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gfguren · 6 months

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pro hero!bakugou x sidekick!reader | fluff, mutual pining, blatant flirting, bakugou calls reader darlin', bakugou is soft(ish) | cw: injury, mentions of alcohol, name calling (idiot), kisses kisses kisses

-bakugou tends to your injury, pining for you nearly as much as you do for him-

Your arm burns in waves, like kindling fire, the plain between your elbow and wrist a bramble of red and purple. It stings like a million tiny thorns pricking your skin.

"Why'd ya get in the way, idiot!" Bakugou's words are fierce and his brow is drawn, but you see the way his cheeks flush. He's embarrassed, guilt-ridden though it's not his fault. Not really.

You were both too overzealous for your own goods, determined to land the final blow on the villains. But his quirk was bigger, more explosive, harder to stop when your hands inevitably collided. You're just lucky your arm took the brunt of it.

Still, you smile despite the pain and his frown deepens, "What? Ya hit yer head too?"

You take a step forward, then two, crossing the threshold of your front door, reveling in the way his blush travels to his ears. "Did you come all the way here just to nag me?" There's a lilt of amusement in your voice, and he huffs, exasperation on his breath. "Or are you finally gonna give me that?"

You point to the bag dangling from his fingertips, pharmacy label half hidden by his baggy combat trousers. He's still in costume, mask pushed up over his wild, blonde hair, light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead and shoulders.

He's a proper distraction from the pain at least.

His gaze falls to his own hand, as if he'd entirely forgotten. There's a palpable moment of hesitation, and then he grunts, knuckles clenching; he thrusts it against your chest.

"Did'ya sterilize it, at least?"

You're half listening, shuffling through the contents of the bag. "Mhm, rinsed it with water when I got home."

"Yer hopeless, darlin'."

You shrug, "If a little burn could take me out, I wouldn't be much of a hero, now would I?"

He snorts, "If ya were such a good hero, you'd have dodged in the first place."

"You think?" You humor his attitude, heart swelling in your chest when you spot your favorite candy hidden beneath the ointments and bandages. You have half a mind to tease him about it. "Are you gonna help me put this on?"

His arms fold across his chest, half a scowl twisting his face. He leans back, tapping a heavy boot against the floorboards. "And why would I do that?"

He must think he's subtle but you read him like a book, finger the pages, read between the lines. There's worry in his brow, guilt, turmoil, anger directed at his own self.

You figured it would help alleviate his conscience, at least.

"That's fine. I'll get around to it eventually." You turn on your heel, adding a cheeky "probably" to accentuate the wave of your hand, nudge him into action. It works.

Warm fingers encircle your wrist and you bite your tongue, suppress the laugh inching it's way up your throat. Predictable, cute. It takes everything in you not to grin.

Two big hands push you down by the shoulders, cushions folding beneath your thighs. Bakugou holds a palm out expectantly and you place your own atop his, reveling in the way his nose scrunches in frustration.

You don't miss the way he lets it linger - just for a moment - before finally swatting it away with a half-hearted flick of the wrist. "The ointment, idiot."

You relent, handing him the thin white tube. He spreads a stripe down his fingertips, seat dipping beside you; he extends his opposite hand. "Now your hand."

You grin, fingers gently curling around his own. It's not meant to be romantic, the way he draws you forward, presses your knuckles to his chest. He's just trying to get a better look at the wound, head tilting this way and that. But his hand is so warm, and he's so pretty from this angle, and when his eyes rise to meet yours his breath hitches in his throat; and so does yours.

It's intimate, familiar.

It makes you want to break whatever this unspoken 'something' is that the two of you have fostered - this growing affection you're both too proud to admit that wears on you, leaves you yearning to lean just a little closer and finally concede.

Just like all those nights ago, when he got a little too drunk at the hero convention, quickly annoyed by the crowds and reporters, the loud, boasting heroes. His champagne glass was quickly emptied once more, grunting when he pushed back in his chair. You remember leaning closer, close enough to discretely ask if he was alright. His red hot stare followed, burned through your chest and down to your core, left you shifting restlessly in your seat.

The air was thick when he finally careened upward, swaying perilously as he took you by the wrist, led you up and out of the dining hall until it was just the two of you, alone in an empty corridor. You could still hear the echo of stranger's voices, but it didn't bother him, not when he crowded you against the wall, not when his big hand fell to the space beside your head, or when his face dipped to linger just close enough to have your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"What about the party?"

"'as boring." He'd replied, fingers 'round your wrist, lingering on your pulse; he feels it stutter beneath his touch. "Ya scared?"

You would be, should be, if it was anyone else. Big, leering, all rippling muscle and explosive temper - but it was Bakugou, your mentor, your best friend, heart of a hero and handsome as hell. You've loved him as long as you've known him.

"No."

He'd grinned, leaned forward til' his lips found yours, deeper, sweeter than you'd ever imagined, and gods you had, too many times.

"Good."

You're so lost in thought that you miss the way skin meets skin, thin buffer of ointment between you, and it burns - his fingers against your aching forearm. Your cheeky smile twists into a grimace and you can almost taste his guilt.

"Quit bein' a baby." Bakugou's bark holds no bite, touch softening until his rough fingers border featherlight. "Yer a hero, r'member."

You watch as he carefully applies the medicine, touch gentling each time you flinch until he's barely touching you at all.

"You've said that a lot today. 'Hero'." You muse. "It's usually sidekick this, sidekick that."

He shoots you a look before wiping the ointment from his fingers. "Yer my sidekick."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head, leaning forward to rest your chin on your unattended hand. "And what's the difference?"

He could answer you honestly, if he wanted. You're capable, brave, strong in your own right - beautiful to boot. You're the best of the best; Bakugou would never settle for less after all. Not that he was going to admit that.

Instead his lips twist in amusement, curling, lopsided, askew; you realize you won't be getting a straight answer.

"Ya should know by now when t' stay out of my way, is the difference." He pulls a bandage as big as his fist from the bag, pressing one corner to the flat of your palm, working it up and around until it reaches your wrist, and further still. "Was perfectly capable of handlin' it on my own."

"Seemed like you had your hands full with the big guy," you quip back, rubbing your thumb absently over the scratchy bandage. "Was I supposed to watch while the other one pummeled you from behind?"

He quirks a brow, you're not sure if he's annoyed or amused. "Woulda been fine. How d'ya think I made it to the top twenty, 've practically got eyes on the back of my head."

"You sure? Think I recall a time or two you've been whacked upside the head."

His eyes stray for only a moment, simmering up at you beneath dark lashes. "Think we might need t' get yer eyes checked, darlin', seems yer seein' things."

"Guess I need a hearing test too, since I remember you being a total crybaby about it."

He centers the tips of his thumb and pointer just above your brow, fingertips bouncing off your forehead, a tepid flick! and he's resuming his handiwork.

"Hey!" you pout, rubbing the offended area with your unfettered hand. "I'm a patient, you're supposed to be nice to me!"

"And who's fault is that." He grins, light and easy and gone in an instant, with a flash of realization, guilt that reaches his eyes and worries his brow. It's his, still.

You sigh, "Look at me." And he does, begrudgingly as it may be. "It's not your fault. I should have trusted you more. And you should have trusted me. We're both idiots so quit blaming yourself." You lightly flick his forehead in return; he doesn't flinch, eyes never leaving your own. "Finish the wrapping and we'll call it even, yeah?"

He grumbles something lost on you, stretching the last bit of fabric beneath your elbow and tucking it into itself. He turns your arm over in his palm, lightly, carefully inspecting it before leaning back against the cushions. You can feel his guilt dissipate, the stress in his shoulders slowly deflating.

"Ya hurt anywhere else?" His voice is low, quiet. He desperately hopes not.

You think for a moment, read his face, his body language, and then you're rubbing the space above your brow, faking a pout if only to lighten the mood. "Yeah, some brute bruised my forehead earlier, think it needs medical attention."

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing, brow tightening in discontent. "I'm being serious."

You struggle to suppress the laugh bubbling up in your chest. "So am I. What a devastating injury, I fear I won't live long." You dramatically throw yourself over his lap, knuckles laid flat over your brow. There's a conflicting look in his eye; you struggle to read it. "If only a big, handsome hero woul-"

You nearly miss the annoyed huff, the subtle roll of his eyes, too enamored in the way he encircles your wrist with one big hand, guides it to rest against his chest before leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.

You're sure there's hearts in your eyes when he straightens his shoulders, hand still idle against his heartbeat; his thumb absently strokes the soft underside of your wrist but his gaze doesn't linger. A hint of a blush creeps up his neck, eyes fixated on the opposite corner of the room. "Done bein' a crybaby?"

You try and fail, miserably so, to hide the delight dancing in your chest and curling your toes. There's a grin splitting your cheeks when you sit up, face an inch from his own. "Mhm."

You can feel his breath, his hesitation, the slippery, fluttering feelings he's struggling to catch, and name, and put into words. He decides it's easier to turn his back to them, to you - again.

It's always the same song and dance, one step forward, two steps back.

He's up in a moment, fidgeting with his tank, his gloves, his mask, anything he can get his hands on. You sigh, pushing off the couch, taking one step, two, arms wrapping snug around his middle. "What're ya doin'?"

"Checking something."

"And what's that?"

"Whether or not you have eyes on the back of your head." He ignores your teasing, so you press a little further, tease a little more. "Either you don't," you squeeze him tighter, closer, smush your cheek against his back. "Or you totally just let me hug you."

He croons his head to stare you down, if looks could kill, you'd be very very toasty right about now. Still you laugh, hide your smile in the shadow of his broad shoulders, tip toe around him when twists around to face you.

Finally he catches you, two big hands clamped down on either shoulder. You wait for him to scold you, tongue between your teeth, bated breath in your lungs. But he only grunts, fingers curling around the base of your neck until he can slant his lips over your own.

You sigh, it's the second time Katsuki Bakugou's lips have been on yours. But they no longer taste of saltines, white wine, impulse or hesitation; it's not some drunken mistake or whimsy he'll pretend to have forgotten by morning. This time he's kissing you because he wants to. Because the feelings he harbors are just the same as yours.

And when he pulls away his red eyes have mellowed, a dull amber, an expectant cinnabar. There's a palpable silence, one beat, two, three - possibly. His impatience gets the better of him. "Well?"

You stifle a laugh, keen up at him, hands absently against his chest. "Well what?"

"What d'ya mean 'well what'?!"

What ever self control you had wavers, the incredulous look in his eyes sending you over the edge until your devolving into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny, huh?"

"'m sorry." The laughter rattles you, chest like a suitcase too small to pack away the joy that fills you, spills over the brim in fits of laughter. It's infectious; Bakugou grins.

Your hands cup his cheeks. "You're too cute not to tease."

He sucks on his teeth. "Cute huh?" His hand cups your wrist, thumbs the bandage, careful, cute. "I nearly cooked ya and 'm 'cute?'"

You lean forward, bump your nose against his. "Mhm."

"There's somethin' wrong with you."

"Yeah, it's called the guy I like is completely oblivious and won't tell me he likes me."

"I kissed you, twice. If ya didn't take the hint, that's on you."

You're smiling when you press your lips to his - quick, tepid, chaste, and over and over and over again.

He breaks away, eyes full of suspicion. "What was that for?"

"What? Didn't you take the hint?" You slant your mouth over his, linger a little longer this time. "I like you." You kiss him again, again, again.

He snorts, palm falling to the small of your back, big hand heavy on your skin. "Point taken."

He dips his head low, kisses you, soft and slow, fingers flexing against your shirt, dragging you closer when you move to pull back. "I like ya." His breath is hot against your mouth. "Always have."

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #mha x you #finally finished the anime #now this blonde menace lives in my head rent free 😩#if anyone was wondering why i disappeared for 3 months its the 6+ bakugou wips in my phone ☠️

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sweetarethediscords · 1 month

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The Maiden of The Barren Rime

Winter Wind blows through the valley, pushes us into our homes.

Pleading she knocks at our windows, scorned she continues to roam.

Chapter 1: The Brambled Beauty

Mina quieted at the sound of unfamiliar voices on the wind.

“Are you sure this is the right cabin?” It was a feminine voice, on the younger side, with a slight Tinian accent, most likely from the North Coast judging from the way they dragged the “er” in “sure.”

“Of course this is the right cabin! It’s the only cabin in this damned forest!” A masculine voice spat back. Staunchly Lanholdian, Mina could almost feel the thick tension in their tongue behind her own teeth. The gravel of age and annoyance ground up from the back of their throat.

Mina picked up her pace, leaping up into the treetops, crossing miles in minutes towards the voices with no more sound than the rustle of wind through pine needles.

She stilled. The branch beneath her feet barely creaked.

They were outside her cabin. A young woman with thick glasses and even thicker curly hair checked the compass in her hand as the short, sturdy man beside her impatiently tapped his foot and picked at the split ends of his long, braided beard.

Mina placed a hand on the hilt of her sword as she watched them through the canopy. The man’s leather armor bore a crest depicting a mountain top and three diamonds, with glinting, well-polished stripes on his pauldron pronouncing his rank. Seven; a general of lauded stature. Why he traveled with the young woman was unclear.

She was clearly not a noble. The slight roll forward of her shoulders, the patterned bandanna holding her hair out of her eyes too weathered or wrinkled for even a disguised royal to wear, and a decent soldier would never keep their guard down as much as hers was in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps she had hired the knight as security on her journey.

A journey Mina would take no part in.

She shifted to sit easily and silently, making sure not to catch the beaver skins hanging from her pack beneath her. A few more minutes and they would leave, then she could prep the skins and start to smoke the meat in her satchel as planned.

“Well,” the woman stuffed her compass into her jacket pocket. “At least it’s a nice day out to wait. Sun’s still warm enough to cut the edge off the autumn chill.”

Annoyingly, she made her way to the porch of Mina’s cabin and took a seat on its rough wooden steps. Mina ground her teeth slightly. Maybe a splinter or two would poke her through her patchwork skirt and urge her away.

The man huffed and kicked at a tuft of crabgrass. “You think this chill has an edge? Just wait until you’re on the Peaks.” The tuft came loose, sending dirt and now homeless pill bugs scattering. “If we ever get to the fucking Peaks.”

Dammit, Mina thought. They were here for an expedition.

“Ya know, we could always go with another alpinist,” the woman offered. “Beto Lamar’s homestead is about a day’s ride west from here.”

“A day’s ride but three weeks past our deadline,” the man said. “This girl can bring us back to Lanholde in under a month.” He stomped over and stood on the steps, too proud to sit, but not proud enough to not lean on the railing for support. “She will get us there in a month.”

“Even if she’s already off on an expedition?”

“She’s not,” the man gestured over his shoulder. “The windows are open. And this cabin is too well maintained for its owner to just head off for two months with the windows left open.”

Mina thudded her head against the tree trunk. Of course. An observant and stubborn knight.

She inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled, taking her frustration down a little, unclenching her jaw just a touch. She'd piss them off enough that they’d rather stand Lamar’s extra three weeks in the cold than put up with her, and if that didn’t work, ask for a ridiculous amount of gold to scare them off.

Three more weeks in the cold. Three more weeks to die. The unwilling thought made her teeth ache.

She climbed down from the pine she had perched in and moved soundlessly towards the drying rack staked beside her cabin. She removed one of the rungs filled with beaver skins from her pack. A loud and forceful snap echoed through the woods as she dropped it into place.

The trespassing pair jumped. The knight drew his sword as the woman bladed her feet into a wide stance, arms lifted, ready to perform some sort of cast.

So they were a magic wielder and a knight.

“Get off the porch,” Mina stated bluntly as she hung another rack.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knight’s jaw fall agape while the woman’s disposition relaxed. She straightened up out of her fighting stance, and Mina caught the faint sound of a cork squeaking back into a bottle on the wind.

“My apologies, miss. We’re looking for the alpinist that lives here,” she said. “Would that be you?”

“No,” Mina lied. “I’m a hunter. The alpinist lives to the west.”

The woman arched an eyebrow and looked to the knight. He flared his nostrils, puffed out his chest, and stomped over towards her.

“I am Sir Murmir Gargic, general-rank knight of the Lanholde Royal Army, proud servant to King Fritz Reinhardt.”

“Never heard of him,” she lied again.

The knight sputtered, whatever bullshit speech he had prepared dying on his tongue. “You never—”

“Sir Gargic,” the woman whispered behind him, calling his attention and allowing him a moment to regain his composure.

Annoying.

“Well, he’s heard of you, and has specifically recommended that we seek you out to lead us up the Fallow Peaks. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, so if you don’t mind talking terms so we can start the expedition today—”

“If that’s the case, then I guess your king expects you both to die,” Mina droned, mono-toned and matter-of-factly. “I’m a hunter, not an alpinist.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed as her jab at his ruler crawled under his skin. He inhaled deeply, a tirade building, when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How much would it cost for you to be an alpinist?” she asked.

Mina drifted her dull gaze over towards the woman, finding her with a smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye.

“Seven thousand gilt one way,” she answered. “The real alpinist to the west charges half that.”

“I’m sure.” The woman shrugged. “But the alpinist we’re looking for fits your description exactly. Female alpinist. Rough around the edges. Lives alone in a cabin deep in the Sandere Woods, five hundred paces off of the last bend in Woodgullet Road, heading northeast.” She rattled off the details as if she were reading them off a sheet of paper.

Mina blinked slowly, then repeated. “Seven thousand gilt one way.”

“Deal.”

Gods fucking dammit. An unfortunately familiar tug pulled at her spine.

Sir Gargic fished out a scroll from one of the pouches on his belt, while the woman brandished a quill and a bottle of ink. He scrawled something down on it, then turned the parchment in her direction: a contract of duty.

His thick, stubby finger pointed at the 7,000g written next to the terms of payment. “Seven-thousand gilt to be delivered direct from the Capitol’s treasury upon our safe arrival.” His finger traveled down the page to a long signature line. “All you need to do is sign here.”

She did, reluctantly. Her arm dragged by that damned tug.

“Mina,” the woman read her name aloud, standing on the tips of her toes to watch as she wrote it. “I’m Wera Alrust.”

Mina snapped the quill once she finished, dropped it to the ground, and headed into her cabin.

“Where are you going?” Sir Gargic barked behind her. “You’re under contract to—”

“Packing,” Mina answered. “Can’t climb a ten-thousand-foot cliff face with just a bow, a sword, and a can-do attitude.” She paused in the doorway. “Just two going up?”

“Five,” Wera answered. “Six if you count yourself.”

“I don’t.”

Last-minute trips up the Fallow Peaks were nothing new to Mina, as much as she loathed them. They were always inconvenient and pressing, which meant the travelers were stressed and distracted — which meant the death count was usually higher than the average one or two losses. Expeditions such as this were few and far between, at least. Most travelers knew to prepare well in advance for the perilous journey, contracting her months ahead of time instead of minutes.

She closed all the windows and locked the shutters, made sure her books and sheet music were lifted off the ground in case the fall rains caused the lake to flood, and tucked the more expensive of her instruments away as she filled the pack she kept by the door.

“Flint, whytewing leathers, tarp, rations, climbing axes…” she muttered to herself as she rifled through it — taking stock to make sure she had everything she needed — then picked up a fiddle and bow leaning against a hard wooden chair. She loosened up the strings a bit and unstrung the bow to keep the horse hairs from snapping, then shoved it in with the rest of her gear.

“Where are the other three?” she asked as she stepped back outside and locked the door.

“Back on the road, waiting with the wagon,” Wera replied.

“You can’t take a wagon up a mountain.”

“We don’t plan to.” She was, frustratingly, smiling at Mina when she turned around. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Gargic headed off, impatience and frustration bringing out the ill-manner child in him. With such thin skin, it wouldn’t be long before he broke their contract, or he died. Rabbet’s Pass most likely, which would be convenient. She could leave his corpse in the caves there, and they wouldn’t have too far of a walk back to Sandere afterwards.

After only a few wrong turns through the thick wood, the seldom-used road emerged. A simple covered wagon pulled off to the side let the four horses that drove it graze lazily, while two more members of their party hung around it: an old woman with her hair up in a tight bun, sitting on the ground making daisy chains out of dandelions, and a young man with a sharp haircut and a well-coiffed mustache scrawling in a notebook as he sat in the driver’s seat.

Sir Gargic’s spine straightened and chest puffed out as he put on a bit of bravado. “We’ve returned!” he cried, waving grandly.

The old woman and mustached man looked up from their work. The woman abandoned her dandelions and stood to meet them, while the young man looked them over and flipped to another page in his book; quill taking off in a fury.

“Ah! Are you the young lady who will be guiding us?” The old woman smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tanir and the boy on the cart is Enoch.” She turned over her shoulder and hollered, “Wave hello, Enoch!”

Enoch raised his hand partially, too engrossed in whatever he was writing to look away.

“Mina.” Mina met Tanir’s gaze, and the old woman’s brow furrowed. She was looking for the appropriate response, a sign of expression to source Mina’s first impression of her. Mina watched her bottom lip shift subtly, a minuscule pucker as her teeth bit behind it uneased to find nothing.

Annoy the knight. Unnerve the old woman. Now she just had to find the others’ weaknesses.

“You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road. They’ll slow us down and will be hunted by the beasts of the Harrow.”

“Oh, uh—” Tanir swallowed. “That sounds like something you should discuss with Master Windenhofer. I’ll go get him for you.” She flashed another smile, this one fueled by nerves, and hurried off into the back of the wagon.

Enoch snapped his notebook shut and leaned over the side of the driver’s seat. He rested his chin on his hand dramatically, abandoning the fierce focus he held when writing to gaze at Mina with puppy dog eyes. “Did you know you are extremely beautiful for an alpinist?”

Sir Gargic sputtered with embarrassment. Wera shot Enoch a disgusted look.

Mina stared at him blankly.

“I know,” she said after a moment.

Enoch choked on his spit at her response. Wera burst out into a fit of laughter, drawing Mina’s attention.

Laughter wasn’t a response she was used to receiving.

“Don’t forget to write that one down,” Wera wheezed through her giggles. “‘My attempts at flirtation failed tremendously as usual.’ A good archivist doesn’t leave out any details!”

“Enough of that, Enoch!” Sir Gargic snipped, hitting him on the arm. “She comes highly recommended by The Crown of Lanholde, and you will address her with the respect that such a recommendation warrants!”

“S-sorry, M-mina,” Enoch stammered, still caught off guard by her curtness as he leaned back away from her, rubbing his injured arm.

“I hear we have a new face joining our motley crew!” a warm, deep voice cheered from inside the wagon. The cart bounced as a tall, lean man, with a wide smile and a thick shag haircut, stepped out of it, Tanir following behind.

“Hello, I am Sebastian Windenhofer. It is wonderful to meet you!” the man extended his hand out in greeting.

A soft breeze blew between them as Mina considered his outstretched hand. His fingers were long, as to be expected of someone of his height, and his palms were oddly covered with an even layer of callous.

She did not shake it.

“Mina,” she said to the hand, in the same bland manner that she had introduced herself to everyone else.

Sebastian seemed unbothered by his spurned handshake, and instead clasped his hands together and nodded his head softly, “Mina.” There was a slight hum to the ‘M’ as he said it. “Tanir mentioned that you wished to speak to me about something regarding the horses?”

Mina’s distant stare met his attentive gaze. Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“The woods are too thick for a wagon to fit through, and the mountains are too steep,” she answered. “The Harrowed Woods that border Sandere and the Peaks are filled with hungry monsters who will be lured by the thought of a four-course horse meal, too.”

“I see.” Sebastian brought his hand up and tapped his fingertips lightly against his lips as he thought. “Would it be better for the horses if we left the wagon and let them loose now as opposed to when we get closer?”

Mina paused, and tilted her head to the side, caught off guard by his question.

“Have I spoken out of turn?” his voice wavered.

“No, it’s just that I’ve never had someone ask to let the horses out early,” she replied, much more candidly than she intended. She straightened her head, collecting herself. “There’d be less chance of them being attacked. Not many monsters here in these woods.”

“That settles it, then.” Sebastian addressed his crew, “Gather your belongings, we will be continuing on foot from here. Wera and Sir Gargic, unhitch the horses and send them back down the road, please.”

“Ugh, my penmanship gets so poor when we’re walking,” Enoch groaned as he slid down from the driver’s seat.

“Guess you’ll have to save your sonnets for when we’re in Lanholde,” Wera remarked as she started unbuckling one of the horse’s bridles. “We’ve got nothing but walking ahead of us now.”

Sebastian returned his attention to Mina. “It should only take us a few minutes to get packed up. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?” He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a tea kettle and mug. Twirling the mug around his finger by its handle, he juggled the kettle with one hand and caught it by its base. Steam rose from its spout.

Not just a magic user. He was a wizard, capable enough to demonstrate his talents so casually.

Or cocky enough to make a big show over the few skills he did have.

“No,” Mina replied, tapping the canteen attached to her belt. “I have a canteen.”

She could have just left it at ‘no’.

“Of course.” He threw the tea set into the air as if he were throwing away a piece of paper over his shoulder and with a snap of his fingers they vanished.

Definitely a show-off.

“I have a few things to pack myself if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, smiling again, still wide as it shifted to a slightly different shape, then headed back into the covered wagon.

Mina watched him walk away.

If he wasn’t just a show-off, then maybe they’d make it a mile past Rabbet’s Pass.

🜁

“So, Mina, would you care to tell us a little about yourself?” Sebastian asked as they walked up the rest of the road. Considering how chatty they were while getting their shit together, Mina didn’t have any hope of a quiet walk to the Harrow’s beginning. “I’m sure there’s much more to you than living in these woods and leading expeditions through the Fallow Peaks.”

“That’s all there is to know,” she replied.

Sebastian chuckled, a rumble out from his chest that buzzed in Mina’s ears. “I’m sure that’s not true. What about ‘how you got started leading expeditions’? Doesn’t seem like a job someone just falls into.”

“It’s not.”

“Then how’d it happen for you?”

“Someone had to do it. So I did it.”

“And what did that entail?”

“Doing it.”

“Sebastian,” Tanir interjected, “perhaps it’d be best if we shared a little bit about ourselves first.” She smiled at Mina. Mina kept her gaze forward, praying that the treeline would take mercy on her and move closer on its own. “I’m the company medic, been working with Sebastian since he had a particularly rough encounter collecting basilisk venom a few summers back. Poor thing hobbled to my home half turned to stone, and insisted I travel with him on his adventures ever since.”

“You faced off against a basilisk?” Enoch piped up from the back of the pack. “When we rest for the evening, you’ll have to sit down with me and give me the full story. You too, Tanir. It should definitely be added to my records.”

“Are you volunteering to go next then, Enoch?” Sebastian asked.

“I— uh—” Enoch jogged up in front of them and turned to walk backwards as he spoke, “Well I met—”

“Don’t walk like that,” Mina interrupted. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to leave you behind, or I’ll have to kill you.”

His steps slowed as his eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“It’s quicker than the duskwolves tearing into your flesh and snapping your neck.” It was brutal imagery, but not entirely false.

“She’s kidding, Enoch,” Sebastian said.

Enoch’s voice hollowed. “H-how can you tell?”

“Because if you did break something, Tanir would gladly patch you up,” he reasoned.

“Though I’d give you a scolding while I did it for not listening to the expert,” Tanir added, drawing out the title expert to appease Mina’s non-existent good side. “So turn around and continue your story.”

“Right.” Enoch turned around quickly at her instruction, gathered his composure with a shudder of his shoulders, and turned his head slightly to the side to speak, “I met Sebastian on a truly fate-defining day. Wandering the Coast of Carvons, I was lost, looking for inspiration to strike.”

Wera groaned.

“And it did! As I sat on the beach, begging the great and powerful ocean to lend me some of its majesty, a geyser of sand erupted from underneath of me, sending me skyrocketing through the air. Whilst I fell from the heavens, I looked down at the ground below me. What once was a beach was now a golden temple! And upon the roof of this temple stood the great Sebastian Windenhofer, my new muse! Since that day, I have traveled alongside him, cataloging his adventures to tell the world of his greatness.”

“You know that the rest of us were on top of that temple too, right?” Wera chided before addressing Mina. “Please take his tales with a grain of salt. For an archivist, he seems to have a selective memory. I’m the cartographer. Sebastian was the first person to hire me out of school, and I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”

She looked back at Enoch and snickered, “See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Your turn, Sir Gargic.”

“Indeed.” Somehow, the knight puffed his swollen chest even bigger. “Unlike the rest of my compatriots, I am not under the employ of Master Windenhofer, but rather a liaison of The Crown of Lanholde. They’ve tasked the two of us with uncovering and collecting a few precious artifacts that The Crown has a vested interest in. We are on the last leg of this journey now.”

Everyone’s attention landed on Mina, heavy with expectation, a burdensome weight. They had offered their stories without her agreement. There was no need for her to respond. Responding would only embolden them to keep prying.

Sebastian broke the thick silence and turned to Tanir, “Did you really have to tell the basilisk story, Tani?”

“It’s one of my first and favorite memories of you,” she replied.

“You should’ve waited for winter,” Mina commented, against her better judgment. “Basilisks get sluggish and less alert in the cold. You can sneak up behind them and slice off their heads in one strike if your blade is sharp enough. Just make sure to cut about a foot below their jaw so that you don’t pierce the venom gland.”

Her unexpected advice, matter-of-fact and brutal, garnered shocked and confused expressions from everyone but the wizard. Maybe it was the right call, then. The more alien she seemed, the better off they all would be.

“Aha! You’re a hunter too!” Sebastian — frustratingly — cheered. “I knew there was more to you!”

If Mina could meaningfully scowl, she would have. The sight of his smile stabbed at the corner of her eye as she kept her gaze forward. Wizards were known to be fascinated by curiously temperamental creatures, of course it would be harder to break him.

“Now, do you have any other comments, questions, concerns for our happy little troop? Perhaps some tips on how to deal with those duskwolves you—”

“You’re all loud,” she stated. “It’ll draw things to us, and cause trouble on the Peaks.”

“Why’s that?” Tanir asked.

“Avalanches.”

“Wait,” Enoch said. “There’s going to be snow on these mountains?”

“What did you think we bought all those cold weather clothes for?” Wera scoffed.

“Lanholde has a cooler climate. I just thought winter wear was the fashion there.”

Wera sent a pleading look Sebastian’s way. “Did you really have to hire him, ‘Bastian? We could have just left him stranded on that beach.”

“True,” Sebastian shrugged, “but we need entertainment on this journey, and watching the two of you bicker could rival some of the best traveling shows.”

As those around Mina talked, and laughed, and teased each other, the surrounding trees grew in number. Their trunks twisted, more gnarled and oddly shaped, their canopy so thick it shifted the shade of the lower leaves lighter from the lack of sunlight. The group came to a halt as the road ended at a wall of forest: the start of the Harrowed Wood.

“Right. Which of you can fight?” Mina asked as she headed to the front of the pack.

All of them raised their hands.

Wera and Sir Gargic she understood but the others… “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if we couldn’t hold our own, lass,” Sir Gargic said. “Trust me, I was wary myself when I first met them, but even Enoch is worthwhile in a scrap.”

“Hey!” Enoch whined.

“Cartographer, you’re with me at the front,” she instructed before they wasted more time chatting. “Medic and Archivist in the center. Wizard and Knight in the back. Listen more than you talk. Keep an eye out for anything moving that shouldn’t be. If you see something, say something. And if something does attack us, no matter what happens, stay behind me.”

Mina didn’t wait for them to finish pairing off before weaving her way through the trees. She didn’t even acknowledge Wera as she hustled to fall in place beside her.

“So,” Wera drawled after a few minutes of silence between them, “why’d you pick me for the front?”

“You’re a mapmaker,” Mina replied. She didn’t look at Wera as she spoke, her stare focused on surveying the forest in front of them. “If you make a map of the Harrow and the Peaks and take down the trail I use, I may never have to lead people through here again.”

If she had to suffer through another expedition, at least she could make this one of use.

“You seem a little young to retire,” Wera remarked. “And you need income to upkeep that cabin of yours, right? Though with seven thousand gilt an expedition, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten yourself something a little sturdier to live in.”

She could feel the pressure of Wera studying her face, looking for something she’d never find.

“There are other ways to make money that don’t involve being bothered.” She changed the subject, “People think that there are just wolves, bears, various small-time magical beasts here. The Harrow is untouched. Nature and magic are uncontrolled and unforgiving.”

“Probably because of the runoff from the Peaks or some past geological event. I’ll make a note to have Enoch look into it.” Wera took out a small notepad and jotted something down. “If that’s the case then I’d bet there are many ways to cross over into parts of Elphyne here too, probably a bunch of fae circles, areas where the veil is thin. Would you be able to point them out when we pass them?”

“Just write down the trail taken and there’s no need to worry about any of that.”

She heard Wera’s pen skip on the page and a heavy exhale out of her nose.

There it was. She hated being talked down to.

Wera abandoned the topic and turned to basic questions about the flora and landmarks, easy enough that Mina could answer with little thought as she tuned one ear to the forest as best she could through the whispers of those walking a little too far behind her.

“Would you look at that,” Sir Gargic remarked, voice slightly muffled and strained. He talked out of the corner of his mouth in a bad attempt to be quiet. “She’s actually talking to Wera.”

“People do often talk to each other,” Sebastian said coolly, not feeding the knight’s judgment.

“Yes, but she’s so—”

“Are we talking about the Brambled Beauty?” Enoch whispered.

“The what?” Sebastian deadpanned.

“You don’t like it, sir? I’m trying to figure out the perfect way to describe such a terrifying and alluring creature.”

“Alluring?” Sir Gargic guffawed, “She’s so cold!”

“Yes! She’s cold!” Tanir added, voice peaking with a burst of realization.

Mina ground her teeth to keep from chewing them out. It was better that they didn’t know how well she could hear, and she had bore much harsher digs than their rude observations anyways.

“Just because she’s different than us doesn’t make her less of a person,” Sebastian chided. “And Tanir it’s unlike you to make assumptions about someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just—”

A low gurgle deep within the ground, quiet and out of place in the harmony of forest sounds, environmental interrogation, and gossiping whispers, stilled Mina’s stride. She barred her arm across Wera’s chest, stopping the preoccupied cartographer, and held her other hand up to halt those behind them.

Their footfalls and chitchat ceased abruptly. Mina turned her head to the side, putting a finger to her lips to signal them to stay silent and wait.

She drew forth the sword that rested on her hip and crept forward, listening, eyes fixated on the forest floor. The gurgle reached her ears once more, louder and more guttural; hungry. Mina stopped, bladed her feet, and whistled a line of bird song.

“A meadowlark?” Sebastian whispered.

For a fleeting moment, she noted how keen his ear was, then a massive maw erupted out of the earth, lunging at her. Wind at her heels, Mina leaped at it, rocketing towards the toothy mouth at incredible speed, and drove her blade down through its top lip. The beast let out a terrible, gargling roar, shaking off the actual dirt and plants from its mimicking hide to reveal an ornery terramawg.

With the momentum of her jump and the leverage of her impaled sword, Mina vaulted over the bulbous amphibian’s earthen hide. She snapped her hips around, pivoting midair to face the beast’s back, and drew forth her bow in the same fluid motion.

The air stilled as Mina ran her fingers from the grip of her bow to its string. The water in the air collected, crystallized under the brush of her fingertips, forming an arrow of pure ice. She aimed for the creature’s third, slitted eye, a weak point that rested on the nape of its neck, and fired. A roaring gust of wind shook the trees, following in her arrow’s wake as it soared through the air, embedding itself deep into the terramawg’s brain.

Mina kept her focus on the beast as she descended, landing on a nearby tree bough without a glance back. The terramawg seized, the frost from her arrow glaciating its mind, and collapsed into a blubbery heap, returning to the mass of earth and withering foliage it disguised itself as.

Mina secured her bow on her back and slid down the tree’s trunk.

“Keep moving,” she said to the group as she retrieved her sword from the terramawg’s corpse.

It was as if they too had been immobilized by her ice. Sir Gargic’s hand rested on the hilt of his broadsword. Tanir had pulled out a handaxe from somewhere. Three thin daggers were laced between Enoch’s fingers like claws. A swirl of inky liquid hovered over Wera’s palm, while her other hand rested on her chest. Sebastian’s hands were coated in flame.

All of their mouths hung agape.

A dull pang pushed against Mina’s chest at the sight.

“Great Gods. Save some for the rest of us next time, will ya?” Sir Gargic shuddered.

“It was quicker if I handled it,” she stated. “Now come on. There’s more ground to cover before nightfall.” Mina turned on her heels and walked away, stepping across the terramawg’s body and taking care to drive her heels in a little harder as she did so.

“Hey, wait up!” Wera ran after her, manipulating the ink back in its vial and pulling out her notebook once again.“How were you able to tell where it was?”

Tanir pulled a stupefied Enoch along, “Come on. You should be jumping with joy. Action like that is sure to make your book even more exciting.”

“Well,” Sir Gargic remarked to Sebastian with a heavy exhale, “I guess we know why she’s so cold now.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgment, nothing more. Nothing until moments later, when under his breath a murmured thought slipped out.

“The wind even changed direction.”

The reverence in his tone, unheard by everyone else, bristled against the back of Mina’s neck.

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

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Maiden of the Barren Rime! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it.

To show my appreciation, here's a 50% off discount code you can use when ordering The Maiden of the Barren Rime E-Book off of my website: MBRTUMBLR50

The code expires on May 31st at 11:59pm so make sure to use it or share it with a friend by then!

#the maiden of the barren rime #mina #sebastian #writblr #bookblr #mbr #writing #new books #slow burn #fantasy novel #fantasy romance #romantasy

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in-memoriam-tgwk · 2 months

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Needlemaw and Almondlight stare at the strange contraption ahead of them, a metallic box tucked beneath the snow-laden branches of a tangle of brambles.

“Did you know this was here?” Needlemaw asks, glancing over at the older warrior. (Older is extremely relative— Almondlight only has him by four moons or so. However, he wears every moon like it’s his right.)

The other tom nods, his ginger striped tail sweeping across the fresh layer of snow to tightly curl around his paws. “I found it the other day with Amberfuzz and Rainpool.”

“Weird…” Needlemaw’s whiskers twitch in curiosity, tilting his head to one side as he surveys it. It reminds him of all the peculiar stuff left behind at the Twoleg camp. “What do you think it’s for?” he asks.

Almondlight shrugs. “Dunno. They said not to touch it, though. I think Amberfuzz told Glowstar about it when we got back.”

The mention of Glowstar makes Needlemaw grimace, and his ears fold back slightly. “As if old creaky bones will do anything about it… He never leaves camp ‘cept when he feels like taking a mopey little walk by the river. I’d put more trust in a badger to deal with this than him any day.”

Almondlight visibly bristles. “Don’t talk about my father like that,” he hisses, briefly startling Needlemaw with its edge. “Have some respect for your leader.”

The younger tom narrows his eyes, and chuffs softly through his nose. “That’s rich, coming from you. The little temper tantrum you threw wasn’t exactly quiet.”

He expects another spiny retort from the ginger warrior, but Almondlight seems to deflate just as quickly as he had puffed up. His shoulders sag as he softly sighs.

“It wasn’t a tantrum,” he says, glancing to the side with a frown. “Father and I… We don’t see eye to eye at all. He doesn’t listen to me.”

Needlemaw snorts. “Well duh, you’re his kit. Do you think Ma and Pop ever listen to me? Hardly.”

Almondlight curls his lip, and his coiled tail begins flicking with a frustrated rhythm. “That’s just it, Needlemaw— all I am to Father is a kit. He treats me like I don’t know a mouse from a pigeon.” He huffs loudly and a cloud of frosty breath billows over his muzzle. “It’s infuriating how little he thinks of me.”

Sinking into a hunter’s crouch, Needlemaw averts his gaze to inspect the inside of the metal box. It’s hollow like a rotten log, yet it has no exit on the other side. It’s also barren as far as he can tell, apart from the small dusting of snow that’s blown in at its entrance. He sniffs the air; the cold and the snow does well to mask whatever other scents permeate the area, but the faintest hints of Twoleg and rodent still linger on the bramble stems, with the Twoleg’s easily being multiple days old.

“To be fair,” he drawls, flicking an ear in Almondlight’s direction, “have you tried doing something to get his attention? Like, I dunno, chasing off a fox?”

Almondlight wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going to hunt down a fox to prove myself. That’s fool-hardy.”

“Well you don’t have to start with a fox,” Needlemaw says matter-of-factly, “but something like that. I mean, Stoatfoot brought back that huge hare and it was all anybody talked about for days on end.”

The older tom growls and shakes his head, rising to his paws. “That’s not the point— I shouldn’t have to beg in the first place!” he spits angrily. “Nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough for him. Father hardly ever speaks to me! He just sits and he wastes away in his den, lingering on the ghost of his mate while I feel as though I’m the one that’s perished. Perhaps the only way to get his attention is to truly let Fate Herself take me; maybe then I’ll be of some worth to him.”

Needlemaw flinches at the outburst, his claws reflexively unsheathing to press into near-frozen ground underfoot. Almondlight had always been a bit of a hothead, but he’s now practically boiling where he stands, with flattened ears and a lashing tail being the more obvious tells. Someone more sympathetic might feel inclined to feel bad for the young warrior, but Needlemaw only has irritation creeping up his spine.

“Y’know Almondlight,” he says, sitting tall as he glares needles in Almondlight’s direction. “throwing a pity party for yourself isn’t gonna fix anything.”

Almondlight’s muddy green eyes snap back to Needlemaw. “Excuse me?”

The younger of the two gets to his paws and shakes away the water clinging to his belly fur. “So your Papa isn’t showering you with the praise you think you so desperately deserve. Big deal!” He sneers as he says this, letting spite and vitriol from whatever the pit in his own heart holds spew forth and turn his attitude jagged. “All you’re doing is whining and moaning about it. You really think that’s gonna win him over? Do you see Hollyspeckle or Shimmerfeather throwing a fit because Glowstar didn’t pat their backs and tell them ‘good job’?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. They don’t demand respect, they earn it.” Needlemaw pads closer to Almondlight, who shrinks away when he enters his space. “Warrior names aren’t just given to somebody who thinks he’s entitled to one. They’re given to the cats that can prove they earned the right to carry that name with pride. The way I see it, Glowstar doesn’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

Almondlight doesn’t speak right away, and Needlemaw worries he’s in for a heavy cuff across the ear (it wouldn’t be the first time). Instead, however, the ginger warrior lets out a sharp puff of air, a resigned chuckle lacking the energy to keep it going.

“Is that Needlemaw talking, or is that a lecture from Heatherdash?” he asks teasingly.

The younger tom’s ears twist backwards as embarrassment warms his cheeks. “Maybe both,” he mumbles, “but that doesn’t make it any less right. If Glowstar isn’t gonna treat you like a warrior, and you won’t start acting like one, nothing’s gonna change between you two. Somebody has to make the effort first. Since he’s too lost in his own head to bother, it’s gotta be you.” He lifts a paw and pushes on Almondlight’s shoulder, and the other sways with the motion. “If that doesn’t work, make a bridge and get over it. It’s not worth it at that point.”

Almondlight’s anger has petered out, leaving behind a cat made of twigs and crumbled leaves. However, he holds his head high as he says, “I hate that you’re the one giving me advice, but it’s appreciated. Could’ve been a touch nicer though.” He thwaps his tail across the other’s flank in a silent reprimand.

Needlemaw grins cheekily. “I’d have to change my name to Cottonmaw if I do that. Besides, Mumblesight does enough kissing up to our elders for the both of us.”

The toms share a laugh between them, which abruptly cuts off at the sound of crunching snow and dry pine needles beneath a heavy footstep. They freeze in place.

“…What was that?” Needlemaw whispers. He looks at Almondlight fearfully.

The older tom does not answer, but his head and ears are on a constant swivel. They scan and scan, and he scents the air before his face twists into poorly-concealed horror.

“Dog,” he breathes, sinking low to the ground. “…And Twoleg.”

He shifts his wide gaze to meet Needlemaw’s. “You need to go get help. I’m not as fast as you are, but I can throw them off your trail.”

Needlemaw shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that. You should go to camp, I can outrun them—“

“Don’t argue with me,” he hisses, kicking Needlemaw’s side to shove him away. “Go now, quickly!”

A series of deep, clipped barks cuts through the air like a knife, and the crunching of snow picks up in pace rapidly.

“Go, Needlemaw!” Almondlight yowls, and he tears off in the opposite direction of camp as the scent of dog begins to fill the space he left. Garbled Twoleg speech echoes in the distance.

The young tom hesitates for just a second before remembering how to use his legs, and he dashes away from the strange metal box, away from the dog and its Twoleg, and away from his Colony-mate Almondlight. He runs until the cold burns his lungs, until the cliff comes into view through the tree line, until he’s nearly collapsing at the top of the path from the effort.

He can hardly look Glowstar in the eye when the search party returns empty-pawed.

#tgwk lore #clangen #warrior cats

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jayleap · 10 days

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Small head cannon, I think Firestar suspected Holly, Lion, and Jay weren’t Brambleclaw’s kits. I don’t think he knew everything or the extent of the lie but I think as the kits grew up he saw traits in them that couldn’t have come from brambleclaw or squirrelflight.

I think it started with Hollykit, he saw that she was jet black, something that his family didn’t have, nor bramble’s or sandstorm’s. He couldn’t be sure, so he made jokes often about how him and Cloudtail didn’t look at all alike, which was true. But he went further, compelled to protect his daughter, so he lied about how his littermate was pitch black. Everyone seemed to think that explained it, anytime someone joked about Holly being the odd one out they’d all blame it on “those darn kitty pet roots”. It was a dig at him certainly, but a small sacrifice he was willing to make.

Then as they got older, it was Jaypaw, Firestar wondered where his cool toned pelt came from, his thick stripes and blue eyes. He wondered if Ashfur was their true father, but he couldn’t ask, he couldn’t know, they were his kin. He had to protect them, but the older they got and the closer he looked, the more he saw the discrepancies. So he held his tongue and every time Sandstorm or Bramblclaw commented on the trio’s appearance, Firestar couldn’t stop himself from inventing a new littermate, a new cousin, a new uncle, that had the exact trait that was being pointed out.

When the truth was finally revealed, he couldn’t even be angry.

#warrior cats #firestar #sandstorm #squirrelflight #squirrelstar #leafpool #hollyleaf #lionblaze #jayfeather

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rockingrobin69 · 8 months

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somewhere in wiltshire

It’s late afternoon and the field is all gold: Harry’s not running, but Draco still can’t quite catch up, fizzy with laughter and crackling with—this, the warmth that his fingers still remember, that was Harry. It’s all the ‘Draco, Draco’s and the ‘look!’ and the sticky kisses, rough like his stubble and sweet like the brambles he picked from the bush (‘try, you have to try it!’)

It’s—late in the season and the day is still warm, fresh after the rain and yellowing on the edges of each tree. It smells like it too, this deep, full scent, not quite yellow but—gold. Rich as the earth and not half as Harry’s laughter, coming in hot in bubbling waves. ‘Look,’ he’s still saying, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand, ‘you have a—Draco, there’s a feather, it’s,’ and he’s laughing too hard to do anything. So Draco crawls closer (it’s muddy and brilliant), trails the delicate shell of his ear, the prickly line of his jaw, his lovely, bitten bottom lip.

‘Yes?’ he asks, trying for dastardly and devilish, coming out entirely too fond. ‘It’s what, Harry?’

‘It’s—’ he’s gesturing around them, at the field (gold) at the sky (bright), ‘look, it’s everything, all of it, out here for—’

The smile in Harry’s eyes, the roughness of his soft, soft hand. ‘Yes,’ Draco breathes, meaning, anything, I’d give anything: and the look on Harry’s face says, sweet idiot, you don’t have to.

‘Ours,’ Harry whispers. Draco hums, so over-filled with joy he’s dizzy.

‘Ours,’ when he truly means, yours.

The delight when Harry scrunches his nose, when he comes closer for a kiss but then licks a stripe all the way down his neck: ‘Argh!’ and squirming and helplessly, wonderfully caught, arms around him and only Harry in his eyes. Not golden but—him. The world is brambles and wheat, is clouds and mud, is brilliant, is all, entirely theirs.

‘You—’ Harry looks up with a question furrowed between his eyebrows, and Draco’s heart sings with affection: ‘what?’

‘Nothing,’ Draco lies. Lies on the ground (muddy), breathes it in. ‘Just… come here for a moment.’

It’s late and slow, this understanding, but it’s buzzing like a string of electric lights and lighter still. The field, gold, is endless around them, and the season stretches forever. It’s them, it’s here, it’s entirely true.

(For flufftober day 22. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

#drarry fic #so soft.#it's - it's just so soft #400 words #flufftober #prompt: pick #rockingrobin69

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redux-iterum · 8 months

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Burning Hearts: Epilogue

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Camp was silent, but in the purposefully hushed way, that of a Clan who’d woken up to the pained cries of a queen as she brought her litter into the world and had elected to leave her be until the night. The kits had stopped squealing, busily nursing at Goldenflower’s belly, kneading her with their shut eyes and ears. Brindleface and her kits had fallen asleep quickly after the birthing, and Frostfur was outside guarding the nursery as her own kits drifted off again.

With the sun thankfully dimmed by a cloudy sky, Goldenflower’s eyes were glued to her litter of three: two beautiful little torbie mollies, the stronger pale ginger and brown and the weaker a darker version, and a curious, rotund tabby tom. Somehow, despite everything the matriarch had learned in her studies, he had come out dark brown.

Just like his father.

Was StarClan punishing her for something? What for? Her ignorance? Her blind trust and love? How was this possible otherwise?

Goldenflower repressed a grieving shudder and forced her thoughts to something else—anything else.

Names. They needed names. And she was the only one here to give them.

If Fireheart were here, she could take the opportunity to teach him how to name his own kits when he had them. It could have taken her mind off of everything, to see his excitement when he met his little siblings, and his worry over Cloudkit, who had grown fatter and louder, if that was possible.

But he wasn’t here. She’d have to do this alone.

Some small part of her reminded her that Brindleface and Frostfur could help, but… no. This was for family to do. She had a feeling.

The first molly, the pale one, she regarded with no small amount of affection. She was as big as her brother—bigger, really—and her markings were paired together beautifully, a solid blend of pale ginger and a warm brown with the tabby markings streaking down her body evenly. She was mostly that ginger, though the brown wasn’t giving up its spaces without a fight.

Tawny, maybe, Goldenflower thought. Or Morning. She could be a Morning. But Tawny feels more obvious…

She could come back to that. She had better ideas for the other two.

The weakest, runty and spotted, had more mottled brown and ginger. She was the smallest and the quietest; Goldenflower’s experience warned her to be ready for the worst. She didn’t let that forbid her from naming the kit. She should have a mighty name, something to make up for her size.

Leopard. He would have called you that.

And perhaps she shouldn’t have thought of what he would have wanted, but... how could she not? They’d discussed names before she had retreated into the nursery full-time. He’d loved the idea of a Leopardkit. That had been his favorite one out of all they’d talked about.

He loved you before you were born, she thought, pressing her nose to Leopardkit, who barely twitched in response. I know that was real. No one else has to.

Now, the tom…

Curse her sentimentality, but it was impossible not to think of him. He was a spitting image of his father, big and starkly-striped. He was going to be tall and powerful, she could see already. But perhaps not brutish; even as a newborn, his claws seemed mostly tucked in, barely grazing her stomach when he pushed harder for milk. They were long, still, like his, and his paws were massive.

He wasn’t getting Tiger, obviously. But something close, something fierce and prickly… shame Thornkit had taken that name already.

A name struck her, and she couldn’t think of another. Bramble. Bramble, with long, sharp stripes and long, sharp claws.

It was perfect. She could only pray no one figured out the source.

Drowsily, she returned to the pale molly, going over Tawny and Morning, back and forth, her exhaustion creeping in and tamping down her thoughts until she drifted off, with a vague image in her head of three little kits touching noses with their father, his amber eyes shining with love and pride.

Where was his soul now, she wondered…

---

He runs, paws scrambling for purchase on the rocky slope that borders the road. A shining silhouette blazes ahead of him and he ducks into the forest. Ferns and brush stand still as death as he races through them, mouth open, panting for air he no longer needs, amber eyes wild with fright.

Screams like roars follow him through the woods, light-figures easily keeping pace with him, creeping close to his tail as he stumbles and sprints with every bit of power he can channel to his legs. Whooping yowls and jovial caterwauls rattle his chest with horror.

How could they be chasing me? Were my intentions not noble? Didn’t I do the best for my Clan?

It wasn’t good enough.

His victims, drowned and sliced and crippled and gasping for air, flash in front of his eyes, glaring at him, nearly making him trip and fall as he tries to skid to a stop and dive to the side, away from them, away from their damning eyes.

This is a mistake. He only manages a few more steps before sun-bright figures cut off his path. He jerks sideways again, and backs away from the rounding line of Hunters encircling him. He’s surrounded on all sides by glowing warriors: some apprentices, few leaders—the best of the best, the strongest in life and most righteous in death, the ones who protect the territories from all ghostly dangers.

But…

No, this can’t be right. I’m no danger. Not like this. Not like—

The deputy flails about, scrambling for escape, some explanation, anything to get him out of this. There is none. The Hunters are stronger, larger than him. They hurt to look at, blazing as they do. They say nothing to him. Their eyes burn with rage.

Where is He?

Behind him, a searing light exiles what little darkness was left in the forest, the only sound now of a crackling fire. He is immediately pulled into gazing at the giant; it’d be sacrilege to refuse to acknowledge Him. His eyes squeeze shut—this is worse than looking at the sun—but again, he is forced to open them, eyes tearing up in agony as he looks upon the Endless Watcher.

“You disappoint Me, wraith,” the Lion rumbles, His voice shaking the ground and making the trees tremble. “Potential like yours has not been seen in a long time. You could have been the finest leader in generations, if you loved your Clan like you thought you did.”

The deputy’s mouth opens to no sound; his throat is dry as an autumn leaf.

“Destroying your Clanmates,” a Hunter adds coldly, a strangely familiar golden tom almost as sunny as Horoa Himself. “Ignoring your neighbors, wanting them to fall, though you’d never let yourself acknowledge that…”

“Leaving your own family to expose you,” another Hunter says, dark grey and small (standing taller than the deputy even so). She narrows her eyes that shine too bright for a mortal. “They will not rest easy for a long time. Is that what you wanted? Pain and grief, by your doing?”

The deputy barely manages to croak out, “My Lord, have mercy. Please—”

“Another said that, recently,” a tortoiseshell drawls. “The living didn’t heed him.” Her lip twitches as she dryly looks the deputy up and down, regarding him like the stringy remains of stale prey. “Neither did we.”

“Go peacefully,” the Lion growls, and the ground shakes under the deputy’s feet. “This we will give you. Offer your throat and fade to mist. You will not get anything else.”

The deputy trembles. He looks for any kindness, any empathy in the eyes of his undoing. There is none. Pathetically, kit-like in his huddling, he looks to Horoa again.

“By—” he swallows. “By Your teeth, then. It would be an honor, my Lord. Please…”

The Lion throws back His head with a thundering, hearty chuff. The sound is echoed by His Hunters, who shake their heads and give each other tickled looks, like they’re sharing a private joke. Horoa lowers His head again, gazing down at the deputy, His single eye blinding.

“None from ThunderClan will honor you,” He says. “Neither will I.”

The small dark grey molly bursts forward; her claws streak with light. A snap. A crash. Sparks tear open the mist of his flesh. The storm raging in his throat chokes back his words as it rends him apart.

In the heartbeat of a moment, in an eye amidst his agony, one quiet thought murmurs in her voice.

“They will never know your name, love.”

And then there is silence.

The vapor, split in two even wisps, disperses and fades, absorbed by the clean air of the forest. Horoa waves His tail, smoking at the tip, with satisfaction as His Hunters keep their eyes on the very last misty thread. It dissolves, and nothing remains. The Lion curtly nods, growls a chuff, turns and leaps into a gallop, His Titan-like feet hardly touching the ground. His followers race after Him, cheering again, searching for the next danger to protect the Clans from. Light encompasses them, like the sun is swallowing them up.

As they disappear, the forest’s natural light returns, followed by hesitant shadows. The cackle of flames dies, and birdsong carries on again, somewhat confused as to why it stopped. The woods, just for a bit, are beautifully warm with the echo of the sun’s heat.

The world continues on as if they were never there at all.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #epilogue #chapter #book two #arc one #burning hearts #and thats the book!#thank you all for reading along

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joyfullyacat · 1 year

Text

Putting it Together

its another "good job for being a good noodle in school" reward for @cacaocheri aka the only reason i write fluff /j CW: none, pure fluff (maybe angst if u squint and tilt ur head enough) word count: just a lil over 1k, a nice fluffy rest for y'all -

The sewing machine hums beneath your touch as you carefully feed the striped britches through, letting the quiet music of the nearby radio bleed into the birdsong that falls from your open window send you into a sort of lull.

It’s a pleasant spring morning, chilled in just the right way from the showers of last night. If things dry up enough, maybe you’ll garden. Things need weeding and there’s those bramble patches that need to be taken care of.

You find yet another hole in Sun’s pants towards the ankle and puff in playful exasperation.

Maybe not today…

Muffled and distant, you can just make out the usual bustle of Sun as he goes about the little home that you inhabit with him. Hopefully he’s not making breakfast - not that he’s bad at cooking but you’re just not hungry yet…

…Have you even eaten yet on that note? How long have you been up?

“Might as well see.” You mutter to yourself with a convenient yawn as your attention teeters off.

Joints pop while you unfurl yourself from the hunch over your working table, maneuvering around the stool to actually face the clock that hangs on a wall just behind you.

He specifically put it there just for you, despite your wishes, just so you’d actually move when it seemed to be about that time.

Usually, it was always just about that time when you checked.

This time was no different, it’s been… Hours since you woke up. You don’t even really recall the surrounding lighting changing with the time. Just after dawn to the afternoon was quite the jump.

“...He’ll get me when he’s ready.” You note thoughtfully, the animatronic typically would get you as he knows your forgetful habits and chastises you for them every time with that same warm smile.

Endearingly kind as he always was.

Though the fact he hadn’t yet meant there was likely a surprise in store for you - so who were you to ruin his fun?

You spin yourself right back around and continue to fix up the worn out pants.

He was always quite adamant about having stripes on his apparel and was quite averse to stars or other imagery. Why? You didn’t quite know but he’d tell you when he was ready to.

It was a long long project of patching him up from how he used to be. Riddled with scorch marks, missing pieces and parts of himself you don’t think he’d ever get back. You learned quite a bit about mechanical engineering from him.

He also became somewhat of your walking canvas, the paint you had never lasted long on surfaces that wouldn’t stain like metal - so you gave him new palettes and colors with relative frequency. You think he used to be yellow, maybe golden.

Now he lives freely as your live-in assistant. At least as free as any autonomous robot could.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know?” You offer one evening, looking up from your book so you could see his response.

His hands move deftly.

“Where would I go? Back to a scrap heap?” He gestures to himself, his rays fluttering from side to side in that way you took as laughter before continuing, hands moving with a held-back speed so you could better read him. “I am happy. Safe here with you.”

Learning sign language from him had been fun - really, you learned a lot from him that was more than just taking care of yourself, your little house on the outskirts of highrise cities, or the garden that you got much of your food from.

Some days he did have a voice, or at least his voice box fell in a way that would enable it to function, you concluded. It was staticky and muffled as if something was swaddling the device in there and those days weren’t always his best. But it was never something he wanted you to fuss with, no matter how many times you offered.

“Sunray, I put lights back into your eyes and touched more wires in your head than I’ve got fingers - is something wrong down there that I can help with?” You look at him with furrowed brows of worry as he works on his own torso, a mirror in front of him and a pile of your late father’s tools at his side.

He looks up at you with a deer in the headlights look, obviously his hands are occupied so he can’t quite communicate with you but you can see in the way his eyes maneuver and his rays shrink in that he’s confused.

“...What’s that face for? Oh - do you not like Sunray?”

He shakes his head no, his rays unexpectedly popping outwards before doing a spin and he seems bashful of the reaction that happened on reflex.

“Hey, if you like it! I should have asked regardless… But do you need help? Seriously.”

Another shake of the head in refusal and he motions with his chin for you to go about your business.

“Alright, alright. I’m one heavy foot stomp away though, okay?”

He rolls his eyes in mock, lighthearted annoyance, you can practically hear the “okay mom.”

It’s not long until the pants are complete. A few separate patches had to be done in that you matched to your best abilities but it was done. Your to-do list for the day suddenly shrank by a fair amount.

Maybe you could work on the ribbons?

Sun held an absolute affinity for ribbons, endlessly he admires those you’ve tied to your plants as colorful notes for what was what. He always got touchy along his wrists when handling them on the few occasions they’ve had to be changed out or replaced due to thieving birds.

So, you were working on a collection for him, one with meaning. Ones for all sorts of occasions. Days he wanted to be to himself, days he needed to be cared for, the whole run of the mill.

So you get up, folding the newly repaired garment in your arms to rest at the corner of your work table before going to your stashed box of work-in-progress ideas, removing the clear segmented box with labeled tags.

Of course, many would just be worn because he wants to - he can give meaning to those as he pleases if he so wished.

The familiar lull kicks back into place as you hem each strip of cloth into a fine ribbon along your machine, the easy trance drawing you in and blocking out the world around you.

You don’t even recognize when the door to your workspace is opened up, even if Sun is someone who is a far cry from being stealthy in any capacity. You don’t notice how he stands there in shock as he looks over what you’ve done…

Sun spies the pants he wore before - the first pair, the only pair he ever really had before knowing you and your sewing machine. Now they brand new as if the fire had never happened to begin with. It was a miracle they survived at all but to see them restored now from the shreds they once were...

He now understood why you spent many sleepless nights in here and fussed over dyes and materials for a good month before settling down.

Currently… What were you working on? Were those ribbons?

He stares at the red strip of cloth feed through your sewing machine, now given a golden threaded edge.

They look much like his original set, the ones you never got to see. You would have liked them, he thinks.

But he also thinks he’ll love these ribbons even more than his old ones.

The animatronic approaches you carefully, setting the plate full of your lunch down in an unoccupied space on your work table before his arms wrap around your middle…

You’re thoroughly brought out from your reverie at the unexpected contact, just registering the noises of something hitting the surface you were working on before feeling a stone-hard chest press into your back.

Or would it be a metal-hard chest?

“Sunray? What’s this about?” It’s not that he’s never hugged you before but there’s something distinct about this particular one that has you worried.

There's much being poured into this action, feelings and intent that you can't hope to pick apart right now. His arms only wrap tighter around your waist at your question and you feel him softly bonk his faceplate into the back of your head, moving it side to side subtlety.

…Was he nuzzling you?

“I suppose the cat is out of the bag now, isn’t it - this was all gonna be a surprise for you. We’re coming up on a year of existing with one another, isn’t that fun? You’ve come such a long way.” You explain, moving the container of made ribbons over to the edge of the table on your other side not occupied by pants or food so he could inspect them.

Sun stays holding onto you however, just leaning off to the left enough to view your offering.

Something clicks and there’s a little buzz in the air now that you recognize comes from him, it’s the sound of his voice box. Has he got it working?

“I was… Going to surprise you too.” It’s not quite clear, there’s stutters and the audio crackles when he’s done speaking but it’s unmistakably Sun’s voice there. Speaking more than just one word at that.

“Look at you, Sunny!” Excitedly, you pat along one of his hands while awkwardly contorting an arm to hug him the best you can in your given position. A careful caress along his face offered. “It’s the best you’ve sounded yet and you’ll only get better, won’t you?”

Your heart soars as Sun tilts his head into the touch before speaking.

“I… Hope so.” With a final, little pop like an old recording, the buzz shuts off and he pulls away, moving to your side and keeping an arm about your waist while freeing up a hand to look at the ribbons.

It’s not until he has to sign his next request to you that he removes his hold on you entirely.

“...You want me to add bells?” You ask, a brow raising. “I… Think I have some actually, yeah we can do that - hold on…” You get up just to circle the table, pulling at drawers of the stout cabinet that hides beneath your main table. Boxes of various findings get removed before you find your package of silver bells. “Will these do?”

They’re not very large by any means but the way his eyes widen with hope and excitement is all you need. They’d do for now until you get some more suitable for his size.

“Sorry they aren’t gold, that tends to be your preferred color isn’t it?”

Queue the frantic, apologetic and placating signing. You catch onto a handful of words before you reach across the table to still his hands before you’re driving the package of shining, tinkling bells into his palms.

Their sounds, even when in a confined conglomerate of plastic and cheap metal, come out pleasantly.

“It’s alright. Really.” Is all you say before pulling away with a final pat of reassurance.

You spend your afternoon enjoying your sandwich and sliced fruits while watching Sun thread ribbons, bell after bell.

You can’t think of a better time.

#joyfic #dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #sundrop x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnafsb x reader #sun x y/n #sundrop x y/n #dca x y/n #daycare attendant x y/n

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

Text

Oakfeather (aka. Stormfur)! He has been brought back from the dead (atleast for a bit longer) due to high demand hehe

Design wise, Oak is pretty similar to his father Greystripe, though he has similar stripes to his grandfather Oakheart who he was named after! He is a brownish shade of gray (he also got the brown tint from his grandfather) and Oakfeather's pelt color is pretty similar to the bark of a lot of oak trees which can be kind of gray! He also has one blue eye and one orange eye like his sister (though the blue one is covered moslty by is hair) but they are the opposite ones to his sister!

In RoC Silverstream is the daughter of Oakheart and Willowbreeze, and she named both of her kits after her parents (as well as Graystripe's mom Willowpelt)! Oak and Willow both received the same title (suffix) showing their bond as siblings! I also really like that they both have tree names!

Oak and Willow went though hell together during River Order's era in Tiger Order, and they came out of it extremely bonded. Their mother died weak from getting less food and not receiving care for an illness, Oak was sick as well but he was able to survive, this made Willow extra protective of her brother. Willow is the more feisty sibling, and she was the one to fight back the most during this time, resulting in her receiving a lot more scars. Oak was more hesitant, he feared the wrath of Tigerstar and his followers, he has never fully forgiven himself for not fighting back and helping his sister, he blames himself for several of her injuries because she had been protecting him while he did nothing to fight back.

After Tigerstar was defeated the two siblings had very different outlooks on their Order and lives. Willow never forgave River Order for what happened to her family, she especially had a hatred for Leopardstar and the cats who agreed with Tigerstar. However she chooses to keep a more upbeat, friendly and positive attitude, keeping her anger boiling underneath her happy exterior. On the other hand, Oakfeather is much more loyal to his Order, he mostly believed Leopardstar when she claimed that she regretted Tiger Order, and only did it to protect the Order. Oak loves River and for the most part forgave the Order for what had happened, choosing to mostly blame Tigerstar and his lackeys.

Oak still deals with a lot of regret and fear however. He regrets that he did not do more to protect Willow, but he is still fearful of fighting back. Maybe part of why he so easily forgave his order was because he feared continuing to hate them and continuing to fight them. This fear to fight back upsets him however and he wants to break free of it he wants to be brave, but he believes he is a coward.

Oak didnt become fast friends with Crow, he found him annoying and weird, but Willow brought Crow out of his shell, and Oak came to think of Crow like a little brother and felt a strong spark of protectiveness for the young cat.

When Willowfeather was chosen to go on the journey with the other prophecy cats, Oak refused to let her go on her own. He couldnt bare the idea of being separated form his sister, and he didnt want her to be alone.

He, along with his sister was hesitant of Tawnyclaw and Brambleflower at first, but they realized over time that they had nothing to fear form the two kits of Tigerstar, they even found they could relate to them greatly. Bramble and Oak both related to eachother due to their similar insecurities, and Oak noticed that Willow and Tawny got along due to their fiesty protective attitudes.

in this version of events, it is not Willowfeather who dies killing sharptooth in the mountains, it is Oakfeather.

When Sharptooth found its way into the Mountain colony’s cave and it cornered Crow, Willowfeather rushed to her friend to help him, but she was only cornered as well. Oak stood frozen horrified watching from a higher ledge in the cave. He was frozen just like he had been as an apprentice in Tiger Order, unable to protect his sister. Unlike back then however, Oak snapped out of his frozen state, and in that moment made the decision to fight back one last time, to finaly protect his sister, and to protect his friend! He was the one who jumped up on and broke the spike on the ceiling of the cave and he was the one to fall with the sharp stone onto Sharptooth.

Oakfeather died with his friends he had made and his sister by his side.

Willowfeather would later choose to stay in the mountains when the Orders traveled back through to find their new territory. She would stay where her brother was buried and find happiness with her mate Brook, with whom she had a kit who she named Oaktree.

And when she hears word that the Orders are in dander due to Hawkfrost.. now Hawkstar, she would remember her brother’s love and loyalty to River Order, and she would return to help end Hawkstar’s reign over her old home!

[Image ID: a digital drawing of Oakfeather, an au version of Stormfur from warrior cats. He is sitting with his right side showing, he has a happy expression and he has his mouth open like he is talking. He is a long furred, fluffy gray tabby tom with one blue eye and one orange eye. He has a long hair tuft on his head which covers his right eye (the blue one) almost entirely and the fur around his neck is extra long and fluffy like a mane. He has white on his muzzle, chest and paws, and he has scars on his shoulder. His inner ears, nose, paws and scars are all light pink./End ID]

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #Stormfur #oakfeather #Feathertail #warrior cats #warrior cats design #warriors

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ahedderick · 1 year

Photo

My all-time favorite goat. A GOAT goat, if you will. She had stripes, spots, patches, splashes, and a friendly (if highly assertive) attitude. Four, count ‘em, FOUR colors: black, brown, tan and white. Half Nubian and half Toggenburg breeds. Had beautiful, colorful kids and gave good milk. Her name was Bramble. I miss her.

#goat #goatblr #farm animals #dairy goat #farmblr

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bonefall · 1 year

Note

So what is Sparkpelt's relationship with Firestar going to be in BB rewrite since she isn't going to be Firestar but female? I'm assuming she's going to be completely different looking from cannon Sparkpelt too.

[ID: Better Bones AU's version of Sparkpelt. She is an auburn tigerclone with jagged stripes, a cream beard and mane, and raptor claws.]

BB!Sparkpelt is so different it'll make your head spin. GoodBYE Fireclone Sparkpelt, HELLO Tigerclone Sparkpelt

Also I decided that the KEY Tigerkin Family Trait is going to be raptor claws. A large index claw, and pointed talons on the back toe. They also tend to be large, tiger-themed, and have 'beards.' It's sometimes remarked that they bear a similarity to Thunderstar!

BIGGEST CHANGE, which I think is pretty well known by now, is that Sparkpelt is NOT Squirrelflight's child. Her mom was Jessy, from a brief relationship that ended in a brutal cat divorce. Squilf remains infertile, she cannot have children.

Instead, they are Mentor and Apprentice. Just as close as a parent and child.

Below the cut: Sparkpelt in,

Bramblestar's Thorns

Squirrelflight's Horror

BB!TBC and ASC setup

Bramblestar's Thorns: The AVoS-era replacement for the loss of Alderheart as a POV in that arc. Sparkpelt gets a POV alongside her brother covering her early life.

Her mother Jessy is a genius inventor. She joined during the SE, ThunderClan's Tempest, along with Fernsong and Stormcloud. Her name was briefly Sweetbright.

She had a massive fight with Brambleclaw shortly after having their children, which escalated and she wasn't willing to stay if he was going to treat her like that.

Alder was taken back to twolegplace. Bramblestar kept Sparkkit.

Spark loves her dad but...

He is an emotionally abusive person. Your relationship with a person like that is always unstable.

"He's not always like this." She wants him to be better, she blames herself for upsetting him, she loves him, he makes her feel like dirt, she doesn't want to be near him, she feels bad enforcing boundaries...

To give Bramblestar credit where it's due, however, he taught her very well about their family legacy. From Tigerstar all the way back to Oakstar, that they have a long line of pride and ambition.

Firestar, in these stories, was presented as someone who saved them from disgrace. By opposing Tigerstar and giving Brambleclaw power, he was a hero to them as well.

She's named after him, too. Firestar was Bramblestar's beloved mentor.

This pressure of legacy was something shared by her childhood best friend, Hollykit, child of Fallenleaf and Cinderheart.

Spark had her issues growing up, and resented Jessy massively for leaving her and taking her brother. When Alder came back because of his visions, she turned a lot of frustration onto him

Him coming back felt like she suddenly couldn't be so angry at Jessy. She had to be nice about the person who ripped her brother away, broke their family, and even turned Alder against her with how he defends her

It's not accurate or justified, but that's how this emotionally repressed teenager expresses complicated emotions.

In a moment of clarity, Bramblestar personally chose Squirrelflight as Sparkpaw's mentor. He knew that she would be the person his daughter needed, someone who would teach her to stand up for herself, and to do the right thing.

...But unfortunately most of the time Bramble does not have that level of insight. He rues this decision constantly, convinced that Squilf is intentionally turning his daughter against him.

Squirrelflight's Horror: The replacement for Squilf's Hope

This book is about Squirrelflight reconsidering her relationship with Bramble, when the Sister Situation happens. Ultimately it ends in Squilf going on trial in StarClan, less because of her 'transgressions' in life and more because of Fire Alone as an ideology being tested.

But this isn't about Squilf this is about Spark.

Similarly to canon, Hollylark suffers a horrible poisoning and passes away as their kittens are born prematurely.

Sparkpelt is shaken badly by this. They were childhood friends, they were expecting a litter, like canon she experiences postpartum depression.

Squilf wins her trial, but desperately decides she needs to get home because her apprentice can't lose a mate and a mentor at the same time.

I don't want to end this SE on the note that Sparkpelt is finally moving on from the death of Hollylark... I don't think she can "get over it" quickly the way canon implies.

In general this part of Spark's life is much more delicate. She needs more time, recovery is slower, there's a lot more pain here. But she is loved and supported through it.

BB!TBC and setup for ASC when it comes

By the time of TBC, she's finally recovering. Her relationship with her kittens has improved.

When the imposter happens, it threatens to destroy everything she had built.

She gets covered in scars from a dog attack, and is eventually exiled.

Finchpaw follows her, making a name for herself as a brave Firekin descendant who opposed a tyrant.

In this arc, a lot of Firekin act as a 'unit,' this family tends to think alike and work closely because of their shared legacy. Squilf, Spark, and Finch are in lockstep as major rebel figures.

Flamepaw is left out of this, because he chose not to follow them.

When Flame eventually rejects his name in ASC, a major contention he has is that "MOM ISN'T EVEN FIREKIN WHY DOES SHE CARE"

The answer is, that rejecting the Firekin side of himself is like killing the part of him that is Hollylark, and rejecting a family she feels accepted into and part of.

THAT SAID; I do not rewrite arcs until they are done. Details of ASC are sparse and only fragments. I need to know its conclusion before working backwards to make that conclusion stronger.

And that's BB!Sparkpelt! Very different from canon, but I love the gal.

#Better bones AU #BB!Sparkpelt

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threadsun · 1 year

Note

sending u horny Alan thoughts bc you've inflicted me with them Terribly.

Instead of Alan going into a rut, Alan running into his Doe-eyes in a heat, watching them beg for him and present to him ass up, the way he'd drool and shake and hardly believe what he was seeing as his nails dug into the meat of their hips

Doe-eyes with werewolf!Alan having spent so much time around him that it triggers a heat- their very first one, something they didn't even think their body could do

Alan purposefully choosing the scariest possible movies to put on when Doe-eyes is over, burying his face in the nape of their neck to "comfort them", barely able to keep up with the plot because they smell the sweetest and most intoxicating when they're scared

Alan fucking Doe-eyes into the forest floor, pinning their hands above their head and making sure their flesh is striped with scratches from the brambled foliage, nails caked with dirt where they dig into the ground, desperate to find anything to ground themselves, dirtying them up so much they'd have no chance of cleaning up enough to face public scrutiny

Alan half out of his mind, leashed to the floor and muzzled, gnashing his teeth wildly and near howling with need as Doe-eyes sits in a chair just out of his grasp, legs spread wide for him to see exactly what he's wanting, so close he can practically smell their musk

wolf!Alan with a pregnant Doe eyes in his nest, pacing and growling as he stands guard, eyes hungry and crazed. hes lost everything to the instinct of protecting his mate and pups to be, gruff and haggard, only ceasing his watch to respond to the call of his mate, flopping around them with a satisfied groan, tiredly rubbing his cock along their lower back as he pants and holds their pregnant belly, cumming with a whimper and melting into the soothing brush of their touch tousling his ears.

more to come most likely im feral. hope these don't clog up your inbox/ irritate you 😖

🌊 anon

Hi hello hi yes hello yes hi hello hi hi yes uhhhhhhhhhhh can I get like a thousand more of these please????

I'm 👀😳👀 about all of these, werewolf Alan is sooooooo gooodddddd!!!!!!!

#sunshine #asks #🌊 anon #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #alan orion #these are sooooo good!!!!!!

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nightly-ruse · 1 year

Text

I had this idea of OneFire hypoparent versions of Squilf and Leaf and couldn’t not do it so here they are!

Pretty much at the start of tnp little Ploverpaw and Squirrelpaw are separated across borders taken by each of their dads, Ploverpool with Onestar and Squirrelcurl with Firestar. To finally stop the constant fights from Windclan as Onestar wanted one of his daughters. Ended up with a whole au for them that I actually really love.

Beware long au explanation of the two

Squirrelcurl

Small curly cat so full of energy it’s like she’s got the wind in her heart. With more of her father Onewhisker’s stripes but a warmer tone and shape like her papa Fireheart she’s very torn with her loyalties. While she does have the spirit for the moor she was very easily divided with her papa because of her coat, height, and stumpy legs. And while she does love Fire a lot she sometimes wishes her and Plover could’ve been raised closer together. Does not get along with her father Onestar much the two butting heads harshly and with differing opinions very quickly getting into fights.

She does not get with Bramble but instead with Crowfeather after they got close over the journey, meeting him more under the guise of visiting her sister. The two were close and said they’d run away together! Find a place where all can love with no borders tearing them apart! Until it all crumpled as Squirrel couldn’t leave all her family and friends behind and Crow started to find he didn’t like the true fire in her heart. They split harshly breaking both cats hearts in a massive fight, running back to their own clans. Except Squirrelcurl was expecting his kittens and she’d have no way to explain them away.

Squirrelcurl makes a plan with her sister who is also expecting and they leave with Mothwing and Nightcloud to have the litters under a guise of a vision. She has Starlingkit and Ravenkit who she knows she cannot keep, they look far too much like their father to ever stay. On the way back she gives the two to Nightcloud who promises to love them for her, deciding to rename them Hollykit and Breezekit for their parentage of the forest and the moors.

Eventually after the secrets revealed by Hollyscratch and Breezecloud she makes amends with both her kittens, and finds she loves Nightcloud with the two becoming mates once she divorces Bramblestep.

Ploverpool

Tall curly and powerful their was no hiding the clear mix of blood in Ploverpool’s pelt she was a very mixed cat. Having Firestar’s pattern, ears, and strong paws but Onestar’s coat, eyes, curl, tail, and height she was clear from her birth where she came from. But with her height and slight fear of shadows she was kept by her father Onewhisker, having to watch her sister walk away. Very early on she found a solution, if she was a healer she could travel across borders and see anyone she wanted! And learn the secrets most cats can’t even touch. As such she was trained under Barkface.

She does find love across borders, right by a little flowing creek. A cat much like her in statue such just beauty it struck her speechless she had to know her. And then at her first moonpool meeting to see just the cat saunter up she fell head over paws. Plover and Moth fall in love, using the excuse of their healer duties to hang out often having Squirrel or Nightcloud tag along with them. They thought nothing bad could come from this as long as no one found out. Until someone did. Plover knew someone had seen them when she found a moth wing and thorn snuck in her nest. Paranoia seeping into her pelt.

Plover realizes she’s expecting just a few nights after her sister came to her telling her similar news. They make a plan to all leave with Mothwing and Nightcloud in case anything were to happen, have the kittens in secret and figure out what to do after. She has three beautiful bundles of fur. Fritillarykit, Jaykit, and Tadpolekit. Sadly as they travel back Tadpole becomes too weak and passes away, buried just between the River and Wind borders by their mothers. Fritillarykit is kept by Mothwing and Jaykit is taken by Squirrelcurl who could easily pass the little pale kitten as her own.

When the secrets revealed Ploverpool finally breaks and moves to Riverclan to be with her mate and eventually raise their second litter of Dandelionkit, Hawkkit, Sparkkit, and Alderkit. Fritillaryblaze ends up also following his moms across the border to be with his new family, Jaydream crossing over often as well.

#hypoparents #I really like them :)#been thinking about them the whole time and gosh. i just love them #actually really like brown Squilf and tan leaf they look nice #onefire’s legacy au #wc au #night knacks #onefire #onewhisker #fireheart #Firestar #onestar #squirrelflight #leafpool #ruse au’s

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sweetarethediscords · 1 month

Text

The Maiden of The Barren Rime

Winter Wind blows through the valley, pushes us into our homes.

Pleading she knocks at our windows, scorned she continues to roam.

Chapter 1: The Brambled Beauty

Mina quieted at the sound of unfamiliar voices on the wind.

Mina picked up her pace, leaping up into the treetops, crossing miles in minutes towards the voices with no more sound than the rustle of wind through pine needles.

She stilled. The branch beneath her feet barely creaked.

A journey Mina would take no part in.

“Well,” the woman stuffed her compass into her jacket pocket. “At least it’s a nice day out to wait. Sun’s still warm enough to cut the edge off the autumn chill.”

Dammit, Mina thought. They were here for an expedition.

“Ya know, we could always go with another alpinist,” the woman offered. “Beto Lamar’s homestead is about a day’s ride west from here.”

“Even if she’s already off on an expedition?”

“She’s not,” the man gestured over his shoulder. “The windows are open. And this cabin is too well maintained for its owner to just head off for two months with the windows left open.”

Mina thudded her head against the tree trunk. Of course. An observant and stubborn knight.

Three more weeks in the cold. Three more weeks to die. The unwilling thought made her teeth ache.

The trespassing pair jumped. The knight drew his sword as the woman bladed her feet into a wide stance, arms lifted, ready to perform some sort of cast.

So they were a magic wielder and a knight.

“Get off the porch,” Mina stated bluntly as she hung another rack.

“My apologies, miss. We’re looking for the alpinist that lives here,” she said. “Would that be you?”

“No,” Mina lied. “I’m a hunter. The alpinist lives to the west.”

The woman arched an eyebrow and looked to the knight. He flared his nostrils, puffed out his chest, and stomped over towards her.

“I am Sir Murmir Gargic, general-rank knight of the Lanholde Royal Army, proud servant to King Fritz Reinhardt.”

“Never heard of him,” she lied again.

The knight sputtered, whatever bullshit speech he had prepared dying on his tongue. “You never—”

“Sir Gargic,” the woman whispered behind him, calling his attention and allowing him a moment to regain his composure.

Annoying.

“If that’s the case, then I guess your king expects you both to die,” Mina droned, mono-toned and matter-of-factly. “I’m a hunter, not an alpinist.”

The knight’s breathing shallowed as her jab at his ruler crawled under his skin. He inhaled deeply, a tirade building, when the woman placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How much would it cost for you to be an alpinist?” she asked.

Mina drifted her dull gaze over towards the woman, finding her with a smirk on her lips and a knowing glint in her eye.

“Seven thousand gilt one way,” she answered. “The real alpinist to the west charges half that.”

Mina blinked slowly, then repeated. “Seven thousand gilt one way.”

“Deal.”

Gods fucking dammit. An unfortunately familiar tug pulled at her spine.

She did, reluctantly. Her arm dragged by that damned tug.

“Mina,” the woman read her name aloud, standing on the tips of her toes to watch as she wrote it. “I’m Wera Alrust.”

Mina snapped the quill once she finished, dropped it to the ground, and headed into her cabin.

“Where are you going?” Sir Gargic barked behind her. “You’re under contract to—”

“Packing,” Mina answered. “Can’t climb a ten-thousand-foot cliff face with just a bow, a sword, and a can-do attitude.” She paused in the doorway. “Just two going up?”

“Five,” Wera answered. “Six if you count yourself.”

“I don’t.”

“Where are the other three?” she asked as she stepped back outside and locked the door.

“Back on the road, waiting with the wagon,” Wera replied.

“You can’t take a wagon up a mountain.”

“We don’t plan to.” She was, frustratingly, smiling at Mina when she turned around. “Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

Sir Gargic’s spine straightened and chest puffed out as he put on a bit of bravado. “We’ve returned!” he cried, waving grandly.

Enoch raised his hand partially, too engrossed in whatever he was writing to look away.

Annoy the knight. Unnerve the old woman. Now she just had to find the others’ weaknesses.

“You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road. They’ll slow us down and will be hunted by the beasts of the Harrow.”

Sir Gargic sputtered with embarrassment. Wera shot Enoch a disgusted look.

Mina stared at him blankly.

“I know,” she said after a moment.

Enoch choked on his spit at her response. Wera burst out into a fit of laughter, drawing Mina’s attention.

Laughter wasn’t a response she was used to receiving.

“Don’t forget to write that one down,” Wera wheezed through her giggles. “‘My attempts at flirtation failed tremendously as usual.’ A good archivist doesn’t leave out any details!”

“S-sorry, M-mina,” Enoch stammered, still caught off guard by her curtness as he leaned back away from her, rubbing his injured arm.

“Hello, I am Sebastian Windenhofer. It is wonderful to meet you!” the man extended his hand out in greeting.

She did not shake it.

“Mina,” she said to the hand, in the same bland manner that she had introduced herself to everyone else.

Mina’s distant stare met his attentive gaze. Sebastian didn’t flinch. “You’ll have to leave the wagon and loose the horses an hour or so up the road.”

“Why’s that?” he asked.

Mina paused, and tilted her head to the side, caught off guard by his question.

“Have I spoken out of turn?” his voice wavered.

“Ugh, my penmanship gets so poor when we’re walking,” Enoch groaned as he slid down from the driver’s seat.

Not just a magic user. He was a wizard, capable enough to demonstrate his talents so casually.

Or cocky enough to make a big show over the few skills he did have.

“No,” Mina replied, tapping the canteen attached to her belt. “I have a canteen.”

She could have just left it at ‘no’.

“Of course.” He threw the tea set into the air as if he were throwing away a piece of paper over his shoulder and with a snap of his fingers they vanished.

Definitely a show-off.

“I have a few things to pack myself if you’ll excuse me,” he continued, smiling again, still wide as it shifted to a slightly different shape, then headed back into the covered wagon.

Mina watched him walk away.

If he wasn’t just a show-off, then maybe they’d make it a mile past Rabbet’s Pass.

🜁

“That’s all there is to know,” she replied.

“It’s not.”

“Then how’d it happen for you?”

“Someone had to do it. So I did it.”

“And what did that entail?”

“Doing it.”

“Are you volunteering to go next then, Enoch?” Sebastian asked.

“I— uh—” Enoch jogged up in front of them and turned to walk backwards as he spoke, “Well I met—”

“Don’t walk like that,” Mina interrupted. “If you fall and break something, we’ll have to leave you behind, or I’ll have to kill you.”

His steps slowed as his eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“It’s quicker than the duskwolves tearing into your flesh and snapping your neck.” It was brutal imagery, but not entirely false.

“She’s kidding, Enoch,” Sebastian said.

Enoch’s voice hollowed. “H-how can you tell?”

“Because if you did break something, Tanir would gladly patch you up,” he reasoned.

Wera groaned.

She looked back at Enoch and snickered, “See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Your turn, Sir Gargic.”

Sebastian broke the thick silence and turned to Tanir, “Did you really have to tell the basilisk story, Tani?”

“It’s one of my first and favorite memories of you,” she replied.

“Aha! You’re a hunter too!” Sebastian — frustratingly — cheered. “I knew there was more to you!”

“Now, do you have any other comments, questions, concerns for our happy little troop? Perhaps some tips on how to deal with those duskwolves you—”

“You’re all loud,” she stated. “It’ll draw things to us, and cause trouble on the Peaks.”

“Why’s that?” Tanir asked.

“Avalanches.”

“Wait,” Enoch said. “There’s going to be snow on these mountains?”

“What did you think we bought all those cold weather clothes for?” Wera scoffed.

“Lanholde has a cooler climate. I just thought winter wear was the fashion there.”

Wera sent a pleading look Sebastian’s way. “Did you really have to hire him, ‘Bastian? We could have just left him stranded on that beach.”

“True,” Sebastian shrugged, “but we need entertainment on this journey, and watching the two of you bicker could rival some of the best traveling shows.”

“Right. Which of you can fight?” Mina asked as she headed to the front of the pack.

All of them raised their hands.

Wera and Sir Gargic she understood but the others… “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if we couldn’t hold our own, lass,” Sir Gargic said. “Trust me, I was wary myself when I first met them, but even Enoch is worthwhile in a scrap.”

“Hey!” Enoch whined.

Mina didn’t wait for them to finish pairing off before weaving her way through the trees. She didn’t even acknowledge Wera as she hustled to fall in place beside her.

“So,” Wera drawled after a few minutes of silence between them, “why’d you pick me for the front?”

If she had to suffer through another expedition, at least she could make this one of use.

She could feel the pressure of Wera studying her face, looking for something she’d never find.

“Just write down the trail taken and there’s no need to worry about any of that.”

She heard Wera’s pen skip on the page and a heavy exhale out of her nose.

There it was. She hated being talked down to.

“Would you look at that,” Sir Gargic remarked, voice slightly muffled and strained. He talked out of the corner of his mouth in a bad attempt to be quiet. “She’s actually talking to Wera.”

“People do often talk to each other,” Sebastian said coolly, not feeding the knight’s judgment.

“Yes, but she’s so—”

“Are we talking about the Brambled Beauty?” Enoch whispered.

“The what?” Sebastian deadpanned.

“You don’t like it, sir? I’m trying to figure out the perfect way to describe such a terrifying and alluring creature.”

“Alluring?” Sir Gargic guffawed, “She’s so cold!”

“Yes! She’s cold!” Tanir added, voice peaking with a burst of realization.

Mina ground her teeth to keep from chewing them out. It was better that they didn’t know how well she could hear, and she had bore much harsher digs than their rude observations anyways.

“Just because she’s different than us doesn’t make her less of a person,” Sebastian chided. “And Tanir it’s unlike you to make assumptions about someone you’ve just met.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was just—”

Their footfalls and chitchat ceased abruptly. Mina turned her head to the side, putting a finger to her lips to signal them to stay silent and wait.

“A meadowlark?” Sebastian whispered.

Mina secured her bow on her back and slid down the tree’s trunk.

“Keep moving,” she said to the group as she retrieved her sword from the terramawg’s corpse.

All of their mouths hung agape.

A dull pang pushed against Mina’s chest at the sight.

“Great Gods. Save some for the rest of us next time, will ya?” Sir Gargic shuddered.

“Hey, wait up!” Wera ran after her, manipulating the ink back in its vial and pulling out her notebook once again.“How were you able to tell where it was?”

Tanir pulled a stupefied Enoch along, “Come on. You should be jumping with joy. Action like that is sure to make your book even more exciting.”

“Well,” Sir Gargic remarked to Sebastian with a heavy exhale, “I guess we know why she’s so cold now.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgment, nothing more. Nothing until moments later, when under his breath a murmured thought slipped out.

“The wind even changed direction.”

The reverence in his tone, unheard by everyone else, bristled against the back of Mina’s neck.

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

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of The Maiden of the Barren Rime! Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to read it.

If you're interested in reading more, MBR releases on May 1st and is available for pre-order now! You can order it from Barnes and Noble, Books-a-Million, Amazon, and most independent bookstores!

#bookblr #writing #the maiden of the barren rime #fantasy novel #fantasy romance #fantasy books #romance novels #romance #slow burn #romantasy #words #writblr

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