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andiinaraethtash · 1 year

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Chapter 23: Of Being Intimate with Brokenness

Sooooo…. I'm aware it is now March and the last chapter was uploaded in, like, January or something (it might have been December, I didn't check), but in my defence life has been insane. Like legitimately insane. I moved into a new apartment, so between all those logistics adn expenses and work and all that, I've been swamped, and then me and my roommate got dogs--one each, and they are so sweet--and yeah. That's been my life for the past two and a half months. Completely nuts. Chapter title from Son by Sleeping At Last

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Joel isn’t quite sure when he’ll be going home, but he is sure that it won’t be for a little while, at least until Scott is back on his feet so Jimmy isn’t spending every moment of every day in Rivendell. Right now, Joel’s staying with Lizzie, which would be fine, except that she’s hovering constantly, and he’s almost desperate to get back home to make sure everything is in order.

He’s ruling from afar, literally, at the moment, trusting that everything will be fine while he’s gone, but that does little to assuage the worry that Exor did something to Mezalea that Aeor didn’t fix. The only reason he’s not there is because Lizzie asked him to stay with her, and he just can’t say no to her.

There are a couple of different possible reasons she was so insistent that he stay, one being that she’s got a lot on her plate between overseeing the Ocean Empire and filling in for Jimmy, who still hasn’t left Rivendell, by ruling the Cod Empire in his stead. It’s not been easy on her, worried as she is about the entirety of the two empires, and all her friends as well, but she’s doing a remarkable job of keeping it together.

Which, of course, leads to the second reason she’s insisting he stay close to her—he’d nearly died so many times the night of the battle, and he knows she’s been having nightmares. The two have to be linked, because more often than not, he wakes up to her watching him with a haunted look in her eyes. She needs him nearby to constantly check and make sure he’s still alive.

Honestly, he’s only surprised she isn’t insisting Jimmy stay nearby as well, but maybe she understands that he needs to stay with Scott right now. She is, however, sending messages to Katherine every day, though she doesn’t always reply. If Joel had to guess, he’d say it’s because she isn’t home very often. After all, she’s been taking care of Rivendell while Scott has been comatose.

Shrub has been taking care of the Grimlands, with a bit of help from Sausage, while Pearl is overseeing the Crystal Cliffs, since fWhip is obviously out of commission and Gem, while uninjured, is in no state to rule.

The past few days—few weeks, really—has been hard on all of them, but especially the Wither Rose Alliance. First they lost Gem, then fWhip got possessed, the Pearl had to kill Scott—and had killed Joel himself, too, which he still was bitter about—then finally the two women had been reunited with Sausage and they’d had to near-fatally injure fWhip to keep him from killing Gem. Gods, what a mess. He’s surprised he hasn’t heard about a few more mental breakdowns. He’s honestly kind of expecting multiple at this point.

“Joel!” Lizzie’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head to clear his mind.

“Yes, dear?”

Lizzie’s frowning at him in concern. “I asked how your shoulder’s doing.”

As if by magic—or his shoulder hearing her question and deciding to be cruel—his shoulder starts aching again, a dull throb that travels all the way to his neck and up to the base of his skull. It pulses in time to his heart beat, and he grimaces, massaging the area.

“Not any worse,” he says honestly.

Lizzie’s frown deepens, and she steps closer. She looks exhausted. “But not any better, either.”

Joel shakes his head. “No. And yes, before you ask, I have been drinking my potions, it’s just not getting any better.”

Lizzie frowns. “I should get Katherine to come get a look at it, I think something’s wrong.”

No duh, he wants to say, but instead he just grimaces again. “If she’s busy, we can put it off. Gods know she’s got a lot on her plate. But… I would very much like to not be in pain,” he adds when Lizzie gives him a look.

“Good. I’ll send her a message.” Lizzie turns to walk away, and he hurries over to grab her arm. She stiffens under his grasp, but relaxes as soon as she looks over at him. “What?” She asks, but she sounds tired.

“Lizzie,” Joel says as gently as he can, “when was the last time you actually got some sleep?” Lizzie opens her mouth, then stops, thinks about it, then goes to answer again, and Joel shakes his head to cut her off. “Let’s get you to bed, you’re exhausted.”

“There’s no point,” Lizzie says miserably, “I’ll just have more nightmares. Goodness knows I won’t be any more rested when I wake up.”

Joel flashes her his cheekiest, most endearing grin, the one he knows gets her to listen to him. “Just try? For me?”

She holds out for about twelve seconds, which is longer than he thought she would, before caving. “Fine.”

Raising an eyebrow, Joel offers her his arm, which she takes, and leads her up the winding prismarine staircase up to her bedroom. As she yawns, he kicks off his shoes and pulls back the covers, but he doesn’t lay down (he doesn’t like lying in her bed anyway, it makes him feel as thought he’s a child in his parents’ bed). Instead, he sits, pats the bed next to him, and waits while she settles into a comfortable sleeping position.

Once she’s settled down, he scoots closer and has her use his lap as a pillow. Sitting back against the headboard, he begins stroking her hair, humming a lullaby he’s heard her sing for Jimmy one night when the nightmares got really bad. She smiles as he does, so he assumes he’s either reminding her of good memories or is very off-key (hopefully the former, probably the latter), but either way her breathing soon evens out and he sighs, glad to see her resting for once.

He stays that way for probably an hour or two, humming the whole while, before a knock at the doorway has him looking up and frowning. “Jimmy?”

Jimmy waves awkwardly from his spot half-leaning against one of the pillars that mark the entrance. “Hey. Is Lizzie okay?”

Joel glances down at his wife, who still hasn’t stirred, then back up at Jimmy. “Yeah, she’s fine, just tired. What about Scott, I thought you weren’t going to leave till he was back on his feet?”

Shrugging, Jimmy steps inside and makes a beeline for the nearest chair. “He told me to go home and get some ‘proper rest.’”

“Wait,” Joel immediately latches on to the news left unspoken by those words, “he told you?”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows in concern. “Did you not see my message? I sent one an hour ago.”

Shaking his head, Joel explains, “We’ve been in bed for the last few hours. Like this, you moron, not like how you’re thinking,” he adds, gesturing at their respective positions when Jimmy blushes. “But that’s good news. I’m just surprised you listened to him.”

“I listen all the time!” Jimmy protests, then, when Joel shushes him, he repeats more quietly, “I listen all the time, I just don’t always obey.”

“Which is part of the problem, Jimmy,” Joel says, smirking slightly. “But that’s beside the point. Is someone with Scott right now, or should we head that way?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Nah, Katherine is with him at the moment, and I think Shrub might be on her way to Rivendell. I swung by the Undergrove on the way here,” He adds in explanation, “but I was also planning on swinging by Pixandria before heading home. I want to check on everyone.”

“Jimmy,” Joel groans. “What part of ‘getting some proper rest’ do you not understand?”

“I’ll rest when I get home! Y’know, after I visit Pix and make sure he’s okay!” Joel wants to protest this, but Jimmy cuts him off before he can. “Look, Joel. I need to check on him for the same reason Lizzie needs you here: I need to know all of you are safe before I can rest. I just… I need to.”

Joel deflates at that. He tells himself it’s because Jimmy’s arguments are convincing, not because he’s breaking out those damn puppy eyes, but really, who is he fooling? “Fine. But if Lizzie or I show up later to make sure you’re actually resting and you’re not, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Okay, okay. Yeesh.”

With that, Jimmy stands, stretches, and heads out. Joel watches him go, not entirely happy. Jimmy has been running himself ragged taking care of Scott, trying to find some way of healing him, and he’s still not slowing down, even if his focus has shifted. Joel is tempted for a long moment to follow him, make sure he actually goes home after he sees that Pix is perfectly fine, but then Lizzie shifts in his lap, grumbling slightly, and he looks down at her, running his hand through her hair again.

No, he decides. Lizzie needs him more. As much as he loves Jimmy, he loves Lizzie more. She’s what matters at the moment.

_______

Neither Pearl, Gem, or Sausage move for a second, too shocked to do or say anything, but then Nova yips as she wriggles her nose under fWhip’s hand like she’s trying to get him to pet her, and the spell is broken. Sausage surges toward the door, while Pearl hurries to the bed, shoving Nova aside as gently as she can while in a rush, and quickly does what Gem recognizes as a battlefield assessment to see if he’s actually awake or not.

Sausage, meanwhile, is yelling for someone to fetch Avery or Aislinn or someone who knows the healing arts. Gem lets him yell. She’s still glued to the same spot, eyes locked on her brother, because it’s been over a week since she’s seen him awake and himself, and when she had seen him last he’d been all but screaming at her to run, trying to hold back a god so she could get away, and the shock of that is still catching up to her.

She feels like she needs air, but she also knows that’s silly, she’s getting air, she can feel her chest rising and falling as she breathes, and the window’s open, and she can see the tapestry on the far wall fluttering from the breeze that’s flowing through the room. There is air in here, and in her lungs, so why is her vision getting dim, and why are her knees weak, what’s wrong—

Pearl turns to her, and her eyes widen. “Gem, breathe.”

What does she mean, breathe? Gem has been—

Her lungs suddenly burn, and she inhales sharply, nearly bowled over by the sudden rush of oxygen. Oh. She’d been hyperventilating. Tears prick her eyes and she feels like she’s one wrong move away from shattering.

It’s stupid, she knows, that after everything, it’s fWhip waking up that makes her break. She should be relieved, she should be happy, but instead she’s paralyzed.

“—em. Gem.”

When did Pearl move? She’s in Gem’s space, hands on her shoulders, looking into Gem’s eyes like she can see her very soul, and—

Gem bursts into tears. It’s sudden, like a firework exploding, and it clearly startles Pearl, who jumps as Gem sobs.

“Gem, it’s okay, he’s alive—” Pearl starts, and Gem interrupts, hiccoughing.

“I lost him,” she practically wails. “I lost him, and I did this to him, it’s my fault, I did this to him—” She’s too busy trying to catch her breath to bother finishing her sentence or explain what she meant.

But it is. It’s her fault. If she hadn’t let him knock her down, if she’d managed to teach Scott how to control his powers instead of getting hurt by them, if she’d saved him from Xornoth back when he first died, everything would be different.

Pearl looks like she wants to protest, but then she glances over her shoulder, and Gem follows her gaze.

Avery and another healer, one that Gem vaguely recognizes from Eastvale, have arrived sometime while she was absorbed in her guilt, and they’re trying to get a response from her brother, and it’s not working, he’s not answering their questions, and he’s not even reacting to the candle they keep passing in front of his eyes.

What’s happened to him? He’s awake, he should be fine if he’s awake, Scott is awake and aware, why can’t fWhip be alright as well? Her head is spinning, she realises, and she needs to sit, she needs to collapse under the weight she’s carrying before it breaks her completely.

Thankfully, Pearl seems to read this from Gem’s expression, and she quickly wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides her out of the room. Gem fights for a second as they leave, not wanting to leave fWhip behind again, but Pearl just pulls her closer and murmurs soft reassurances in her ear.

“We need to take care of you right now,” she catches Pearl saying, and it makes sense, it does, but she needs to be with fWhip, she needs to know if her brother is going to be alright—

“Gem!” Pearl pulls her to a stop, coming around to face her. “Gem, listen to me, he’s okay, alright? He’s awake, he’s got Sausage and Avery with him, he’s going to be fine, but you’re freaking out, and you’re freaking me out, and you know I don’t like being freaked out. So please, let me take care of you.”

She hesitates, but that also means she stops fighting for a second, and Pearl takes that to mean she can start directing her down the hall again. Gem glances at her face, about to protest, but stops when she sees that Pearl is very clearly holding herself together by sheer willpower at this point, probably for Gem’s sake, and if she keeps pushing her, Pearl is eventually gonna break, and Gem doesn’t want that to happen, under any circumstances, ever.

Somehow—Gem doesn’t know how, and later she’ll find she doesn’t remember, either—they end up in fWhip’s study. Pearl shuts the door behind them, then has Gem sit at the desk.

It’s a mess in here, as the maids know better than to touch any of fWhip’s work spaces, and the futile hope that he’ll recover is keeping them from doing even a light dusting. Honestly, the only time he cleans anything up is when it’s getting in the way of his work.

There are papers strewn everywhere, torn into shreds and covered in ink spots near the wall where a shattered ink pot lies. A fine layer of dust covers everything, and Gem can see motes of it dancing in the sunlight that streams through the thin windows. She shudders when she sees the claw marks on the walls and bookshelves (most of which are filled with blueprints and gadgets rather than actual books, though even those have been taken out and torn apart).

Exor must have taken out his rage on this room—and maybe some of the others, she’s noticed several places where furniture has been strategically moved as if to cover bits of disrepair. She just hopes those spots can be repaired soon. If fWhip ever recovers, he shouldn’t be surrounded by reminders of his time being possessed.

If. That’s the most important word in that sentence, because she has a sinking feeling in her stomach that all their hope is for naught. After seeing Exor do… whatever he did to fWhip in the Nether, she has doubts, and she knows Pearl does, too.

“Gem,” Pearl starts, but Gem doesn’t let her finish.

“He’s not going to get better, is he.” It’s a question and a statement all at the same time, and she knows Pearl knows it, and doesn’t know how to respond.

So Pearl sighs instead, and says, “We don’t know that for certain—”

“But it’s likely.” Gem doesn’t need her to tell her the odds, because that has always been Gem’s job. She’s the one with the facts, the numbers, the answers. And sure, she doesn’t know the exact probability, but she and Pearl both know it’s high. “After… after what happened in the Nether, after everything Exor did to him, made him do… I’m not sure I’d want to recover if our roles were reversed.”

“Gem!” Pearl exclaims, sounding indignant. “You’d recover for the same reason he will: for us. For the Wither Rose Alliance. For our friends, our family. You know it, I know it, so stop doubting him.”

“I’ve never doubted him,” Gem insists, trying to figure out how to phrase this. “I… Pearl, Exor killed him. You didn’t see the look in his eyes when I fought him out on the plains. It was… he was dead, Pearl. Dead and empty and gone, do you understand? I don’t doubt him, I doubt there’s anything left of him.”

Pearl shakes her head stubbornly. “You can’t give up on him now, not when he needs you most. Besides, Aeor did a lot of fixing things before he died, maybe one of the things he did was heal fWhip?”

“You can’t heal the dead, Pearl, believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Gem!” Pearl slams her hand down on the desk, and Gem winces. Pearl carries on regardless. “This isn’t like you, what’s got you thinking this way?”

Gem opens her mouth to answer, then stops, considers, and sighs. “I’m just… I’m just so tired of this, Pearl. Of not knowing if I’m losing him or not. Of grieving for him only to get him back and lose him all over again. Of mourning him when he’s not even dead. I just want the universe to make up its mind as to whether or not it’s going to take him or not, that way… that way I’ll at least know.”

Pearl sighs, and nods. “I know what you mean. But Gem,” steel enters her eyes and her voice, “We can’t give up hope. We can’t. We give up hope, we give up on him, and he’ll know. He’ll think we hate him for what he was forced to do, and that’ll make him not want to get better. Us hoping might be the only thing keeping him going, even if he’s not conscious enough to hear us.”

Gem doesn’t respond. She doesn’t know what to say. Clearly, though, Pearl has said her piece, because after a moment, she starts going around, picking up the ruined papers and the shards of the broken ink pot and trying to put the blueprints back together again. Gem watches with a slight smile. It’s funny, seeing Pearl struggle to find which piece goes to which blueprint, but she doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy thinking.

About the time she’s come to that conclusion that Pearl is right and they have to keep up the hope that fWhip will get better, there’s a knock at the door, and Sausage pokes his head in. He grimaces as he looks around, clearly displeased by the state of the study, but focuses quickly on Gem and Pearl.

“Avery wants to talk to you,” he says succinctly, and when Gem rises and goes to leave, he puts a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” He asks gently, and she hesitates, then nods.

“I’ll be better when fWhip is, too.”

Sausage smiles at that, and lets her take the lead as they make their way back, with Gem hoping against hope that her brother actually will get better.

#Oh boys! I'm back!!!#empires smp #empires #chapter twenty-three #fanfiction #writing #I've forgotten how to tag help

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renee-writer · 2 years

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Out of Time Chapter Twenty -Three

TW for violence

AO3

She eyes him, one eye on the strange man and the other on her mac-n-cheese. William and Fergus sit on either side of her. Frank is the only one at the table with them. Claire and Jamie are discussing the mist and Mary is preparing for the afternoon lessons.

She takes another bite and shivers as her tummy cramps up. William frowns and turns to her. “Faith, you okay?” Neither see Frank grin but Fergus does.

“No, my tummy.” Jamie hears and turns towards the table just to see Faith fall and start to jerk.

He is there, lifting her up and away from the table. The ladies join them. “What is it?” Mary asks.

“Her tummy hurt.” William says, his fingers going to his mouth.

“And he grinned.” Fergus adds emphasis on ' he’.

Claire frowns and looks over to Frank as Jamie and Mary work on Faith. “She is seizing.” Jamie states. “Mary please take the children into the other room please. Claire, come help me please.” He uses his trauma voice. It is calm and precise. Inside, he is struggling to control the well of panic growing inside him. Was this a late effect of the mist? It is unlikely but can’t be discounted.

Mary hurries the boys into the bedchamber while Claire kneels down by Faith. “What do I need to do?”

“Hold her still.” She does while he does a quick assessment. Her vitals are low. He recalls her last words, her tummy. With a prayer, he pries open her mouth and places his hand deep down her throat and she starts to gag, vomiting up her lunch. “Activated charcoal.” She stands to get it. Frank forgotten temporarily stands as she works towards the first aid station.

“Can’t let you do that.” He stands in front of her.

She looks at him, dazed. “Get out of the way Frank.” She tries to push past him. He reacts by pushing her against the wall. Jamie looks up at her gasps.

“What?”

“This ends today. You weren’t to survive. It is easier then I could have made it. Let her go.” They both still stare at him. “Sorry Claire.” He had a knife and goes to stab her. She moves out of his way.

Jamie moves as in a dream. He lays Faith down slowly and carefully. While the idiot is distracted by Claire, he moves over to where the guns are. Kept loaded, they are ready for any threat. Never expected it to come from inside, goes through his head as he lifts one up.

Frank tries to stab Claire as she moves farther away. He makes contact with her arm. He literally sees red as her blood starts to drip down to the floor.

He wasn’t paying attention to Jamie. That was his mistake. He doesn’t pay attention until the gun is pressed against his head. “Drop the knife and back away, now!”

“Hey you are the healer. You’re not to be doing this.” The moron had the unmitigated nerve to say.

“You hurt Claire and Faith first.” He backs him into a seat. Claire, mumbling curses, goes to get some rope. They tie him to it. With the immediate crisis over, he hurries to get the activated charcoal into Faith and to see to Claire ‘s arm.

She keeps her head down, embarrassed that she hadn’t seen it. The actual evil that inhabitants him.

“What did you give her, you bloody bastard!”

He just grins. “As if I would tell you or tell you whether the other children were feed it too.” Jamie presses the gun to his stomach. “You won’t shoot me. Claire won’t let you.”

“You’re right. I will. I wouldn’t let Jamie live with doing it. But, I have no problem.” Her eyes flash as she presses her own gun against his temple. “What did you give Faith and did the others ingest it?”

“I will check on them. Will you be alright with him?”

“Yeah, I will. I am sorry for…”

“We can discuss that later.”

She nods as he moves to the other room. Faith still lays still on the couch. Her eyes full of hate, she turns back to the man who, just an hour ago, she thought her future was tied to. “If that sweet girl dies, I will shoot you just enough to cause blood loss to weaken you then I will throw you out into the mist without a mask.”

He has the nerve to laugh. “You don’t think we aren’t immune to it. That mask was to fool you, sweetie.”

She can’t help it: she smacks him across the face with the gun. He starts to bleed from the cut. “To the pain then. Not the death, not yet. Recall the Princess Bride. Slowly disfiguring you. I wonder if the idiots running this show would take you if you were missing a few body parts. It is an interesting experiment.”

“Whattt isss going onnn?” The stress brings Mary’s stutter back.

“Frank! It seems he is working with whoever is responsible for this. He poisoned Faith and tried to kill Claire. We have him secured now.” Her sweet eyes grow wide. “Lads, do you feel sick at all?”

They seat, holding tight to each other’s hands. William chews on his free hand. He shakes his head.

“No Jamie. Will Faith…?”

“I am not sure.” He addresses Mary. “Are you going to be okay with them while we deal with him?”

She nods, tears falling down her face. “Willl you kill himmm?”

“I would like to. We first need to find out what he knows.” He pats her shoulder and tries to smile at the lads. “I will keep you guys informed.” He starts to walk back out, “Oh, you might hear some scary things. I am sorry about that.”

“It is okay Jamie. Just see to him.” Fergus looks furious. He nods.

She is staring at the man she thought she knew when he comes back. “It is just Faith.” He returns to caring for her.

“Thank God for that.” To Jamie. “When Frank, when did you become this thing?”

“We had to do something. There were way to many people. Only the purest blood needed to survive. We carefully chose and the Mist was designed to be quick.”

“Insanity.” Jamie mumbles as he re-checks Faith’s vitals.

“Actually it was the most sane thing we could have done.” He smiles again, “I did try to save you Claire. When I found you still alive, I argued for your preservation. But…”

“You came to kill her instead. Her and three innocent children, a pregnant lass and myself?”

“Orders are orders.” He shrugs. She hits him again, hard against his face. They hear his cheek break. Jamie winces. Claire just smiles.

“Where are they? They must have a bunker somewhere.”

He just stares at her. She hits him again. This time his nose breaks.

“He isn’t going to tell you.” Jamie softly says. He holds the little girl close. He fears she is dying, that they were to late. “We need to draw his blood. He is immune. We might be able to find out a way to fight against it.”

She turns to him. When she sees how still and white the child is, she swallows hard. “Is she…?”

“No but I fear she is.”

“You bastard! What the f*CK did you give her!”

“Hold her a second so I can get his blood.” He tiredly says. She nods, biting her lip, tears gathering. He draws the blood, shoving the needle in as hard as he can. When he is done, he breaks the needle inside his vein afterwards. “It will work it’s way to his heart. He will die in slow agony.”

“Good.” He takes the baby back as Claire shoots both his legs. “No running back to tell the others you failed.” They leave the little girl long enough to drag him out of the bunker. He is dropped out into the mist, bleeding and dying. They return to see if Faith will live.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #out of time #chapter twenty-three #tw for violence #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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stickyspeckledlight · 28 days

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Boop! 🐾

(L didn't get this out yesterday but I was also a smidge busy balduring my gates and stockpiling knock off thin mints)

Unfortunately I do not have enough thoughts to write a drabble, but yan!aventurine would totally boop you.

The worst part is that you have no one to blame but yourself. On one particular night, when you weren't quite pushed to your limit but where your thoughts certainly did verge on the homicidal, an idea crosses your mind that, you believe to be utter genius in the moment: if you cannot overpower him or outwit him, then you certainly can use your meager mental faculties to bamboozle the fucker.

It's ingenious, you're certain! A touch that is not provocative, not aggressive, but OH so...powerful. A primordial innocence primed with mischief and tomfoolery. An action of such utter stupidity that no one in their right mind could even begin to react to.

He has been attempting to goad you into playing one of his games for the past five centuries (and no, you affirm that your sense of time is quite in order), and from having performed this song and dance innumerous times, it is about now when he says or does something to make you give in, and then entraps you in his hold before you can escape.

It is you who takes the initiative.

A demented grin full of malice and desperation spreads on your face as you ready your finger, and rush over to him, and

Boop! right on his nose.

And it works. He is too stunned; either by the stupidity of the situation, or that you've initiated contact. But you do not fret over the reason. You seize the opportunity and slip into the bathroom, locking it and securing it with a chair you grabbed for good measure. In the throes of your victory, no rational thought crosses your mind.

But all actions have consequences, and this very true fact catches up to you. Aventurine has not come banging on the door or mocking you as you thought he would. You have not heard from him at all. This is a good thing, but it makes you nervous---compounded by the fact you cannot stay in the bathroom forever.

Sure, you could theoretically survive here for three weeks, as the only thing you'd be lacking was food. You had a toilet, and a shower and bath to decompress in, even! And if you wanted to lay down? You could merely set up a haven of comfort with the millions of towels Aventurine keeps in his gargantuan bathroom. It was a great place to bunker in for sure!

.......but do you really want to starve? Like, do you really, really, really want to put yourself through that over him? You do hate him and want to see him suffer, but your mother and every self-help book ever says that you should love yourself! And unfortunately and fortunately for you, you do love yourself enough to not want to go through it. But, you can at least be strategic about it. Nabbing supplies in the night? No, Aventurine has proven himself capable of operating without a wink of sleep for good knows how long. The key to this operation is to leave when he's left! Ahahaha! Good job, you! You really are a bonafide genius! Nous ought to send you an invitation to the ranks of the Society!

(you're aware that he could just bust down your door without issue, but you'll take reprieve when you can get it, you know?)

So, you wait, and keep on waiting even after you hear the entrance close. You will not take any risks, and you wait for what you think is a good hour or three. And then, you emerge.

You are swift and precise, making a beeline towards the kitchen to stock up, and just as you are about to open the cabinet to nab a box of succulent bioengineered cheese crackers---

"Boop!" a gentle pressure mounts on your nose.

There really isn't any winning with this guy, you think. After this nasty surprise, he "revokes your bathroom privileges," mounting it with a lock and essentially requiring his permission with the key card he gives you for it.

And worst of all, your concept of utter genius comes to haunt you in your every waking moment. Coming home from a long day of work? Boop! Threatening your family and friends? Boop! Playing Animal Walking? Boop! Throwing you into a bare room handcrafted for sensory deprivation? Boop! Post nut clarity? Boop!

You then see the one glaring folly in your initial thought process: why did you ever assume Aventurine to be in the right mind in any way or any situation?!

#lol i wonder if i can even post this to ao3 #eh maybe i can adpat it into an actual drabble but also this is so inherently tied to tumblr that it's tough #it's fine i wrote this in like twenty minutes or something as a breather from actual fic writing lmao #no what do you mean i have to read three chapters before next class that's stupid #yandere #yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #honkai star rail #aventurine hsr #reader takes home a massive L #well then again they aren't home but aventurine would also then beg to differ #yandere aventurine x reader

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lilalbatross · 9 months

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STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 2x05 | Charades

#star trek strange new worlds #star trek #strange new worlds #la'an noonien singh #christine chapel #snwedit #trekedit #startrekedit #obligatory gifs tag #i needed this scene to be twenty minutes instead of like thirty seconds #(i say staring at chapter three in my outline)

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next-autopsy · 5 months

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A/N: Well, hi there! This chapter is dedicated to @malarkgirlypop as a reward 💕

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: none I think? swearing maybe?

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz

Made of Glass

Chapter twenty three: May I Have This Dance?

Living an ocean away from her family and home town wasn’t as difficult as Birdie thought it would be. She had already been away from them for over a year, she’d celebrated Christmas, the New Year of ‘43 and her twentieth birthday away from the people she had shared her entire life with.

Moving to Aldbourne, England felt meager in comparison.

Due to limited space, the women of the 506th 2nd battalion were made to share barracks with the men in their platoons. There were around twenty to thirty cots set up in each round barn-like building. There were also no specified women's showers or toilets, so escorts were somewhat needed again.

When Easy company was made aware of the new sleeping arrangements, the men of 2nd platoon took it upon themselves to set Birdie up in the corner of the room, nearest to the door. Toye insisted he take the bed next to the woman, while Bill claimed the one opposite to her.

The first night with her new roommates was the hardest.

Bed time came around and the men in her barracks began stripping off as they usually would. The woman averted her eyes, choosing to stare at the ceiling and study each mark and line. As she gazed upwards, Birdie realized she, too, would have to change her clothes in front of all the men.

“You okay, Little Bird?” Bill spoke, noticing her fidgeting hands and the way she bit her lip, she most definitely had something on her mind.

“Uhh…” Her eyesight flicked to the man addressing her, then when she saw his bare chest her vision went straight back up. “Should I- I mean…uh, D-Do I just change here…or…?”

After that little encounter, Toye and Guarnere hung a couple of sheets up to section off a corner giving Birdie a smidge of privacy while she changed.

When Birdie was finally ready to curl up in her new bed and sleep, the snoring started. Sleeping alongside the men was more difficult than she imagined.

Bernadette wasn’t really a morning person but she usually functioned well enough. When she woke, the first morning in the men's barracks, Birdie felt like shit. The constant snoring kept her up and every time she was close to falling asleep, a particularly loud snort would wake her.

“Good morning, Little Bird.” Luz chirped at her sleeping figure. Birdie groaned out as a reply, unable and unwilling to answer with words. He laughed at her and tried again to rouse the woman, but she only swatted a hand in his general direction and pulled the blanket over her head.

“Come on, Birdie. You’ll miss breakfast.” George sign-songed, attempting to appeal to her.

“Fuck off.” She mumbled at him, adding a “Leave me ‘lone.” for good measure. Luz didn’t seem to get her message as he kept trying to wake her. At last, fed up with his persistence, she sat up, pushing the covers off of her and letting them fall into her lap.

“Ah, there she is! You-”

“I am going… To. Kill. You.” Bernadette cut him off. She did not want to hear his voice this early after such a shocking night with little sleep. George just grinned at her threat and the glare stuck on her face.

“Well, someone’s not a morning-oof.” Birdie threw her pillow directly at him, successfully shutting him up.

—------------------------

Being in England meant Birdie could now legally drink, with no repercussions from Lipton or Johnny. And there were more pubs here than she could count. Since she didn’t see the girls every day anymore, they all agreed to make an effort to meet at a previously chosen local pub every saturday night.

This week's meet up was at the ‘King’s Head’ and Birdie was excited. All she wanted was to sip on some whiskey, maybe have a dance or two and chat with her girls.

She was wearing her class A’s with the pencil skirt, stockings and heels. Birdie put on her signature ‘night out’ red lipstick and let her hair down in voluminous victory rolls. She shared a cab with Toye and Guarnere, who refused to let her pay the fare.

When the trio arrived at the drinking establishment, she ran ahead and bought the first round to repay them. While the men complained at her sneaky little gesture, they didn't refuse the alcohol, finding an empty table and sitting to chug the first drink of the night.

“Fancy seeing you here.” The unmistakable voice of Blythe Alderidge sounded from behind Birdie. She grinned into her drink before turning to face the woman.

“Oh, I see they let just anyone in nowadays.” Her joke was well received by the three women who stood with Blythe. They all smiled, exchanging hugs and pleasantries.

“Lucy and Betty couldn’t make it.” Frankie informed, drink already in her hand. When did she have the time to order that?

“Next time.” The ladies took over the table, catching each other up with the events of the week. They yapped and laughed for what might’ve been hours, until one brave British lad approached the group.

“Good evenin’, ladies.” He puffed up his chest and spoke confidently, eyeing up Birdie specifically, “Might I steal a dance?” He was staring at her, arm reaching out to her as an invitation. It took Birdie a second to realize he was waiting for her answer. She was about to politely decline, before she could get the words out, Charlotte answered for her.

“Of course you can…” she gave her friend a shove, “right, Birdie?” Smiling sweetly while throwing Birdie to a wolf. Her jostling had pushed Bernadette towards the stranger and to balance herself she had grabbed onto his outstretched hand. He took that as her accepting his request for a dance and led her to the area designated for bogeying.

“Birdie? What a beautiful name.” The man spoke up, his accent made it hard for her to understand him as he talked so fast.

“Oh uh… thank you.” She needed another drink if she was going to have to put up with this small talk. He spun her once, bringing her closer when she twirled back to him. Birdie noticed his not so slick move and was not impressed.

“What an accent… where are you from, love?” Her head tilted at the nickname.

“Mississippi.” She paused, then remembered how conversations worked, “And, you? Are you from around here?”

“Me? Nah, I'm from London.” He told her before spinning her yet again. After that the conversation dulled down and Birdie began to feel uncomfortable. The man let his hand slide down the curve of her back ever so slightly, but Birdie still noticed.

When the song concluded, the mystery man offered to buy her a drink. While that was exactly what she needed, she found herself trying to come up with an excuse.

“I should probably check in with my girls.” Birdie took a step away from him, praying he would get the message and that she wouldn’t have to elaborate.

“Oh, okay, I'll come with you.” He stepped in her direction, smiling. Birdie's shoulders sagged, she really didn’t want to be rude to this guy, he hadn’t done anything wrong, she just wasn’t feeling it and wanted to spend time with her friends.

“That’s okay. You don't have to do that.” She was doing her best to shake him. She didn’t even know his name, did he seriously think this was going well?

“I want to-” The British man was interrupted by an American voice, one Birdie recognised.

“Take a hint. She’s not interested.” Liebgott stood nearby, smoke hanging out of his mouth. His posture was nonchalant, like he was trying too hard to look cool and it made Birdie giggle, which gained the attention of both men. One smirked at her and the other glared.

“You what, mate?” The stranger straightened his stance and stepped towards Joe, who didn't move at all, completely unfazed.

“She’s obviously trying to get rid of you.” Lieb explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“Are you?” Birdie’s brief dance partner looked over his shoulder at her.

“Well… I was trying to be polite.” She winced, she really was trying to spare his feelings but he was persistent.

“See?” Joe smirked, inhaling his cigarette and exhaling into the man's face. This only seemed to piss him off, Birdie could see an upcoming altercation and positioned herself closer to the two men, in case she had to break something up.

“Why don't you shut your mouth, stupid fuckin’ yank.” Both Birdie and Joe dropped their jaws, though Lieb covered his reaction. This guy had nerve. Bernadette was at her limit, she didn't appreciate him barging in on her precious time with her girlfriends, she hated the stupid small talk and he was a shitty dancer. And now, he was insulting her friend. That was enough.

“Excuse you?” Her pitch went up, “You don’t get to talk to him like that! Who the fuck do you think you are?” He had upset her and now she had the urge to fight him. Where was Frankie and her knife when she needed it?

“Whatever,” The Brit started to walk away, but very quietly (not quiet enough though) he muttered under his breath, “A whore like you ain’t worth it.”

He didn’t take another step. It was only a second after he uttered the words and he was falling to the floor. Lieb had swung in record time, hitting the man with such force that he toppled to the ground.

Bernadette moved closer to Joe, grasping onto his forearm firmly, letting him know that was enough. He had done his job of protecting her honour and now they could leave the poor guy on the floor. Joe seemed to silently understand this as he turned and the pair made their way away from whoever that guy was.

“Thanks.” Birdie spoke once they sat down, “For hitting him.”

“No problem. He shouldn’t of called you that.” Joe was shaking his head, disgusted with his gender.

“It’s fine, I-“

“But it’s not.” His tone was angry but not at her. He was just angry, angry that she was about to say she was used to it. Joe had met a lot of women and, while he didn’t love the word, some of them would be classified as whores. But not Birdie. She was too kind, too funny, too pretty, too sweet, too stubborn, too intelligent to be considered a whore. She spent all day around men, living, eating, training with men and not once had he seen her flirt.

“No it’s not.” She could tell his anger was stewing inside that brain of his, she took it upon herself to try to calm him, “Not really, but that doesn’t change the fact that he said it. It’s no use letting some jerk like that ruin our night.”

Liebgott let her words sink in. ‘Our night’ she had said. Our. Me and you. Us.

“Wanna get out of here?” Joe spoke before he could stop himself. He just wanted to be alone with her, where no one could steal her away for a dance while he watched helplessly. He wanted to talk to her without having to compete for her attention.

“Sure. Just let me tell the girls, okay?”

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed x

~ Nex ~

Chapter twenty four

#band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #joe liebgott #made of glass #band of brothers fanfic #fem oc #oc #next autopsy #made of glass chapter twenty three

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kari-go · 8 months

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1. Ship is funny, I feel like March is; "eeeee" while Nino is "AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" energy😄asked for no pickles meme😅

2. Isn't it NinoLu? Maybe not, but I would call that, it's cute🥰

3. What does Chloe gives him?🤔

4. Uh, it's a very cute Aurora! And I love the outfit! Actually, could you do a (not cannon?) Outfit for her where she has this kind of top ... Idevenk what's this name, sorry😅, top clothing, being bue, representing a wawe or the dripping water going down from somebody who came out of water? (seal could work, but maybe with otter being brown -and if you do, please, keep it brown- the blue top would colour-popp better😅. If you made her a seal -or anyone in general- would you consider calling one user Selkie? It's a kind of seal-fairy, capable to changing to woman from seal and back wia a magical sea skin clothing😄)

Yes yes, exactly. The potential is incredible! Marc could help or even write scripts for Nino and Nino could be his beta reader for his stories. Nino is the ultimate supporter no one can convince me otherwise. I'm very tempted to do something with these two in MD.

I thought it was Nuka. Nothing comes up when I search Ninolu so idk

It's a coffee. It's his favorite but Chloe pretends the barista gave it to her accidentally and you know, he might as well drink it instead of throwing it away ;D

I'm an idiot, I just realized that you meant a hero costume and not actual civilian clothes xd. I'm gonna draw her with the otter, seal, and the phoenix later, I've been wanting to do that for a while

#i honestly wanna draw marc's fashion thingie too #but i should start writing the second chapter too #and do my homework xd #i was stuck for a while but i figured things out yesterday and write the entire synopsis in like three hours #i just checked #it was two hours and twenty minutes holy crap #the previous synopsis took me like a week and i got stuck in the middle so it wasn't done #the origins synopsis took me a few days #ask #miraculous ladybug #miraculous disaster au #nino lahiffe #aurore beaureal #marc anciel #marcnino

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redux-iterum · 9 months

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Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The young warriors did hunt a little, finding no pigeons. Fairly, Fireheart was distracted; Ravenwing’s concerns plucked away at Fireheart’s mind, leaving him unaware of the leaves under his feet and the scent of prey amidst the mulch. Greystripe and Ravenwing fared better, but they were both silent, Ravenwing tense and Greystripe radiating a palpably false calmness. Once in a while, Fireheart caught his eyes, dark and storming, but Greystripe’s mouth stayed shut and his tail steady.

They waited until the next night to leave for the Houses, setting off early under the guise of more hunting. Oddly, Fireheart’s chest iced over a little when Tigerclaw casually greeted them as he went for breakfast and wished them good luck as they left. He didn’t follow this emotion’s lead - he just marched off after his friends and forcibly thought about everything he was seeing around him.

“I don’t know the Houses as well as you two do,” Ravenwing said as they neared the border. “And I really don’t know any of the cats there. Fireheart, can you—?”

“Sure,” Fireheart said without thought, mentally stumbling a little at the unintentional interruption. “Sorry. Of course.”

Ravenwing didn’t look offended. If anything, by the glance he shared with Greystripe, he seemed understanding. Understanding of what, exactly, Fireheart didn’t want to think about; he just took the lead at a smart trot, fast enough for his friends to have to hurry a little to keep up with him.

The sky was open and, thankfully, cloudless. Scents of several different cats drifted from over fences and around street corners. Ravenwing and Greystripe spoke to each other about something Fireheart missed, his mind now on Rosy as he neared her house.

Were those rogues going to bother kittypets? Was Rosy safe? Fireheart hadn’t seen her in so long, maybe she—

A white cloud of fur, the hairs catching what little moonlight there was, suddenly came into view as they passed a house blocking the rest of the street. Fireheart perked up as he recognized Onion. Surely his sister’s mate would know something.

“Onion!” he called, waving his tail as the broad-faced tom looked his way. “It’s Fireheart!”

Onion squinted a little and tilted his head. “Who?”

Fireheart faltered. “Rosy’s brother? I was here last time with Smudge.”

“Ohhh,” Onion said in his slow drawl, sounding just as uninterested as in their first meeting. His puffy grey tail tapped the ground. “Right. Fireheart. Howdy.”

“This is your sister’s mate, right?” Ravenwing murmured in Fireheart’s ear.

Fireheart nodded, then said to Onion, “How’s she doing?”

“Who?”

“My– my sister.” Fireheart blinked, off-put.

Onion rolled a shoulder. “I’unno. She’s been in her house for a while.”

It was Fireheart’s turn to squint. “You haven’t checked on her or anything? Isn’t she your mate?”

“Eh.” Onion tilted his head apathetically, eyes lifting to watch the sky. “Nah. She’s the one who says that. I just did her a favor, really.”

To Fireheart’s surprise, he nearly bristled. “What, so you just gave her kits and that’s it?”

“Yeah,” said Onion, completely unaware of the glare Fireheart was giving him. “I do that sometimes.”

Something brushed against Fireheart’s side. When he looked, it was Ravenwing’s tail, and turning further, its owner was giving him a rather kind warning expression. Fireheart’s chest and stomach squeezed out the outrage bubbling in his body and let it drip out into his paws, which unsheathed their claws and sank into the loose dirt on the side of the road. The gesture did the trick of rebounding with calmness, at least, and Fireheart sighed before returning his attention to the loaf of thoughtlessness lounging before him.

“Fine,” he said. “Listen, these are my friends from my Clan. We have a couple questions I’m hoping you can answer.”

Onion’s dim face gave him nothing to work with, but he wasn’t refused, so he continued.

“You’ve seen those big black-and-white cats walking around?” he asked. “Do you know anything about them?”

Onion nodded slowly. “They’re some bad town cats. They killed someone, I heard.”

“They did,” Greystripe said flatly. “One of our own.”

“Oh.” Onion blinked. “Shame.”

Fireheart rested his tail-tip against Greystripe’s leg and said to Onion, “Do you know anything about that murder?”

“Or even just anything about those cats,” Ravenwing added. “We need as much information as we can get.”

Onion’s eyes went skyward again as he hummed in thought. “I didn’t see it, but I got told it was some big golden cat that they chased down.”

“‘Chased down’,” Ravenwing echoed. “They didn’t just quarrel with him and it got out of control?”

“Not that I heard. They went after him even when he ran.”

Ravenwing looked to Fireheart. “So they must have wanted to kill him. No cat’s stupid enough to pick a fight with Lionface for no reason, I don’t care how big they are.”

Fireheart nodded, his ears back a little. “Is that all you know about the attack?” Onion nodded. “Then do you know why they’re here?”

“Uh…” Onion mimed chewing, his eyes screwed up tight as his tiny mind (stop that, be nice, Fireheart scolded himself) worked on this. “Well, they’re town cats, yeah, and I think they belong to some gang or another. Someone’s telling them to stick around here, at least. I’ve seen them, and the one with an underbite was moaning about having to be around house cats.” He scoffed. “No idea why he thinks he’s so high and mighty and that he’s so much better than us.”

Fireheart looked back at his friends. Ravenwing’s tail shivered, and though Greystripe was silent and his face unreadable, he was radiating a heatwave of fury.

---

Tigerclaw spoke quietly with Frostfur as she sat outside of the nursery. By the sound of it, she was updating him on how Goldenflower was doing. He was as stoic as usual, but his tail-tip flicked fretfully.

Fireheart watched him, his ears nearly flat and his stomach churning. Like Greystripe and Ravenwing, there was none of the prey they’d caught at his feet. They were bunched together in the corner of camp where loose fur and other things were discarded to keep them out of the clearing and dens. Everyone was talking or eating, most of the conversation being about the next Gathering or the new kits or some other thing that Fireheart wasn’t paying attention to.

“There has to be an explanation,” he muttered. “There has to be one.”

“I’m sure there is,” Greystripe said quietly, his claws carding the sand. “And it’s not going to be one we like.”

Ravenwing, at least, made an effort to soothe Fireheart. “We don’t have all the information yet. We just have one kittypet’s word to go on and some coincidences. More is needed before we can come to a conclusion.”

“Tigerclaw, you’re going to make Brindleface nervous,” Frostfur said, audibly trying to be patient and failing tremendously. “She’s already got the runt to worry about and Goldenflower needs rest too. Just– find something to do. Everything is okay, I promise.”

Tigerclaw straightened up, his tail still twitching. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” Frostfur half-sighed, half-grumbled. “Just give the queens some space. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

Fireheart abruptly stood up and started for Tigerclaw, only flicking his tail when Ravenwing whispered, “Where are you going?”

Tigerclaw didn’t notice him until he spoke, and even though his voice was as soft as ever, the Titan of a tom still turned to him with surprise.

“We can walk, if that’d help,” Fireheart said. “Maybe try to find some more prey. The pile’s still low.”

Tigerclaw’s surprise faded into warmth and he nodded slowly. With a dip of his head to Frostfur, he went with Fireheart to the entrance of camp. Fireheart turned his head as slightly as he could while still seeing his friends. They didn’t look confident.

The woods were cold and still, and with no leaves to block its path, the moon claimed more of the ground, dappling it with pale light. It did nothing to warm the forest, but it was at least pretty.

“Our hunting area is south,” Tigerclaw said, and turned that direction.

Fireheart trotted alongside him, chewing on what he could possibly say without sounding suspicious. Questioning Tigerclaw was right out—they didn’t have enough to work with—but just ignoring it wasn’t any better. Fireheart stared straight ahead, eyes darting to Tigerclaw once in a while.

“Are you alright?” Tigerclaw asked suddenly, when the silence had gone on too long. “You seem…” He paused, considering. “Worried.”

Fireheart’s mind was thankfully quick. “Oh, well… I am a little anxious about Goldenflower. You and I can’t go in to see her, and we only really have Frostfur’s word to go on, you know?”

“I do know,” Tigerclaw murmured, his eyes tense.

Even with this opportunity of an excuse, Fireheart’s compassion took over. “I don’t think we actually have anything to worry about, though. She’s the matriarch; she knows what to do.”

Tigerclaw sighed through his nose and nodded. “We’ll just have to trust her.”

Fireheart watched Tigerclaw’s face now: pinched, with a stretched-out grimace, his ears fighting to not fold against his head.

“What’s bothering you?” Fireheart asked gently (gently, to Tigerclaw, like he was some scared apprentice, honestly…). “Is it the kits?”

Tigerclaw took a breath. His voice was even more quiet than usual. “I suppose… in a sense, the kits, yes, but…” He breathed in again, paused, and then looked down at Fireheart. “I’m sure someone’s told you, but it’s taken a long time for me to be comfortable with starting a family.”

Fireheart nodded for him to continue.

“Goldenflower has always wanted one, but she waited for me to want one, too.” Tigerclaw’s voice turned affectionate. “She could have just found another mate. Someone who was ready. But she chose to stay with me and wait.”

Fireheart curled his tail. “You’re not easily replaced, I’d say. So what made you ready now?”

In response, Tigerclaw slowed down and gave him a somewhat amused, mostly fond look. Fireheart caught on quickly and beamed, a purr in his throat.

“I’ll admit,” Tigerclaw said as they walked faster again, his amusement in his tone, “mentoring who I mentored could only get me so far. Darkstripe is… Darkstripe, and Sandstorm was always difficult, even though she mostly listened to me. They didn’t exactly warm me up to parenthood.”

Fireheart chuffed. “Bluestar gave you the really hard ones. Maybe she was testing you.”

“Well, you certainly tested her back,” Tigerclaw said. “That’s a fair exchange. You’ve been easy on us, at least.”

Fireheart’s whiskers twitched. He padded alongside the deputy, glad for the peaceful air between them.

“You must be more excited than I am,” Tigerclaw said after a stretch of silence. “You’ll have siblings in ThunderClan, and you’ll know a proper family life.”

At this, Fireheart stiffened a little. Tigerclaw looked at him curiously.

“Is that not what you want?” he asked, concerned.

Fireheart mentally debated with himself, then decided to take the risk. He said, still soft and now hesitant, “Um, to be honest, I do have family, in the Houses.”

Tigerclaw blinked.

“Her name is Rosy,” Fireheart said, eyes on the ground. “She’s my sister from the same litter. I met her when I was hunting for RiverClan.” Against his will, his voice turned wobbly. “She’s having her kits very soon. Or she already has and that’s kept her inside. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her in so long…”

He expected… he wasn’t sure what he expected. Scolding? Disdain? Disappointment? What he didn’t expect was a long-haired tail coming to rest on his back. He stopped walking and looked back in surprise, then up to Tigerclaw, whose eyes were compassionate and even a little pained.

“Have you visited her when you weren’t supposed to?” he asked softly.

Fireheart nodded, a bit ashamed still.

Tigerclaw turned his head forward, blinked slowly, then shut his eyes. He seemed even more pained now. Fireheart waited until he returned his gaze to the much smaller tom. “I don’t blame you. I understand wanting to know your blood-family.”

Fireheart’s innards sagged with relief.

Tigerclaw’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again. He spoke slowly. “To tell you the truth, I might have family there, too.” His voice strained. “My father was the leader of ThunderClan, and one day he left us all to live as a kittypet.” Fireheart’s eyes darted down to his unsheathed, sharply curved claws. “His entire Clan, his son and mate… he abandoned everything for collars and pellet-food. I can’t—” He cut himself off, then resumed with the slightest tinge of venom. “I can’t go there most of the time. He must be dead by now, but if he isn’t, and I see him… I don’t know what I’d do.”

That Wildcat…

Fireheart held off an excited description of the cat he’d met at the morose look on Tigerclaw’s face. He instead offered what little support he could by leaning into Tigerclaw’s shoulder. His father’s body language softened enough for his voice to return to normal.

“I’ve never been fond of kittypets,” he said. “But I tried my best to be kind to you. I hope I’ve managed that.”

Fireheart blinked slowly. “If you didn’t like me, I never noticed. You’ve always been nice.”

This did what he’d hoped for—Tigerclaw relaxed completely, shut his eyes for a moment, and opened them again, warmer and more at ease.

“Good,” he murmured. After a moment, he added, “Perhaps we should both stay away from the Houses for a while. Until things are peaceful again.”

The pair continued on their walk, now silent and peaceful save for a quiet comment here and there about smelling prey and a break to try and catch what they scented. Tigerclaw was not the stealthiest of cats, but Fireheart’s size wasn’t much of an advantage when it was easy for him to trip.

They eventually had a couple things—a squirrel and a little brown bird—and started back for home, still silent and comfortable.

For the most part. Fireheart trotted a bit behind Tigerclaw, watching him as they headed home. His movements were casual and calm, his tail high in the air and waving lazily.

There has to be an explanation, Fireheart thought. We’ll find out more and get to the bottom of it. It’ll be fine. Reasonable. I know it.

#warrior cats #redux iterum #iterum #arc one #book two #burning hearts #chapter #chapter twenty three

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