your bag anyway. You took me to all sorts of places. I got to see all sorts of things with you. Honestly, it didn't mean much to me, seeing all those views and different places, but it was nice to just be by your side."

"Right. I used to take you everywhere, didn't I? Used to get odd looks for it sometimes even. You were the one constant presence in my life." Yomiel gazed at Sissel, a smile lingering on his lips.

"So." Sissel sat up. "Are you feeling any better now?"

"Yeah." Yomiel picked Sissel up and brought him closer to his face, looking into the kitten's eyes for a second before placing him against his cheek in a soft embrace. "Thank you, Sissel. I really appreciated it."

"You're welcome." Sissel rubbed his head against Yomiel's. "I know it must be hard for you at times, but hang in there, okay? Things are bound to get better."

"Mmm." Yomiel nodded, his expression turning serious. "Of course, this is nothing compared to, you know. Being unemployed and alive far beats the alternative." He looked up at the ceiling. "It just gets me down sometimes. Back then, I really thought I had it made, engaged to the love of my life with a decent job and being on a project that was getting me a good salary. Seemed like it was my big break. Then, on that day, my whole life was changed and I was plunged into a nightmare."

"Yomiel..."

"But at least you were there. What I went through was hell. Still, I had you by my side, and I have so many wonderful memories of you. Those were the good times and I'll never, ever forget any of that."

"Yes. Those were truly good times."

Yomiel sat up, placing Sissel in his lap and running a hand down his back. "I got my life back. I got her back as well. I am deeply grateful for that, and I know I shouldn't be complaining. It just kinda gets me down sometimes."

"It's okay. I understand." Sissel reared up, resting his paws on Yomiel's chest as he butted softly against his chin. "I'm sure you'll get back there one day. Whenever you're down, I'm always happy to come to you. I'll cheer you up if you need me to. Just like the good old days."

"Yeah. Thanks." Yomiel scratched Sissel behind the ears. "Hmm."

"What's up?"

"Oh, I was just thinking, what if I was to get some cat toys?" Yomiel smirked. "Relive those days of your kittenhood. If you're happy to do it for Kamila, you'll do it for me too, right?"

(Oh, brother...) "Sure, Yomiel, if you really want to, then I don't mind. Just remember that catnip doesn't work on me anymore."

"You can't even pretend?" Yomiel's face fell.

"No way, that's too much work. I barely even remember how I used to act on that stuff." 

"Heh. Well, I do. You would be totally out of it. It was a delight to watch. You rarely failed to entertain me, Sissel."

"Well, uh. I guess I'm glad I was able to entertain you. But, you know, I'm more about using my powers of the dead these days, pushing buttons, flipping levers, poking anything that moves. Have you bought any new appliances lately?"

"Appliances are off limits!" Yomiel gave him a stern look. 

"Geez." Sissel lowered his head, his ears flattening. "Okay."

Yomiel chuckled, then lowered Sissel to the floor. "Right then." He went to pick up the mug and plate, carrying them into the kitchen. "Time to face the rest of the day."

Sissel followed, watching him as he stood at the sink, running the tap. "Have you got anything planned for today, then?"

"Hmm." Yomiel rinsed off the plate and wiped it clean, gazing out the window to the street beyond. "Nothing in particular, really. I suppose I could type up some more job applications. Watch some television, pass the time until Sissel comes back home. Maybe I should do some chores as well. She'd surely appreciate that." Setting the plate down, he glanced in Sissel's direction. "How about you? Though I suppose you don't really have much to do, being a ghost cat and all."

"Well, Lynne and Detective Jowd do call on me now and then. Sometimes I like to just go along with them for the ride. But, today, I think I'm just going to relax. I might just explore a bit, watch people as they go about their day, find some new places over the phone lines, who knows."

"I hope you don't go scaring too many people out there," Yomiel said with a smirk.

Sissel sat perfectly upright, wrapping his tail around his legs as he gave Yomiel an innocent look. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean."

Yomiel made an amused noise, shaking his head. "Honestly. If you're not careful, you might give somebody a heart attack one of these days."

"Oh, that's okay. If they die, I can just bring them back to life."

"Sissel." Yomiel said his name in a somewhat firmer tone, though he was still smiling.

"Seriously though, I do prefer not having to go through the trouble of reviving them." Sissel stretched his body out then rubbed against Yomiel's legs. "Anyway, you'll be okay now, won't you?"

"Yeah, no worries. I just got to keep myself occupied. Perhaps I should pick up a hobby or something." Yomiel turned around to rest against the counter while looking down at the little kitten. "Say, I might pop over to the pet shop at some point. Would you like to come with me when I do?"

"Hmm?" Sissel cocked his head. "You mean so I can choose the toys, is that it? Heh, alright. Of course, anything I could manipulate is fair game. Maybe you could find something really interesting for me."

"Something really interesting, huh?" Yomiel crossed his arms, gazing into space. "Well, I wonder. I'm sure you've discovered all sorts of things to play with by now, but sure, I'll try and think of something. Anyway, it would be nice to just hang out and do some stuff together sometime, don't you think?"

"Sure, why not. I'd like that."

"Alright, it's settled then." Yomiel nodded. "A man and his cat hanging out together, just like the good old days."

"Right. Just like the good old days." Sissel met Yomiel's gaze. "Well then, I think I'll go off and do some wandering now. I'll be seeing you around, Yomiel."

"Yeah, sure." Yomiel walked with him to the front door and opened it. "See you later." He watched Sissel walk off down the path, with a fond smile on his face all the while.

[boredbook]

Remus H. Pomfrey-McGonagall.

The Adoption

Remus sat in the chair, while he ran his fingertips over the smooth table. The feeling made him smile slightly and nod, satisfied. "Remus, Minnie and Poppy are here to see you. Do you want to see them?" This was the kind nurse. He always talked to Remus directly, even if Remus didn't make eye contact. 'What was eye contact exactly? Is it looking directly at the pupil or the iris? Maybe even the tear duct or the sclera?' "Remus?" The kind nurse -Mr. Kip- asked once again. Remus knew he was standing in the doorway of the room. "Minnie and Poppy? Yes, I would like to see them. I drew them a picture." Remus hummed and looked back down at the table. He heard Mr. Kip's footsteps; they were delicate and precise. He always could tell how far away he was. He looked around the hospital room, the blue walls felt under-stimulating while the overhead light felt over-stimulating. He started to rock in place, humming the same tune Poppy liked to. He heard the sounds of three pairs footsteps. One pair was firm, with the added click-clack of heels, Minnie. One pair was gentle, with the added soft padding of flats, Poppy. The other was the delicate and precise, Mr. Kip. The three pair of footsteps stopped outside of his room and the door clicked open. "Hello Remus! Are we on time?" Poppy's voice was soft like the texture of flower petals. She stepped in the room, immediately going to set down the item she brought for him to the bedside table and organize the other things on it. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid, her light blue eyes focused on the task of organizing. Her outfit was simple, black leggings, crocheted cardigan, and black flats. She had a simple gold necklace, with matching small gold hoop earrings. He knew her hands would be neatly manicured, her usual white french-tips. She only wore 2 rings, her golden wedding and engagement ring. Minnie did the opposite of her wife and moved to sit across from him. Her click-clack's were quick as she walked. She wore a black pencil skirt, a dark red sweater with the sleeves rolled up a bit, and simple black heels. She wore her black hair up in a tight bun and the only accessories she ever wore was a smart-watch and her wedding ring. She sat quietly, watching Remus rock back and forth overtop her round glasses, with a fond look. Once Poppy was finished, she sat down besides Minnie and took the other woman's hand in her own. "How are you feeling Remus?" She asked, Remus knew she worried. "You're on time. You said you'd come on Saturday, November 4th at 3:00 pm." Remus responded to the earlier question, he watched the two women smile in their own ways. Poppy smiled like watercolors, Beautiful and light. Minnie smiled like a drawing pencil, sharp and precise but no less pretty. "We have to talk to you, today isn't a usual visit." Minnie finally said. Remus knew it was coming, it didn't help quell the nervous energy nor stop him from anxiously shaking his head. "Remus...we want to adopt you. You'll have your own room with all your art. We'll be your family." Poppy grasped Minnie's hand tighter. Remus tilted his head slightly. "Snuffles can come as well?", when the two older women nodded, he smiled. He turned over the piece of paper in front of him and watched the couple across from him. It was a detailed drawing of a cat watching something in the distance in a field of poppies with a crescent moon in the sky. He wasn't the boy whose father left. He wasn't the strange boy looking at flowers instead of playing. He wasn't the weak boy with the mean stepfather. He wasn't the boy crying while his mother soothed him by telling him 'A stóirín...look at the moon...watch the moon.' He wasn't Remus J. Lupin. He was Remus H. Pomfrey-McGonagall.

please be kind! this is the first time im sharing my writing :)

[luminouslumity]

Mainland Boys: A Joseph and Billy Story

From Kendare Blake's newsletter: a snippet set on the mainland during the time that Joseph was banished there with Billy.

By the winter of his sixteenth year, Joseph Sandrin had been away from Fennbirn for what felt like a long time. But only when he thought about it. Most days, he was as any of the other mainland boys his age: concerned with his studies, and the break from his studies for the holiday, concerned with prospects of sport, concerned with whether he and his foster brother Billy Chatworth would merit an invitation to the Governor’s Ball. Most days, he was of the mainland, for that was the ground beneath his feet, and those were the lives that surrounded him.

But sometimes, and more often when he was near the sea, he thought of his old life, the one he had led as a boy on that shrouded island of magic. He would think of hot, steamed clams in butter, and birds perched on shoulders. Dogs and petulant cats with such expressive faces that they could sometimes seem to speak. He thought of fields full of barley that popped at a touch. And mostly, he thought of his girls: a dark little queen with a coal-smudged nose, and the naturalist girl with one green eye and one blue.

That day, at the start of December, he stood at the edge of a frozen pond, edged with dead, tanned reeds. Close enough to the sea, he supposed, to spark the memories of the island. Or perhaps it was only that it was December, when both of his girls would celebrate their birthdays.

“Joseph! Ho, Joseph!”

Joseph smiled, listening to the soft crunching in the snow as Billy approached from the direction of the house. Then a sharp crack, and a laughed curse: his shoe must have broken through the ice. “Stop walking on the pond, dolt,” Joseph said over his shoulder. “The ice isn’t thick enough yet.”

“Damn, my foot is freezing!” Billy threw his arm around Joseph and shook him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.”

“Thinking of Christine Hollen? Squirreled away in the privacy of the Governor’s stables?”

Joseph chuckled. Christine Hollen was the Governor’s daughter. His oldest daughter. She would not be seen cavorting with the likes of him, a foreigner, a foster-son, not even if his foster family was one of the richest in the city.

They had come north for the holiday, like many of the best, most respected families had, including the Governor. The Chatworth’s country estate, Hartford, was not far from the Governor’s own. It was actually visible from the most eastern hill. Joseph ought to know. Billy had brought him up there plenty of times, dreaming of the day he would buy it right out from underneath the Hollens at half the value.

“I’m not about to play around with the Governor’s daughter. Your father would have my head.”

Billy let go of him and tugged his scarf up farther on his neck. “Well you ought to do some playing at least. The lads are starting to talk.”

“You know I’m…waiting for someone.”

“Ah yes.” Billy grinned. “Waiting for someone. And that would be the infamous Jules Milone, wouldn’t it? The girl you haven’t laid eyes upon since you were eleven? The girl you may never see again if I don’t become king of your home country?” He cocked an eyebrow and burst out laughing. Joseph did as well. Billy Chatworth, the king-consort of Fennbirn Island. It sounded ridiculous, and seemed impossible.

Not impossible, he thought as he looked at his foster brother from the corner of his eye. Difficult. But he must have been sent to the Chatworths to groom Arsinoe’s future husband. Why else would the Goddess have sent him?  He had clung to that belief in the early years, clung to it hard, filling Billy’s ears with stories of Fennbirn. His education, in Joseph’s mind. But now that the time of the Ascension drew near, it felt more and more like fancy. Made up by his childhood imagination, to make his banishment bearable.

“Only a few months left,” Billy said. “Finally, after all this time, I get to go to your secret island. I have to admit, part of me doesn’t believe it exists. Part of me expects to board the boat and find you and my father laughing your arses off at your magnificent, five-year practical joke.”

“But we don’t know if it’s ‘we’, do we?” Joseph said. “I’m still banished. You might be on your own.”

“On my own? No, not after so long.”

“The Black Council doesn’t often let go of a grudge. Why do you think I’ve been preparing you all these years?”

Billy shrugged, the carefree mainland boy, even in the face of courting a queen. A queen who would have to murder her two sister queens, no less. But Billy had grown up on the mainland, with no gifts, and no Goddess. No queens and no Black Council looking down over everything. He had grown up with money, and with power, and with ease, and the struggle of the queens would not be real until he saw it for himself.

“You worry too much, Joseph. My father will work something out. He always does.” He blew warm breath into his cupped hands. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s go into the village and grab a pint before the party tonight.”

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

The walk to the village was short, but Billy insisted on taking the carriage anyway on account of his cold, wet foot. As they were let out near the pub, something in a shop window caught Joseph’s eye.

“What now?” Billy asked, following as he went to press his fingertips to the glass.

It was a ring. A simple, silver ring, set with dark green stones.

Billy leaned close. “That’s nowhere near fine enough to catch the prettiest girl in three counties.”

“Christine Hollen is not the prettiest girl in three counties. She’s only the wealthiest. And I wasn’t thinking of her.”

“Of course you weren’t. This is more to Jules’s taste, then?”

“When it caught the light, from over there…it looked like the color of her green eye.”

Billy leaned back and squinted. “So it does.”

“How would you know?”

“Well, I did have that old cat, with one blue eye and one green—”

Joseph smiled. “Stop comparing Jules to your old deaf cat.”

“I loved that cat. And I’m willing to bet that I remember the shade of that cat’s eyes better than you remember the eyes of some eleven-year-old girl. She might not even have those eyes anymore. They might have,” he wiggled his fingers vaguely, “darkened and whatnot. It’s unnatural for you to have carried on about her this long when you don’t even know what she looks like.”

“I know what she looks like.” Or at least, he thought he did. He remembered so well that girl of five years ago. Her smile. Her clothes. The sound of her voice. And as time passed, and as he grew up, so did the Jules of his imagination. Her hair grew long and tumbled down her back. Her face thinned and her eyes softened. Her laugh changed from the high, wild laugh of a child to the low, easy one of a young woman.

Of course, anyone who knew her family could have told him that the girl he was imagining was really only the image of Jules’s aunt, Caragh, with a dash of her mother Madrigal thrown in as wishful thinking. When Joseph imagined Jules, he simply conjured up the most beautiful girl he could think of, because to him, that’s what she was.

“It’s nearly her birthday. Sixteen, just like the queens. Born in the same month.”

Billy sighed. “The same month as Arsinoe. My bride-to-be.”

“Your queen-to-be.” Joseph watched as Billy’s eyes lost focus, and the blush crept into his cheeks. Billy imagined Arsinoe the way Joseph imagined Jules. Over the years, Joseph had built Arsinoe up, highlighting her virtues: her bravery, her wit, her fierce, affectionate spirit. He may have left out some other things, like that she was stubborn as an old donkey, sarcastic and secretive. And of course he had told him she was beautiful, when he had no idea. When they were children, Arsinoe was just like Jules: dirty and running about, and she had kept her hair very short. Poor Billy. All queens are beautiful, they say, but in Billy’s mind, Arsinoe must look just like Christine Hollen, only with black hair and eyes. And though Joseph does not doubt that she will be lovely, she will not be lovely like that.

“I can’t wait to meet her for real,” Billy said, his voice wistful. Then he straightened, and tugged on his lapels. “Queen or not, one look at me and she’ll faint dead away.”

“From fright?” Joseph laughed, and Billy tugged him back down the street to the pub.

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

Despite the chilly winter air, the party was warm. It was a dinner party, and so not terribly crowded; certainly not as crowded as the Governor’s holiday ball was bound to be, though that was on more expansive grounds.

Joseph, as usual, stayed back from the dancing, content to stand by himself at the window and imagine what Jules and Arsinoe would make of the mainland dances. The mainland girls in their frilly frocks, with lace at the sleeves and ribbons in their hair. Perhaps he should have warned Billy that Arsinoe would be constantly in trousers. But no. Why ruin the surprise.

“Are you not dancing again, Joseph?”

He did not need to turn to know who that purring voice belonged to, but he did so anyway, to be polite. “I’m afraid dancing has never suited me, Miss Hollen.” Christine Hollen, the Governor’s daughter, stood before him resplendent in green satin that made her blond hair shine like spun gold. Somehow she had managed to get herself alone. Usually she was flanked by a small herd of girls of similar age and social status. Watching them Joseph was reminded of the geese that wandered to and from the pond on the Milone property.

“I could teach you,” Christine said quietly.

“So I could dance at your wedding to Billy?” he asked, and she tossed her head back and laughed.

“Billy Chatworth has not looked at me once since this summer.”

“But he speaks of you often. Just this afternoon he told me you were the prettiest girl in three counties.” She does not blush much at that. No doubt that is a lower number of counties than she is used to. “You know that if he decides not to go abroad, he will pursue you in earnest. And when he does, then I’ll learn to dance.” He excused himself quickly, and ignored her dropped open mouth.

He moved through the rest of the party, making sure to appear to be searching for Billy. If he was idle for one moment, some girl would be upon him, trying to drag him out for a turn on the floor. Room after room and he did not spy Billy; after four rooms he began to search for real. He even poked his head into the drawing room, where the men sat smoking cigars and playing cards. But Billy was nowhere in the house.

“So which girl is also missing,” Joseph muttered as he stepped out onto the porch. The winter air was cold, but still, and an earlier dusting of fresh snow coated the trees and fence posts and made everything soft. Even in the blue light of evening, it was not hard to follow Billy’s footprints.

As he walked, he heard Jules’s voice in his ear like he so often had when they tracked something as children. “Here’s where they started to hurry,” she would have said, and, “here’s where she picked up her dress to stop it dragging in the snow.” They hit a snow drift, and the girl’s prints ended. “Oh, for Goddess’s sake,” he could hear Jules sigh. “Here’s where he picked her up.”

He followed the trail to one of the stables. Not the busy one where the coach drivers were having their own bit of merriment as their horses rested and stayed dry, but the nearly deserted one that housed the horses owned by their host. He opened the door and it creaked, but not before he heard the low laughter and rustling of clothes.

Joseph shook his head. He stomped his feet. He gave them plenty of time to put themselves together before he climbed the ladder into the hayloft, but even then, Billy’s tie was undone and Penny’s dress was askew.

“Joseph!” Billy exclaimed and put his hand to his head in relief. “You gave us a fright!”

“As I should. You’re starting to be missed.” He nodded to Penny, who blushed as she brushed past him.

“Will you—will you make it back to the house all right?” Billy asked, and she paused on the ladder only long enough to glare.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked when he heard the door open and close again. “Just this afternoon you were dreaming of queens.”

“So I’m practicing.” Billy grinned. “Besides, that festival you keep going on about isn’t for months.” He peered regretfully at the ladder after Penny. “Not terribly gallant, I suppose.”

“Not terribly.”

“I’ll be better. I will.” He threw his arm around Joseph’s shoulder.

“If you ever treat Arsinoe that way…”

“I know, I know, you’ll strike me dead. And I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Joseph clenched his jaw. “Sometimes I don’t know how I expect her to come to love you like I do.”

They walked together back to the house, and upon entering, ran directly into Billy’s father, Mr. Chatworth. Instantly, both boys straightened. Mr. Chatworth was an imposing man, though Joseph could never put his finger on why. He was handsome, but not extremely so, tall, but not towering. It was something in the eyes, perhaps. You always knew that he had the measure of you. That he saw through you, the moment you opened your mouth.

“There you are,” he said, and smiled. “Joseph, I need a moment with my son.” He led Billy without a word up the stairs and into a private office. It did not matter that it was not his house, and not his office. Chatworth did what he wanted, and somehow that earned him respect. Back in Wolf Spring, it would have earned him a punch in the face.

Content to wait, and away from the party at least, Joseph paced slowly at the bottom of the stairs. It seemed a long time before Mr. Chatworth came down again, and smiled at him, and patted his shoulder. Billy followed after, looking a bit dazed.

“What was that about?” Joseph asked.

“He received a letter,” Billy replied, and as he spoke, his face lost its paleness, and his mouth curled into a smile. “From your island. Your banishment has ended early, brother! You’re to go home before the end of the month!”

Joseph could barely breathe. He threw his arms around Billy and they shook each other hard. “I can’t believe it!”

“And that’s not the best part! I’m to come with you, and stay with your family. Get a bit of a head start with the queens.” He punched Joseph in the arm. “I told you my father would figure something out.”

Joseph’s head spun with hopes he had been too afraid to have for the last five years. He was going home. Home to his mother, and father. Home to Matthew and Jonah and Wolf Spring. Home to Jules. And to Arsinoe, with the gift of a fine husband.

Billy reached into his pocket. “And there’s this,” he said, and pulled out a small box. He opened it, and inside was the silver ring that Joseph had admired in the shop window. Even in the dimness of the hall, the green stones glittered. “I doubled back for it when I sent you home ahead.”

“I can’t afford it,” said Joseph, and pushed the box back.

Billy shook his head and placed it in Joseph’s hands. “I’m not going to let you go home with nothing for your girl.” Then he turned him back to the party, his grin wide. “Joseph my friend, we are going to take that island of yours by storm.”

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 20 || Chapter 20 || Chapter 21 || From the Beginning || Patreon & Ko-Fi >>

Chapter 21

“Shadepool? Shadepool, are you awake?”

Shadepool had been asleep, in fact, and dreaming of sharing tongues with Crowflight in a grassy meadow, their pelts warmed by greenleaf sunshine. Compared to her dreams of late, this was paradisiacal - but Sun's voice and the prodding of her paw ended the warmth and comfort all too soon.

Opening her eyes, Shadepool found that Sun's muzzle was so close to hers that her vision blurred uncomfortably, turning the she-cat into a mush of oranges and yellows and whites. Shadepool drew back, groaning.

Sun flattened her ears and pulled back as well, lowering her muzzle near to the ground and mewling, “Sorry!”

Shadepool yawned. “It's okay,” she mumbled around a dry tongue. “What's going on?”

“It's Sorreltail,” Sun said, lifting her nose. “We were due to go on a hunting patrol after we rested, but she was still sleeping when it was time to go. Longtail and I went without her, but when we returned, she was still in the warrior's den.”

Shadepool frowned, worry burrowing between her ears. “Is she awake now?” she asked.

Sun nodded. “I managed to get her up, yes.”

That's good, at least. However, Shadepool had to admit that just from Sun's description, she was stumped. Still, if something was wrong with Sorreltail, Shadepool knew she had to do something.

“Did you talk to Brackenfur?” she asked, getting to her paws.

“I wanted to, but Tinystar asked that he not be disturbed,” Sun responded. “Our trip to look for you was very taxing on him, I think.”

Shadepool grimaced with guilt. Of course, the trip was taxing - the way to the Moonpool was long, littered with cliffs and steep hills that were difficult for a regular cat to clamber over, let alone a cat with a permanent injury in the middle of leafbare. She envied WindClan, who had a much smoother journey on their side of the Divide - aside from having to splash in a river, that is.

“Let's go see her, then,” Shadepool mewed.

She followed Sun out into the clearing. The sun was sliding into evening, the sky darkening into an orangish-purple. The air was touched with a hopeful warmth, though, and Shadepool could feel newleaf coming in her heart if the geese hadn't given it away that morning - finally, there was to be an end to this long, cruel leafbare! Whatever else was happening, that was worth celebrating.

The camp seemed to be in a bustle, with most cats not out on patrol or training sharing tongues or shoring up dens - Spiderpaw and Larchpaw were practicing fighting moves just outside the apprentice's den, and it seemed to Shadepool like they were working on Larchpaw's deaf side. Ashfur and Mousefur were watching carefully, sharing a meal between themselves, occasionally pausing to give some input here or there.

Shadepool's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten in a long while, just a quick, hasty bite of chaffinch when she'd returned to camp with Brackenfur. That had been more feathers than meat, though, and it didn't make up for spending a whole day asleep at the Moonpool.

Later, she thought. Sorreltail was more important.

They quickly approached the shadow of the warrior's den, and Shadepool ducked beneath the scraggly branches. There were no buds yet, but when newleaf came, the warrior's den would look twice its size, Shadepool guessed.

Sorreltail was lying in her nest, eyes open but looking bedraggled. At the sight of Sun and Shadepool, she perked up a little, lifting her muzzle to the edge of her nest and heaving out a heavy-sounding “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Shadepool returned. She crouched in the shadows beside her, measuring her breathing and heartbeat with a paw. “Sun tells me you're not feeling well?”

"I'm fine, I'm sure,” Sorreltail insisted. “Just a lot of patrols lately. Training, too. Swiftfoot and Mistyfoot are-” she yawned, baring her teeth- “intense sometimes...”

“I can imagine,” Shadepool agreed. “Lay on your side for me, would you?”

Sorreltail obeyed. Shadepool found no issue with Sorreltail's breathing or heartbeat, and as she felt with her paws, she found no sprains or injuries that might be sapping her energy. Shadepool checked her ears and nose for fever and found them to be cool and wet, as they ought to be.

She pressed on with her paws, moving from Sorreltail's limbs to her abdomen. Soon enough, she had her answer - a faint swelling in her lower body that made Sorreltail gasp a little when Shadepool pressed gently.

“What is that?” Sun asked, eyes darting between Sorreltail and Shadepool. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Shadepool assured her. Warmth filled her chest. “Sorreltail is just pregnant, that's all.”

Sorreltail's head shot up immediately, her eyes wide. “What?! Pregnant?”

Shadepool nodded, her whiskers twitching in amusement. “Yes, definitely! With more than one, too, if I'm feeling you properly.”

Sorreltail looked as if Shadepool had suddenly sprouted wings. Sun was just as flabbergasted, blinking owlishly in the dark. Shadepool glanced between them, slightly concerned - this was her first time delivering the news. Had she done it wrong?

“Are you two okay?” Shadepool ventured carefully. “I'd offer you thyme, but we haven't any. It might be bad for Sorreltail, besides.”

“I-I'm fine,” Sorreltail insisted, glancing at Sun. “I just. I didn't think it would happen so soon.”

“Me, either,” Sun breathed, finally.

Shadepool peered at Sun. There was something on her face that was difficult to understand. Sorreltail seemed to know what it was, though, as she stretched her neck out to lap at Sun's paw comfortingly.

“Sorreltail's exhaustion is a bit more than usual at her stage,” Shadepool remarked, feeling a bit like an intruder in their private moment. “I don't think there's anything wrong, but I'm going to make sure she doesn't get involved in patrols for a few days and get Mistyfoot to take her out of the training rotation.”

“Do I have to move to the nursery?” Sorreltail wondered.

“Not yet,” Shadepool assured. “And, once you've rested, you can still go hunting - but just take it easy for now. No chasing squirrels up trees or anything like that!” Shadepool frisked her tail and said, “I'll leave you two alone and inform Tinystar - is that alright?”

“Yes,” Sun answered. Beside her, Sorreltail nodded.

Shadepool dipped her head to them both and left the warrior's den. Out in the clearing, she could breathe a little easier, and she guessed that they needed some time to themselves - this was big news, not just for them but the Clan, too.

Almost immediately, Mistyfoot approached her, eyes sharp. Nightfrost was a pace behind, a mouse in his jaws as if they were about to share it.

“What's going on?” Mistyfoot asked, her gaze flickering to the warrior's den. “Is Sorreltail hurt?”

Shadepool shook her head. “Not hurt, just expecting kits,” she explained, trying to keep her voice low. “She needs to be kept out of training sessions until the kits are weaned.”

Mistyfoot's eyes rounded, and Nightfrost, who had overheard, pricked his ears. “Of course,” Mistyfoot meowed quickly, “I'll take her out of the rotation immediately.”

“Kits!” Nightfrost breathed, dropping his meal to speak. He glanced at Mistyfoot, his eyes bright. “We finally get to use that nursery we spent two whole days on! Dustpelt is going to be so happy!”

Shadepool flicked her tail. “Keep it quiet as you can, for now,” she hissed. “I don't know if they want the whole Clan to-”

“Did someone say kits?” Spiderpaw piped up.

Shadepool's ears burned. She hadn't noticed the apprentices were tumbling so close!

Larchpaw, who was beneath her, asked, “Whose kits?” He glanced at Mistyfoot. “Yours?”

“No!” Mistyfoot insisted.

Subtlety crumbled instantly from there - Spiderpaw's mewl had caught Ashfur and Mousefur's attention, and as they began gossiping, Silverstream, of course, overheard. Graystripe knew, then, and with his boisterous voice, it was all over camp in a flash, spreading like a forest fire.

By the time Sun had crawled out of the warrior's den, she was surrounded by her new Clanmates, each one giving their congratulations. When Sun looked at Shadepool, she could only mouth a plaintive “Sorry!” to her friend - there was no way she'd be heard over the noise.

After a moment, though, it seemed like Sun was okay with the attention. She took everyone's words with a calmness that began to bubble into an excitement only an expectant parent could feel.

“Kits, hm?” Tinystar's voice was soft behind Shadepool, who started at the sound of her father. She hadn't even heard him come near, nor had she expected him to be pleased to see her.

“Y-Yes,” Shadepool said awkwardly. “Sun and Sorreltail's.”

“Good,” Tinystar sighed. His eyes sparked wistfully. “That's... That's good.”

Shadepool peered at her father. He seemed just as thin and exhausted as he'd been since he'd heard about Onewhisker's death. It seemed that the news about Barkface had hit hard, but not enough to spiral him much further. Perhaps the poppy seeds were helping?

“Father, I'm sorry,” Shadepool blurted. No one else was listening to her, anyway - they were all too focused on Sun. “I didn't mean to leave and worry you again, and-”

Tinystar waved his tail. “Brackenfur explained it,” he said simply. “Medicine cat business is medicine cat business - even when that medicine cat is my dear daughter.”

His expression was warm with pride, and that made Shadepool breathe a sigh of relief. It didn't seem like Brackenfur had told him about the Omen or the missing spirits of his friends. She still had no idea whether or not that was a good thing to keep from him, but she did agree that they needed more information before they revealed anything.

“Now, what about you two, hm?” Tinystar mewed on, looking at Mistyfoot and Nightfrost. “Will Sorreltail have company soon?”

Shadepool felt a wave of sympathy at how utterly uncomfortable they both looked, mouths agape as they groped for a response, doing everything they possibly could to avoid looking at one another.

Tinystar seemed amused, his whiskers twitching. “No rush,” he insisted. “Don't mind me - I'll just give Sorreltail my congratulations...”

He stepped away, walking through the crowd of cats toward the warrior's den. Before entering, though, he touched noses with Sun, saying something that made her flatten her ears and wind her tail bashfully around her paws. Tinystar disappeared into the shadows of the den a moment later.

“I, uh,” Mistyfoot struggled, eyes darting around until she found Mousefur. “Mousefur!” she mewled, “Hunting! Please!”

Mousefur looked at Mistyfoot like she was insane, but the expression on the gray she-cat's face seemed to be enough to convince her to go - though Mousefur was sure to heave a tired sigh as she agreed.

Shadepool watched the two trek off to the thorn tunnel, feeling a spark of something coming from between the thorns in her mind - discomfort, worry, sorrow, all from Nightfrost. It was the first emotion she felt from him in what seemed like an age, and it nearly knocked her off her paws.

“Night?” she asked, concerned. Her brother didn't budge - would he even talk to her about this? She had to try: “What's wrong? Are you and Mistyfoot okay?”

Nightfrost grimaced. “It's nothing,” he insisted, his voice tight. “Just. We're not-”

A yowl interrupted him, and suddenly Mousefur burst back into camp, bristling from ears to tail. Every cat in camp froze as fear-scent rolled into the hollow like a sour wave, followed by the harsh tang of blood as Mistyfoot and Sootfur pushed through the thorn tunnel, propping Dustpelt up between them as he bled heavily from a wound in his throat. Snowstep followed last, his white pelt streaked with red.

Their Clanmates quickly surrounded them, each cat clamoring to know what had happened, with Mousefur fighting to give the injured space. Shadepool had to battle her way through the crowd, even stepping on Brightheart's tail, to reach them.

Shadepool's mouth went dry. Snowstep's ear was torn almost to a stump, the blood from the wound streaking his face. Dustpelt's breathing was ragged, the wound at his throat deep but thankfully not fatal. Sootfur had the least injuries, but it looked like he'd torn a claw and had some new scars on his muzzle to speak of.

Beside Shadepool, Nightfrost hissed, “What in StarClan's name..?”

“What happened?!” Tinystar had thrust himself out of the warrior's den, his ice-blue eyes burning like tiny fires. All his latent exhaustion seemed to have fled him. The crowd parted around him as he padded toward the entrance.

At the sight of his injured warriors, his tail stiffened. Sharply, he demanded, “Who did this?”

It was Dustpelt who croaked, “WindClan.”

———————————————————

Sootfur and Snowstep were stable, but Dustpelt had to be kept in the medicine cat's den, with the wound in his throat at high risk of infection. So it went for the next three sunrises - while the claws of bitter leafbare unclenched around the world, there was always at least one patrol to the Divide who came back with some sort of injury.

Mousefur's patrol got caught while hunting, leaving her with a furless flank and Rainwhisker with fewer whiskers. Spiderpaw came out without injury, thankfully, but she claimed to have struck a harsh blow to one of WindClan's apprentices, nearly knocking them into the river.

Brightheart dislocated a shoulder after throwing Emberstep off herself, leaving her sore and unable to patrol. Whitewing's belly had been clawed badly, and she was confined with Dustpelt until she healed. Even Graystripe's thick fur couldn't save him from when Thorndusk nearly tore his tail off.

Soon enough, it became easier to count what warriors hadn't encountered a WindClan patrol than those who had. Shadepool and Brackenfur were up to their ears in patients, and though newleaf was finally here, the snow was still stubbornly clinging to the forest floor, and the plants they needed hadn't yet grown - nor did they have the time to go out and search the territory for any early buds with new injuries each day.

“What do they even want?” hissed Cinderpelt as Shadepool treated her for a torn ear just after her patrol returned around sunhigh. “They haven't tried to move the boundary, and it's so much effort to cross the tree-bridge and attack us! Don't they have anything better to do now that newleaf is coming?”

“They want us to suffer,” Dustpelt croaked. His throat was packed with what few herbs and cobwebs they had, and his eyes were glazed with pain. “Like they did.”

“Hush,” Brackenfur told him sternly. “You'll only hurt yourself more if you strain...”

“We need to retaliate,” Dustpelt wheezed through his teeth. “We must stop them before they think they can overrun us!”

“Dustpelt!” Brackenfur snapped. Teeth bared, he growled, “Be. Quiet. If you wake Whitewing, you'll wish you were in StarClan!”

Dustpelt curled his lip at the younger cat but lowered his head. He grumbled something into his nest about 'WindClan fox-hearts' and kept his eyes stubbornly fixated on his mate, his tail flicking to and fro. Brackenfur sighed, leaving him there to stick his head into the herb store.

“I'm sorry about him,” Cinderpelt murmured, hissing as Shadepool dabbed a poultice of sweet-sedge onto her ear. “But, he is right. That sort of tactic does make a lot of sense, coming from WindClan. From Mudstar.”

Shadepool's pelt rippled uncomfortably. “I'm a medicine cat,” she reminded Cinderpelt, trying to keep her tone from being too short. “Not a warrior.”

Cinderpelt opened her jaws, then shut them, choosing to keep whatever she was about to say next to herself. Shadepool hadn't wanted to be so glib with a senior warrior, but she was exhausted to the ends of her whiskers with how many patients she'd seen the last three sunrises - it was even beginning to test Brackenfur's temper.

“Shadepool, go and fetch more cobwebs from behind the elder's den,” Brackenfur ordered, pulling his head out from the cleft in the wall. “We've all but run out, and Whitewing's dressings need changing. I'll finish with Cinderpelt, here.”

“Of course.”

Exhausted to her bones, Shadepool shuffled out of the medicine cat's cave and into the sunshine. The clearing felt open and free compared to the claustrophobic cave, so she aimed to enjoy it before she had to head back inside.

Maybe I can go looking for herbs again, she thought as she headed toward the elder's den. It wasn't being used for the moment, and though there were no nests made, it still looked incredibly cozy and quiet. Or, maybe I can take a nap...

Brackenfur was right that there was a good supply of cobwebs between the bushes and cliffside, and Shadepool was able to bind her paw in the sticky substance while still leaving plenty to spare for later. She thanked the spiders for their help and began her awkward jaunt back to the cave.

She could feel the gazes of her Clanmates on her as she walked. With so many injuries, many cats had to be confined to camp so they could heal properly - thus, the clearing felt full of eyes with not much else to do but ponder their sudden situation with one another.

Shadepool tried to avoid the gossip, but one voice carried to her ears:

“How can Crowflight be okay with this?” Nightfrost whispered, his eyes round with disbelief.

He crouched just on the other side of the fallen tree with Mistyfoot, both of them hidden behind the upturned roots. It seemed like they had chosen this spot specifically to keep prying eyes and ears away, but Shadepool knew their voices too well to ignore them. She paused to listen, concern tumbling in her belly.

Mistyfoot's gaze was dark. “He's changed, whether we like it or not.”

Frustration boiled in Shadepool's pelt, multiplied by her exhaustion. She hobbled around the tree roots and thrust her muzzle into their faces, hissing between bared teeth, “Crowflight would never be okay with this! How dare you think that about him, after everything we've gone through together!”

“Shade...” Nightfrost cautioned. His eyes darted from side to side as if he were worried about onlookers.

Mistyfoot curled her lip. “Face it, Shadepool - something like this isn't a decision Mudstar would make alone. If Crowflight opposed it, he wouldn't be deputy in the first place!”

Shadepool bristled and dug her claws into the dirt to keep them from lashing out at Mistyfoot. There was absolutely no way that she would believe Crowflight was involved - not when his warriors had already proven they would do things behind his back before.

But there's no way he wouldn't know about attacks like this... Her stomach curdled. And I can't tell them how I know for certain, not unless I want Mistyfoot to know about Crowflight and I.

“Face it, Shadepool,” Mistyfoot breathed. “Crowflight has changed.”

Shadepool glared at Mistyfoot, unable to believe the words she was hearing - but slowly, she realized that Mistyfoot didn't look pleased about it, either. In fact, she looked just as hurt and betrayed as Shadepool was frustrated and defensive.

She doesn't want to think it of him, but without evidence stating otherwise, what else can she think?

She looked to Nightfrost, hoping to see some sort of support from her brother - but he was not meeting her gaze, and he looked as if he'd been clawed by Sharptooth's ghost.

Shadepool lashed her tail. “You might have stopped believing in him,” she muttered bitterly, “but I haven't.”

Nightfrost made a noise in his throat, sounding hurt. Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes and reasoned, “That's not fair, Shadepool. We have to face facts.”

You don't know the facts! There's so much more going on!

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey come beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!”

Shadepool glanced over her shoulder, shocked at the powerful sound of her father's voice echoing off the stone walls. Tinystar was a dark spot atop the Highledge, staring down at the clearing with eyes like ice.

From every corner of the camp, ThunderClan gathered, some limping, some with pain in their eyes, others looking tired from covering patrols for their injured denmates. It took only moments for them all to gather beneath their leader. Brackenfur poked his head out from behind the lichen that shrouded the medicine cat's cave, unable to leave Dustpelt and Whitewing for long.

Shadepool hobbled over with Nightfrost and Mistyfoot, but she kept her distance from the both of them, still feeling like her pelt was covered in thorns. As she looked up at her father, she felt she could easily predict what he was about to say, and a lump formed in her throat.

He's going to fight WindClan.

Tinystar's gaze swept over his Clan. Shadepool could only imagine how he felt right now, knowing that so many of his cats bore scratches and bites that were still healing. When it seemed like everyone was present, he began to speak:

“These past days have been hard,” he began. “I cannot speak for what is going on in Mudstar's head, but clearly, he is attempting to provoke us into responding.”

“Then I say we respond!” snapped Swiftfoot. His stump of a tail lashed. “Enough is enough!”

“Yeah,” agreed Ashfur. “Too many cats are getting hurt. We have to retaliate!”

Agreement rippled through the Clan. Shadepool grimaced at the waves of aggression clouding the air. She sat and curled her tail tight around her free paw, searching for something to soothe the tempers of her Clanmates.

Tinystar beat her to it: “I agree that this cannot go unpunished - but we cannot be seen as the aggressor, no matter what. That will only justify WindClan's position.”

“But it puts us at risk!” Brightheart called back. “If we can't find a way to fight back, we're just going to get more and more worn down, and cats will start dying!”

Beside her, Sun nodded. She had a poultice above her eye from an injury the day before. “I, for one, want to see my kits when they're born, Tinystar!”

More meows of agreement. Shadepool was at least grateful that, though they were all angry, her Clanmates seemed to agree that this situation was less than ideal. She thanked StarClan that Dustpelt wasn't here to add his harsh voice to the crowd for once.

“I am going to take a patrol to the WindClan border to try and sort this out,” Tinystar declared. “One last appeal to Mudstar's decency - hopefully, he will see the truth.”

“Doubt it,” muttered Sootfur. “We're talking about a cat who started a civil war in his own Clan, lost, and probably killed Onewhisker, Barkface, and Ashfoot.” Beside him, Ashfur nodded along, his pale eyes burning.

“Reason has long since left him,” Swiftfoot agreed.

Shadepool shivered. Several other cats looked like they agreed with the same ideas. Even Longtail looked certain of it. How far had that nasty rumor of Skipnose's spread? Were there cats in every Clan that thought the same?

Tinystar lashed his tail. “We don't know any of that for certain,” he insisted, glaring down at his Clan. “And until we do, we cannot take it for truth. I will take Mistyfoot, Graystripe, Ashfur, and Shadepool with me to speak to Mudstar.”

“And if Mudstar doesn't relent?” Snowstep asked, his white pelt glowing boldly in the sunshine. His ear was wrapped tight in cobweb and sweet-sedge, and the red streaks in his pelt were struggling to wash out.

Tinystar grimaced. “Then we begin fighting back.”

Shadepool swallowed.

“Brightheart, you have the camp. We will be back before sundown - this meeting is adjourned.”

Tinystar clambered down the steps of the Highledge. The crowd dispersed, parting to let those chosen for the patrol come through. Silverstream touched her nose to Graystripe's ear, murmuring something to him with a worried gaze. Larchpaw tugged at Ashfur's tail, begging to come along, only to be rebuffed by his mentor. Both Mistyfoot and Nightfrost got up to meet the patrol, tails low.

“Here, I'll take that,” murmured Ferncloud.

Shadepool flinched - she hadn't even noticed the queen sidling so close. Shadepool's jaws opened in a confused response, but when Ferncloud's paw reached out to take the cobwebs, Shadepool felt like a mouse-brain.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“No problem,” Ferncloud said. She carefully untangled the cobwebs from Shadepool's paw, winding them around her own. “I'll help Brackenfur as best as I can while you're gone. I know a little about herbs from helping out some back in the old forest.”

“That would be great,” Shadepool breathed, grateful for the queen's help. “Thank you.”

Ferncloud's green eyes sparkled. “Good luck.”

Free of her cobwebs, Shadepool trotted over to Tinystar. It seemed like the entire patrol was gathered and ready, the warriors bearing determined faces. Shadepool hoped she looked as brave - it was a risk to bring her along if Mudstar decided he didn't want to talk peace.

“Let me come, Father,” Nightfrost insisted. “Please. If Crowflight is there, I need to talk to him.”

Tinystar frowned, his whiskers twitching. He glanced between his son and his daughter, and Shadepool guessed he was weighing the possibilities of bringing both of his kits to a potentially dangerous negotiation.

Finally, though, he sighed and meowed, “Come.”

———————————————————

As they hurried through the forest, following the twisting paths to the Divide, Shadepool could hear the forest beginning to melt. Water as cold as ice dripped slowly from every branch and bush, while the snow that had piled up from blizzard after blizzard had a sheen of moisture on its surface. The ground beneath their paws was soft, and the sun on their backs was warm.

She wanted to lose herself in the rich, loamy scents that filled the air - anything but this tension that kept the patrol quiet, the purpose that dogged their steps. Sure, Mudstar could see reason and relent - but Shadepool had her bets on the exact opposite happening, and every other cat seemed to believe the same.

The trees thinned, and the Divide loomed ahead, sooner rather than later. As the patrol neared the tree-bridge, though, something became quite clear:

WindClan was waiting for them.

On the ThunderClan side, at the foot of the tree-bridge, stood a patrol of WindClan cats - Crowflight was at their center, his dark blue eyes burning, but with him, spread out like a battle patrol, were Thorndusk, Emberstep, and Whitetail.

Shadepool's heart thudded in her ears. How long had they been there, waiting on the edge of ThunderClan territory? Were they waiting to ambush one of us?

Tinystar drew to a halt, and, at a signal from his tail, the patrol fanned out to enclose the WindClan cats. Shadepool stayed close to her father in the center, with Mistyfoot on his other side. Graystripe glowered at Thorndusk, while Ashfur glared at Emberstep with undisguised hostility, which the gray she-cat returned.

“What, so we have to respect that you closed your borders to us, but you don't have to respect our boundaries?” Ashfur growled. His ears were flat to his head. “Those rabbits must be going to your heads, WindClan!”

Emberstep hissed at him. Crowflight sent her a glare that made her crouch low, fuming.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tinystar asked, taking half a step forward. His spine was stiff. “Why are you on ThunderClan land?”

“Mudstar sent us to talk,” Crowflight responded. Shadepool thought he sounded strained. His body language was formal, but she detected worry in how the tips of his ears flicked.

“Funny,” Graystripe muttered, “we came to speak to Mudstar.”

“He will not hear you,” Whitetail stated matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” Tinystar wondered, flicking an ear.

“Mudstar will not speak with codebreakers and murderers,” Thorndusk snapped.

“We're codebreakers too, now?” Graystripe wondered under his breath, sighing. “Yikes.”

Tinystar hissed between his teeth. Shadepool could sense her father's frustration, and she hoped it would not build - this patrol far outnumbered the WindClan cats, but if they were the ones to strike first, it would destroy what Tinystar was trying to accomplish.

Besides, Shadepool knew she wouldn't be able to bear seeing not just her littermate and friend hurt, but Crowflight as well. Her heart thudded in her ears.

“Speak, then, Crowflght,” Tinystar decided. “Tell me how Mudstar is choosing to justify stalking and harassing my warriors on their own land while calling us codebreakers in the same breath!”

Crowflight puffed out his thin chest. “Mudstar has decided that enough is enough,” he declared. “These attacks have been a warning - if you do not produce Onewhisker and Barkface's killer, or killers, before the half-moon turns, then WindClan will refuse to acknowledge ThunderClan's place here at the lake.”

Shadepool's heart nearly stopped. It felt like the breath had been sucked from her lungs.

She wasn't the only one: “The fox-dung is that supposed to mean?” demanded Ashfur.

“It means war,” Tinystar explained, his tone soft and shockingly calm. “It means that Mudstar will not stop until ThunderClan is driven from the lake entirely.”

“Yes,” Crowflight confirmed, his tone quiet and heavy. “That is what that means.”

“You can't be serious!” gasped Graystripe.

“StarClan above,” muttered Mistyfoot.

Shadepool felt the entire forest whirl around her. She could count on one paw the number of known times one Clan had driven another fully out of their territory, and one of those times, it had been WindClan themselves who had been forced to flee. How could they use such a terrible tactic now, when there were cats alive who knew what it would be like? When Mudstar knew what it would be like?

“Those are the terms,” Crowflight meowed on. “What say you, Tinystar?”

Tinystar opened his mouth to respond, eyes full of quiet fury, but it was Nightfrost that pushed past him - ignoring a worried hiss from Mistyfoot - and thrust his muzzle right into Crowflight's face.

“How can you stand there and say that you'll drive us out after all we did to bring the Clans here?” Nightfrost cried, the desperation in his voice breaking. “How can you forget what Stormfur died for?"

Shadepool glanced at Mistyfoot. She looked horrified to the ends of her fur, her gaze pleading with this cat she had come to care for as a dear friend. Shadepool looked back at Crowflight. The WindClan deputy was staring down at Nightfrost, and Shadepool could see the thoughts bouncing in his head, the conflict that was making his thin legs tremble. She couldn't bear to look but couldn't afford to look away, either.

“Tell me!” Nightfrost demanded, baring his teeth.

“Get away from him, ThunderClan!” Emberstep hissed, drawing close.

Nightfrost stood stubbornly still. He shrieked, his little body trembling with emotion that rattled the thorns in Shadepool's head, “Tell me, Crow!”

Crowflight stared down at him, helpless. “I...”

Emberstep leaped, fastening her jaws into Nightfrost's scruff. She yanked him away from Crowflight, roughly tossing him away. Nightfrost slid into Mistyfoot's paws, where he lay still and quiet.

Shadepool moved to his side immediately, trembling from ears to tail. He was just lying there, staring off into nothingness, not even his whiskers stirring. She pressed an ear to Nightfrost's side and thanked StarClan when she felt his belly swell with a small breath - he was only in shock.

“Oh, no, you don't-” hissed Graystripe. He lunged for Emberstep, but Thorndusk cut him off, thrusting the gray tom away with a blow from her forepaws. Graystripe staggered back and hissed, looking twice his size and vicious beyond himself.

When Emberstep attempted to come closer to Nightfrost, both Tinystar and Mistyfoot blocked her, the two forming a solid wall to protect the stunned tom and Shadepool, who crouched over him. Whitetail drew close to back up her Clanmate, which made Ashfur circle behind, his tail lashing as he looked for an opportunity to pounce. Off to the side, Graystripe and Thorndusk were rounding one another, hissing and spitting.

“Stop this!” Shadepool wailed. Her heart was hurting so much. She stared into Crowflight's eyes, emotion stinging in her eyes. “Please!”

Crowflight's gaze was unfocused, like a startled deer.

How can you just stand there? Shadepool thought, begging for Crowflight to meet her eye. How can you just watch Nightfrost be tossed aside like prey?

It was useless. She knew he was too overwhelmed to respond.

Please, she pleaded. Her heart was like thunder in her ears, threatening to crack in two. Don't do this. Don't let this happen.

Finally, his eye dared to meet hers. As if her expression was enough to stabilize his mind, Crowflight got to his paws and yowled, “That's enough! Stand down!”

His warriors obeyed - even Emberstep, who hissed at Tinystar one last time before she slunk away. They began to file across the tree-bridge, going one at a time, waiting on the other shore for Crowflight. Their eyes gleamed with hostility.

When his warriors were gone, Crowflight meowed, his voice soft, “The message has been delivered. You have until the half-moon to deliver those responsible, or WindClan's fury will haunt your every step.”

Tinystar curled his lip. “I see what kind of deputy you have chosen to be, Crowflight, and I am disappointed. I heard you loud and clear.” He raised his chin -though Crowflight towered over him, Tinystar seemed even taller. “Tell Mudstar that ThunderClan is innocent, and we will be ready for him if he ever decides to show his own face and deliver his own messages.”

Crowflight opened his jaws, looking at Mistyfoot. Shadepool wondered if he was going to apologize, but a glance at Mistyfoot showed it would not be well received - the blue-gray she-cat's face was thunder and lightning, a cold fury patterned across her countenance that chilled Shadepool to the bone.

Fear crossed Crowflight's eyes at the sight, and he looked to Shadepool to spare himself. His gaze was heavy, tired, and full of some fathomless sorrow. The death of his mother had broken something in his heart, and the weight of what he knew was breaking his mind, but this had broken something else, something that Shadepool knew he thought was just as strong, maybe stronger.

She knew he wanted her to forgive him, and maybe deep down she did - she knew what his circumstances were - but right now, his actions felt like claws piercing her heart, deep and painful. She loved him so terribly, so much, but this was the first time she found herself with a question she was too terrified to answer:

What if Crowflight had truly become her enemy?

[evilrobotdog]

(my warrior cat ocs from middle school)

the life and death of a bird

KEEP READING to see me talk about these characters that r still very dear to me

The first piece is of Maroonstar (leader of Windclan) and Frost (her secret  kittypet lover). They have three kits (who are the subject of the three other pieces down below) and all is good and kind, hence the sweet little bird above them.

The second piece is of Thornstep (Maroonstar’s son and Windclan medicine cat) and Echostar (the new leader of Windclan after Maroonstar) When it was finally discovered that Maroonstar had kits with a kittypet the clan were outraged and exiled her. Thornstep was the only one (out of all of the cats) that was most understanding and felt for Maroonstar. The dead bird represents his mother’s poor choices, yet how he holds it in his mouth to show his understanding.

The third piece is of Branchwing (Maroonstar’s daughter) and her Starclan guardian. (whose name I could never remember) Shortly after her mother was exiled, she started getting weird prophecies and found out that she can ask questions to Starclan and in return would get a dead bird delivered to her in a specific spot in the woods as if to say “yes”. As for the Starclan guardian, she kind of just manifested for Branchpaw because she really needed a mother figure at the time.

The fourth and final piece is of Thornstrike. (Maroonstar’s son) When the clan found out his father was a kittypet, he was bullied relentlessly for it so it caused him to develop a hatred for not only kittypets but both of his parents. In the scene I drew, its whenever he was in a battle during an invasion and an apprentice trer through his ear in such a way that it resembled his mother’s ear scar. This sent Thornpaw into a blind fury which ended up costing the life of that apprentice. The word got around and his reputation ended up being how he’s no better than his parents.... the bird symbolism in this one is that the apprentice’s name was Birdpaw. Hahaha

My middle school brain was wild....contacting Erin Hunter about them right away

[liquid-luck-00]

Connections 15

Chapter 15

this is based on @thepeacetea daminette soulmate au

MasterList *** First *** Previous

~~~~~~~~~~

Under the cover of darkness, close to midnight, did Mari leave to meet Wonder Woman.

When Marinette arrived at the Justice League headquarters in France she was met with not one, not two, but three Amazonians.

"Queen Hippolyta, it’s wonderful to see you once again." She greeted.

"As well as you, little bug." Came the Queen‘s response.

Marinette de-transformed and then they started the conversation.

They discussed how they would proceed with the miraculous threat and how to retrieve all the miraculous without causing irreparable harm. Because the thought is that whoever this Hawkmoth is, he was no chosen of a Kwamii. Meaning there will be consequences, and even though his actions are not ones they condone or support. That doesn’t mean they are cruel enough to let this person be harmed by their own stupidity.

Yes the miraculous give blessings to their holders, but only if they are the right holder, with the right jewel. As each time a miraculous is used, the holder quite literally channels the kwamii's power. The more compatible, to the kwamii, a.k.a. a true chosen, the person is able to use the powers of the miraculous safer and easier. The opposite is also true, and incompatible person will be hurt to the point of damaging themselves physically, mentally, emotionally, and even damage their souls.

Which is why they also had to find this guardian to see about taking back the miraculous of the cat.

Which brings us to the reason why there’s three Amazonian‘s currently in front of her in Europe.

Wonder Woman, because yes she is Marinette's teacher of sorts within the Justice League.

Queen Hippolyta, for being a past ladybug, and also because it would be wise to seek out the Guardian.

And finally Artemis who was tasked with finding the guardian to discuss how this threat will be eliminated.

After a bit a back-and-forth Diana decided that she would have to head back, and so did Hippolyta. Artemis had decided to start the search halfway through the conversation and had left.

Now that she was alone, she knew there was another person she needed to meet with. So, she re-transformed and checked her yo-yo.

Luckily there he was transformed and roaming the city. With a quick text of directions, she was off. It took less than 10 minutes to arrive, seeing as he was already there.

Before she said a word, with a practiced motion, she drew one of her escrima sticks. And proceeded to draw a spell glyph in the air. Resulting in a protective box inside the bell story.

"Thank you for coming Chat Noir."

"Is there something you need to discuss?"

"Yeah… there is." She took a breath to steady herself.

"Are you planning on sharing our identities?" He wiggled his eyebrows, she assumes.

"No, I wasn't." She saw him deflate. "Did you receive your miraculous from the guardian?" She started to question.

"Yeah… " He seemed to think but almost like he wasn’t sure, figures, seeing that he was rubbing the back of his neck.

"You don’t actually know." It wasn’t a question but a statement.

"Sorry." He shook his head.

"No, it’s fine. Artemis can find him, and Hippolyta will know what to do." She hung her head and whispered to herself ever so slightly.

"Was that all you wanted?" He stepped towards her, but she stepped back.

She shook her head in response. "Did your kwamii... did Plagg tell you..."

"How the black cat and ladybug are soulmates meaning you and I are Soulmates. Oh what do you think our soul mark is. I haven't noticed anything different have you?" He spoke without taking a breath, waiting for her answer.

"Sorry, but you aren't my cat." She shook her head.

"What?!"

"You and I aren't soulmates." She stepped forward, taking his hands in hers. The certainty in her voice caused him to freeze.

"Does this mean I'm not a hero." His voice and ears dropped; his head bowed sadly.

"No." Her voice was steady, no hesitation in her voice or posture. "You are a hero. Your actions so far prove that."

"But I'm not your cat."

"No, but you are a chosen."

"How could you know that for sure?"

He looked at her sadly as if he didn’t believe a single thing. A small small part of her understood that whatever he was feeling was because of something in his personal life made it so.

That the love and attention he got was conditional. It broke Mari's heart but also, she understood. She remembers before Papa, Uncle B, her brothers, before Damian, the love she received in Paris was conditional. She also knew Damian would understand because of the League's similar conditions.

She had to shake her head before she could spiral. "I know you are. Because your soul resonates to the miraculous. It just isn't that of the black cat. But..."

"LB. you should give this to your soulmate." He didn't let her argue, he dropped the transformation. "You are Ladybug and I am not your cat."

He took off the ring, grabbed her hand and placed the ring into her palm. "I’m sorry for wasting everyone’s time."

There in front of her stood a blond-haired boy, his eyes closed, with a sad, defeated look on his face, and a say in his shoulders.

"You didn’t."

She grabbed the blonde haired boy’s wrist.

Marinette was going to drop her transformation, but call it intuition or maybe this was cosmic interference, so she didn’t. "Please, keep the ring until my cat can take your role. But you have helped so much, please continue being a hero."

"You're just saying that. You don’t know me." He mumbled barely audible. If it weren’t for her enhanced sense and close proximity, she would have missed it.

"Hey kid." Mari heard a new voice drawl. "Adrien."

The boy looked up and noticed the black kwamii floating in front between the two of them. "Plagg?"

"You might not have been my kitten, but you are a hero. And I’ve seen my fair share of them." Plagg responded as a matter of fact.

"Adrien." She repeated the name, drawing his attention. "Plagg is right. Heroes are more than just being chosen by a miraculous, artifact, or powers. It's what they choose to do with that power. You have a heart of a hero, so please don’t lose faith so easily."

She took the ring that was placed in her hand, grabbed his wrist, and pushed the ring of the black cat in his palm. "Fight with me for the time being."

---

"I..." She didn't let him answer. She turned and swung away from the tower.

"Are you putting the ring back on or what kid?" Plagg's voice snapped him from his racing mind.

"Yeah." He re-transformed and went home. The next morning he was resolved to go to school. Natalie and Gorilla caught him at the gate, but let him go in.

He made his way to the homeroom. When he stepped in everyone went quiet before he was tackled by Chloe.

"Adrikins!" She clung to his neck as he tried to regain his balance. "There's an open seat here in front of me!"

she led him to a front desk. "Thanks, Clo."

Was all he could say before the blonde next to him shouted. "What are you doing in my seat!?"

"The only thing needed for the triumph of evil, is for good people to do nothing." A bespeckled girl sitting behind him sat resolved.

"Get..." Chloe started but was cut off.

"Here-Here," A girl with blue hair, dyed at the ends responded, causing the entire classroom to watch her. But she didn't look up from her tablet.

"You're supposed to be on my side, Mer!" She stomped.

"And outburst like this is why everyone thinks you're a brat, Goldie."

"I have high standards." Chloe argued back.

"And you can still have them in the empty row up front." the girl pointed forward without looking up.

"I hate when you use that logic." Chloe grumbled but moved seats.

Adrien couldn't believe it. Someone could actually reign in Chloe.

"Hi, name's Nino." The boy sharing his bench introduced himself, snapping him out of his trance.

"Adrien." He greeted.

"I have to ask are you really friends with Chloe?" Nino asked.

"She's my only friend." He shrugged.

"Well now you have two." Nino pointed to himself.

"I'd like that." Adrien smiled.

"So, you don't know Marinette?" Nino brought up.

"Who?"

Nino pointed at the bluenette in the back who was still absorbed in the tablet. "she's apparently also Chloe's childhood friend."

"Really?" Adrien didn't recognize her.

"Apparently she just came back to Paris." Nino informed. "She seems nice enough, she's just blunt. We all don't know her well though."

"I heard she moved because of bullying?" A brown-haired girl behind him piped in.

"Really gurl." The bespeckled girl popped in. "You’re in the know Lila, spill."

The two girls behind him started talking, but his attention was on the girl sitting in the back of the class.

The whole day he tried to talk to her, but someone kept him. Be it Nino, unknowingly, Chloe demanding his attention, or her disappearing.

Then he saw her.

They were the last two in the school. It was almost like his luck started to turn. She was standing by the entrance, just before stepping out in the rain. She was on the phone. It took him a moment to realize she wasn't speaking French, but english.

So, he quickly hid behind a trash can while in earshot.

"I know I should've..." He doesn't think she noticed him.

'...' The other person must've said something, as she pursed her lips.

"That would've crushed them!"

'...'

"I know... but."

'...'

'Sigh.' "Why don't we talk later." She breathed. "The walls have ears after all." She looked directly at him.

She knew he was there; did she know the whole time.

"No need, I'm already here." A boy with black hair came running in the rain.

"You're soaked!" She hit him with her umbrella.

"Sorry." the looked down and opened his own umbrella. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop." He held out the umbrella to the boy.

He hesitated before taking it.

Thunder clapped.

Adrien ran out to the waiting car.

He might not have talked to her, he might not have made the best impression, but he hopes that it's a start. He smiled down at his hands. Barely catching a glimpse of the golden ink that was sinking back into his skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

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